2010

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“The stranger picked up a razor and invited her to have a shave.”

If I’ve learned one thing from reading Old Timey newspapers, it’s that nothing good ever happened in a New York barbershop during the 1880s. No one ever went in, got a shave, and emerged the better. These shops were full of nonstop drunkenness, insults and bloody fisticuffs. You would have been safer at a cock fight in an opium den.

In a story I came across  recently in the February 12, 1887 issue of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, a young woman being teased about her alleged hirsuteness led to a wild melee. The story:

“Julia McEvoy, a rather good looking young woman, who says she is 23 years old, was arrested yesterday afternoon by Officer Stevens, of the Sixth Sub Precinct, on a charge of malicious mischief preferred against her by Michael Bria, an Italian barber, whose store is at 455 Graham avenue. Miss McEvoy was very indignant over her arrest and stoutly proclaimed her innocence. When questioned she said she had been the barber’s housekeeper.

She was in the store yesterday afternoon when a friend of her employer’s entered. He seemed to be in a jocular mood and amused himself by poking fun at Miss McEvoy. The latter did not mind this until the stranger picked up a razor and invited her to have a shave. The young woman considered that this involved an unpleasant implication and became indignant at the proposition. She informed the stranger that he was carrying this fun too far, and requested him to desist. He thought, however, that the fun was very mild, and had no intention of relinquishing it. Indeed, Miss McEvoy’s fiery eyes only served to give it keener relish.

Then, according to the young woman’s story, he chased her about the store. It was a very lively chase. They jumped over and around chairs and tables, most of which were soon upset. Though Miss McEvoy is a nimble young woman, she was not agile enough for her tormentor, her skirts seriously impeding her movements. The stranger finally caught her and renewed his proposition to shave her. Miss McEvoy, by that time was really angry, and after she expressed her opinion of him in a manner more vigorous than the man thought the occasion demanded. He also grew angry and a war of words ensued between the two.

The hot Southern blood of the stranger, who was an Italian, was soon aroused, and when Miss McEvoy expressed her opinion of him in a more unendurable form than she had yet used he seized her and pitched her through a large window pane of glass. She escaped without injury, and was about to re-enter the store when the officer appeared. Mr. Bria, who had been absent a part of the time, returned at this moment, and seeing the damage done to this property made the charge against her on which she was arrested.

Miss McEvoy, when taken to the station house. expressed the belief that it was rather cruel to have her arrested after being used as an irresponsible missile instead of being an actual misdemeanant. When Mr. Bria was seen this morning he seemed to have some doubts as to who the actual culprit was. He insinuated that Miss McEvoy had been drinking a little beer. She was not really his housekeeper, but was only employed by him from day to day. The stranger’s name could not be learned. When the case was called in Justice Naecher’s Court this morning Bria did not appear, and Miss McEvoy was discharged.”

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Maybe the couch belongs to that whiny guy with all the hair from the Counting Crows. (Image by Snowdog.)

CELEBRITY COUCH – OWNED BY SINGER! – $1000 (Midtown West)

A famous singer owned this freaking couch. It costs $900 brand new at IKEA. It was given to me as a gift.

Now i am moving out of my apartment and i need to sell it. The thing is super comfortable AND friends can sleep on this thing… if you take the back pillows off and put them on the ground, you can fit probably 5 people as guests sleeping over….

*2 guests (a couple) laying together on one leg of the “L” couch (with the back pillows on the ground, creating more room on the L leg”

*1 guest (an individual) laying other leg of the “L” couch (*Note: you’d probably want to be foot-to-foot, not head-to-head meeting at the middle of the L, because otherwise it could be awkward)

*with the back pillows on the floor, you can create a mattress by putting them side-by-side, putting room for 2 more.

So actually you could fit 6 people if you put two couples on the couch… niia hahaha!!!

the bottom line is this… the couch below is the couch we got! BUT… it is the property of a singer!!! the singer is an awesome artist that you will know. You can probably charge guests $20.00 each to sit on the couch. possibly providing a sustainable revenue stream.

The couch is about a year old, and has a small wine stain on it. Nothing a small patch can’t fix.

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Afflictor: Helping giant street penguins in Tokyo fall asleep against buildings since 2009. (Image by Toshihiro Oimatsu.)

Inventor Lee de Forest: I was a tremendous prick, but terribly important.

