Welcome back, y’all.

Here’s a little more cheese for you…

Pat Jordan is 69 years old and still writing. He jokingly refers to himself as the “Last Knight of the Freelance,” and it’s true, he’s the last guy of his generation to still make a living as a freelance magazine writer. He writes for the dough but he also writes because that’s what he does, that’s who he is–he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he wasn’t working.

Jordan takes on another old pro, William Shatner in a profile that appears in this week’s New York Times Magazine:

Shatner was interviewed once by a snarky British talk-show host, who showed scenes from Shatner’s TV cop show, “T. J. Hooker,” and asked, “What do you think about your acting?” Shatner replied: “Oh, I was terrible. How could I have played it that way?” Outside Starbucks, Shatner said to me: “If someone criticizes my acting, they may be right. Sometimes you shouldn’t work so hard” to entertain. Then, softly, he said: “I never thought of myself as a great actor, like Olivier. I was a working actor. I entertained people and always tried to be terrific at whatever it was.” His problem and his salvation. He played so many different roles that “people couldn’t define me like they could De Niro. I took whatever work came my way to pay the bills, even if it wasn’t a decent role.” His motto was “Work equals work,” which destroyed any hope he had of being taken seriously as an actor but also brought him longevity, wealth and fame. “I was always grubbing,” he said. “But I was saying the words somewhere.” He leaned toward me and said, with mock import, “I love to evoke the bones and meat and thoughts of characters.” He put his hand on my knee, squeezed gently, then said with breathless intimacy: “I said this one line for Priceline 20 times. I struggled to get the nuance. My silence reverberated in the ether.” His face was close to mine, as if imparting a great secret. “If you add a car and a hotel room, you will get an even better price from Priceline.com.” I nodded. “See! You got it!” Then, matter-of-factly, he straightened up and emphasized how much satisfaction that one line gave him. “A pro takes the job knowing it’s not a great role, just a paying job. But every word has music in it. My satisfaction is trying to reach that music.”

At the risk of turning into John Cusak, here’s a dopey tuneski from the Eighties:

Simple. Light. Tasty. From Whats Gaby Cooking:

Low n slow, y’all:

Originals…

True School:

Over at the Modern, there’s a great sculpture by Picasso of a goat:

Busta Rhymes with The Artifacts. Always liked this dusty-ass-sounding record.

1-03 C’mon Wit Da Git Down Featuring

Whenever I hear the name Carl Crawford I think of this guy:

Over at the Pinstriped Bible, the young perfessor, Steve Goldman examines the debate Carl Crawford/Brett Gardner debate:

Earlier this season, at about the moment Gardner got hurt, I asked if his performance had rendered the Yankees’ presumed pursuit of soon-to-be free agent Carl Crawford unnecessary. At that time, Gardner had outperformed the veteran; Crawford was hitting .310/.373/.488 when Gardner got hurt. His superior extra-base abilities didn’t quite close the gap created by Gardner’s greater patience, while his four-steal advantage came at the cost of three additional caught stealing.

Since Gardner’s wrist was damaged, Crawford has had the advantage on Gardner, though not quite as decisively as you might think. In 50 games from July 1 to present, he has hit .276/.310/.458 with 13 steals and one caught stealing. Crawford still hits with more authority than Gardner—almost everyone does—but his aggression has, at least in this phase of his career, made him below-average at getting on base. You might think that this urge to swing might be a consequence of his recent move to the third spot in the order, down from his traditional number two, but Crawford’s career OBP is only .336, which is about league-average for 2002-2010, the years of his career (the league OBP is .329 this season).

By most measures, Crawford is having his best season this year, but only by a little bit. With the exception of his 2008 injury season, he’s been very consistent since coming into his full powers in 2005. His overall rates for that span are .301/.345/.459, and this year’s total performance is virtually indistinguishable from those other seasons. That is one huge advantage that he has over Gardner: a buyer knows what he’s going to get. All we know of Gardner is that he had a nice three months, a bad two months, and currently has a nice little five-game hitting streak going (7-for-16) that may or may not augur a return to his earlier form.

And now, for something completely different…check out an episode of the Goon Show. This British radio show from the 1950s was the brainchild of brilliant and demented Spike Milligan, the show that made Peter Sellers a star. Before Beyond the Fringe and the Pythons, there were the Goons.

Diggum, smack the silliness.

614 The Greenslade Story

Keep up!

Check out this tasty-looking pesto from Lucullian Delights:

The New Yorker has a series of good, interesting blogs, none better than Photo Booth, which covers the world of Photography.

What’s a matter with you, boy?

I don’t know if Thunderbolt and Lightfoot, the Clint Eastwood vehicle featuring a young Jeff Bridges, is a sleeper but if you have never seen it, do yourself a favor and put it to the top of your Netflix queue. It was Michael Cimino’s directorial debut. George Kennedy is terrific, as usual, in a supporting role.

Speaking of Cimino, check out this 2002 feature on the director from Vanity Fair.

Mr. Hughes goes for the Bomb Squad tonight.

Flip it, kid.

Chad Jennings has the line-up:

Brett Gardner LF
Derek Jeter SS
Mark Teixeira 1B
Robinson Cano 2B
Nick Swisher RF
Jorge Posada C
Marcus Thames DH
Curtis Granderson CF
Ramiro Pena 3B

Let’s Go Yan-Kees!

Today, Picasso paints a cat in action:

Since I brought up Joe Jackson yesterday, here’s a cut from a cool record of covers he once did:

David Lebovitz takes a food tour of New York.

Dig in.

I come from a bookish family but I didn’t much like reading as a kid. Then, in middle school, like so many other kids, I tore through S.E. Hinton’s four novels. Later, I saw all of the movie adaptations, but the one I like most was the first one, Tex.

It is an unaffected movie that features the easy, natural gifts of its star, Matt Dillion. Meg Tilly and Emilio Estevez are winning too, and yup, that’s old Ben Johnson who plays their father. Jim Metzler is also strong as Tex’s put-upon older brother. There is nothing loud about this movie, but the yearning and discomfort of a parentless home is evoked in such a way that seems authentic and true. I feel sad and anxious just thinking about it.

I’ve always loved this drawing by Pablo Picasso:

When in doubt, turn to Jacques: