Garry Wills pens a fine appreciation of David Levine, his longtime colleague at the New York Review of Books.
Levine was a man of high intelligence, wide reading, and solid artistic training. He composed, shaded, and drew with the eye of a practiced painter. But more than that, he had great psychological insight into his subjects.
The wife and I were on our way home Saturday night, riding the IRT back uptown to the Bronx. Two young, heavy-set women sat across from us with a stroller in front of them. One of the women drank a can of orange soda and played with her infant son; the boy gripped her fat fingers and laughed. The other woman tapped her cell phone and complained about how long it was going to take for them to get ready–showered and dressed–to go out.
“It’s nine o’clock, you gunna take forever to get your ass in gear. I don’t even know what I’m going to wear.”
The women chattered along–giggling and talking loudly like teenagers–and the child became restless.
“What are you bothering me for?” the mother said to him. “Why do you keep saying, ‘Papi’? Your father isn’t here. Papi, Papi, Papi. I’m here. He’s not here. You want me to call him so you can talk to him? I brought you into this world, why you need to always bother me? I’m the boss. You do as I say.”
The Mrs and I were tucked into the two seats at the end of the car. We were distracted by the mother, our conversation halted. Finally, Emily turned to me and said, “Can we move?” I had been thinking about changing our seats for several stops. At 168th street, we moved to the next car.
It’s not about being judgemental it’s about comfort. If you can do something about it, why expose yourself to something that makes you uncomfortable, anxious or upset? Yeah, when I’m aware of it–and both Emily and I are exceedingly sensitive to this kind of thing–I don’t think, I just move.
Watch the closing doors.
Today’s update is powered by Mr. Billy Taylor (no, not THIS one):
After months of speculation that the Yankees’ hunk and his sexy steady Minka Kelly are headed to the altar, The Post has learned that the super couple may have settled on a wedding date — Nov. 5.
And while it may bring little solace to Jeter’s legion of female admirers, fretful Yankees fans will be glad to note the date is at least two days after the World Series ends.
Prince Moseph Green, chillin’ watching football.
Happy football and happy eating. Ya hoid?
I took the wife to see Jeff Bridges last night and he was unassuming and releaxed, tall and handsome, with the best head of hair this side of Ted Berg, and a winning, high-pitched, nerdy laugh. He talked about the anxiety some roles carry because they are so rich that “you don’t want to blow it. It’s like being a wide receiver and running a long route and the ball is thrown and you can see it and you’ve got it in your sights…” And you don’t want to blow it. Bridges said that was how he felt with the roll of Bad Blake in his new movie, Crazy Heart.
I was curious to know what movies he felt like he did drop the ball, where he didn’t achieve what he was looking for. I would have also liked to know more about his relationship with his brother, Beau. I asked him about the difference between being a stage actor and a film actor and he talked about his experience on the movie version of The Iceman Cometh, but he didn’t say why he has avoided the stage.
Bridges spoke lovingly about his parents and how they encouraged their kids to become actors. He said, “Acting is advanced pretending.” He also said that he goes out of his way to turn down work because of how much time it takes him away from his personal life and his family. He mentioned that he’d been away from home for 11 of the last 14 months, and that generally, by the end of a picture, he’s exhausted and just wants to return to being himself.
He did speak about how he approaches a role. First, by reading the script, and not only his character’s scenes but the entire script to know how the other characters feel about his character. Then he draws on his own experience and mostly friends, picking and choosing nuances. He said that for Starman, where he plays an alien who inhabits a human body, he leaned on a dancer friend who had very specific and articulated body language. He talked about learning how to imitate human gestures, and suddenly sat up and crossed his legs in a rigid manner. It was uncanny. In that brief moment, he was that alien again. It was subtle, just a slight physical gesture, but he had changed.
I received a VHS tape of the NFL Film’s Crunch Course production as a bonus for subscribing to Sports Illustrated. It was the last time I subscribed to the magazine, must have been ’86 or ’87. Back then, I loved professional football as much, if not more, than I loved baseball. And while my devotion to the NFL would not last much longer, the Crunch Course tape endures. It explains what attracted me to the game–violence. Glorious, cinematic, hyperbolic, violence.
In anticipation of the playoffs this weekend, here’s the entire show, in five segments.