Lee de Forest was one of the most important inventors in modern times, but don’t feel bad if you haven’t heard of him. The man is as forgotten as his invention, the Audion, is ubiquitous. The vexing inventor’s 1906 discovery made audio amplification possible, giving new life to the flagging radio industry and making possible any number of media. Gizmodo has posted an excerpt from Nicholas Carr’s new book, The Shallows, which provides insight into de Forest.  An excerpt:

“Even when judged by the high standards set by America’s mad-genius inventors, de Forest was an oddball. Nasty, ill-favored, and generally despised–in high school he was voted ‘homeliest boy’ in his class–he was propelled by an enormous ego and an equally outsized inferiority complex. When he wasn’t marrying or divorcing a wife, alienating a colleague, or leading a business to ruin, he was usually in court defending himself against charges of fraud or patent infringement–or pressing his own suit against one of his many enemies.

De Forest grew up in Alabama, the son of a schoolmaster. After earning a doctorate in engineering from Yale in 1896, he spent a decade fiddling with the latest radio and telegraph technology, desperately seeking the breakthrough that would make his name and fortune. In 1906, his moment arrived. Without quite knowing what he was doing, he took a standard two-pole vacuum tube, which sent an electric current from one wire (the filament) to a second (the plate), and he added a third wire to it, turning the diode into a triode. He found that when he sent a small electric charge into the third wire–the grid–it boosted the strength of the current running between the filament and the plate. The device, he explained in a patent application, could be adapted ‘for amplifying feeble electric currents.’

De Forest’s seemingly modest invention turned out to be a world changer. Because it could be used to amplify an electrical signal, it could also be used to amplify audio transmissions sent and received as radio waves. Up to then, radios had been of limited use because their signals faded so quickly. With the Audion to boost the signals, long-distance wireless transmissions became possible, setting the stage for radio broadcasting. The Audion became, as well, a critical component of the new telephone system, enabling people on opposite sides of the country, or the world, to hear each other talk.

De Forest couldn’t have known it at the time, but he had inaugurated the age of electronics.”

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Sharron Angle: "I am the Tea Party." (Image by Achim-Raschka.)

Sharron Angle: I feel the same about legalizing alcohol. The effect on society is so great that I’m just not a real proponent of legalizing any drug or encouraging any drug abuse.

Decoder: Yet the thought of me being Senator is enough to make anyone want to get wasted.

Sharron Angle: I’m elected by the people to protect, and I think that law should protect.

Decoder: Although I vilify Obama for universal healthcare, which is aimed at protecting people.

Sharron Angle: There are new people who got into politics after Obama won.

Decoder: Sure, I know, the timing seems funny. A black guy gets to be President and all of a sudden a lot of fringy white people get interested in politics. But it’s completely a coincidence.

Sharron Angle: Right now, we say in a traditional home one parent stays home with the children and the other provides the financial support for that family. That is the acceptable and right thing to do. If we begin to expand that, not only do we dilute the resources that are available, we begin to dilute things like health care, retirement, all the things offered to families that help them be a family.

Oh no, dude! Sharron Angle might get elected Senator! (Image by Dota.)

Decoder: In addition to being completely unrealistic, this statement is aimed at making sure that no families with two working parents will vote for Republicans. We’ve already alienated Latinos, African-Americans and many other groups, but there are still too many people who might vote for the Party. I want to be certain that the GOP has the narrowest base possible, so that we will never win any elections. In this way, we will take back the government.

Sharron Angle: I’ve never been a Sunday only kind of Christian.

Decoder: I’m preachy and annoying 24/7.

Sharron Angle: I’m tired of some people calling me wacky.

Decoder: I’m not tired of being wacky–just of people accurately calling me that.

Sharron Angle: Government is not the answer.

Decoder: And the question is: Where should I be working?

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An automobile for fans of Buckminster Fuller, the Dynasphere was a 1932 mono-wheeled electric vehicle invented by Dr. J. A. Purves. It weighed a thousand pounds and looked incredibly stupid and dangerous, though you have to admire its experiment with electricity. I don’t want to be run over and killed by any car, but I would feel even worse if one that looked like this did me in. Here’s a British newsreel of the Dynasphere’s unveiling. Enjoy.

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“You think the Kardashians lack genius?” (Image by Martin Schneider.)

Robert Birnbaum of the Morning News has a fun, freewheeling interview with New Yorker editor David Remnick. The Q&A is pegged to Remnick’s new book about Obama, but the two cover a number of topics, both serious and silly, in an off-the-cuff manner. A few excerpts follow.

