Welcome to the new-look Bronx Banter, brought to you by Laura Chambliss and Ken Arneson. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without them and I can’t thank them enough for their talent and dedication.

As you can see, we are now designed more like a magazine or newspaper so you can search out your favorite subjects and dig through the archives with ease. I have just begun to go through and tag the entire Bronx Banter archives but there is enough to get started (this will be a work-in-progress with the hope that eventually every Banter post will be categorized and filed).

Nine recent posts will appear at the top of the page in the photo gallery but the regular features like  Beat of the Day and Taster’s Cherce, will have their own spot.  You can also access all of the most recent posts on the sidebar at the right hand side of the page.

So dig in and have at it. As always, we’re thrilled to have you.

[Photograph by Ruth Orkin]

Check out this great new site, Sportsfeat.com where vintage sports writing is celebrated. Dig this piece from Sport Magazine on Earl Monroe by the Wood Man:

I didn’t follow basketball until 1967. Baseball, boxing, and the theater provided most of my entertainment. The theater has since become boring and there are no plays approaching the pleasure given by a good sporting event. Even a game against a last-place team holds the possibility of thrills, whereas in the theater all seems relatively predictable. Baseball remains a joy for me, but basketball has emerged as the most beautiful of sports. In basketball, more than in virtually any other sport, personal style shines brightest. It allows for eccentric, individual play.

Give the basketball to such diverse talents as Julius Erving, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Walt Frazier, Rick Barry, George McGinnis, Dave Bing, or Bob McAdoo, to name a tiny fraction, and you get dramatically distinctive styles of dribbling, passing, shooting, and defensive play. There is great room in basketball for demonstrable physical artistry that often can be compared to serious dance.

So there I was in 1967 leafing through the sports section of a newspaper one day (I still read that section first) when I came across the name Earl Monroe. I had never heard of Monroe, knew nothing of his daily rookie brilliance nor ever heard of his astounding feats at Winston-Salem. I just liked the name, free-floating, three syllables, and euphonious to me. Earl Monroe. The name worked. (Years later, when I did a film called Sleeper, I named myself Miles Monroe. On me it was kind of a funny name.) I came across Monroe’s name again every few days as I glanced over the basketball box scores in a casual, disinterested way and noticed that he invariably led the scoring column.

Papers on the subway this morning…

On the subway this morning…A shirty voice on the loud speaker. “Attention passengers. Please do not leave…Your Arm…Your Leg…or…Your Bag…in the door. Step all-the-way into the car so we don’t delay the train behind us.”

And then, as cold as ice: “Thank You and Have a Nice Day.”

Ah, some good, old fashioned New York irritation to greet the day.

[Picture by Edi Weitz]

Woman outside of Applebee’s this morning watching the Royal Wedding.

New York:  We Get the Money All Day Every Day.

[Photo Credit: Utopia Archive]

Last night I was walking to the subway in midtown when I saw a woman wearing a Curtis Granderson jersey. Don’t see many of those, I thought as I approached her. I must say hello. She had her back to me and was standing on the corner. Next to her, another woman was looking at a subway map.

“You guys need help getting to Yankee Stadium?” I asked when I reached them.

The woman in the Granderson jersey raised her eyebrow and looked me suspiciouisly. The kind of “What-Do-You-Want-From-Me?” look that you only see from out-of-towners.

I told her I was a Yankee fan, not to worry, then helped them out. We talked about the team for a minute. She told me that she was Curtis Granderson’s sister. I told her how well-liked he was by Yankee fans and now the suspicion was gone and she smiled, big and beautiful. And then she and her friend went to the game.

Tonight on American Experience a documentary about the Stonewall uprising.

Watch the full episode. See more American Experience.

This looks terrific.

Dig this cool ass photo gallery of old New York over at Neat Stuff.

I went to Citifield yesterday. Dig these two on line at Shake Shack…

I was there with my two cousins and the wife. We had a great time (Shake Shack, Mets Win, Shake Shack)…

That’s us singing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.”

Next Thursday, the National Geographic Channel will air, “Break it Down: Yankee Stadium,” an exclusive look at the demolition of the Stadium.

Looks like a must-watch for us.

Dag…

At the gym during my lunch hour today, the place scattered with middle-aged men an women grunting, working out their demons, relieving stress, shaping up their bodies for the summer. Two men stretched out on mats next to each other doing crunches.

One says to the other, “They laid off a bunch of people at my work last week.”

“No way.”

“Way. I’m feeling very vulnerable now.”

They work in silence for a moment and then:

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be okay. You are a hard worker.”

“Yeah, that and $2.25 will get you on the subway.”

They go back to grunting.

A photo gallery of New York in the ’70s from Animal New York.

Oh, yeah, and the Yanks take on the Texas Rangers. First time this season, first time since losing to the Rangers last October in the ALCS.

Cliff has the preview. We make the noise.

Let’s Go Yank-ees!

Look what I ran across again in Midtown yesterday? The Bronx Banter Scoretruck. I stopped to take a picture and the driver leaned out of the window and said, “You got to see the other side, it’s got the city on it an’ everything.”

But the light changed I didn’t have time. I said, “I want to see you guys update this for 2011!”

“Me too, bro! We’re going all the way.”

One day, I’ll catch the flip side of the truck. Good ol’ scoretruck.

From the Gothamist…man, does this ever look fuggin’ great (peace to Robby Rob for the link).

I gave up my seat for an older woman on the subway this morning. She was wearing a heavy green coat and carrying two shopping bags and a bulky purple purse.

I stood above her after she sat down. She had long black hair, speckled with gray, and a silk pink and purple scarf on her head, tied just under her chin. Something about her face, the shape of her mouth, reminded me of my grandmother on my father’s side. She raised her eyebrows as if she was having a conversation, which in fact she was, silently, with herself.

Her mouth chewed quickly and then I looked down and saw that she was holding a box of Dots. Eating Dots at 7:30 in the morning. It made me think–if you had to eat candy for breakfast, what would it be?

The other night I was in a cab with a chatty Russian driver from Brooklyn, a fat guy with a baby face.

He didn’t shut up the entire time which was okay with me. When he got to my apartment building he turned to me and said, “My father had four rules to life. One, whatever you do, try your best everyday. Some days won’t work out–hell, some days I can hardly leave my house–but try your best. Number two, don’t pay attention to what other people say because who cares? So, there you have it.”

“What about the other two?” I said.

“Ah, I forget. I have it written down somewhere.” He shrugged.  “What counts is this: Do your best everyday, disregard what they say.””

[Photo Credit: Wired.com]

And suddenly it is warm in New York, at least for a minute.

Skirts, skirts, where are all the ice cream skirts?

Look what I found in the BX this morning…

How about a little Talking Heads to get us going today?