Grrrrrr–ufff.
And that’s word to Kenny Easley.
We end the look back on ’90s Hip Hop with this classic joint from Kurious Jorge, Mike G of the Jungle Brothers and Sadat X.
Word is Bond lyric:
Peace to New York State and hard-working New Yorkers
Should baseball writers vote for the Hall of Fame? Buster Olney and Jeff Pearlman say no, and I think they are on to something.
Most of us writers weren’t exactly the cool kids in school. We stunk at sports, failed at dating and rarely — if ever — got invited to the good parties. While our peers were making out with the cheerleaders, we were debating among ourselves whether the Yankees were wise to have traded Jerry Mumphrey to Houston for Omar Moreno (And I don’t care what Chris Katechis said — it was a horrible deal). Point is, even the eternally powerless crave power. In the world of baseball, few wands wield greater oomph than that of the BBWAA Hall vote.
And yet, after spending so many of my years itching to earn that elusive BBWAA Gold Card status, I can honestly say that I would rather work as Bieber’s “swagger coach” (frighteningly, he has one) than cast a vote for the Baseball Hall of Fame.
And then there is this from Olney (to read the entire story you have to subscribe to ESPN insider):
First and foremost, it’s a clear conflict of interest. As a writer, I should be reporting on the news and not making it. It’s Journalism 101 (I assume, since I was a history major). It’s not my place, as a reporter, to determine whether Andre Dawson is inducted into the Hall of Fame, no more than it would be for a Capitol Hill reporter to cast a vote on health-care legislation while reporting on it.
…The most important reason why the writers should not be voting is that it has become increasingly evident that the voters, as a group, don’t really have a clear understanding of what the standards for the Hall of Fame are, particularly in this time, as the ballot gains more and more players touched by the steroids issue.
Some (not many) don’t vote for any candidate in their first year on the ballot, although the rules say they can. Some don’t vote for candidates because they didn’t like them personally, or because they
didn’t like how they played.…The Hall of Fame should form its own committee that determines who gets a plaque. The plaques should include information, written in neutral language, about feats and achievements, and about bans and
suspensions and admissions.
Olney concludes that the process is not likely to change because of the heated debates that the Hall of Fame voting stirs every year. And really, when do you ever hear the same kind of enthusiasm about the Football or Basketball Hall of Fame? Heck, I enjoy arguing about the Hall even if I know it is an excercise in the absurd.
I guess we need the eggs.
Just a reminder about the evening with Jeff Bridges tomorrow at Lincoln Center. I’m a be there.
Dig this recent piece on Bridges from the L.A. Times:
For Bridges, the starting point for his career came fairly early — as an infant, he appeared in “The Company She Keeps” (1951), and the glare of klieg lights would be a constant part of his upbringing. By age 9, he was sharing the screen with his father, Lloyd, and brother, Beau, on television and the family business came naturally. Robert Duvall, a costar in “Crazy Heart” and one of the film’s producers, said Bridges has become one of the premier actors of his generation, and he did so with the unhurried air of a surfer strolling the packed sand of Zuma.
“There’s the Actors Studio in New York, everybody sitting around talking about Stanislavski, but that’s not Jeff,” [co-star, Robert] Duvall said. “This is a guy off the beaches of L.A. He learned from his father, that was his mentor, and he always seems so loose and relaxed — but he’s always prepared, and he brings so many surprises, like good actors do.”
Reports surfaced as early as mid-December that David Cone would not be returning to the YES Network booth for the 2K10 season. Phil Mushnick of the New York Post first reported the story, and the rumblings regarding the potential shuffle only increased.
In that initial article, Mushnick mentioned the possibility of Cone taking a position with the MLB Players Association. Rumors abound now that Cone does have an offer for an executive position at the MLBPA.
Cone confirmed one half of the speculation Wednesday, announcing that he would not be returning to YES. The Network’s official statement was released early yesterday afternoon.
Quotes from the respective parties read as follows:
CONE: “My YES deal was up at the end of the 2009 season, and I’ve chosen not to return in 2010 in order to spend more time with my family. If I do return to broadcasting, YES would be my first choice.”
YES: “David was a valued member of our team. He will be missed.”
