My brother, sister and I had bedtime when we were kids, through middle-school if I remember correctly. It got pushed later and later as we got older of course, but my mom was not into letting us stay up late during a school night to watch TV. So we’d start watching a movie and then have to go to bed halfway through. Mom would tuck us in, kiss us goodnight, and then go back to the living room of our small two-bedroom apartment and watch the rest of it.

She filled us in the next morning over breakfast, the story slowly coming back to her as she sipped her coffee, spread a triangle of Laughing Cow on a burnt piece of toast, her face still creased from the sheets, her voice still thick with sleep. Mom came to this country in 1967 from Belgium but never completely lost her French accent. When excited, her voice would get dramatically high, but not in the morning. It wasn’t sing-songy but full of melody, inflection and animation (nothing frustrated her more than watching a woman getting chased by the bad guys in a movie…”Kick him in the balls, kick him in the balls!” she’d say. “I don’t understand why they don’t just kick them in the balls.”)

In re-telling the movie, Ma never cut to the chase. She traced her way back into the story and then proceeded to give us a blow-by-blow account in painstaking detail. Sometimes she’d pause, not remembering the sequence of events, and spend five minutes sorting out what happened. Aloud. I would hang on her words, annoyed by her deliberate pace, not for one minute comprehending the way the female mind worked. I just wanted the payoff. What happened? The important stuff, not details of the scenery and costumes.

One movie that she told us about one morning was Cactus Flower, a movie I’ve never watched, but for a minute or two here or there, since. I like it better in my memory, listening to Mom, who loved Goldie Hawn and Walter Matthau, telling us what went down.

There was something about Goldie Hawn that she could relate to–they both had the ability to be light and fun, and were not afraid to laugh at themselves. They were both adorable when they were young but their looks changed as they got older and their voices got huskier. They were tested by life and proved not to be pushovers. Still, there was something, if not innocent, then refreshing and bubbly about both of them that links them together in my memory. I image that the Goldie Hawn of Cactus Flower brought my mother back to a time that I was too young to remember, when mom was young and new to this country. Before she had kids and her marriage got dark and ugly.

The Times on Stoner Cuisine. 

[Picture by Bags]

The media blitz promoting a re-issue of the classic Stones record Exile on Main Street has been a real turn-off–Keith Richards even hosted a quiz between innings on the HD TV at Yankee Stadium last weekend–but then again, as a friend said to me the other day, the Stones never have left a dollar on the table.

And, Exile is a great record, so it’s not all bad.

Neither is this:

“Right now in the standings, they should be comparing themselves to us,” [Matt] Garza said. “We’re three games up. They’re three games down. That’s what I see. Our numbers, staff-wise, are better than theirs . . . knock on wood. We’ve done our job. So why is there a need for comparison? They should be trying to compare to us, trying to do what we do because right now we have found a winning formula.”
(New York Post)

Matt Garza is a very good pitcher who does not lack confidence. He’s got a mouth, clearly, and he looks like a Herb, but that can be forgiven–being cocky isn’t the worst trait for a jock, and having zero fashion sense comes with the territory. (Glad to see Mr. Rodriguez has finally given up frosting his hair.) 

Oh, yeah, Garza has never won more than 11 games in a season and is 32-35 for his career.

He’s right, of course, the Rays are no joke but last I checked the Yanks are still the defending World Champs. And oh yeah, and it’s May.

But I like that he got a rise out of me–tough to do, I know. After all, there isn’t much to dislike about the Rays. Okay, Evan Longoria and James Shields and Garza have an arrogant countenance that is easy to root against when they are playing your team, but otherwise, how are you going to hate Joe Maddon? What’s dispicable about Carl Crawford? The Rays are Darlings, and deservedly so.

Kudos will go to Garza if he’s still talking tough come October…

On my out of my apartment building this morning, I run into an older guy carrying a laundry bag.

