2010

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The Power and the Glory made Time's 100 Greatest Novels list.

The Paris Review site has an interesting 1955 interview with Graham Greene (download the full version). This Q&A reveals that while the author had the rare gift to write critically acclaimed work that was also widely popular, he really wanted to try his hand at other things. An excerpt:

Interviewer: Did you always want to be a writer?

Greene: No, I wanted to be a businessman and all sorts of other things; I wanted to prove to myself that I could do something else.

Interviewer: Then the thing that you could always do was write?

Greene: Yes, I suppose it was.

Interviewer: What happened to your business career?

Greene: Initially it lasted for a fortnight. They were a firm, I remember, of tobacco merchants. I was to go up to Leeds to learn the business and then go abroad. I couldn’t stand my companion. He was an insufferable bore. We would play double noughts and crosses and he always won. What finally got me was when he said, “We’ll be able to play this on the way out, won’t we?” I resigned immediately.

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Just a pawn in the game of life.

Watching the ball drop in Times Square, as many of us recently did, always makes me think of one of my favorite films, Stanley Kubrick’s The Killing. The brilliant 1956 crime story doesn’t have any key scenes that take place on New Year’s Eve, but it has one that’s set right near the New Amsterdam Theatre where the ball drops, in a dingy chess club of yore called the Flea House. For much of its existence (which began during the Great Depression), you could rent a chess board at the dive for 10 cents an hour. Elder chess master Bill Hook recalls the Flea House in Hooked on Chess: A Memoir. Jeremy Silman, an expert on the game, writes about Hook’s book on his site:

“Much of Hook’s twenties and early thirties were spent in abject poverty in New York City. His health precluded steady work and his painting hadn’t taken off but Hook had one good thing that kept him going. Known by different names at different times — The New York Chess and Checker Club, Fischer’s, Fursa’s and finally the Flea House, the game playing establishment on 42nd street near Times Square was  a home away from home for many lost souls. Hooked on Chess has many stories of the characters that passed through this 24-hour New York City institution that ran from the Depression until the early 1970s. Some of the strongest players in the United States like George Treysman and Abe Kupchik were regulars when Hook first started going, but there were also plenty of weak players and odds games for various stakes were always being contested. According to Hooked on Chess, it was the clientele who created the special atmosphere. Certainly it was not the mismatched furniture or smoked stained walls that did. The tables that chess, bridge and various games were played on were frequently covered in a pile of ashes and it was not uncommon to see people sleeping at night in the club. Hook gives a lengthy and moving testimonial to the many people he met daily at the club.”

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I wouldn't say "no" to a cotton swab.

There’s no one among my friends or relatives who is blind, so I was completely unfamiliar with “echolocation’ until happening onto an article on the topic in New Scientist. Written by a blind psychologist named Daniel Kish, the article details how the author clicks his tongue and listens to the reverberations made as the sound bounces off buildings, trees, people, etc. These echos enable him to “see” his surroundings and walk, run and bicycle on his own. Kish teaches echolocation to others, enabling them to live the full existence he enjoys. An excerpt from the article:

“At the time I went to school, blind kids either waited for people to take us around, or we taught ourselves to strike out on our own. My way was by clicking my tongue and listening for the patterns of reflections from objects around me. By doing this, I could get 3D images of my surroundings. I can’t remember when or how I first started using sonar, because it was when I was very young. I have a memory of climbing over the fence into the neighbour’s yard and clicking to find out what was around me, when I was just 2½ years old.

As a child, while I was pleased to have a guide when someone was willing, I could do a lot by myself. I could ride a bicycle through my neighbourhood in the Los Angeles area, play tag with my friends, find trees to climb, and walk just about anywhere on my own.”

There is also video of Kish’s echolocation education program.

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Jake Delhomme: Name as lackluster as his quarterback rating.

In preparation for the NFL playoffs, we brought you the Top 10 player names in the AFC earlier this week. Today the NFC gets its due (in alphabetical order):

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Teat for two.

When acclaimed artist Vanessa Beecroft splatters blood red paint over 30 topless female models who lie sprawled on a canvas, she weds Pollock’s drip-paint method to a genocide motif. It’s disturbing to see, but the models are adults and they will shower the paint off and a provocative sort of large-scale human sculpture has been created. But when Beecroft impetuously decides to adopt twins she encounters during a photo shoot in the Sudan, art meets life in a disturbing way that can’t just be washed away.

Pietra Brettkelly discomfiting documentary, The Art Star and the Sudanese Twins, doggedly traces Beecroft’s African adoption odyssey. The children are living in an orphanage, but they have a father and extended family. Authorities are understandably wary of this intense white woman with serious depression and OCD issues who wants to adopt the twins and move them to New York. Beecroft gives the family thousand-dollar bills as incentive to let her take the children, and this money allows the clan to bring the boys home and raise them in a healthy environment. But Beecroft doesn’t seem to notice that she could be more helpful to the children with small cash gifts to their relatives because her mission has more to do with her dubious needs than the twins’ real ones.

