Ah Sloppy Sue and Big Bones Billie they’ll be comin’ up for air…

[Photo Credit: Girls LOVE Sex Too]

If you’ve got an I Pad or any other kind of nifty tablet, his looks more than worth your six bucks: Henry Chalfant’s Big Subway Archive.

The wife and I had dinner at our friend’s place the other night. Watched the Olympics and ordered in from a terrific Indian restaurant. We were stuffed and forgot to eat dessert. Okay, I didn’t forget, I showed some discipline in not asking for an ice cream sandwich. Our friends are the only people we know who stock ice cream sandwiches in their freezer. On the regular as they say.

I think they buy White Rose or some other budget brand. Doesn’t matter to me cause an ice cream sandwich is an ice cream sandwich and I ain’t picky.

But over at Serious Eats, here’s a taste test of ice cream sandwiches for you to check out.

Charlotte Rampling via Sunset Gun.

Via Kottke here is Sight and Sound’s list of the Top 50 Greatest Films of All Time.

You may start arguing…now.

Here’s a nice way to start a lazy Sunday.

[Photo Credit: ilariamammut]

Humid–damn, it’s steamy–here in New York. No need to move any faster than necessary.

Always thought of this as a late night cut, but it works on a slow-moving Saturday too.

Siah & Yeshua dapoED – The Visualz Instrumental remake

[Photo Via: Marc Johns]

Billy Joel talks with Alec Baldwin on Here’s the Thing. Two Island guys. Cheap laffs and Baldwin is a good interviewer.

Check out this gallery of alternative book covers over at The Short List.

And while you are at it, peep the 30 coolest alternative movie posters, too.

[Picture by Emmanuel Polanco; Matt Owen]

“The Trailed Jug,” By William Nicholson (1917)

Check out this quick guide to ingredient substitutions over at The Kitchn.

Shock the monkey to life.

[Photo Via Laughing Squid]

Here’s a short essay by Pat Jordan on going to the movies when he was a kid:

I was 10 in 1951. Every Saturday morning, my father would give me two dollar bills so I could take two buses from Fairfield into Bridgeport, Conn., where I would go to the Globe movie theater for the kids’ matinee from noon to 5 o’clock. I had to get a bus transfer in Black Rock and wait on a street corner for the next bus, which would drop me off downtown in front of Morrow’s Nut House, “nuts from all over the world.” I then walked four blocks along Main Street, past the stores and shoppers of this big, grimy factory city, until I came to the Globe and a long line of rowdy kids my age waiting to get inside.

After I got my popcorn and Jujyfruits, I searched for a seat in that dark, crowded, noisy theater with its frayed, burgundy-velvet seats and huge, overhead chandeliers like icicles. In the ’20s and ’30s, the Globe was a bustling Vaudeville theater with leering, popeyed, baggy-pants comics and peroxide-blond ecdysiasts. After World War II, the Globe fell on hard times and was reduced to holding kiddie matinees.

I found a seat next to an old man. He was unshaved, smelly, in tattered clothes. It was not unusual to find such bums scattered throughout the theater each week, their heads nodding on their chests, snoring. It was cheaper to buy a 25-cent ticket to the kiddie matinee than it was to pay a buck for a flophouse bed. There were other strange moviegoers, too. Teenage couples high up in the balcony, kissing. And an occasional woman, like my mother, in a flowered dress with shoulder pads, staring at the screen without interest, as if preoccupied with more weighty matters.

Via the most excellent site, Laughing Squid, dig this from Michael Gillette’s Bond Prints.

My new favorite thing: Calabrian Chilies in oil. Some heat but flavor like you wouldn’t believe.

Where have you been all my life?

Worth the expense. 

Love is love.

[Picture by Paul Malon via Booglarized]

“Wheat Field with a Lark,” By Vincent Van Gogh (1887)

Gore Vial:  R.I.P.

“I’m exactly as I appear,” Vidal once said of himself. “There is no warm, lovable person inside. Beneath my cold exterior, once you break the ice, you find cold water.”

Here’s an excerpt from his memoir about the Fifties.

Now this is unfair of me, because the clip is really about Mailer, but this is what I always think of when I think of Vidal:

Now we’re up in the big leagues/ Getting our turn at bat.

Word to Sherm…

Buttermilk French Toast from house to haus.

Indeed.