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It’s rare that I suggest trooping out to Williamsburg but this here Classic Album Sundays event sounds more than worth it.

[Images by Mark Weaver and The Swinging Sixties via This Isn’t Happiness]

And now, for a short musical interlude…

And then more cool grooves from a way out west…

[Photo Credit: v.a.l.e.n.]

I remember watching people talking on pay phones when I was a kid. I waited for them to hang up to see if they would stick their finger in the coin return, looking for a dime, or later, a quarter. It seemed like a reflex, as if they were scratching a morning lotto ticket.

Hey, you never know, right?

They were different from the schnorrer’s who walked up to a pay phone and stuck their finger in the slot looking for change without any intention of making a call.

[Photo Via Retro New York]

“Still Life with Black Knife,” By Henri Matisse (1896)

Beautiful day in New York, not too hot, not muggy, as the Yanks looked to sweep the Indians.

What could go wrong?

Well, C.C. Sabathia was placed on the DL before the game with a groin strain. Chad Jennings has the skinny:

“I talked to our doc and he was talking to me about the DL situation,” Brian Cashman said. “(Steve) Donahue was telling him CC was like, ‘Well, maybe miss a start, I don’t know about DL.’ I said, ‘Well start preparing, because I’m going there tomorrow and he’s going on the DL.’ I came in here and it was a one-way conversation. I did all the talking. I know what he wants to do, but this is what we’re going to do. You have to protect players from themselves. He’s a competitor and he wants to be out there. He feels he can pitch with it right now, but we’re not going to mess with it.”

Okay, they are being cautious, it’s not so bad.

Then Andy Pettitte got whacked in the ankle by a line drive off of Casey Kotchman’s bat and before the game ended the word was in and it was not good–a fractured ankle and Pettitte will be lost for a minimum of six weeks. Let’s call it two months. Most us figured that Pettitte would get hurt at some point this summer, perhaps just not this soon. The only blessing here is that he’ll hopefully have the chance to get healthy and return for fall baseball.

Freddy Garcia, who pitched well in relief today, will take his place. I expect that Mr. Cashman will work some sort of deal in the near future as well, though right now it’s like shopping for an umbrella in the rain. Maybe he trades for a decent starter but why not roll the dice and make a boffo move for a guy like Cole Hamels?

Be bold, Mr. Cashman: Be Bold.

In the meantime, today’s come-from-behind 5-4 win, led by Robinson Cano’s go-ahead home run, feels like an afterthought. That despite a tense ninth inning– a bona fide “I Miss Mo” moment–where Rafael Soriano loaded the bases and walked in a run before retiring Assdribble Cabrera to end it.

It is rare when a five-game winning streak felt so somber.

[Photo Credit: Craig Robinson and Frank Franklin II/AP]

Andy’s on the hill this afternoon at the Stadium. Man, it’s an ideal day to play hookey, ain’t it?

Curtis Granderson CF
Nick Swisher RF
Alex Rodriguez 3B
Robinson Cano 2B
Mark Teixeira DH
Raul Ibanez LF
Eric Chavez 1B
Russell Martin C
Jayson Nix SS

Never mind the glare: Let’s Go Yank-ees!

[Photo Credit: Megan Cross via It’s a Long Season]

Painting by Budi Satria Kwan via the most cool site, Zeroing.

Art in Progress: seen on Broadway, Upper West Side.

Here’s Denis Johnson on the importance of Leonard Gardner’s novel, “Fat City”:

My neighbor across the road, also a young literary hopeful, felt the same. We talked about every paragraph of “Fat City” one by one and over and over, the way couples sometimes reminisce about each moment of their falling in love.

And like most youngsters in the throes, I assumed I was among the very few humans who’d ever felt this way. In the next few years, studying at the Writer’s Workshop in Iowa City, I was astonished every time I met a young writer who could quote esctatically line after line of dialogue from the down-and-out souls of “Fat City,” the men and women seeking love, a bit of comfort, even glory — but never forgiveness — in the heat and dust of central California. Admirers were everywhere.

My friend across the road saw Gardner in a drugstore in California once, recognized him from his jacket photo. He was looking at a boxing magazine. “Are you Leonard Gardner?” my friend asked. “You must be a writer,” Gardner said, and went back to the magazine. I made him tell the story a thousand times.

For more on Gardner, check out this appreciation by our old pal George Kimball.

