DUMBO Saturday morning.

DUMBO is an acronym for "Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass." It's a section of Brooklyn lying next to the East River, from just north of the Brooklyn Bridge to just north of the Manhattan Bridge, both of which are elevated above it. It was primarily industrial, including some outstanding nineteenth and early twentieth century factory and warehouse buildings. Many of these have been converted to residential use and to artists' studios. This weekend, DUMBO is the site of the eleventh annual Art Under the Bridge Festival, which I've described here.

Almondine is reputed to make the best baguettes west of Brest. We love them, along with their delicious almond and chocolate croissants.

The bitter and the sweet: Mets are done; USF Bulls prevail.

Mets blow it. Stick a fork in 'em, they're done. For the remainder of this season, and post-season, I have my choice of rooting for the Red Sox (my wife's choice, but they had their longed for championship a few years ago), the Phillies (from my native state, and perennial losers, which always draws my sympathy), or the Cubs (who haven't won a championship since the administration of William Howard Taft).

So much for baseball. On the college football front, my alma mater, South Florida, continues to amaze everyone, including me. Their upset of fifth ranked West Virginia may get them into the top ten. As a confirmed pessimist in sporting matters, I look for something down the road to derail them. Sort-of archrival Central Florida comes up in a couple of weeks, then there's Rutgers in New Brunswick. Stay tuned.

9/29 baseball update: A bit of pillow talk this morning resolves the issue for me: I will root for the Sox as long as they're in it. Meanwhile, Archaeopteryx, a lifelong Cards fan, declares for the Cubs.

9/29 football update: The Gray Lady's sports scribes just have to rain on the Bulls' parade. The teaser on page one of today's sports section says: "In ugly game, South Florida topples No. 5, West Virginia." The article, by Ray Glier, on page six, nowhere uses the word "ugly." It does say USF committed four turnovers, and was on the short end of the total yardage and time of possession stats. It also points out that the Mountaineers coughed up the ball through fumbles or interceptions six times. So the game was "ugly" if you consider rock-em sock-em DEE-fense ugly, or, I suppose, if you're upset by seeing an unfamiliar team gate-crashing a gathering of college football's elite

I often disagree with Mike Celizic, ...

... but this time I want him to be right.

Visibility limited.

A few mornings ago, heavy fog covered the harbor as this Coast Guard buoy tender lay off the southern tip of Manhattan. The photo was taken from the Brooklyn Heights Promenade.

Whither the South Florida Bulls?

Joey Johnston says they're the real deal, but John Tamanaha plays it safe and predicts a West Virginia victory Friday night.

I've been messin' with the blog.

I decided a long time ago that the links on the right-hand column of the blog had gotten to be a problem. Some were links to outdated URLs, and there were others I had been meaning to add for some time but hadn't gotten around to. Also, they weren't categorized in any sensible way. So, I figured out (at last) how to use the new Blogger tools to create categories, which you'll see if you scroll down. I thought up cutesy names for most categories, but by the time I got to artists, architects and sports, the muse of cuteness had deserted me.

My one big addition is the music section, which I've expanded enormously (and put near the top, for you folks with short attention spans). I've scoured the web for the best links, mostly live performances on YouTube, of some of my favorite musicians and groups. Think of it as my free, electronic video jukebox. I'll warrant everything here terrific, but I'll mention a few that may be unfamiliar to many of you and that I think deserve attention.

The Be Good Tanyas are a three woman group from Vancouver that I fell in love with about a year ago when I got their album Blue Horse. The Littlest Birds is one of the best songs from that album; here it's given a video treatment that includes scenes from pre-Katrina New Orleans.

Black 47 is a traditional Irish hip hop band led by my old drinking buddy Larry Kirwan. I have a link to their official website, which gives you streaming audio of "Funky Ceili," their thrash metal "Danny Boy," and "Downtown Baghdad Blues," as well as news about forthcoming appearances, etc. I also have a link to their video of 40 Shades of Blue, featuring Larry in his pudding-bowl haircut.

I had the pleasure of hearing, and afterwards meeting, Clarence "Gatemouth" Brown at Blues Harbor in Atlanta about fifteen years ago. Here he is doing Dollar Got the Blues in Hamburg, Germany in 1983. Gate was home in New Orleans and seriously ill when Katrina hit; she undoubtedly hastened his death. Here's a link to some scenes from his jazz funeral.