Judging from the commentary of Joe Delessio at NYMag.com and many Banterers over the course of the week, Cone will be missed. Cone was a consensus “best analyst” choice on the YES roster. Personally, I enjoyed his take on pitching, his ability to recall Yankees history – an especially detailed review of Red Ruffing’s career during a Yankees-Red Sox telecast comes to mind – and the fact that you never quite knew what he would say next.
Due to the vagaries of the holiday schedules, I’ve yet to comment publicly on the Yankees’ last major acquisition of the winter: the Javier Vazquez trade. So we’ll file this in the category of “better late than never.” On the one hand, I have to confess I’m not Vazquez’ biggest fan. His career has largely been a disappointment, based on the context of the ability he flashed as a young Montreal Expo seven or eight years ago. He’s had only two dominant seasons in his career—2003 and this past season—which isn’t sufficient for the kind of stuff he’s always had. He’s had a good career, no question, just not the kind of career that matches the talent of his right arm.
With that criticism out of the way, I cannot legitimately complain about the trade that brought him back to the Bronx. The Yankees simply did not give up that much to acquire a capable right-hander who would be a legitimate No. 2 starter on many staffs. Melky Cabrera is a serviceable ballplayer who will never be a star, Mike Dunn is a minor league pitching prospect who cannot start, and Arodys Vizcaino is a 19-year-old right-hander who has never pitched above the pitching-minded NY-Penn League. (As a frequent visitor to Oneonta and Utica, I’ve seen too many kid pitchers dominate this league before flaming out in tougher hitting environments.) Of the three, the only player that caused the Yankees any pain in surrendering was Vizcaino, but there is still so much distance—and so much uncertainty—between where he is now and his anticipated arrival in the major leagues.
For me, the key to the trade was acquiring Vazquez without having to surrender Nick Swisher, whose contract was probably too rich for Atlanta’s thinning bloodstream. Giving up Swisher in this deal would have been a mistake; his regular season power, his versatility, and his infusion of enthusiasm have been forgotten too quickly by too many media types who only want to dwell on the postseason or some ridiculous notion of staid and serious Yankee professionalism. Would the Yankees really have been comfortable opening the season with an outfield of Brett Gardner (left field), Curtis Granderson (center field), and Cabrera (right field)—and Rule 5 pickup Jamie Hoffmann in reserve? I wouldn’t.
Sticking in the mid-90s, here’s a couple of dusty cuts.
A remix from the Liks:
Early DJ Spinna production:
Bert Blyeleven, my he sure does stimulate some discussion, don’t he? Leading the Bert-for-the-Hall-of-Fame charge is my pal Rich Lederer, who is nothing if not committed to the cause.
Five more votes, Rodney! Bert is almost there.
Today’s update is powered by . . . a chorus of complainers:
. . . The Yankees general manager confirmed a report that Sergio Mitre has avoided arbitration and agreed to a one-year deal for next season. Jerry Crasnick says it’s worth $850,000. It’s a non-guaranteed deal.
Understandably, a lot of Yankees fans are down on Mitre — his 6.79 ERA last year probably has something to do with that — but he was only a year removed from Tommy John surgery in 2009, and actually began the season less than a year removed. As he gets further from the procedure, his arm strength should improve. That’s why he’s going to get another look this spring.
A few other notes from Cashman:
• The Yankees remain in the market for an outfielder, but not a starting outfielder. “I consider this position I’m playing in as a bench role,” Cashman said. “Right-handed hitting outfielder that Joe can look on the bench and say, I’m not going to start one of my left-handers, I’m going to start a right-hander.”
Sticking with mid-90s underground Hip Hop, this tune will always stick with me. I remember first hearing it on late-night college radio–the NYU show (with Mr. Mayhem & DJ Riz), and the Stretch and Bob Show–a perfect groove record:
…and here is the original.
The Hall of Fame announcement comes at 2 p.m. today. My guess is that Roberto Alomar will make it in. After that, I’ve no idea, though I figure Barry Larkin, Andre Dawson and Bert Blyeleven will all receive considerable support.
Update: Dawson is in. Bert gets 74.2 percent of the vote, Alomar, 73. C’mon.