___________________

Robert Birnbaum:

What is going to happen with newspapers and such?

David Remnick:

I’m not a fortune teller. I know it would be interesting if I sat here and told you without a trace of uncertainty that in 10 years all magazines are going to be projected on screens on the side of the Empire State Building and the Prudential Building. Or alternately, they would be projected on the inside of your sunglasses in the summertime. I don’t know. Here’s what my job is, and I share that with other editors, too: We are in this moment of technological uncertainty and transition. The goal for me is to make sure we find a way, willy-nilly, to be healthy so that we can do the thing itself. The thing itself is what I care about most. Given a choice between the survival of the long-form narrative journalism, criticism, cartooning—all the things that we do—and print itself, there is no contest. No contest. I, at the age of 51, may still think, for me, the best technology for reading the New Yorker at this moment is the print version. But that’s just me. If your son, decides otherwise, that he wants to read it on an iPad, kenahorah [so be it].

Remnick’s “The Devil Problem and Other True Stories” is one of my favorite non-fiction collections.

Robert Birnbaum:

I have to say I am befuddled by what flits across my TV screen—who are these Kondrashian [sic] people?

David Remnick

You think they lack genius?

Robert Birnbaum

Uh.

David Remnick

(laughs)

Robert Birnbaum

Someone must have genius associated with them.

David Remnick

Something I have never found interesting at all—two unbelievably popular things on television. One is reality television—it never interested me at all. And the other is this neo-talent-show stuff, like American Idol. The reason I don’t like American Idol is that a lot of the talent seems to be a replication of the singing style of Mariah Carey and Whitney Huston. I don’t need it.

___________________

David Remnick

David Owen is a fantastic golf writer.

Robert Birnbaum

I find golf to be the least interesting of pastimes.

David Remnick

To me it looks like a nervous breakdown with a stick.

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Old Seattle shop pictured on the cover is called "Elephant Store."

On a trip to Seattle some years back, I picked up this fun book, at the Elliott Bay Book Company, by the late area historian Murray Morgan. It tells the tale of some of the most colorful characters in the city’s history, including John Considine, who risked life and limb to bring vaudeville and other more raffish entertainments (gambling, prostitution, etc.) to Seattle during the boom time of the Klondike Gold Rush.

And I’m not kidding when I say he risked his life. Considine had a long-running feud with Police Chief William L. Meredith. After Considine exposed some corruption on the Chief’s part and got him fired, things turned really ugly. In 1901, Meredith first slandered Considine by claiming he impregnated a 17-year-old contortionist and paid for her abortion, and then he shot Considine at point-blank range. Considine was wounded, but not fatally. Meredith wasn’t so lucky when Considine returned fire. Since the deposed lawman had started the shootout, Considine was acquitted by the jury.

Considine eventually cleaned up his ways and brought the first superior movie theater to Seattle and later became involved in the budding motion picture business in Los Angeles. But before all of that, there were the rowdy days of the illicit People’s Theater. Due to anti-vice efforts and economic problems, Considine briefly lost control of the theater. In 1897, he schemed to get it back. An excerpt from Morgan’s book:

The Seattle street where John Considine and William L. Meredith had their fatal gun battle.

“One the evening of the last Thursday in December 1897, a large man wearing a brown derby, a gray raincape, and white gloves, and leading a brindle bulldog on a silver chain, strolled through the rain down Second Avenue South, gravely declining the invitation of streetwalkers and, on occasion, raising his cane in salute to a friend. He paused for a moment at the corner of Second Avenue and Washington to watch the men going down the steps into the People’s Theater. Even on a miserable midwinter night the place was drawing well; young sports out on the town, loggers in for the holidays, businessmen, and, most of all, lonesome Easterners waiting for ships bound for Alaska.

The big man watched thoughtfully, then went to the head of the steps. He frowned at the black-and-gold sign that read, ‘People’s Theater. Moses Goldsmith, Prop.’ Nailed to the wall was a blackboard on which had been written in crayon: ‘See Lady Osmena change clothes in total darkness in a lion cage.’

He went down the steps, paid fifty cents for a seat near the stage, ordered a glass of ‘water plain, unadorned water,’ from an amazed waitress, and turned his attention to the crowd. The place was full. The bar, which stretched along one wall, was crowded; three bartenders were kept busy. Nearly every table was occupied. Women with painted cheeks and skirts nearly up to their knees roamed the room, smiling at the patrons; from time to time the girls went to the stage and sang a loud song or danced an awkward dance. From the curtained box seats in the low balcony came the laughter and shouts and giggles and, most important, a steady ringing of bells as the box-hustlers summoned waiters with drinks.