The East Village Opera Company does arrangements of operatic arias to rock instrumentation. People who are very invested in how this music should sound are duly offended; others, knowledgeable in the operatic canon, praise them for faithfulness to the composers' intent. Here's their rendition of La Donna e Mobile from Verdi's Rigoletto.

I've long been a fan of the British folk-rock group Fairport Convention, and have included two videos of them on my list. One of these, Time Will Show the Wiser, is a real 1960s period piece (it's from either '67 or '68, depending on whether you believe the caption on YouTube or the graphic on the video itself), and features the band's lineup for their first (eponymous) album, with Ian Macdonald and Judy Dyble on lead vocals (both had left the band before Fairport's second album, What We Did on Our Holiday, was made). The other Fairport video I've linked to is Now Be Thankful, from an outdoor performance in 1970. Unfortunately, I couldn't find any good video of Fairport when the late Sandy Denny was their lead singer and pianist. However, I've included her doing a medley of three songs solo, starting with the awesome The North Star Grassman and the Ravens.

Newfoundland's Great Big Sea joined with Ireland's national treasure, the Chieftains, to produce a rousing performance of Lukey. Commentary on YouTube suggests that everyone involved in this video, with the possible exceptions of the schoolgirls and the guy driving the shooting brake, was several sheets to the wind when it was made. Maybe GBS brought a bottle or two of screech with them when they visited Ireland.

Mark Knopfler, best known as one of the founding members of Dire Straits, is a stone guitar genius. About a year ago, I saw something about his collaborating with country songbird Emmylou Harris, and thought this sounded intriguing. Here's a video of the two of them doing a song called This Is Us, in a concert in Brussels. I also have Knopfler jamming with another guitar legend, Eric Clapton, on Dire Straits' original hit, Sultans of Swing.

I wasn't able to find video of Marshall Chapman (see my earlier post on her here) in performance, but I've linked to her official website, Tallgirl.com. If you click on "To order CDs," you can play generous samples from some of her songs (no obligation to go on and buy, but I think you'll be strongly tempted).

Can I ever forgive Delbert McClinton for wearing a Yankee t-shirt (in Austin, no less)?

I'll close with an open-ended question: if Self-Absorbed Boomer was an open source blog, what would you change?

Bulls advance; Gators slip

People keep hitting my blog from web searches for the latest AP college football top 25, so I'd better put the link up now. There you are.

My alma mater, South Florida, advances from 23rd to 18th in both the AP and USA Today polls on the strength of a convincing victory over a weak North Carolina team. Meanwhile, the Florida Gators fall back from third to fourth in the AP poll (though retaining third in the actually more important, since it counts for BCS rank, USA Today poll) after having a near-death experience in Oxford, Mississippi.

Everything in my bones tells me that South Florida's glory run will come to an end next Friday evening against West Virginia, but then I didn't think there was any way they could beat Auburn. I'm more confident that the death knell for the Gators will sound at Baton Rouge on October 6th. But then, I didn't think there was any way they could beat Ohio State.

Baseball whine time.

At last I've found someone who's as much of a fusspot Mets fan, and pathological Yankee hater, as I am. It's gratifying to see Braves and, especially, Yankees fans also represented there (scroll down).

I'm disappointed not to find the Phillies represented, though. Somebody should have called on Joe Queenan.

Shame and scandal in sweet New England

So far I've resisted commenting on Belichikgate (someone besides me must have called it that, I trust); its only effect on me being my concern over whether, with fall approaching, I'll be able, without attracting derision, to wear during my morning run on the Promenade the Pats hoodie sweatshirt my sweetie gave me for my birthday after they won Super Bowl XXXVI. Now, as so often happens, I find that Twiffer has done the job admirably, using as his springboard some hyperventilation by Gregg Easterbrook.

And the Easterbrook piece led me to this, which I can't resist sharing.

Sex Pistols redux.

Brixton's the place to party like it's 1977 this November 8th.