David Lebovitz gives us pickled carrots.

Hey, Babe…here’s Jimmy.

[Photo By Steven Wallace via Gas Station]

Sad news in New York this morning. Nora Ephron died yesterday. She was only 71.

Over at New York magazine–where Ephron wrote for years–Noreen Malone offers a nice tribute (also included a links to several of Ephron’s pieces).

I was no fan of Ephron’s work in the movies and don’t know enough about her writing to comment with any clarity. However, this piece, first written for the New York Times, and later featured in “Nora Ephron Collected” is worth reading:

Revision and Life

Plus, she also once said: “I don’t think any day is worth living without thinking about what you’re going to eat next at all times.”

I can dig it.

[Illustration by Simon Pemberton and Larry Roibal]

It’s Phil Hughes, folks.

Derek Jeter SS
Curtis Granderson CF
Alex Rodriguez 3B
Robinson Cano 2B
Mark Teixeira 1B
Nick Swisher RF
Raul Ibanez DH
Dewayne Wise LF
Chris Stewart C

Never mind letting up now: Let’s Go Yank-ees!

[This amazing picture was taken by our pal Bags]

Wanna know your favorite big league ball player’s home town?

This is the spot.

Another place I found because I read Kottke, the dopest site on the ‘Net.

Zhao Huasen via Kottke.

Just so happens that I’ve got asparagus and mint in the house. Thanks to Serious Eats and Food 52 for this recipe.

I used to play this record when I dj’d at my friend Steven’s restaurant. It was a sure shot. So vibey, a great cool-out beat.

[Photo Credit: Matthais Franke]

Sam Adams has a wonderful interview with Bob Balaban over at the A.V. Club.

I like this part:

AVC: Speaking of great directors, your role in Close Encounters was as translator to the scientist played by François Truffaut, and the sense from your diaries is that you played a similar role offscreen.

BB: It was so much fun. You can only imagine [having] one of your favorite directors be absolutely dependent on you for eight months of shooting. I could speak fairly good French, and he really didn’t like to speak English. He would bring me scripts, I would translate them, and we would have discussions afterward. He didn’t like reading the scripts in English, so I would read them and describe to him what it was, and what was going on. It was great. Truffaut was great with kids, also. At one point—I’m sure I’ve said this in my book, and three or four thousand times already—Truffaut said for him there were literally two things that interested him in all of his movies. That was it. He said life was short—how prescient he was, because he died eight years later. But he said, “I’m never going to have enough time to make all of the movies I want. So I can only make movies about men and women and their relationships, and children and their relationships. That’s it, that’s all that interests me.” That’s everything in the world, but it also rules out a huge amount of things. It mostly rules out anything mechanical. At one point, he was asked to direct Bobby Deerfield, I think. He said, “Too much ‘vroom vroom.’” What he really meant was it wasn’t about men and women falling in love, or children.

Fascinating. To have such a firm grasp on what you want to make movies about and then to do just that.

Photographs by Frank Horvat.

Over at Grantland, Michael Schur presents this Requiem for a Hardass:

In his prime, Youk was an elite hitter, and he fielded two positions quite well. His OPS+ from 2008 to 2010 were 144, 146, and 157 (all OBP-heavy), and over those three years he was among the five or so very best hitters in most ways that matter. He was one of the best players in the game. But what made him special was how weird it was that this was true.

Kevin Youkilis is one of the most oddly shaped human beings in professional athletics. His torso is giant and cylindrical — he looks like a cartoon poor person wearing a barrel. He is completely bald — like, aggressively bald, like he hates hair — except for a fiery red goatee bush that tumbles out of his face like Play-Doh from a fun factory. When he hits, he stands with his feet so close together the ump could tip him over with one quick index-finger jab to the sternum — an action that must have been tempting for many umps over the years — and as he raises the bat above his head and aims the barrel back toward the pitcher in a manner any Little League coach would surely curtail (“No, Kevin, not like that, that’s all wrong … just … is your dad here? I need to talk to him”), his hands are a foot apart on the handle of the bat, and he then slowly slides them toward each other as the pitcher moves through his delivery. It’s fucking insane. (“Kevin? Buddy? Hands together, buddy. See? Like this? … Is your dad here?”) From this stevedore’s frame, alopecic head, and just completely goofy stance came a truly elite ballplayer. Who is also kind of a dick.

[Photo Credit: AP]