“Looks like a beautiful day out there,” he says.

“Sure does.”

“You going to work?”

What am I Jeff Lebowski? “Sure am,” I say.

“That’s a sure way to spoil a good day,” he says. “Or as my father liked to say, ‘Work is the curse of the drinking class.'”

My Old Man would have raised his glass and gotten a chuckle out of that one.

[Picture by Bags]

The Kiss, By Auguste Rodin (1889)

[I’ve wanted to incorporate a regular movie column to the music, art, and food features here at the Banter for more than a minute now, so here goes… My good pal, Matt Blankman, who is mad for movies, will contribute his take, as will some of the other regular Banter contributors. Here’s our debut, cue the lights…Alex Belth]

I’ve spent the last few days enjoying a rare moment of pop culture serendipity which has placed my brain squarely in the 1970s, the decade of my birth. First there’s been Josh Wilker’s fantastic new book Cardboard Gods (which we’ll assume you’re already familiar with to some extent if you’ve been keeping up with the Banter). Josh’s memoir isn’t just largely set in the 1970s, but it’s obviously shaped by it as well, and he sincerely attempts to make sense out of those strange times, how they came to pass and what they meant (and continue to mean) to him.

Soon after seeing Josh do a reading from “Cardboard Gods” last week, I found myself at home watching a new PBS documentary on the John V. Lindsay years (1966-1973) in New York City. To look back at those years now, with clear eyes, one can see many ways that the hope and exuberance of the 1960s gave way to the despair and confusion of the 1970s. How the New Frontier and Great Society faded and left us with gas lines, custom vans, pet rocks and malaise.

Finally, I watched a film from 1971 I’d never seen, The Hospital, which felt like a fictional illustration of so many of the issues present in both the Lindsay doc and Wilker’s book. The Hospital was written by Paddy Chayefsky, who was still enough of a big deal in the early 1970s that he may have been the only screenwriter ever to get his name above the title. Chayefsky’s script was directed by Arthur Hiller, a director who managed to have a lengthy career marked by a number of “big” movies and yet never once seemed to have any discernable personal style. (I’d call him a hack, except he always displayed a knack for comedic timing and knew to trust his script and cast. He may not have been much of an artist, but he wasn’t incompetent.)

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How about a fried green tomato blt? Why the hell not?

Over at SI.com, Cliff kicks off a season-long column about who is in the lead for post-season hardware. Phil Hughes holds the top spot for the AL Cy Young award. Next, two studs from Tampa Bay:

2. David Price, LHP, Rays

Season Stats: 5-1, 2.03 ERA, 1.07 WHIP, 7.2 K/9, 2.29 K/BB

Last Four Starts: 3-0, 1.24 ERA, 0.93 WHIP, 6.8 K/9, 2.44 K/BB

This is how it was supposed to go for Joba Chamberlain. The first pick in the 2007 draft, Price arrived in the majors in late 2008 and dominated out of the bullpen as the Rays surged to their first pennant. He then opened 2009 in Triple-A to limit his innings and returned to the majors in late-May as a starter. After some growing pains in ’09, Price seems to have arrived as a dominant ace this year. However, the big difference between his 2009 and 2010 performances, like Hughes, has been some good fortune on balls in play and fly balls staying in the park, both of which could regress as the season progresses. Still, Price has Cy Young stuff and pitches for the team with the best record in baseball, so don’t be surprised if he sticks around on this list.

3. Matt Garza, RHP, Rays

Season Stats: 5-1, 2.38 ERA, 1.08 WHIP, 7.6 K/9, 2.82 K/BB

Last Four Starts: 2-0, 2.60 ERA, 1.01 WHIP, 7.5 K/9, 3.83 K/BB

One could make an argument for Rays starters James Shields and Jeff Niemann as well, which should give some explanation as to why the Rays have been the best team in baseball thus far. The top four men in their rotation are a combined 17-3 with a 2.44 ERA and 24 quality starts in 30 appearances. Shields has the best peripherals of that quartet, Niemann the second-lowest ERA after Price, but Garza has a better overall line than either of those two as well as share of the AL lead in wins, the category that seems to speak the loudest to awards voters.