Jaguar E type

When I was in my senior year of high school, the E type (or XK-E, as it was commonly known) was big news. Although first made in 1961, it had just begun to penetrate the American market in 1962-63. Its hefty six cylinder engine and monococque body were charismatic. I recall a trip to Sheppard's, Tampa's exotic car specialist, to retrieve my Sunbeam Alpine from one of its many visits to the service bay, when I encountered six mechanics working on one. They were squatting, three to a side of the engine (which had been lifted out of the car), and appeared to be engaged in some sort of religious ceremony (which they may well have confessed to have been their sense of the matter).

The. Worst. Baseball. Weekend. Ever.

First, my beloved Brooklyn Cyclones, having breezed past their archrivals, the Staten Island Yankees, in the semifinals, once again came a cropper in the championship series.

Then to the Mets. It seems now that whenever they play their only remaining serious rivals for the division pennant, the Phillies, Joe Btfsplk is in the stands wearing a Mets cap and holding a "Ya gotta believe!" sign. Yesterday was especially painful, as it looked like the Mets had traded their usual lineup for nine clones of Inspector Clouseau.

The only bright spot was the Red Sox' Saturday trouncing of the Yanks, unfortunately bracketed by two losses to the Beasts of the Bronx.

9/18 update: Arrrrrrrrgh! Yechhhhhh! Twiffer once accused me of sounding like a Cubs fan. Maybe I'd be happier if I were one.

College football update: Bulls in top 25; Gators roll.

The South Florida Bulls, despite having an off week and despite their last week's upset victim, Auburn, being upset a second time by perennial SEC also-ran Mississippi State, have cracked the top 25 in both the AP and USA today polls (you can see them here). I'll stick with my theory that they'll have a lot of trouble next week with revenge-minded North Carolina, smarting from a loss this week to lightly-regarded Virginia.

Meanwhile, the Florida Gators continued their dominance over non-traditional rival Tennessee (I explained the "history" between these teams here). I expect the Gators to be a little flat against Ole Miss next week, but to prevail nevertheless. What happens after that against their traditional nemesis Auburn, now twice beaten, is an open question.

Brooklyn Bridge Park, Saturday morning, September 15, 2007

It's official: USF football is big-time.

Her (rubbing eyes): Why so late last night?

Me (after a yawn and stretch): Big game. My alma mater beat Auburn with a TD in overtime.

Her: Beat who?

Me: Auburn. That's Auburn University, in Alabama, not the town in Massachusetts. They're a major football power in the SEC. Ranked seventeenth in the AP poll going into the game.

Her (turning over): Oh. How'd the Red Sox do?

So it goes. It now seems unlikely the Bulls will be able to pull off any more surprises. After an off week, they play North Carolina at home on the 22nd, and will undoubtedly be favored. The pessimist in me sees this as a classic scenario for a letdown; I suspect USF has just enough Gator DNA to fall flat coming off a big victory. If they can get past the Tarheels, they face their really big test on Friday the 28th, when they host the currently number three ranked West Virginia Mountaineers, who will be itching for revenge.

It seems I may have been wrong in thinking that dumping Michigan from the top 25 because of their loss to Appalachian State was an overreaction. Unfortunately, their drubbing by Oregon (which must have Lloyd Carr perusing Monster.com) may serve to dim ASU's accomplishment.

Update: South Florida didn't make the top 25 in the AP writers' poll (which doesn't count for BCS purposes) or the USA Today coaches' poll (which does), though it gets strong honorable mention in both (you can see the poll results here). It's interesting to note that Oklahoma is ranked third and Florida fifth in the AP poll, while those rankings are reversed in the USA Today poll, in which Florida received seven first place votes. I can only conclude that Urban Meyer is much better liked by his fellow coaches than is Bob Stoops.

S-AB enters the terrible twos.

I missed it: this blog had its second birthday on August 30th. My only excuse for failing to commemorate this as I did last year is that I was headed north on the Adirondack on that very day.

Anyway, birthdays are times to make promises. I promise that S-AB will be more controversial in the coming year. It befits its age.

