We’re used to rooting against David Price round these parts though he’s always seemed like an agreeable enough fellow. Now, we’ll absolutely be rooting against him since he’s set to play for the Red Sox who signed him to a whooper of a deal (7 years with an opt-out after 3). Our chum Pete Abe broke the story.
Photo Credit: USATS
I’ve been doing some curating work over at Esquire Classic and if you’re a subscriber you can dig this selection of Woody Allen pieces. Today is Woody’s 80th birthday and I also contributed a short essay about the 6 months I spent working in Woody’s storage closet:
Woody still worked out of the Manhattan Film Center, his screening room and editing suite. The theater was comfortable and somber, the walls covered with an inviting soft forest-green flocked velvet. Woody had prints of current movies delivered to the center. On the weekends, his parents came in with a gang of their friends to watch the latest films. Woody’s father was said to be the real cutup in the family.
Just outside the center was a small storage room where, years earlier, a small workbench had been set up for Morse when she was pregnant. Otherwise it was a storage closet, full of editing supplies and regular office supplies—plus chips, soda, and beer (and the good kinds, too). I was set up in that closet, not quite ready for prime time.
Behind the bench, resting on the shelf next to reels of fill (old 35mm print) and leader (colored strips of film used at the front and tail of each reel), rested a gold mine of unreleased material: the original production of September, a movie Woody shot and then reshot with a new cast (Sam Shepard, part of the original cast, told Esquire in 1988 that Woody and Robert Altman were “pisspoor as actors’ directors”; Michael Keaton’s few weeks of dailies on The Purple Rose of Cairo before he was replaced by Jeff Daniels; and most tempting of them all, outtakes from Annie Hall. Two big reels of them.
What a treasure—tantalizing but unattainable gold. When I closed the door and was alone inside, I never felt so close and yet so far away from such a score; I felt like Woody looking helplessly at Sharon Stone in Stardust Memories. But you can’t “accidentally” borrow a reel of film for the evening. Even if you could sneak it out, which was possible, where would you watch it? Who the hell has a 35mm projector at home?
A definite type of situation.
Dig this excellent Vox piece by Dennis Perkins on the death of the video store (and you can substitute record store or even bookstore here):
In the last days of the store, daily life at the store got pretty intense. Longtime customers were bereft. We tried to comfort them, explaining how our owner had ensured that our whole collection would soon be available at the public library — for free, even! It didn’t help much. Almost to a one, they had the same reply: “But you won’t be there to help us.”
That was flattering and sad, and ultimately all we could do was agree: Yeah, we wouldn’t be there. There were tears and gifts and genuine concern (not unfounded) about what my coworkers and I would do to survive, a phenomenon both touching and illustrative of how identified we were with the role we played in their lives. A great video store is built on relationships, in some cases relationships that had gone on for years. Our customers were losing the people who’d helped shape their movie taste, who’d steered them toward things we knew they’d like and away from things they didn’t know they’d hate. We were losing the people that we, in our small way, had been able to help. We were all grieving the loss.
Over the years, we’d come to know our customers’ tastes, their pet peeves, and their soft spots. Our experience and movie expertise helped us make informed, intuitive leaps to find and fulfill entertainment needs they didn’t even always know they had. I’ve had parents hug me for introducing their kids to Miyazaki and The Iron Giant. Nice old ladies have baked me cookies for starting them off on The Wire. People knew they could come in with the vaguest description — “This guy has an eye patch, and I think there’s a mariachi band” — and we’d figure out they were looking for Cutter’s Way. Other times, they’d take a recommendation for Walking and Talking and come back saying, “Just give me everything Nicole Holofcener’s ever done.” If someone asked me for a great comedy, my first question was invariably, “What’s one comedy you’ve seen that you think is hilarious?” I’ve spent 20 minutes refining exactly how scary was too scary when picking out a horror movie. It’s a skill set you develop, a sensitivity to just the right vibrations of interest and aversion.
[Photo Via: Carey Martell]
Well hello again, welcome to Where & When: On Demand (!) Yes, you read that right. I’ve been so busy this year that you may have noticed a dearth of games in 2015; trust me these games are not easy to conceptualize to my particular standards, but I get a big kick out of the challenge for all of us. In fact, someone (I don’t know who) missed this feature so much that they actually asked when there’d be another… imagine that! Well, I can’t let such eager individuals down too long, so I scoured the nets to find something interesting and challenging to present before being devoured by the daily grind, which has become only too grinding of late (but eh, it’s a living).
But enough about me and my achy limbs, let’s play!
There’s not a whole lot in this fine picture to tell you when this photo was taken, so I’ll give you a hint: “This address almost became the site of the home team, baby!” Now if you know me well enough, I’m I’m sure you do at this point, you know that there’s gooey caramel hidden in that clue; you might even slump, groan or facepalm when the realization hits you; it’s just my thing. But after that, all you have to do is post the name of this building (Where) and a particular date or year that is significant to this location. Bonus if you know something significant that happened after the When date related to this location. As usual, the first person with the correct answers will win the coveted Root Beer of choice (so many good ones to choose from), while the rest of the players will enjoy a cool cream soda as we all regale each other around the Hot Stove. The bonus winner(s) will get a warm brownie to enjoy the cooling Fall weather as we approach the Happy Holiday season.