The place was a gold mine, John Considine decided, a real gold mine. He’d have to get it back.”

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Constance Towers is a bewigged beauty who pummels her pimp.

A pulpy film with a stony heart, The Naked Kiss is Samuel Fuller’s loony, melodramatic 1964 look at the hypocrisy of American life, just as the country was about to go through the very real and painful process of peeling off the scab covering its wounds.

The small town of Grantville is visited by an unlikely reformer in the person of beautiful prostitute Kelly (Constance Towers), who decides to go straight after arriving in the burg and quickly bedding police detective Griff (Anthony Eisner). It’s not that the lawman has talked sense into her. Griff’s actually furious when he finds out she’s become an orthopedic nurse’s assistant for disabled children instead of heading where he sent her: to work as a hooker for a friend of his in a neighboring town, a madame named Candy. Even though it seems just about everyone in Grantville has a similarly duplicitous agenda, Kelly develops into a feminist hero, using any means necessary to keep a friend from pouring her life down the drain for quick cash at Candy’s Place, and quietly raising money for the same woman when she becomes pregnant. Kelly’s life is further complicated when she is courted by the town founder’s wealthy scion, J.L. Grant (Michael Dante). You can see the trouble in Grant’s eyes even when he blinks.

As he often did, Fuller rewords tabloid headlines into something of a an odd, shocking protest letter in The Naked Kiss. In the choppy film’s manic opening scene, Kelly batters her drunken pimp with such fury that her wig flies off, revealing her fully shaved head. She’s crazed and exposed, just as all of Grantville will soon be. (Available from Netflix and other outlets.)

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Thanks to the always great Boing Boing for pointing me in the direction of this insane video. It’s a 1979 clip from Kids Are People, Too which features punk rocker Pattti Smith singing the tune Debby Boone made famous, accompanied on piano by the song’s composer, Joseph Brooks, who is currently accused of being a serial rapist. At the very end of Smith’s performance, before going to a commercial break, host Michael Young looks into the camera and says, “Don’t go away. There’s still more to come. We have Count Dracula and Adam Rich.” The children look small and confused. Your mind will be blown.

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Sorry to barge in unexpectedly, Judge, but I really had to use the can. (Image by Liza Phoenix.)

If the May 8, 1902 issue of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle is to be believed, the entire borough was being invaded by ominous sea monsters. That’s the impression you get from this hyperbolic article about a former New York Supreme Court Justice, whose home had strange things coming out of the bathroom faucets. Less than a year after this article was written, Justice Fredric A. Ward was found dead in his Remsen Street abode, but it was assumed he died from natural causes and not from being strangled by an octopus that crawled out of his toilet. An excerpt from the article subtitled, “No Uncommon Thing, He Has Ascertained, to Receive Visits From Sea Monsters”:

“Former Justice of the Supreme Court Frederic A. Ward has just moved to his new house, at 52 Remsen street. Now Mr. Ward is wishing that he hadn’t. He has found things in his new house not to his liking–not a bit. They are in his bathtubs.

In Justice Ward’s new house are two beautiful bathrooms. He was delighted with them the first day he saw them. That was before he took possession of the house. Now the former Supreme Court Justice is wondering if he was not deceived by the appearance of those bathrooms and of the exquisite bathtubs, done in mosaics, which looked so handsome and so inviting.

It is all because of the water. The first time Mr. Ward turned on the water in the bathtubs, there came flowing out of the pipe such a motley assemblage of sea monsters, garden truck, insects and discarded vegetables that he was for a moment taken back with astonishment. After ordering the servants to clean out the tub, Mr. Ward turned the pipe on again. Still the procession came and was still coming when Mr. Ward decided to bring the parade to a halt.

Judge Judy: A tarantula once stole my lip balm. (Image by Susan Roberts.)

The next day the former Supreme Court Justice determined to try again. He met with the same success. The sea monsters still continued to come, grass of many shades oozed out of the pipes, huge chunks of seaweed that looked as if they had done service in the Brooklyn water system for a number of years followed and the Justice threw up his hands in despair. Mr. Ward then called the attention of the previous tenant who had preceded him to the condition of the water. To his great surprise, Mr. Ward was informed that it was no unusual thing to receive visits periodically from the sea animals described by the former Justice. The latter, however, has determined to cut them short and has written a letter to Water Commissioner Dougherty calling the latter’s attention to the polluted condition of the water being supplied to his house.