College football kickoff

No real surprises the first weekend of play, except for the One Big Surprise. In Monday's New York Times, Viv Bernstein had a front page story about how Appalachian State coach Jerry Moore assembled a team from players who were "on the recruiting bubble" but were "too short or too thin or, in some cases, too obscure to have been noticed by the major programs." In this respect, Bernstein makes Moore sound like college football's analogue to Billy Beane. The same Times had, in the sports section, an essay by ASU alum Stephen J. Dubner, co-author of Freakonomics. I expected Dubner to have some dismally scientific take on his old school's unexpected triumph; instead, he mostly reminisces about his student days in Boone, when the football team was lousy but the soccer team was great (sort of reminds me of my days at South Florida, except that our football team then was nonexistent). He also informs us that Appalachian "is pronounced app-uh-LATCH-un, not app-uh-LAYCH-un, and that goes for the mountains, too, not just the University." I believe this is true south, but not north, of the Mason-Dixon Line, but invite anyone to correct me.

Mike Celizic uses the upset as a platform to campaign for the abolition of pre-season rankings. His principal reason is that a high poll position at the outset of the season tends to be sticky, despite the team's actual performance. However, he wrote his column before Michigan was summarily dumped from the top 25 (an overreaction, in my view). In any event, it's a useless campaign. Even if AP gives up the game, all those publishers of pre-season preview books are going to continue doing theirs.

Mets sweep Braves!

Yes, I know: Thursday night I could've posted, "Mets lose four straight to Phils." This year's Mets seem to have a kinship with Antaeus. Of course, being a fusspot Mets fan, that just makes me wonder when Hercules will get wise.

Hilly Kristal, 1932-2007.

Last year I posted about the perhaps temporary demise of the famous new wave rock venue CBGB & OMFUG. At the time, I noted, there was a possibility that the club might reopen at a different location, although that location might be Las Vegas, not New York.

Yesterday, as I was sad to learn, lung cancer counted as its latest victim CBGB's founder and guiding spirit, Hilly Kristal.

The economics of lobster rolls.

Matthew Yglesias presents this gem in the Atlantic (be sure to scroll down through the comments, too, for discussion of such worthy topics as why hot dogs taste better at the ballpark), with inspiration from Tyler Cowen.

Thanks to WikiFray companion John McG for the link.

Studebaker GT Hawk

The GT Hawk was a European style grand touring car made in South Bend, Indiana. Designer Brooks Stevens borrowed extensively from other makers, most noticeably in the Mercedes Benz style grille and the Lincoln Continental inspired taillights. Nevertheless, the overall effect was handsome and well-integrated. Studebaker even had some success selling it in European markets before shutting down production in 1964.

This specimen is not in the best of shape, and is missing some chrome trim strips (to my mind, addition by subtraction). Still, it's eye-catching.

Erie Canal delineated!

If you survived elementary school music, you can probably remember the line:

From Al-ba-nee to Buf-fa-lo-oh

(If you need your memory refreshed, more of the lyrics are here.)

Anyway, it's good to know that New York State's government, despite its present continued dysfunctional nature, can get something done. According to this AP story:

Ending a dispute over the location of the ends of the Erie Canal, Gov. Eliot Spitzer [NY] said yesterday that Albany and Buffalo are the official eastern and western ends of the historic waterway. Supporters believe the designation will help develop the areas, particularly Buffalo's inner harbor. When the canal was built in 1825 it stretched 363 miles from Albany to Buffalo; an expansion in 1905, which allowed the passage of larger vessels, moved the navigable ends to the Hudson River in Waterford and the Niagara River in Tonawanda.

Thus, the original end-points are established. Woe to you, Waterford. Tough luck, Tonawanda. (Thanks to Johanna Turner of NYCMaritime for the link to the article.)

Update: Twiffer sez: i bet this will help buffalo get, like, a pro football team or even a hockey team. (New dads get excused from having to hit the shift key.) I can't resist recounting my first hockey game, which was a Sabres-Bruins match in Buffalo in 1971. I got to see Bobby Orr set some record -- I think it may have been scoring in a single game by a defenseman.

Meanwhile, August proposes a contest to name the Albany hockey team. He suggests the Pork; I counter with the Impasse.

Red Hook revisited, and the Really Big Art Show.

Yesterday my wife, our friend Barbara and I drove to Red Hook to help another friend, the artist Kei Andersen, remove and take home her two paintings that had been displayed at the Brooklyn Waterfront Artists' Coalition's annual Really Big Show, which is held in one of Red Hook's magnificent nineteenth century warehouses. Below is a photo of Kei and her paintings, Broken Whelk I (left) and II.


