Since we are talkin’ bout beverages…

(Yoooouuu, better) Watch your step, it’s March 15th…

I can’t imagine it’s ever too early for malt liquor.

Elegy to the Spanish Republic 34, by Robert Motherwell (1954)

I can’t remember wind like this; it’s close to scary.

Man, this would sure hit the spot right about now:

Dig this smooth cover of the Al Green classic:

Later sampled here:

…and here:

A couple of nights ago I got on the BX 7 and said hello to a driver that I didn’t recognize. It was rush hour, the bus was crowded, and the driver, who looked to be in his mid-fifties, drove in fits and starts, with a heavy foot on the break. It was enough to make you sick to your stomach, one of those instances that made me appreciate competent drivers.

I appreciate good workers in all walks of life–I’ve talked about my old barber at length in this space–which is why I make it a point to say “thank you” to the motorman–or woman–on the subway as I leave the train. I dig professionals. Who says “thanks” to them, after all? And yet, they help get us where we need to go. I always appreciate people who are professional because that’s what I aspire to be–though I don’t always succeed.

That in mind, I went to Resto, a Belgian-influenced restaurant on 29th street, with an old pal last night. I’ve been meaning to go for a minute now, mainly to try their hangover pasta, a dish that comes highly recommended. Unfortunately, they don’t serve it for dinner, but any disappointment I felt about that news was overshadowed by how we were greeted by the wait staff. It was early in the evening and only a few tables were filled. It seemed like a free-for-all in terms of who would wait on us because we were approached by three different people in quick succession.

The first dude hovered over out table. I said hello. He ignored me and asked if we wanted tap or bottled water. He left and was replaced by another guy who I said hello too as well. He said hi back, which was an improvement, but then he stumbled through the specials which I had to prompt him to share with us. When he left my friend said, “Dumb and dumber.”

“The food had better be good,” I said.

Then came the third waiter, a brunette, maybe in her early thirties, wearing the Resto uniform t-shirt with the slogan, “Funny, She Doesn’t Look Flemish.” She asked if she could help us with anything on the menu. Relieved, I asked her question after question and then asked her to recommend a salad. She didn’t hesitate in suggesting a raw kale salad with toasted almonds and brown butter vinagrette, “I get it every time I come here to eat.” She explained that the kale was  Tuscan kale, not at all the tough, dark green that we eat cooked. Since that looked like the last thing we’d order and it was the first thing she suggested, we ordered it.

She introduced her self as Lou Ann–it was something with a Lou, I think I’ve got it straight–and answered all of our questions thoughtfully and directly. She was assertive but not a hustler–and spoke to us in a plain, engaging manner. I told her that we were happy to have her helping us after the first two dipshits and she assured us that she’d be our waiter for the rest of the meal.

She was right about the kale salad. The greens had a slightly coarse, pleasing texture, and they were tender, without any bitterness. It was very simple but outstanding. We also had the deviled eggs, served over a fried pork toast, the most popular starter in the place according to Lou Ann. They were sinful but too heavy for me, a little greasy. One was enough for a taste.

We also both had burgers and they were simple but excellent, comparable, if not preferable to the ones I’ve recently had at The Spotted Pig and Five Napkin Burger.

I wanted to try dessert but there was no need. I resisted the urge to try the waffle ice cream sandwich or the apple crumble pie served with gingerbread ice cream and salty carmel. (Salty carmel? Drool.) I had a satisfying cup of tea instead and my pal ordered a regular cup of coffee that he said was so good that he’d come back just for the coffee. On our way out I interruped Lou Ann as she attended to another table to tell her that she was very good at her job. I hope her bosses notice–along with the more than tasty food, her service–attentive but not intrusive–helped make for a warm, pleasant evening.  A reason to go back, for sure.

Which I will do, for the Tuscan kale salad and a stab at that hangover pasta.