Mr. Ward in his letter to the Water Commissioner says that not only is the water full of insects, moss and other disagreeable things, but it is of a muddy and filthy nature, making bathing an impossibility.”

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"Body not included." (Image by Scott Sanchez.)

Ambulance for sale (coolest ride in town) – $2200 (Beacon)

T1979 Ford ambulance in good to excellent condition, 50K, title in hand, body just about perfect with some light surface rust on the door edges, convert to bike hauler, camper or just ride around with the lights flashing and the sirens on to piss off your neighbors, auto snow chains etc. ONE BAD RIDE.

P.S. one gurney included
PPS. Body not included.

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Rand Paul: Receives radio transmissions via cavity fillings. (Image by Gage Skidmore.)

Rand Paul: In the end, all that remains of any of us is our reputation. Mine has been sullied over the past week by lies and innuendo.

Decoder: And by my very real belief that private business owners shouldn’t have to serve people of races or creeds they don’t like.

Rand Paul: Our body politic has enough pragmatists, we need a few idealists.

Decoder: It’s not that pragmatists don’t have ideals; they just consider whether the ideals they have in their heads will be good for people living in reality.

Rand Paul: Segregation ended only after a great and momentous uprising by idealists like Martin Luther King Jr., who provoked weak-kneed politicians to action.

Decoder: Like Martin Luther King, I too have a dream. But mine concerns a giant chicken throwing eggs at my head. I have to stop eating so close to bedtime.

Rand Paul: In 2010, there are battles that need to be fought, and they have nothing to do with race or discrimination, but rather the rights of people to be free from a nanny state.

Decoder: I stay up at night worrying about seat-belt laws like a crazy person.

I sacrifice my young to besmirch you, Rand Paul. (Image by Daniel Postellon.)

Rand Paul: Think about it–this overreach is now extending to mandates about fat and calorie counts in menus. Do we really need the government managing all of these decisions for us?

Decoder: Oh, yeah. We look like fucking pigs.

Rand Paul: Now the media is twisting my small government message, making me out to be a crusader for repeal of the Americans for Disabilities Act and The Fair Housing Act. Again, this is patently untrue. I have simply pointed out areas within these broad federal laws that have financially burdened many smaller businesses. Should a small business in a two-story building have to put in a costly elevator, even if it threatens their economic viability?

Decoder: I would be happy to name a single American small business in a two-story building that was forced to install an elevator and was driven to bankruptcy, but I’m too busy right now dodging eggs thrown by that giant chicken. You’d think he’d eventually run out of eggs, but there are always more eggs. That’s the strange part.

Rand Paul: When I read history I side with abolitionists such as William Lloyd Garrison and Frederick Douglas who fought for 30 years to end slavery and to integrate public transportation in the free North in the 1840s.

Decoder: Of course, if I had really spent time reading Frederick Douglass, I might have spelled his name correctly.

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I want a new band, Mavis.

When Tonight Show bandleader Kevin Eubanks stepped down from his position after close to two decades, something strange happened: Every member of the band also left. It’s hard to believe that none of these people wanted to keep the late-night gig and quit en masse just because their guffawing boss decided to move on. Eubanks has no doubt earned a ton of money and had the right to go off and do whatever he wants. But why would his backing musicians leave a steady, paying gig?

On Eubanks’ last night, Leno hastily mentioned that the whole band was also leaving. No long goodbyes to them. When Leno introduced his new bandleader, Rickey Minor, on Monday, he was backed by an entirely new ensemble. Maybe Minor refused to exit his similar position at American idol and take the job if he couldn’t bring his people with him. But it seems odd that Leno, who tries to position himself as a loyal father figure and a friend of working people, would accede to such demands unless he was looking for an excuse to make a wholesale change to freshen up the show. Anyhow, it sucks for those musicians if that’s what happened. They’re obviously good at what they do and weren’t responsible for any of the show’s lameness.

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Disasters seem to have a knack for finding us, but some hearty, half-mad souls can’t help but gravitate to the maw of a volcano, believing there are answers to ineffable questions to be found in nature’s profane mouth. Director Werner Herzog has long been one of these hellbent philosophers and his 1976 documentary, “La Soufrière,” is a 30-minute meditation about his sojourn to Guadeloupe just as the eponymous volcano prepared to explode with the impact of five or six atomic bombs.