Tough loss last night. Time to shrug it off, cause hey, it’s never to early to feel sexy.

This is the one of the great can’t-miss records of all-time. Hard not to move to this one. It’s a Lady-Killer.

The rain she ain’t a-stoppin’. No telling if they are going to get this one in, but it don’t look likely…

I’m headed over to Two Boots in Grand Central to see Josh Wilker, Greg Prince and a Mess-o-Mets bloggers. Yee-haw.

[Photo Credit: No One Can Remeber the End]

Movin’ in the right direction…

Light in August, By Willem de Kooning (1947)

First thing that pops into my head about tonight’s game is: If Josh Beckett plunks someone will there be a fight? In a chat at Boston.com, our old chum, Pete Abraham thinks so. There hasn’t been a good brawl between the Yanks and Sox in a few years. I used to like fantasizing about them, but now, I’m not so keen on the idea. Jeez, the last thing the Yanks need is to get somebody else hurt.

How will the last portion of Derek Jeter’s career play itself out? That’s one of the burning questions we’ve been asking around these parts for a few years now. Joe Pos takes a look at Jeter’s chance to catch Pete Rose for the all-time hits record (slim to none), and checks out how poorly even the best middle infielders age:

– Cal Ripken had his last great offensive year at 30, and his last good offensive year as a part-time player at 38.

– Robin Yount moved from shortstop to center field, the move many people believe Jeter will eventually make. Even so, he was barely a league average hitter after 34, and he retired at 37.

– Craig Biggio played until he was 41 — but he posted a 95 OPS+ his last eight seasons.

– Rogers Hornsby was a part-time player after age 33.

– Frankie Frisch was a part-time player after age 35.

– Charlie Gehringer played until he was 39, but he hit .225 his last two seasons.

– Robbie Alomar was done as a great player at 34.

There are a some old-time middle-infielders — Eddie Collins, Luke Appling, Honus Wagner — who played until their young 40s. Wagner played in a very different time, Collins was a shell of himself, and Appling was a very different hitter from Jeter (no power, hardly ever struck out, etc.).

Truth is, when you look at Derek Jeter’s comps … none of them aged especially well, except maybe Johnny Damon who is aging as we speak. Barry Larkin, Alan Trammell, Ryne Sandberg, Lou Whitaker — none of these guys were effective players into their late 30s.

[Picture by Walker Evans]

From Nick Cafardo in the Boston Globe:

Red Sox fans won’t want to read this, but here goes.

Great players do great things. And Alex Rodriguez is one of the greatest.

Sox fans will resist every inkling in their bodies to admit that. They’ll bring up steroids, and incidents such as the ones with Jason Varitek and Dallas Braden. They’ll never give him his due, but the fact is he stepped to the plate with his team trailing, 9-7, in the bottom of the ninth inning last night and slammed a two-run homer on the first pitch from Jonathan Papelbon to tie the score.

Since we are still riding high from a sweet win, why not get right to some eats. Buddy of mine has been watching Treme and got to hankerin’ for some Hubig’s Pies, a New Orleans specialty.

I’ve never had one. They look sweet, gross, n’ great. Hu-dat?

[Photo Credit: YatBazaar]

Random thoughts from a crazy 11-9 Yankees victory that had highs, lows, and a lot of agita in between…

The lead-up to this quickie two-game set between the Yankees and the Red Sox featured several back stories:

1) The Red Sox were not a threat. They entered Monday night’s action in fourth place, three and a half games behind the Blue Jays, the starting pitching reduced to mediocrity, the bullpen reduced to tatters, and riddled by the combined struggles of David Ortiz and Victor Martinez, and injuries to Mike Cameron and Jacoby Ellsbury.

