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Beat of the Day

blackbags

Such a long way…And no, I didn’t lose a bet and I’m not intentionally trying to be mean. Sometimes, a corny old tune just pops in your head and won’t leave you alone.

Picture by Bags. 

Taster’s Cherce

applecustard

Food 52 gives Dorie Greenspan’s Custardy Apple Squares. Why the hell not?

Morning Art

socks

Painting by Ali Cavanaugh.

Million Dollar Movie

MSDTARG EC003

Over at Grantland, dig this nice appreciation of our man Gene Hackman by Steven Hyden:

If you love movies, it’s hard not to miss him. So, for the past month I’ve been watching Gene Hackman films — not just the iconic ones,2 but also the deep cuts, good and bad. Almost all of them are worth seeing, because Hackman himself is almost always worth seeing, but also because the man had a knack for picking projects that have only gotten more strange with time. I refer to films like Prime Cut, in which Hackman plays a Kansas City gangster named Mary Ann who forces Sissy Spacek to lie naked in a pen at a sex slave farm until Lee Marvin comes along; Cisco Pike, a far-out drug thriller set in early-’70s Los Angeles in which Hackman plays Big Foot Bjornsen to Kris Kristofferson’s Doc Sportello; and Loose Cannons, a confoundingly stupid buddy-cop comedy costarring Dan Aykroyd that has one of the all-time great Netflix plot summaries.

Never mind an oddity like All Night Long.

Or Full Moon in Blue Water:

Hyden continues:

Hackman for me is the greatest living American actor because — with the exception of the Reverend Frank Scott in The Poseidon Adventure — I always buy what he’s selling. Even when the movie is bad, you believe what Hackman is telling you, right down to the last “heh-heh.”

Hackman’s my favorite.

Afternoon Art

africa

Picture by Invader. 

Taster’s Cherce

bagelsss

Cheap eats. 

New York Minute

joefranklin

I was in my Bronx apartment on the morning of September 11, 2001. I watched on TV like the rest of the country. Eventually, I don’t recall if it was later that day or the following day, or the day after that, I got on the subway and went as far south as I could go–14th Street. I felt the need to get closer. I couldn’t go further downtown so I turned around and walked up 8th Avenue. As I passed the bus terminal at 40th Street I saw Joe Franklin talking on a pay phone. He was alone, a pregnant briefcase resting between his feet. I had been in a daze and the sight of Franklin snapped me out of it for a moment. It was comforting to see him.

“Hey, Joe Franklin” I said to nobody in particular and kept walking. joefre Franklin, a New York fixture for many of us, died the other day. He was 88.  

Salute.

[Photo Credit: Andrew Savulich; Illustration by Drew Friedman]

Beat of the Day

sitting there

Sunroof top:

[Picture by Bags]

Beat of the Day

supermansuper

Had another sneeze and a blew my nose:

[Picture by Sacha Goldberger]

Afternoon Art

winterbags

Picture by Bags. 

Only the Lonely

crying-roy-orbison

Dig this fine piece on Roy Orbison by Rachel Monroe for the Oxford American:

The Orbison family moved to Wink in 1946, when Roy was ten years old, so his father, Orbie Lee, could find work in the oil fields. Though he did eventually get hired on as a rigger, the Orbisons were late to the oil boom party: Wink’s population peaked at around 6,000 in 1929; seventeen years later, when the Orbisons settled in, most of the wells had dried up and the town had shrunk to about 1,500 residents. “It was macho guys working in the oil field, and football, and oil and grease and sand and being a stud and being cool,” Orbison said later. “It was tough as could be, but no illusions, you know? No mysteries in Wink.”

Orbison wasn’t popular; later he said he felt “totally anonymous, even at home.” He started wearing glasses at age four. When he tried out for the Wink Kittens, the junior high version of the Wink Wildcats high school football team, the helmets didn’t have face guards, and his glasses kept falling off. He didn’t make the team.

Growing up is a lonely enterprise, even more so in a town that’s past its prime. Once he made his money, Orbison left for Tennessee, then Malibu. He wasn’t one to rhapsodize about his childhood very often, but once I visited his hometown, I couldn’t help but hear a telltale hint of Wink every time I listened to his songs: that sense of missing out, of having been passed by. An absence, a longing, a loneliness.

Morning Art

owl

“La Chouette” by Pablo Picasso (1953)

Taster’s Cherce

keylimepie

The Wife and I were in Florida for a few days. On our flight home, a stewardess showed us a nifty trick. Squeeze a bit of lime on a Biscoff cookie and presto! you’ve got Key Lime pie.

F’realz.

Beat of the Day

citro222

I want to fly.

[Photo Via: Kateopolis]

Qu’est-Ce Que C’est?

talking heads

Most cool.

[Photo Credit: Ebet Roberts/Redferns, via Getty Images]

Taster’s Cherce

herbfrites

Herbs…

Beat of the Day

blueish

This one brings me back. A cousin from Belgium visited the summer it came out. She bought the record and my sister, brother and I listened to it until there were a few scratches. Our cousin got so pissed that she bought a new one. But we were happy because, after all, what are a few skips? I can’t even tell you that I like this song. It doesn’t matter because it is so evocative that I can’t hear it without remembering where I was the summer it was released.

[Picture by Andre Juillard via This Isn’t Happiness]

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"This ain't football. We do this every day."
--Earl Weaver