Approximately 75,000 inhabitants were evacuated from the Caribbean tempest, just before Herzog and his two camera operators arrived to seek out the few stragglers who refused to leave and to take what they believed would be the final images of the town before it was razed and charred. If the eruption was as massive as expected, well, there really was no exit strategy for the filmmakers.

The village’s utter desolation has a chilling beauty, as Herzog and his team wind through unmanned blockades and confused cattle to get within shouting distance of the angry vortex. They meet and interview their doppelgangers: a trio of native men who calmly, almost sluggishly, await their death by fire and rock.

“It was a comfort for us not having the law hanging around,” intones Herzog in his powerful voiceover narration, as the volcano ominously bubbles and steams. But the law of nature is ever-present, and, as always, demands control of the final cut.•

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Insane but impressive.

    The field at D.C. Stadium looked really crappy.

    I briefly got my grimy, grubby hands on a baseball yearbook for the 1968 Washington Senators. It cost a buck back in the day. The 1961-1971 Senators (who moved to Texas and became the Rangers after the 1971 season), were a consistently. Although the yearbook claimed that the Senators had “the confidence that comes from knowing that you have the talent and skill to win ballgames,” the team ultimately finished in tenth place that year with a 65-96 record. I suppose the efforts of pitcher Bill “GoGo” Gogolewski and his ilk were not enough to make a dent in the standings.

    Whoever originally owned this yearbook got one Senator to autograph his photo: the slick-fielding, weak-hitting shortstop Ed “Wimpy” Brinkman. What the yearbook couldn’t have anticipated was the historical event that occurred right before opening day and caused Brinkman to miss more than half of the 1968 campaign. An excerpt about Brinkman and his abbreviated season from his 2008 obituary in USA Today:

    “Eddie Brinkman, a record-setting shortstop during a 15-year career in the majors and a former high school teammate of Pete Rose, has died.

    Ed Brinkman missed a good chunk of the 1968 baseball season for a sad and unusual reason.

    The former Washington Senators and Detroit Tigers infielder, who was 66, had heart problems, according to The Washington Post. He died Tuesday in his hometown of Cincinnati.

    The Ohio native spent his final 17 years in baseball as a coach and then scout for the Chicago White Sox before retiring in 2000.

    Brinkman made his big-league debut at 19 in 1961 with Washington and played in an era when shortstops were known for their gloves, rather than their bats. He had career-best seasons came under Senators manager and Hall of Famer Ted Williams, who helped him bat .266 in 1969 and .262 in 1970.

    Brinkman missed much of the 1968 season while serving in the National Guard. A week after the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr., Brinkman was stationed in the left-field seats on opening day in Washington.”

    More Miscellaneous Media:

  • Ugandan currency with Idi Amin’s picture. (1973)
  • Tom Van Arsdale basketball card. (1970)
  • Okie from Muskogeesheet music. (1969)
  • California Golden Seals hockey magazine. (1972)
  • Beatles Film Festival Magazine (1978)
  • ABA Pictorial (1968-69)
  • Tom Seaver’s Baseball Is My Life. (1973)
  • Hockey Digest (1973)
  • World’s Fair Guide (1964)
  • World’s Fair Guide (1939)
  • Buffalo Braves Yearbook (1972-73)
  • New York Nets Yearbook (1976-77)
  • “Tom Dooley” sheet music.
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    Afflictor: Making baby gorillas drowsy since 2009. (Image by Bart Dubelaar)

    Scientist David Johnston was the Paul Revere of the Mount St. Helens disaster. He was also one of the volcano's 57 victims.

    The Big Picture photo site comes through spectacularly again. curating stunning images of the eruption of Mount. St. Helens in Washington in 1980. It was a colossal and shocking natural disaster that began with an earthquake. Soon the volcano erupted and everything was fire, steam, rock, ash, clouds, dust and mud. The explosions lasted for ten hours, razed forests and reached 80,000 feet into the atmosphere. You should definitely look at the entire set of images, “Mount St. Helens, 30 Years Ago.” Even the photos taken just prior to the eruption are chillingly evocative. The caption for the above photo of David Johnston:

    “In this May 17, 1980 photo, 30-year old volcanologist David Johnston is shown in the evening at his camp near what is now known as Johnston Ridge near Mount St. Helens. At 8:32 a.m. the next morning, Johnston radioed a message to the USGS headquarters: “Vancouver, Vancouver, this is it!”, shortly before he was killed by the massive eruption of the volcano that also killed 56 others.”

