We’ve heard it before, but c’mon, Klap, tell us again.

[Drawing by Tim Souers]

Overheard on the subway this morning:

“I’m almost fifty, I can’t be locked up again, what kind of shit is that? It’s ridiculous. I need me a Jew lawyer.”

I looked up. Two women stood above me. The one talking wore black-rimmed glasses, a white turtleneck, underneath a navy blue pea coat, tight jeans, high heels. She and her friend spoke quickly in English and then Spanish. I wished I understood Spanish but I just picked up some familiar words and phrases: siempre, tam bein, mi amore, ay dios mio.

“…Yo, that fucking bitch is fierce as fuck,” the woman said. “I fucking love her.” I looked down and smiled.

Next to me a girl was doodling on the front page of a packet that read: AP Psychology, Mr. Wilson.

Pack of butts is $12 if not more these days. It’s hard to believe.

Check out this photo gallery of jocks and their smokes over at SI.com.

Prince Hal:

“I’m a finance geek,” Steinbrenner said Thursday. “I just feel that if you do well on the player development side, and you have a good farm system, you don’t need a $220 million payroll. You don’t. You can field every bit as good a team with young talent.”

To which our friend William Juliano tweeted:

Here’s what I heard Hal S’brenner say: “We don’t have to pay lux tax to win”. I would have problem if he said: “We won’t pay lux tax to win”

[Photo Credit: Volcalo89.5]

Peep this gallery of MAD magazine covers, 1952-55 from the wunnerful peoples at How to Be a Retronaut.

Dig it:

Check out this good article over at Nation’s Restaurant News by Bret Thorn on Szechuan Peppercorns:

Americans might not be drawn immediately to something that makes their mouth go numb, but Szechuan peppercorns, an Asian spice that does just that, is gaining popularity among some chefs.

Szechuan peppercorns are a key ingredient in Chinese five spice — which usually contains star anise, cloves, cinnamon and fennel as well — and the source of the numbness you might experience when eating a really good kung pao chicken.

“It’s a different spice than most people are used to,” said Steven Devereaux Green, the new executive chef of An New World Cuisine — “An” is Mandarin for “tranquility — in Cary, N.C. “It’s a lighter, more floral peppercorn, and it gives a distinct flavor,” he said.

Technically, Szechuan peppercorns aren’t peppercorns at all, but the fruit of the Zanthoxylum piperitum plant, a member of the citrus family — think of the numbing effect a twist from a lemon or orange peel can have. The Chinese call that sensation ma, and if you combine that with la — or the spicy burn of chile peppers — you have the ma la experience that is very much appreciated in Szechuan and other provinces in China’s chile belt, stretching from Yunnan to Hunan.

[Photo Credit: Steamy Kitchen]

Check out Bill Morris’ terrific interview with Scott Donaldson on the “Impossible Craft” of writing biography over at The Millions:

TM: Leon Edel, the biographer of Henry James, used to say that writing a biography is a little like falling in love. Would you agree with that?

SD: That’s a dodgy issue. If you fall in love with your subject, you can so identify with your subject that you lose something of your own self to it. The first two biographers of Malcolm Lowry, who was a suicide, they both killed themselves. Maybe they had that inclination to begin with. But there is this sense of falling out of one’s own personality into someone else’s. That can happen.

TM: There are also cases where the biographer comes to loathe the subject.

SD: Exactly.

TM: Look at Geoffrey Wolff writing about John O’Hara. That was a dark book. I saw Wolff give a talk in New York once, and he said he came to a point where he despised the man.

SD: I hadn’t heard that about Geoffrey, that’s interesting. Another case like that would be Jonathan Yardley writing a biography of Frederick Exley, and ending up hating the guy. There wasn’t much to like about him as a person, but he did some wonderful writing.

…TM: Why the impossible craft?

SD: Well, because if you try to construct the ideal figure for a biographer, you realize he or she has to be so many different kinds of things that no human being could possibly achieve. You’ve got to be a detective, you’ve got to be a drudge, tracking down every possible fact you can; at the same time you’ve got to be insightful as hell, you have to be psychologically acute, you have to take an objective view of things without losing sympathy for your subject. You don’t have to be unnecessarily tough. There’s a blurb from Peter Matthiessen on the back of my Fenton book that says I was tough where I needed to be. And that’s good. You want to be honest and tell the whole story, you don’t want it to be wrapped in any more concealments than are necessary, if any are. And let’s say that the most important reason of all it’s an impossible craft is that you cannot know what someone else’s life was like. You can try to come close. Charlie Fenton’s brother said to me recently that he thinks I caught Charlie. Well, that’s wonderful. That’s wonderful. That’s what you want to do.

