[via fuckyeahtimlincecum:findtheswagger:]
Lincecum doesn’t watch a lot of pregame film, as many pitchers do, to look for vulnerabilities in the hitters he’s about to face. “I stick to my strengths as opposed to going after everyone’s weaknesses,” he told me. “If you can hit it, come hit it.”
I’d like to think that I have the same attitude about life as Timmeh does about pitching.
Source: findtheswagger
All these years, she’d treasured the memory of their little road trip, kept it locked up securely in some deep interior place, letting it age like wine, so that, in some symbolic way, the thing that might have happened between them stayed alive and grew older with the two of them.
Jonathan Franzen, Freedom.
Throughout this book I find myself stopping and going “oh” in that way that one does when what previously seemed like a deeply personal sentiment turns out to be universal enough to be expressed by Patty Berglund.
It felt to her as if, with each new piece of her that his eyes alit on, she was being further tacked to the wall behind her, so that, when he was done looking over all if her, she had been rendered entirely two-dimensional and fastened to the wall.
The small magic of the box score is cognominal as well as mathematical. Down the years, the rosters of the big-league teams have echoed and twangled with evocative, hilarious, ominous, impossible, and exactly appropriate names. The daily, breathing reality of the ballplayers’ names in box scores accounts in part, it seems to me, for the rarity of convincing baseball fiction. No novelist has yet been able to concoct a baseball hero with as tonic a name as Willie Mays or Duke Snider or Vida Blue. No contemporary novelist would dare a supporting cast of characters with Dickensian names like those that have stuck with me ever since I deciphered my first box scores and began peopling the lively landscape of baseball in my mind—Ossee Schreckengost, Smead Jolley, Slim Sallee, Elon Hogsett, Urban Shocker, Burleigh Grimes, Hazen Shirley Cuyler, Heinie Manush, Cletus Elwood Poffenberger, Virgil Trucks, Enos Slaughter, Luscious Easter, and Eli Grba. And not even a latter-day O. Henry would risk a tale like the true, electrifying history of a pitcher named Pete Jablonowski, who disappeared from the Yankees in 1933 after several seasons of inept relief work with various clubs. Presumably disheartened by seeing the losing pitcher listed as “J’bl’n’s’i” in the box scores of his day, he changed his name to Pete Appleton in the semi-privacy of the minors, and came back to win fourteen games for the Senators in 1936 and to continue in the majors for another decade.
P.S. It is also necessary at this season to establish firm emotional connections with a major league ball club, to share in the agonies of their defeats and the ecstasies of their triumphs. Without these simple marriages, none of us could survive.
E.B. White, in a letter to Frank Sullivan
(via my dad, who leaves the best (and only) comments on this blog and this was just included in one of them.)
There is no moment that exceeds in beauty that moment when one looks at a woman and finds that she is looking at you in the same way that you are looking at her. The moment in which she bestows that look that says, ‘Proceed with your evil plan, sumbitch.’
One of my favorite movies of all time. Nothing epic or beautiful about it, just funny and real and sad and sweet and funny again and Chris Eigeman and his hands in his pockets and the first time I watched it was this fabulous pizza and underwear kind of evening and “I’d rather be bowhunting” and it’s Noah Baumbach you know and Parker Posey is always so pretty and it’s just really good and I like it. A lot.
Anyway, the poster above is apparently in the possession of my friend Albert and because he is amazing he said he’s going to give it to me. It will be the first movie poster to get a proper framing and hanging in my home. Actually, I have a small poster for Head in one corner, but it’s not framed.
Max: I’m nostalgic for conversations I had yesterday. I’ve begun reminiscing events before they even occur. I’m reminiscing this right now. I can’t go to the bar because I’ve already looked back on it in my memory… and I didn’t have a good time.
The only time I get to play here [New York] is via the DH and I think the DH is a terrible idea. I think it’s horrible for baseball. If you can’t play the field then you can’t play. I really believe that. The game in the National League, there are so many more little nuances. What happens if [the starting pitcher’s up to bat and he’s] got a shutout, it’s the sixth inning, the bases loaded, he’s got 80 pitches, do you pull him? You’ve got to make that decision. I love that.
Source: oldtimefamilybaseball
it was one of the most pleasant days I’ve had in a long time. We got drunk and laughed and danced and got in a hot tub and ate pizza. It was sort of like my eighth birthday party
I was obsessed with the Canadian novel Anne of Green Gables. I decided I was Anne of Green Gables. There was something that spoke to me about her, and I wanted to have her beautiful red hair.
Source: details.com
“If Nirvana was the Harry Potter of the ’90s, tortured and insecure about its stature, then Pavement was the decade’s Hermione Granger.”
yerawizardharry:lifethatyouhate: ankleinjuries
What I really like about this screenshot/quote (from my favorite Disney movie) is that part of the whole moral of the story, really, is that Tramp is wrong here. The human heart has room for darlings, dogs, babies, terrible aunts, trampy boyfriends, and a whole litter full of puppies. And then some.
Source: lalanadelgay
Gertrude Stein was the most charismatic pyramid ever built.
Strange but true: The more specific a film is, the more universal, because the more it understands individual characters, the more it applies to everyone. I can imagine someone weeping at this film, identifying with it, because he always wanted to stay in the Marines, or be an artist or a cabinetmaker.
Roger Ebert on Brokeback Mountain
Obviously this applies as advice to any writer or artist. I like pouring over old Ebert reviews for gems like this one when I can’t sleep. And I think I’m ready to watch Brokeback Mountain for the first time since Heath Ledger passed away, even though I know I will cry like a baby.
I am Summer Anne Burton, a Texan living in Brooklyn.
My primary concerns include baseball, cats, breakfast tacos, vintage photos, dresses, cute boys, books, and sad songs.
I draw portraits of Every Hall of Famer.
I am a Senior Editor at BuzzFeed, where I specialize in unfettered enthusiasm.
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i don’t always get thirsty, but when i do i only drink scary Monsters and nice Sprites.
My one beef with Derrida’s “From Restricted to General Economy: Hegelianism Without Reserve” is that it’s not at all funny....
[Self-portraits by Carrie Mae Weems, Käthe Kollwitz, Judy Baca, and Frida Kahlo, text “Never apologize for selfies”]
Wanted to get...
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