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    General Robert E. Lee: I was indeed an incorrigible kissing bandit. And I also was quite fond of the pussy.

    I don’t know what was going on in the world on November 24, 1891, but I would have to assume that it was a slow news day. The Brooklyn Daily Eagle ran a story that morning about how famous generals and politicians often took advantage of opportunities to kiss pretty girls. General Robert E. Lee was one of the military men singled out as a kisser of pretty ladies. Imagine his shame! An excerpt from the ridiculous article:

    “A cablegram from Berlin announced that Prince Bismarck is enjoying himself at Kissengen, adding that he recently kissed a young lady. The young lady in question desired, it appears, to kiss his hand, but the man of Blut und Eisen was too gallant for that. He seized her and kissed her ruby lips with all the ardor of his 76 years, ending with a good squeeze by way of a clincher.

    The incident is suggestive, says the Baltimore Sun, not simply of the fact that pretty girls like to be kissed–provided the other party is a famous man and of discreet age–but of the more instructive truth that kissing pretty girls has been a favorite occupation of all great men of mature age, military men being particularly given to it.

    General Robert E. Lee, for example, notwithstanding the staid decorum of his ordinary demeanor, was ever ready, it is stated. to kiss a pretty girl. At Lexington, Va., in the closing years of his life, there were many pretty girls and many encounters of this kind, the girls being quite willing to ‘have it to say’ that they had been so favored by the great patriot and strategist. The victor in many great battles–the victim of the charms of their pretty faces–the idea was just entirely too delightful for anything. The college boys heard of it with mingled feelings of envy and emulation.

    To this day the visitor at Lexington will be stopped at this or that turn of the road by his guide–some old colleague–with the remark: ‘Here in 1866 I saw General Lee kiss the beautiful Miss So-and-So. They met, they chatted. At parting the damsel would say, ‘Why, General, aren’t you going to kiss me?’ and thereupon the general would respond with evident animation.”

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    Ronald Wayne: Not even a free iPod. (Image by Wayne Kottke.)

    It’s tough to say how Apple Computers co-founder Ronald Wayne would have spent $22 billion dollars, and we’ll never know for sure. Wayne was the minority partner to Steve Jobs and Steve Wozniak at the formation of Apple in 1976, and his ten-percent stake would be worth an insane fortune if he had held on to it. But Wayne, who had previously suffered through painful business failures, had misgivings about the wildly talented Jobs and Woz, so he sold his stake back to them after just 12 days.

    Bruce Newman of the San Jose Mercury News caught up with Wayne in Pahrump, Nevada, recently to write the piece “Apple’s Lost Founder: Jobs, Woz and Wayne,” and asked him about what might have been. All these years later, he seems more baffled than bitter regarding his fate. An excerpt:

    “It’s usually past midnight when Ron Wayne, co-founder of Apple–colossus of the tech world, and Silicon Valley’s most adored franchise–leaves his home here and heads into town. Averting his eyes from a boneyard of abandoned mobile homes, he drives past Terrible’s Lakeside Casino & RV Park, then makes a left at the massage parlor built in the shape of a castle.

    When he arrives at that night’s casino of choice, Wayne makes a beeline for the penny slot machines. If it’s the middle of the month and he has just cashed his Social Security check, he will keep battling the one-armed bandits until 2 a.m. Wayne is waiting to hit the jackpot, and he is long overdue.

    If Ron Wayne, now 76, weren’t one of the most luckless men in the history of Silicon Valley, it wouldn’t have turned out like this.

    He was present at the birth of cool on April Fool’s Day, 1976: Co-founder—along with Steve Jobs and Steve Wozniak—of the Apple Computer Inc., Wayne designed the company’s original logo, wrote the manual for the Apple I computer, and drafted the fledgling company’s partnership agreement.

    That agreement gave him a 10 percent ownership stake in Apple, a position that would be worth about $22 billion today if Wayne had held onto it.

    But he didn’t.”

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    I make myself sick when I look in the mirror.

    The fine folks at New York-based skin-care company known as Viderm weren’t bashful about pointing out how disgusting your face looked in 1949–especially you young women. You were all lonely, zit-faced losers, and the marketing people at Viderm were only too happy to exploit your discomfort. They wanted to make sure you felt like crap so you’d finally be compelled to wash your blotchy head. Some over-the-top copy from the ad:

    “Many women shut themselves out of the thrills of life–dates, romance, popularity, social and business success–only because sheer neglect had robbed them of the good looks, poise and feminine self-assurance which could so easily be theirs. Yes, everybody looks at your face. The beautiful complexion, which is yours for the asking, is like a permanent card of admission to all the good things in life that every woman craves. And it really can be yours–take my word for it!–no matter how discouraged you may be this very minute about those externally caused skin miseries.”