Embroidery: The Artist’s Mother, by Georges Seurat (1882-3)

Conte Crayon on Paper: 12 1/4 x 9 1/2 in. (31.2 x 24 cm)

The Sunshine Bores the Daylights Out of Me…

La Prière, by Man Ray (1930)

Yes my man Ron Carter is on the bass…

Nonchaloir, by John Singer Sargent, 1911

These are the Breaks…

Happy Days…

Two Tahitian Women, by Paul Gauguin (1899)

Yeah, let’s cool out to the fine sounds of Mr. Hank Mobley:

La vase paille, by Paul Cezanne (1895)

One goof deserves another…

La Comtesse d’Haussonville, by Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres (1843-44)

Seated Nude, by Richard Diebenkorn (1966)

Albert Brooks meets Albert King…Who knew the blues could be this funny?

13 Englishman-German-Jew Blues

From Albert Brooks’ classic out-of-print comedy album, A Star is Bought.

Because I just can’t get me enough of Jeff Bridges, here’s some more on the favorite to win the Best Actor Oscar next weekend…from Manohla Dargis in the Sunday Times:

In the early and mid 1970s he played a wide-eyed boxer, a sly con artist, a moonshiner turned car racer, a squealer turned suicide, a thief and a cattle rustler, working with veterans like John Huston (“Fat City” in 1972) and newcomers like Michael Cimino, who, for his 1974 debut, directed Mr. Bridges alongside Clint Eastwood in the crime story “Thunderbolt and Lightfoot.” The critics had started to pay attention. “Sometimes, just on his own,” Pauline Kael wrote of his performance as a stock-car racer in “The Last American Hero” (1973), “Jeff Bridges is enough to make a picture worth seeing.” Notably, she also compared him to Robert De Niro, who was about to set fire to screens in Martin Scorsese’s “Mean Streets.”

“He probably can’t do the outrageous explosive scenes that Robert De Niro brings off in ‘Mean Streets,’ ” she wrote. “But De Niro — a real winner — is best when he’s coming on and showing off. Jeff Bridges just moves into a role and lives in it — so deep in it that the little things seem to come straight from the character’s soul.”

I worked as an assistant film editor on The Big Lebowski which was cut on film and not a computer. During the shoot, our main responsibility in the cutting room was to mark-up the sound track and the picture and synch the footage that was shot the day before–these are called “rushes” or “dailies”, which would be screened for the directors later that day. We’d check the synch by screening the footage on a Steenbeck.

Watching Bridges work was a revelation–he simply was the Dude. Some actors need a bunch of takes before they really hit their stride but Bridges was that character, and in each take he gave a subtle variation on a line reading or a physical gesture. You could tell that he had a background in TV and film and not the theater. His approach and rhythm was different from most everyone else in the movie. He was so natural and extremely intelligent, providing the directors with all the material they’d need to piece together a winning performance.

Back to Dargis now, writing about Lebowski:

Whether shuffling around in a bathrobe or dropping a lighted joint in his lap, Mr. Bridges’s timing is brilliant. But it’s his ability to convey a profound, seemingly limitless sense of empathy that elevate the Dude beyond the usual Coen caricature. By facing every assault — repeated beatings, a friend’s death, the theft of a rug — with little more than an exclamation (“Man!”) and a toke, he and the Dude affirmed that an American hero doesn’t need a punch, just a punch line, something that Judd Apatow’s merry band of potheads know well.

In some respects “The Big Lebowski” was Mr. Bridges’s “Raging Bull,” a defining movie. He never established a long working relationship with a director as Mr. De Niro did with Martin Scorsese. Mr. Bridges has worked with significant filmmakers, just not necessarily in their finest hour. He has made questionable choices, but he has had a breadth of roles that should be the envy of most, and a depth few achieve. And he has staying power. It takes nothing away from his work in “Crazy Heart” to note that the film’s success and profile probably owe something to “Iron Man,” the 2008 blockbuster in which he pulled a Lex Luthor to play the villain and which gave him his highest-profile role in years. He was hilarious, absurd, necessary, and to watch him in that movie as well as in “Crazy Heart” is to be reminded yet again of how he abides.

Dargis singles-out Cutter’s Way (pictured above) and that’s a movie worth watching if you’ve never seen it. Terrific-look. The only drag is watching John Heard chew-up the scenery, but otherwise, it’s a good movie.

Finally, my boy Joey La P, sent me a link to this interview with Bridges on KCRW.