After looking over the show, and seeing among many things some fine displays of photography, I was drawn to the windows.


From the westward side, I had a view of the trolleys that were the subject of this post, but from the opposite end, so that the trolley that once served the King of Norway is nearest.


From the eastward side, I had a panoramic view of the ruins of a sugar refinery and the pier from which bulk sugar was once unloaded.




The area east of the sugar refinery was once occupied by a shipyard, and is now the site of an Ikea store under construction. A graving dock that was built in the mid-nineteenth century, and in which work was done on many ships, including the Civil War ironclad Monitor, has been filled in for a parking lot. I have nothing against Ikea (love the meatballs!) and am glad we will no longer have to drive to New Jersey to shop there, but wish they could have found a way to preserve this bit of history.

Addendum: On the subject of preservation of historic sites, Gowanus Lounge reports that several early nineteenth century buildings in downtown Brooklyn that played a part in the Underground Railroad are being taken by eminent domain for demolition to make way for (ironically) an underground parking garage. Read it and weep, here.

O Florida, venereal soil.*

Every time I think my former home state has done its utmost in the way of legal lunacy, something happens to confound me further. The latest Flori-DUH award must go to Broward County Sheriff Ken Jenne and, in particular, State's Attorney Mike Satz, who should have had better sense, for mounting a successful prosecution and trial of one Terry Lee Alexander, age 20. Young Mr. Alexander's offense was that, being jailed on a ten year robbery sentence, he had, in the confines but not privacy of his cell, what in my high school lingo was called a hot date with Sally Five-slide. As Fred Grimm observed in his July 26 Miami Herald article:

At the time of the offense, Alexander was punished with 30 days without TV, music, exercise time and other jail house perks. But obviously self-abuse demands a criminal charge and a full-blown jury trial, and two prosecutors, and a court-appointed taxpayer-paid defense lawyer and six jurors (and an alternate), and a judge, and a court reporter, and a couple bailiffs, and a pretrial deposition, and a daylong trial.

The upshot of all this was a guilty verdict and sixty extra days tacked onto Alexander's ten years. Perhaps an aggravating circumstance was that Alexander was observed in the act of, as we said in my college dorm, making the beast with one back**, by a female jailer. Nevertheless, the jailer, Coryus Veal, was on notice of the prospect of such an observation. According to Grimm, she testified: "They had warned me about what goes on in there." Indeed, as Grimm commented:

In the course of the one-day trial, prosecutor Cynthia Lauriston and Veal managed to describe Alexander's offense in startling detail, eight times, once with Lauriston approximating the action with arm motions. It was hard to imagine the original act had a much more lascivious effect than the lurid stuff those poor women had to utter, over and over, in Courtroom 417 Wednesday.

It may be that resort to a "law and economics" approach would have been helpful here. A simple cost/benefit analysis would likely lead to the conclusion that allowing, or at least tolerating, prisoners' resort to a time-honored method of relieving certain tensions would have benefits, in the form of a more docile inmate population, that outweigh the cost of occasional discomfort to jailers. Update: Nick asks, quite reasonably, just what was the crime of which Mr. Alexander was convicted? According to Grimm's article,

[t]echnically, Alexander faced charges of indecent exposure, with lots of lewd, lascivious, wicked, deviant, etc. tacked on. He also faced the prosecution's tortured contention that his jail cell qualified as a "public place."

This article by Debra Cassens Weiss in the ABA Journal gives additional interesting details. Veal testified that she observed Alexander doing the deed "from a master control room." Evidently, technology has enabled penology to realize Jeremy Bentham's vision of a panopticon with efficacy undreamed of in Bentham's time.*** 

Weiss's article also notes that, in attempting to convince the jury that her client's action was harmless, Alexander's attorney, Kathleen McHugh, asked Ms. Veal if other prisoners were thereby inspired to, as it were, take matters into their own hands. "Did you call in a SWAT team?", McHugh asked. Ms. Veal answered, "I wish I had." Another ABA Journal piece, by Martha Neil, reports that during voir dire Ms. McHugh asked prospective jurors about their own history with respect to recourse to self-help. According to Ms. Neil, all nine men and eight out of ten women asked the question gave an affirmative reply. 