So, as per special request, enjoy the game and hopefully I can catch up with you all and maybe have some more challenges through the rest of the year. Happy Hunting!
Catching up with the Yanks is the ever-excellent Chad Jennings. A good over-view of what’s what on an otherwise slow news day round these parts.
Meanwhile, slide on over to Esquire Classic and check out the little Q&A I did with my pal John Ed Bradley on a story he once wrote for Esky on Lawrence Taylor.
Peter Guralnick’s new biography, Sam Phillips: The Man Who Invented Rock ‘n’ Roll, looks promising.
From Dwight Garner’s review in the Times:
Phillips was ahead of his time. So-called race records were selling in the early 1950s, but not widely. The singles he recorded in Memphis weren’t moving. He was in danger of going out of business. When the mystery train that was Presley came around the bend, he was not too stupid to climb aboard.
It’s worth pausing, for a moment, to consider how lucky it was that Presley walked into Phillips’s studio and not someone else’s. Another producer (that term had not yet come into use in the record industry) might have put him to work singing country-pop ditties with string sections. He might have been another Eddy Arnold.
Phillips already had an aesthetic ethos. In some ways, he had prepared his whole life for Elvis’s arrival. Part of Phillips’s ethos, Mr. Guralnick writes, was his “sense that there were all these people of little education and even less social standing, both black and white, who had so much to say but were prohibited from saying it.”
And here’s Louis Menand in the New Yorker:
“We Record Anything—Anywhere—Anytime” was the slogan. This meant a lot of church services, weddings, and funerals, but Phillips’s dream, the reason that he set up the studio, was to have a place where any aspiring musician could come in and try out, no questions asked. Phillips would listen and offer suggestions and encouragement. If he liked what he heard, he would record it. For a fee, the performer could cut his or her own record.
Phillips was extremely good at this. He was patient with the musicians; he was adept with the technology; above all, he was supportive. He hated formulas. He thought that music was about self-expression, and he liked songs that were different. The pop sound in 1950 was smooth and harmonic. Phillips preferred imperfection. It made the music sound alive and authentic. Word got around, and musicians no one else would record started turning up at the Memphis Recording Service. Phillips got them to believe in him by getting them to believe in themselves.
Dallas and Jake. No soup for Zach.
S’long JR Muphy, hello Aaron Hicks.
And say, children: what does it all mean?
Murphy was a nice Yankee. Wish the dude good luck.
I’ve been reading through Joy Ride, John Lahr’s recent anthology of theater criticism and personality profiles. In the introduction, he has this to say about his editor at The New Yorker, Deborah Treisman:
But, short or long, the mind-meld never lost its thrill. On the edited page, you are still you, but somehow brighter, clearer, smoother, almost glamorous. You words dip and swing with their proper music; your hard-won meanings land with their intended clout. No wonder the relationship feels so intimate and joyous. You are being given the greatest of gifts: to be your best self in print.
This is so true and when you’re lucky enough to work with an editor like this it is something to be savored. I love that Lahr was generous enough to point this out.
[Photo Credit: Graham Turner]
Oh, what a painful loss for the Mets. They had a great season. It didn’t end well.
Photo via: Getty Images
It’s Matt Harvey, the so-called Dark Knight with the season on the line in Game 5 tonight in Queens.
The fans have been great at Citi Field. Last game home game of the season, be beautiful to end it on a high note.
Volquez on the hill for the Royals and it’s hard not to root for him after his father’s death. Whole lot on the table…
Let’s Go Base-ball!
Drawing by the great Frank Miller.
Tough break for Daniel Murphy and the Mets last night. Series ain’t over yet, though.
New York Marathon this morning as the clocks turn back.
Enjoy the afternoon, we’ll see ya for Game 5 tonight.
Photo Credit: contemporist via This Isn’t Happiness
This is gonna be a Halloween to remember for Mets fans–either in a good way or an awful way. We shall soon find out but it says here that they win again and even the Serious.
I know Chris Young is a great story but can he do it again? I’d put my money on the kid the Mets have going for them instead.
Never mind the cavity creeps:
Let’s Go Base-balls!
Thor’s on the hill as the Whirled Serious moves to Queens. Gonna be some noise tonight. The kid Ventura’s got the redass and it’s easy to see him unravelling if things get tight; on the other hand, I can see him being a stud and just shutting the Mets down. Hopefully, that won’t happen.
Pulling for the Mets to make this a series. Set up a big Game 4 tomorrow for Halloween.
Be nice to see all those Met fans cheering–loud and proud: “You Gotta Believe!”
Let’s Go Base-ball.
Drawing by Walt Simonson
Gonna be some fine feasting’ for the Mets tonightski. I figure they’ll cream the Royals and return home tied-up.
Let’s Go Base-ball!
[Photo Via: Groupon]