Over at SI.com, Cliff takes a look at the big Matt Holliday signing:
Even in light of Holliday’s new contract, the Cardinals have very few contractual commitments in the coming years. The only other Cardinal guaranteed more than $1 million beyond 2011 is Kyle Lohse, who will earn just under $12 million in 2012, the final year of his ill-conceived four-year extension, the handiwork of current GM John Mozeliak. Aces Adam Wainwright and Chris Carpenter and All-Star catcher Yadier Molina all have club options for 2012 (for $9 million, $15 million, and $7 million, respectively) with Wainwright having an additional $12 million option for 2013. If all three stay healthy, the Cardinals are unlikely to find better bargains on the open market, but if the team picks up all three options, they’ll have roughly $60 million committed to five players in 2012, and with Pujols a potential $30 million player, they could surpass their 2009 payroll on just six players. That means the Cardinals are either going to have to significantly increase their payroll, pinch pennies everywhere other than first base and left field, or bid goodbye to Pujols after 2011 if not before.
It’s flatly inconceivable that the Cardinals would sacrifice their ability to keep Pujols, who is not only the face of the franchise but the best player in the game and one of the ten greatest hitters of all time, for Holliday, a solid all-around player but one who comes with significant questions about his true level of production given the effects of his home ballparks prior to his arrival in St. Louis. The most likely scenario, really the only one that makes sense, is an increase in payroll. Even with young players such as Colby Rasmus, Brendan Ryan, and David Freese in the starting lineup, with more than $40 million annually committed to just two players, the Cardinals will be hard pressed to field a balanced team and keep team payroll under $100 million.
Willie Mitchell, one of the great music producers of all-time, died yesterday. Mitchell was a trumpet player and a band leader but is most famous for his work with Hi Studios in Memphis, notably his production for singer Al Green.
For more on Mitchell, let me share the following from Peter Guralnick’s seminal study of southern soul music, Sweet Soul Music.
[Mitchell] had mastered the technology of recording, developed his own distinctive bass sound (a Willie Mitchell production is immediately recognizable for its “bottom”), and found in the eight-track, tube-amplified Ampex recorder that Hi already possessed machinery in which he could place an almost mystical belief.
…It has been said that Green in later years would spend more than a hundred hours on a vocal part, putting together, note by burbling note, each little comment and countercomment to elegantly stated melody, and while “Let’s Stay Together” appears to have been assembled a little more spontaneously than that, it conveys the same decorative filigree, the same sort of layered elegance with which Willie Mitchell and Al Green would soon take soul music–real, unabashed, wholehearted soul music–to quiet, luxuriantly appointed places it had never seen before.
“Well, you see, after we had done ‘Tired of Being Alone’ and ‘I Can’t Get Next to You,’ I said, ‘Al, look, we got to soften you up some.’ I said, ‘You got to whisper. You got to cut the lighter music. The melody has got to be good. You got to sing it soft. If we can get the dynamic bottom on it and make some sense with pretty changes, then we going to be there.’ He said, ‘Man, I can’t sing that way. That’s too soft. That ain’t going to sound like no man singing.’ We had the damnedest fights, but I think ‘Let’s Stay Together’ really sold him that I had the right direction for him musically, ’cause, see, all the things I told him turned out to be true. Like ‘Let’s Stay Together’ he didn’t like at all, but when we put it out, it was gold in two weeks. So we softened and softened and softened.
Here’s a little something from Mitchell that will be familiar to the hip hop heads out there:
We’ll never see the likes of Randy Johnson again. The image of this enormous man, who resembled a pre-historic serpant on the mound, hair flying, limbs flailing, as if backed by the wailing guitars of Satan’s house band, will be impossible to erase from our collective memory. He was one of the greatest starting pitchers I’ve ever seen in his prime–along with Pedro Martinez, Roger Clemens, and Greg Maddux–as well as one of the most viscerally intimidating. He was downright frightening, almost to the point of being comic. But he wasn’t a fool, and it was hard to laugh too tough when he was stuffing up the Yankees’ asses, first with Seattle and then Arizona. That he was able to harness all of his moving parts, his wildness–both physical and emotional–and become an all-time great pitcher is one of the great feats of the past twenty-five years.
One of a kind, as they say. With an all-time moniker: The Big Unit. I don’t know if many fans will exactly miss him, but nobody is sure to forget him.
[Painting by Viasta Volcano]
