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'Get Drunk'

Be Drunk, by Charles Baudelaire.

Graffiti on Wickenden Street in Providence

"Cocktail Culture"

Signed limited edition prints by artist Kim DeMarco, are available at RISD|WORKS.

The prints are inspired by the current exhibition "Cocktail Culture", at Museum of Art - Rhode Island School of Design, through July 31, 2011.

"The Rat Pit"

New York after the Civil War had a feral edge.

Amid the poverty, crime, and gangs that packed the Bowery, Five Points, and waterfront districts, a brutal pastime reached new heights in popularity: rat-baiting—pitting a terrier against a rat until they fought to the death.

And no dive was more famous for its rat-baiting than Kit Burns’ Sportsmen’s Hall at 273 Water Street (illustrated at right and below).

“The pits, at Kit Burns’ and elsewhere, were unscreened boxes, with zinc-lined wooden walls eight feet long and four and a half feet high,” wrote Luc Sante in his must-read account of 19th century Bowery, Low Life.

“Matches typically drew no fewer than one hundred betting spectators, from all walks of life, with purses starting at $125. A good rat dog could kill a hundred rats in half an hour to forty-five minutes….”

But not all New Yorkers considered rat-baiting morally okay.

A New York Times article about 273 Water Street (now luxury apartments, of course) quoted Edward Winslow Martin’s 1868 The Secrets of the Great City:

“Most of our readers have witnessed a dog fight in the streets. Let them imagine the animals surrounded by a crowd of brutal wretches whose conduct stamps them as beneath the struggling beasts, and they will have a fair idea of the scene at Kit Burns.”’

The sport died out by the 20th century, thanks to the new ASPCA.

via: Ephemeral New York

 

'In a Bar Near Shibuya Station, Tokyo'

 

 The Japanese next to me at the bar

bites at his sake with big irregular teeth.

Behind the heavy glasses (which he wears

like an elegant suit of clothes) his eyes

are yellow as the warm wine he is drinking.

He turns like a door opening and says

with an aggressive softness, "USA?"

I nod, waiting to see the color of his mind.

"I was wounded at Okinawa."

The words drop reluctantly from his mouth

like drops of wine from the bottom of the bottle.

I set my weight on the soles of my feet

and keep a careful eye on his hands.

he pulls up his sleeve. The scar cries out

along his arm like an exclamation mark.

What words do you speak to an accusing wound?

He looks at the scar as a man looks at a bug

crawling his skin, with interest and loathing,

wishing that it would simply go away.

"I'm sorry," I say. The words in their silly weakness

vibrate in the vivid lamplight of the bar

before they fall to the floor with a shamed rustle.

He clenches and unclenches his fist. The scar ripples.

I lift my hands. I am ready, like a new kid

uneasy on a school ground the first day.

"American doctor fix my arm good," he says.

And then his face collapses into a smile.

"He not fix good, I not pick up sake now."

He lifts the blue-glazed, lovely curving cup

and gestures gently toward me. Shyly his eyes

move over mine like a friendly hand. We drink.

He puts the cup down carefully on the bar

with a brave lightness, as if it were a bomb

waiting to go off and blast his hand.

His face goes back to being merely a face.

Outside, Tokyo growls like a hunting tiger.

By Paul Engle

Photo: Shomei Tomatsu

" They were all impressed with your Halston dress and the people that you knew at Elaine's."

Elaine Kaufman, who became something of a symbol of New York as the salty den mother of Elaine’s, one of the city’s best-known restaurants and a second home for almost half a century to writers, actors, athletes and other celebrities, died Friday in Manhattan. She was 81.

To the patrons she knew at her Upper East Side establishment, Ms. Kaufman was the quirky, opinionated, tender-hearted and imposingly heavyset proprietor who came in almost every night to check on things and schmooze, moving from table to table and occasionally perching herself on a stool at the end of her 25-foot mahogany bar.

With those she did not know, her demeanor varied; some accused her of being rude, though she indignantly denied that she ever was. As she put it, she had little time to explain to dissatisfied customers why they were being directed to tables in the back, known as Siberia, or led to the bar or even turned away, when they could clearly see empty tables along “the line.”

The line was the row of tables along the right wall of the main room, extending from the front to the back and visible from the entrance. Those tables were almost always saved for the most valued regulars, with or without reservations. One regular was Woody Allen, who filmed a scene for “Manhattan” at Elaine’s.

Elaine’s, in fact, was a scene, a noisy restaurant and bar celebrated as a celebrity hangout that all but shouted “New York” to the rest of the country, if not the world. For Billy Joel, in his 1979 hit “Big Shot,” the very name connoted the uptown in-crowd. (“They were all impressed with your Halston dress/And the people that you knew at Elaine’s.”)

"Florent: Queen of the Meat Market"

Florent Morellet, best known for his eponymous 24-hour diner, is the subject of David Sigal's documentary, Florent: Queen of the Meat Market. The film, which highlights Florent's role in social activism and the downtown scene, premiered at the New York City Food Film Festival, winning Best Film Made In New York and The Feature Film Award. Amidst the premiere's festivities, Louise McCready had a moment to chat with Florent about how and why it all started and what he plans to do next.

via: The Huffington Post

“Tip the world over on its side and everything loose will land in Los Angeles.” Frank Lloyd Wright

 

  Bruce Davidson

LA (Airplane Window With Palm Trees), 1964