“The Red Sox don’t scare me,” so said 1050’s Seth Everett on Sunday. “They’re not a threat. David Ortiz doesn’t scare me. Not even now that he’s started to hit a little bit.”

“It’s not a rivalry right now,” said Mike Francesa. “It’s not a rivalry until the standings dictate that it’s a rivalry.”

To paraphrase Buster Olney, who subbed on “Mike and Mike in the Morning”: “By the end of May, Theo Epstein will evaluate and look at this team and restructure with 2011 in mind.”

Thank you, Cliff Corcoran, for bringing some sanity to the matter and giving the “Sox are dead” sayers a nice punch to the stomach. The Red Sox don’t suck and they proved it. (More on this later.)

2) Because Mariano Rivera hadn’t given up a run to date and was inhumanly infallible at Age 40, the fact that he yielded his first grand slam at home since 1995 and first grand slam since Bill Selby in July of 2002 to blow the save Sunday meant that something was wrong and the end was near. The likes of Olney, Craig Carton, and Mike Francesa all thankfully decried this notion. Olney said Rivera was allowed to have a bad day, Carton pointed to Teixeira’s drop of a line drive that would have ended the inning, and Francesa downplayed the importance of a Sunday game in May against a team the Yankees have owned in recent years.

3) Javier Vazquez is incapable of starting against the Red Sox, regardless of location. Monday morning, stories appeared stating that manager Joe Girardi planned on using Vazquez in the bullpen this week against the Sox and Rays to supplement a start. He struck out Kevin Youkilis on four pitches in the ninth inning — and was the winning pitcher — but even with that appearance, there’s a chance he may not start against the Mets at Citi Field Friday, in favor of the inimitable Sergio Meat Tray. If Vazquez is not good enough as a starter to get the Mets lineup out, in a National League ballpark, then why trot him out to the mound at all? That might be the kind of situation to get his confidence back.

In his postgame presser, Girardi got testy when the words “Javy Vazquez,” “skipped,” and “because of the Red Sox” were used in the same sentence.

“Absolutely not,” Girardi said. “I want to make this clear, OK?” His voice was stern and he was waving his hand in a karate chop motion. “He was not skipped because of that situation. Our bullpen is a mess. I needed a long guy today. We could not activate Chan Ho Park if you didn’t have a long man.”

Fine, but he was still skipped a second time during a Red Sox series. The reporter was right to ask the question. Girardi, to his credit, added that he didn’t want to use Vazquez because he still wanted to be able to start Vazquez on Friday, but with Joba Chamberlain unavailable after getting up twice to warm up on Saturday, and David Robertson unavailable, he had few options. After throwing just four pitches, Vazquez can still go Friday.

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Last Friday, David Ortiz hit two long home runs against the Tigers, reminding us that he can still turn on a fastball. At least for one night. He creamed both pitches, too. Shades of the old Big Papi not the Old Big Papi.  

The question remains: Is Ortiz back, or was that just a blip? Today at ESPN, Howard Bryant has a long profile on the Boston slugger:

“You have to remember how proud David is,” said his former Minnesota Twins roommate Torii Hunter. “He treats people well. He makes you feel good. He makes it fun to come to the ballpark and play this game. Now, he’s having a tough time, and it looks like the same people he used to make laugh want him out? How would you feel?”

…Last year was supposed to be old news. He had conquered the bad start. He thought he had proved that last year was not evidence of a trend.

“Do you understand that this is killing me?” he tells me one day. “Do you know when I’m going good I cannot sleep because I’m trying to remember everything that I did right so I can repeat it the next day and the next? And that’s when I’m going good. When I’m going bad, it’s even worse because everybody looks to me to be the guy who comes through for this ballclub. It’s like I never sleep anymore.”

“Untitled (Tomato and Knife)” By Richard Diebenkorn (1963)