*With apologies to Wallace Stevens. 

**Cf. Othello, Act I, Scene I; also see here. 

***Of course, Bentham's consequentialism would argue for a hands-off policy concerning Mr. Alexander's hands-on practice, just as would a University of Chicago style law and economics analysis, which has consequentialist underpinnings.

It's a boy!

Hearty congratulations to Twiff and Persephone.

Phil Rizzuto, 1917-2007

Anyone who has read my blog for a while knows that I loathe, hate and despise the New York Yankees. However, this doesn't necessarily translate to the individual level. Today I saw someone wearing an old Yanks jersey with the name O'Neill on the back, and thought, "What excellent taste." I'd feel the same about someone wearing one that said "Williams." DiMaggio, Gehrig, Ruth: all names I revere. Even Maris and Mantle.

One who fit in that category was Phil "Scooter" Rizzuto, who died today at the age of 89. A Brooklyn native, he tried out for the Dodgers, and never forgave Leo Durocher for saying the unforgivable: "You might as well go shine shoes." The Yanks, to their credit, saw a diamond in the rough and signed him. He was with them from 1941 to 1956, and contributed to seven world championships. He's probably best remembered, however, as a game announcer for the Yanks, a role he filled until 1996. It was this guise that enabled his brief foray into rock 'n' roll.

To finish this off, I'm going to abase myself by giving you a link to a rabidly pro-Yankee blog.

Update: Joe Martini shares a Scooter memory here.

The tragedy of Fred Exley.

I'm writing this in Massena, which Exley, in Pages From a Cold Island (the subject of my earlier post), called "a far northern and perhaps fantasy village in St. Lawrence County." Being here, I can testify to its being "far northern," at least with respect to New York State, and to its presence within St. Lawrence County. But I can also affirm that it's a very real place with real problems: GM is closing its powertrain plant here, which will mean the loss of many jobs; local folks are hoping that a proposed NASCAR track will boost the economy.

Reaction to my first Exley post was mixed. My wife said, "It was too long, and it turned into a rant at the end." I protested that it wasn't any longer than book reviews in The New Republic; she said, "They're too long, too." Other responses, in the comments below the post and in OTBKB, were more positive. Thus encouraged, and with some inspiration from Keifus, I've decided to write more.

My earlier piece quoted Walter Kirn's observation that, in Exley's view, "[i]n America...a person is either a suffering poet or a cheerful drone." Keifus had this to say in his comment:

It's tempting to separate the world into suffering poets and cheerful drones, isn't it? People glorify the geniuses that drown their muses in booze and sex, as if the ones who force themselves to just suck it up [don't] share a similar burden. (And maybe they do.) People identify suffering with [genius], and imagine (no doubt wrongly) that the suffering implies bigger capabilities...

[K: I've taken the liberty of inserting "don't" in your second sentence and substituting "genius" for the second "suffering" in your last sentence, as that's what I think you intended. Please correct me if I'm wrong.] In Pages, Exley at one point confesses a desire to be a "cheerful drone" of a sort. This came during his description of his interview with Gloria Steinem. After meeting her at the airport, Exley stumbled trying to retreive her luggage from a conveyor belt, then apologized for his awkwardness, saying, "It's just--you know, you know--that I'm so intimidated, you know, being with you and all."

Then if possible I became even more nauseating. I smiled with a weakness verging on illness, batted my big baby brown eyes at her, and gave her a helplessly feeble shrug by way of eliciting her utmost in pity. Gloria looked down at me and with deadly serious and sympathetic earnestness said, "Don't be." And, oh Lord, I score that as the moment I fell head over heels in love with Ms. Gloria Steinem!

As the interview progressed, though, Exley found it hard to break through Steinem's reserve. Trying to get an emotional response, he began asking her about men with whom she had been said to be romantically involved. In each case, she responded that the man in question was a "friend." Finally, Exley asked about Thomas Guinzberg, a publisher whom Exley admired and thought well suited to Steinem. She said she had been with him shortly after the assassination of John F. Kennedy, and thought "he took [it] too cavalierly." To underscore her assessment, she said, "Tom Guinzberg should have been a sports reporter for the Daily News."