Leave your Nine and home and bring your skills to the battle.

Diane Firstman hipped me to this little feature by Andrew Marchand on Francisco Cervelli.

[Photo Credit: Matt Slocum/AP]

Knicks at the Cavs. Git ’em, boys.

[Illustration by Lauren Doughty]

Rest in Peace.

Dig this photo gallery of 20 beautiful private libraries over at Flavorwire.

[Photo Credit: Lukas Wassmann]

Over at Vanity Fair, here’s a little piece on Anjelica Huston by Lillian Ross.

Comic book

Goodness

via: 1979 Semi-Finalist…

a most-cool site.

Here’s a tasty-looking carrot cake recipe over at the cool site, Cowgirl Chef.

Beautiful.

A friend of mine sent me this New York Times piece by Corey Kilgannon the other day:

Thirty-three years ago, an office worker named Ludwika Mickevicius left her native Poland and became Lucy the bartender in the East Village.

Her proletarian toughness and heavy Polish accent played well with the punks and rebels at Blanche’s bar on Avenue A, near Seventh Street. Ms. Mickevicius became so synonymous with the place, the owner renamed it Lucy’s and then sold her the business 15 years ago.

As the East Village cleaned up around it, Lucy’s remained the prototypical dive bar: a comfortable cave bathed in low red light, with a dingy dropped ceiling and worn linoleum on the floor. One arcade game, one jukebox, two pool tables, two small drinking tables, a dozen stools and a heavy oak bar. All are steeped in the character of Ms. Mickevicius: straightforward and practical. No frills, no nonsense, no whining.

“Many people hear about me and they come in and say, ‘Lucy, don’t change anything; we like it like this,’ ” she said. “Plus, change costs a lot of money.”

The story would have made Joseph Mitchell smile.

My friend used to go to Lucy’s years ago. He told me:

A past relationship of mine, we were a pair of heavy users, and recognized that we were in love. We hung out  at Lucy’s, never called it more than that, in the bag, leaning on the bar making sure we continued the “feeling better” part. We squeezed each other and made out. We loved to scream at each other.  Lucy had to break us up or shut us up. Her advice: “Why don’t you both get married”! Stoned and drunk we looked and said “why not?”

From that point forward we were going to get married. Started speaking to each other about living together. But within two weeks, I could not find her. I spoke to a friend of hers who had told me that she couldn’t handle it and just got in her car and drove west, ending up in San Francisco. She cleaned up and I finally heard from her, apologetic. She ended up marrying another artist/grease monkey out there and seemed happy.

Within a year I got a call, Her husband dryly stated that she died of an overdose, in a corner of a room with the needle stuck in her arm. He sent me her driver’s license and her death certificate along with one photo I always loved of her.

I still miss her, or maybe I really miss what could have been.

[Photo Credit: Robert Simonson]

From George King III in the Post: Hiroki Kuroda has been given a spot in the starting rotation. C.C. Sabathia, of course, is the ace. But nothing is a lock for the rest of the fellas:

Barring an injury, Girardi is going to have put somebody in the bullpen — Hughes, who has 49 relief appearances, and Garcia are the favorites — or send a pitcher to SWB.

“I am not trying to cause a stir,’’ Girardi said. “I am making sure that when we leave spring training we are taking the five best. And to be fair, there are no guarantees.’’

Girardi recalled Don Zimmer offering advice and is reminded of it every day.

“Don’t guarantee spots in spring training,’’ Zimmer told Girardi.

Around Yankeeland:

IIATMS runs down their list of the top 30 Yankee prospects.

Mike Axisa looks at the Russell Martin situation over at River Ave.

Rebecca Glass writes about Alex Rodriguez and Mark Teixeira while Steve Goldman fights off paranoid nightmare blues about the Yankees’ offense over at the Pinstriped Bible.

And over at Lo-Hud, Chad Jennings provides the notes of the day.

Via Pete Abe in the Boston Globe, Joe Girardi had some nice words for Jason Varitek who recently announced his retirement. Meanwhile, right on time, Bobby V is lobbing verbal grenades across enemy lines.

[Photo Credit: New York Times, from their amazing new tumblr site: The Lively Morgue]

Paintings by Dave Choate.