    More Old Print Ads:

    You're not likely to get killed on the streets of El Paso. (Image by Frank Vincentz.)

    The great Newmark’s Door pointed me in the direction of an intriguing 2009 article from Reason Magazine that runs contrary to the popular thought of the day regarding immigration. Illegal immigrants (and even legal ones) have been accused of bringing chaos, crime and disorder to the cities and towns where they settle. But what if they’re actually making us safer?

    Radley Balko’s smart piece, “The El Paso Miracle,” uses the Texas border town, which has high immigration and poverty rates, to show how American cities with a large concentration of aliens tend to be some of the safest places in the country. This isn’t an argument for lax border security; it only takes a single terrorist traveling to Mexico and crossing into America to cause major destruction. But if the article’s results are accurate, it provides valuable context amidst all the anti-immigrant hyperbole and factually incorrect noise. An excerpt:

    “El Paso is among the safest big cities in America. For the better part of the last decade, only Honolulu has had a lower violent crime rate (El Paso slipped to third last year, behind New York). Men’s Health magazine recently ranked El Paso the second ‘happiest’ city in America, right after Laredo, Texas—another border town, where the Hispanic population is approaching 95 percent.

    So how has this city of poor immigrants become such an anomaly? Actually, it may not be an anomaly at all. Many criminologists say El Paso isn’t safe despite its high proportion of immigrants, it’s safe because of them.

    ‘If you want to find a safe city, first determine the size of the immigrant population,’ says Jack Levin, a criminologist at Northeastern University in Massachusetts. ‘If the immigrant community represents a large proportion of the population, you’re likely in one of the country’s safer cities. San Diego, Laredo, El Paso—these cities are teeming with immigrants, and they’re some of the safest places in the country.'”

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    Larry King: I should have retired when Jackie Gleason died.

    Larry King: We have a Tweeter question for Lady Gaga that was Twitted to us.

    Decoder: I think my pocket calculator just exploded.

    Lady Gaga: I am good friends with Deepak Chopra who I speak to a lot about my dreams. And he seems to think it’s nothing really to worry about. He tells me that I’m very creative and I should learn to embrace my insanity and not worry so much because I always call him and say, Deepak, I had this most horrible, morbid dream. What does it all mean? And he says you’re just very creative. Put it on stage.

    Decoder: Deepak Chopra is getting a new unlisted number.

    Lady Gaga: I probably should take a break and go on vacation. But I’d rather die on stage, not under a palm tree.

    Decoder: Talking to you, Larry, makes me fixate on death.

    Lady Gaga: I hope when I’m dead I’ll be considered an icon.

    Decoder: You are like a walking casket, Larry. You fill me with thoughts of mortality. I can see your breath when you speak.

    Lady Gaga: Ready to sit shiva for Larry. (Image by Danielåhskarlsson.)

    Larry King: Is there any boundary you won’t cross?

    Decoder: Would you, for instance, be open to being the fourteenth wife of a desiccated talk-show host?

    Lady Gaga: So much of what I do is hinged on show business. I believe so much in it–people ask me, what do you dress like when you’re alone? Do you ever just wear sweatpants or whatever they say. And I’m thinking that they–the concept of show business is lost. Michael Jackson, when he was being wheeled out of the ambulance when he was burned, he held his glitter glove up high above his head to was to his fans, because he was show business.

    Decoder: More than anyone else, Michael Jackson needed to throw on some sweatpants and not be a freak for five minutes. He’s a terrible role model for anyone in or out of show business.

    Lady Gaga: I’m very religious. I was raised Catholic. I believe in Jesus. I believe in God. I’m very spiritual. I pray very much.

    Decoder: I pray that you won’t touch me with your bony fingers, Larry.

    Larry King: Lady Gaga has a special relationship with her fans.

    Decoder: My fans, however, have all died from natural causes, as have their children.

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    Ricky Gervais vs. Elmo in a battle to the death. This glorious two-minute reel of Sesame Street outtakes via the Associated Press is preceded by a 15-second Amway commercial, but it’s worth sitting through the ad to get to the choice stuff.

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