Let’s Travel Somewhere with Jakub Polomski.

No One Else it Seems, Ever Shared My Dreams…

[Photograph by Julia Hetta]

The Goddess Alexandra gives Butternut Squash and Crispy Sage Pizza.

Duh-rool.

Saveur goes behind the scenes at the Doughnut Plant.

[Photo Credit: Yelp]

This here is intriguing. Mark Jacobson’s 1999 article for New York magazine on Stanley Kubrick and Joe D:

One can only suppose how Stanley Kubrick might have filmed the life story of Joe DiMaggio. How might the disparate life visions of these two Bronx icons who last week died barely hours apart have meshed on the silver screen? For one thing, Kubrick, who liked biographies of the outsize (he made Spartacus, wanted to make Napoleon), would almost certainly have used idiosyncratic, Max Ophlus-like moving-camera shots to depict those two nifty backhand stabs utilized by Ken Keltner to stop Joltin’ Joe’s famous streak in 1941. As for the Yankee Clipper’s well-documented weekly ritual of sending a bouquet of roses to Marilyn Monroe’s grave site for twenty years, one can only guess at how Kubrick’s mordant comic spirit might have handled that. After all, Kubrick, horny boy of the Bronx, was never noted for love scenes, requited or not, even if Shelly Winters did keep the ashes of her beloved husband on her beside table in Lolita.

Joe D, a film by Stanley Kubrick — it might not be Dr. Strangelove, but ya gotta love it. Could have happened, too, since as a boy-wonder Bronx still photographer in the midst of cranking out a 70 average at Taft High School and haunting movie palaces like the Loews Paradise and the RKO Fordham, Kubrick rarely missed an opportunity to spend a sunny Saturday afternoon at Yankee Stadium, where he saw the peerless Clipper patrol the center-field greenery in all his Apollonian glory. The stuff of dreams, no doubt. While never fulfilling his primary ambition of playing second base for the Bronx Bombers, once Kubrick began working as an assignment photographer for Look magazine, he often returned to the Big Ballpark. Indeed, in the May 9, 1952, issue of Look, there is a photo of Joe DiMaggio taken by Stanley Kubrick.

1950s painting by Richard Diebenkorn.

“The Day My Grandfather Groucho and I Saved ‘You Bet Your Life'” by Andy Marx.

Here is a great movie. No Maps on My Taps. Make an effort to check it out when you can.

Pipe Dream.

[Photo Via: Sita McVay]

From Nicole Franzen: Gnocchi with Wild Mushrooms.

Our man Kline…via Arpeggia.

Ralph Steadman has a new book out…on boids.

Via Kottke how about The Movie Set Museum?

Dig this Life photo gallery of “The Fight of the Century.” 

 
Don’t you worry, weather’s fine.

[Photo Credit: Aberrant Beauty]

Yeah, this looks worth trying.

Picture by Nick Bantock.

Via Black Book check out this outstanding series over at the edit room floor on the lost scenes of “The Conversation.” 

Parts: 2, 3, 4, and 5.

Last spring Tyler Plimpton wrote this piece about his father in The New Yorker:

My father’s voice was like one of those supposedly extinct deep-sea creatures that wash up on the shores of Argentina every now and then. It came from a different era, shouldn’t have still existed, but nevertheless, there it was—old New England, old New York, tinged with a hint of King’s College King’s English. You heard it and it could only be him.

So it was that George Plimpton’s accent could not be imitated. On “Saturday Night Live,” even the great impersonator Dana Carvey couldn’t get it quite right. Alan Alda, portraying my dad in the movie version of “Paper Lion” (his book on playing quarterback for the Detroit Lions), didn’t bother with his voice at all. He got the personality totally wrong, too. Alda’s version was always angry or consternated, like a character in a Woody Allen film, while my dad, though he certainly faced hurdles as an amateur in the world of the professional, bore his humiliations with a comic lightness and charm—much of which emanated from that befuddled, self-deprecating professor’s voice.