On hearing this, Exley realized that his love for Steinem was doomed:

Ye fucking gads, dear reader, where could Gloria and I go from there? One must understand that the dream of my life--the dream of my fucking life!--was to be a sports reporter for the Daily News! I'd have a lovely and loving wife named Corrine; three sons named Mike, Toby and Scott; two boxers, Killer and Duchess, with bulging muscles under their fawn coats, and black ferocious masks, and like all boxers they'd be big whining slobbering babies who couldn't even sleep when they were denied access to the boys' beds. I'd have a split-level home somewhere on the north shore of the island, say, at Northport; and just at the moment I was up to here with Corrine, the boys, Killer and Duchess, my boss at the sports desk would telephone me and cry, "Hey, Ex, don't forget you got to fly out to the coast and cover the Mets' five-game stand with the Dodgers." And off I'd wing, to stand in the press box, a paper cup of Coors beer in my hand, the klieg lights dissolving the faces of the crowd into one another, cheering like mad for Seaver and the guys; after which, much renewed, I'd fly back to the loving Corrine, Mike, Toby and Scott, Killer and Duchess.

How to square this with what Exley said to his students at the Iowa Writers' Workshop, in which he held up as an exemplar Edmund Wilson alone in his stone house, the embodiment of the discipline and unflagging effort needed to become the kind of writer whose work mattered? I think we can conclude that Exley, like, I suspect, many of us, was torn between conflicting desires: one for greatness, entailing a life of risk, sacrifice and hard work; and one for safety, comfort and small but rewarding pleasures. The tragedy of Exley's short life was that he was unable to muster the discipline to attain the former, at least not on a consistent basis, but perhaps because of a belief that it was inimical to a dream of greatness that he couldn't foresake (being subject to the erroneous belief discussed by Keifus), was also unwilling to exercise the lesser amount of self-control needed to achieve the latter.

Frayfriend JMB says:

I couldn't help but think that [Exley would] be disappointed in Singer Island as it is now--towering Condos and sprawling townhouse communities as far as the eye can see, one public beach, one fishing access park and one County park.

Actually, Exley saw this coming. Near the end of Pages, he tells of a final visit to Singer:

Never do I look inland. In the short time I've been gone two high-rise condominiums have gone or are going up. Looking inland at them reminds me of the doctor's words to the effect that money will not be stayed and that my days on this cold island are numbered. And as I walk I find myself thinking anxiously of the future, of other havens.

But JMB adds:

Then, this past weekend, I sat in with a blues band for a bassist I know who was going to be out of town. It was in a Club of 'questionable merit', connected to a motel that advertised "Hourly, Daily, Weekly Rates" in an area of Singer Island I hadn't seen before.

While sitting on the corner of the stage during a break (while the 'Lingerie Show' was happening and deals of some sort or another were going on outside the front door and the Riviera Beach Police made their 30 minute rounds) I thought that THIS was the closest I would come to what Exley experienced in his time here.

So, perhaps the struggle that goes on in our physical and social environment, one that reflects the inner struggle of Exley and others like him, the struggle between Apollo and Hermes, continues, with neither side, praise be, in sight of victory.

No words, just pix.*

*With a tip o' the hat to Hugh Crawford.

Taking a break.

I'll be away for a few days in a computer-free zone, so I'll defer those projects I've promised to work on (more on Exley; Second Amendment) until after next Tuesday. Best wishes.

Castillo to Mets?

Gotta like the deal for the strength it adds to defense up the middle, and the DP combo with Reyes. Offensively, Castillo looks like less of an asset. His .304 average so far this season (.294 career) is decent, though not as good as Ruben Gotay's. Run production is subpar, with only 18 RBIs for the season, compared to 19 for Gotay, who has batted 123 times compared to Castillo's 349. Castillo seldom walks (29 times this season), but doesn't strike out much, either (28). One reassuring stat is that he doesn't ground into a lot of double plays (only three this year). Evidently, he hits lots of well-placed grounders and bloops. He's no threat to clear the fences, with 23 dingers over a career now in its twelfth season, and none so far this year (Gotay has 4, again with only 123 ABs). All in all, though, this adds up to Castillo's being reasonably well suited to the role of number two hitter; he has a fair chance of advancing a runner and getting on base himself.

This deal may prove a test of Billy Beane's maxim that good defense is seldom worth what you pay.