When Beecroft’s exasperated husband acknowledges that his wife is obsessed with the controversial adoptions of African children by Angelina Jolie and Madonna, a revulsion sets in. And since Beecroft travels extensively and often has others raising her birth children, you just feel happy that her spouse isn’t going along with the adoption plans. Brettkelly’s film isn’t easy to watch, but it’s an insightful documentary that stubbornly paints an extreme psychological portrait.

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Don't move so fast, Pelé. I have to set up my tripod.

Giants Stadium has had its final football game, but for a brief period in the late ’70s, the stands were packed for the other kind of football. The New York Cosmos of the North American Soccer League was an international glamor team of stars winding down their careers–and no star was bigger than Pelé. The Brazilian sensation, now 69, has curated a slideshow of spectacular photos of his career for Life.com. Of course, there are shots of Pelé making his amazing bicycle kick, scoring spectacular goals and meeting all manner of dignitaries. But there’s also a surprising one of him playing goalie, which he did occasionally in his career. The images are well worth checking out.

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Jake Delhomme: a name as lackluster as his quarterback rating.

As we prepare for the NFL Playoffs, let us celebrate the great player names of the league. It was a brutal competition; even Sen’Derrick Marks couldn’t make the list. Today (in alphabetical order) we focus on the great names of the AFC.

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I am angry because my people, the whites, have been oppressed for too long!

Soft-headed demagogues like Sarah Palin try to draw a divide between American small towns and urban centers during election season, but similar problems plague both segments of our society: education, drugs, poverty, health care, etc. I came across The Rural Brain Drain, a smart article by married sociologists Patrick J. Carr and Maria J. Kefalas in a September Chronicle Review that articulately addresses how both the city mouse and the country mouse often end up in the same trap.–though, yes, the problems are more dire in small towns. They also offer some common-sense solutions. An excerpt:

“The Harvard University sociologist William Julius Wilson famously describes how deindustrialization, joblessness, middle-class flight, depopulation, and global market shifts gave rise to the urban hyper-ghettos of the 1970s, and the same forces are now afflicting the nation’s countryside. The differences are just in the details. In urban centers, young men with NBA jerseys sling dime bags from vacant buildings, while in small towns, drug dealers wearing Nascar T-shirts, living in trailer parks, sell and use meth. Young girls in the countryside who become mothers before finishing high school share stories of lost adolescence and despair that differ little from the ones their urban sisters might tell.”

Read the full article.

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India: a country with lots of free time in between filming Bollywood epics.

From the outside, India would appear to be a fascinating country. But how do you explain the South Asian Republic being the first foreign nation of the year to visit Afflictor.com? Sure, Austria and the Netherlands are bored, but India’s the most populous democracy in the world and do you know how long it takes to count all those votes? Is Rajesh Khanna no longer sufficient entertainment for you and your friends, India? Is Virender Sehwag a batsman who no longer thrills? Whatever it is, you’re already here, so let’s do one of those Jai Ho dance numbers together. I’ll go look for my sherwani.

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Because ice hockey, blue jeans and great lyrics never go out of style, I’m posting this classic 1979 video of the disco age. Sasson was a ubiquitous name in that first burst of designer denim during the ’70s, before an ebb in the craze and poor management decisions led to bankruptcy and criminal charges. (In Hebrew, Sasson means “happiness.”)

The Rangers of the ’70s and ’80s never brought a Stanley Cup to the Garden, but they were big celebrities. Ron Duguay was sort of a proto-Bon Jovi on skates–a guy who got by on good looks and okay talent. Phil Esposito, who later became the team’s GM, was inducted into the Hockey Hall of Fame in 1984. And simply put, the man was an exquisite ice dancer.

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Lee Harvey Oswald shackled and clenched after his arrest in Dallas.

Briefly got my hands on a yellowing copy of the Long Island Press from November 22, 1963, the day after President John F. Kennedy was assassinated. The Press (which cost 5 cents) bore the headline: “Marxist Held As JFK Assassin; Johnson Meets With Rusk, Ike.”

The opening paragraph of the UPI story read: “Lee Harvey Oswald, an avowed Marxist and a Fidel Castro sympathizer, was charged today with the assassination of President Kennedy. Manacled, his face cut and bruised, his manner sullen, the 24-year-old political misfit and Marine reject was booked on a murder charge and jailed without bond. ‘This is ridiculous,’ Oswald said.”

The story unsurprisingly dominated nearly every section of the paper, from local (“Long Islanders React: He Was My Friend”) to sports (“AFL Erases Sunday Slate”). A few pre-packaged elements of the paper were untouched by the tragic events of the day. There was  an ad for the Jack Lemmon romantic comedy Under the Yum-Yum Tree, playing at the Prudential Drive-In. In the classifieds, you could rent  a 2 1/2 to 4 bedroom apartment for $109 in Jamaica, Queens; and a 2-story split colonial on Long Island cost $13,490. The Help Wanted ads were still openly sexist, with “Help Wanted–Male” clearly marked at the top of most of the advertisements.

The Long Island Press published for 156 years, going out of business in 1977.

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