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 Posted: Mon Jan 10, 2005 3:55 pm Post subject: The Wild, Wild West |
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The Wild, Wild West:
The Complete Western Stories of Elmore Leonard
Hardcover
| Quote: | He's crazy, Rich thought. He's honest-to-God crazy and doesn't know it. Deke had butted the table against the wall under the window and now they sat opposite each other; Deke on one side of the window, the boy on the other. Deke had divided the eight thousand dollars between them and said they were going to play poker to keep their minds from blowing away. He placed his pistol on the edge of the table.
They stayed fairly close at first, each winning about the same number of pots, but after a while the boy began to win more often. In the quietness he thought of many things -- like not being able to give himself up -- and then he remembered something which had occurred to him earlier.
"Deke," the boy said, "you know why Sonny and Eugene got killed?"
"I've been telling you why. 'Cause they were destined to."
"But why?"
"No one knows that." (From Blood Money, p. 275) |
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| Posted: Mon Feb 07, 2005 8:24 pm Post subject: |
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Sweet Land Stories
Hardcover
By E. L. Doctorow
| Quote: | I knew Dopple. It was a city in its dreams only -- what, a railroad yard, a string of car dealerships? It wasn't much of anything. Anyone could find the strip by seeing where the night sky was lit up.
I decided on Fortunato's. The lady dealers, with their little black bow ties and white shirts and black vests and ass-tight slacks, were the one bit of class. Bells ringing, someone singing with a karaoke, the usual din of losers. A cheap mob place trying to be Vegas with an understocked bar and slots from yesteryear. It smelled, too, like there was a stable or a cow barn out back.
In the men's room, where the floor was all wet and some drunk had lost it, I carefully combed my hair. Then I went out and sat down at a five-dollar table that looked about right and bought fifty dollars in chips. Little blond lady dealer, a pit man just behind her. Four decks in the shoe, but my system is not counting cards. My system is betting modestly while sitting next to a high roller with a big stack in front of him. Kind who talks too much and swivels around with each winning hand to see if he's gathered the audience he deserves. (From Baby Wilson (a short story first published in the excellent New Yorker) at p. 39). |
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| Posted: Fri Feb 18, 2005 10:44 am Post subject: |
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Canadian Geographic
Magazine Subscription
How the West Was Divided
January/February, 2005
| Quote: | The geopolitical designations known as Saskatchewan and Alberta came about both deliberately and accidentally. The great Northwest had worn many names. First, it was considered -- by European standards -- nowhere, a wilderness, then it was Rupert's Land, a cornucopia of fur. With the 1870 transfer of Rupert's Land from the Hudson's Bay Company to the Dominion of Canada, it became exploitable space, although rather more of a nuisance than an asset. The unspoken consensus was that the West needed to be quelled first, governed second and settled and exploited third, its primary purpose to be a colony for Central Canada.
The area was officially designated the North-West Territories. With limited political powers, it was governed by a Territorial Council based in Regina, a discombobulated body presided over by an Ottawa-appointed lieutenant-governor and without funds to do anything except tax local misdemeanours and levy fines for gambling and whisky trading. Licensing of ferry operators and billiard tables brought in a few dollars, but didn't amount to much. Instead of the subsidy per capita that the "real" provinces were awarded, the Territories were given a vague annual grant, usually inadequate. And the influx of settlers meant that the territory was growing out of its closthers: it needed schools, roads, bridges, and all manner of practical services. (From Imagine one big province, A line drawn on the map turned the West into Alberta and Saskatchewan. Could it have been otherwise?, by Aritha van Herk, p. 42). |
Thus began a rich Canadian tradition of political bribery based on entrenched regional disparity, which led to Saskatchewan's proud history of socialism and sharing while Alberta follows the slavering jaws of the pack south. Photo illustrated history even we can like.
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| Posted: Tue Mar 08, 2005 10:41 am Post subject: |
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Men of the West
Life on the American Frontier
Hardcover
By Cathy Luchetti
A rip-roaring, rootin', tootin' romp across the lone prai-reee with vivid photos and anecdotes by the author of six other books documenting life on the western frontier.
| Quote: | Frontier taverns were well-stocked male sanctuaries, luring men to drink and cavort amid lavish displays of glasses, bottles, cigars, and liquor as fine as in the largest liquor taverns in Chicago. Tables invited the unwary, and the unlucky, to games of crap, roulette, blackjack, poker, and monte, as well as faro, which, if fairly dealt, gave the customer an almost even break. "I saw the probate judge of the county lose thirty Denver lots in less than ten minutes, at cards, in the Denver House on Sunday morning, and afterward observed the county sheriff pawning his revolver for twenty dollars to spend in betting at faro," wrote a visitor to Denver in 1859. Saloon success was traced by Joyhn Young Nelson in the genesis of Dog Town (Kansas):
...Our game was to get the emigrants in to drink and gamble. Once they were there we could look after them, but they were a bit shy, and wanted coaxing in...
Hal would disguise himself, rubbing a lot of dirt in his hair, over his face and hands, and putting on some dirty ragged clothes...he went down to talk to some of the men, and brought them up to the town. He then strolled along to the Robber's Roost, and invited them in to have a drink. Once in, it was not long before he got them into the gambling saloon, where he began to play, and invariably won by an arrangement he had with the banker, who was in our employment.
Having won a pile he stood more drinks, and ... soon strangers started in...The more they gambled the more drinks I sold. Finally things became so warm and the shootings so frequent, I suggested we clear out before we got into trouble. (-- pgs. 66-67) |
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| Posted: Sat Mar 12, 2005 12:18 pm Post subject: |
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The Big Sleep
DVD
Based on the novel by Raymond Chandler
| Quote: | Two beautiful sisters, socialites with nothing but money and time and plenty of places to spend it. It's 1946 in Raymond Chandler's L.A., back when only the lowest sort of girl went anywhere without her gloves, especially to the casino.
In this scene, P.I. Phillip Marlowe, played by Humphrey Bogart, is ushered by Norris, the Sternwoods' manservant, into General Sternwood's steamy hothouse, where the only thing really living is a collection of orchids. The general hires Marlowe because of a letter he has received concerning his youngest daughter, Carmen, who has apparently signed a number of promissory notes also enclosed for various thousands of dollars:
| Quote: | Dear Sir,
In spite of the uncollectibility of the enclosed, which frankly are gambling debts, I assume you might wish them honored.
Respectfully,
A. G. Geiger
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Marlowe: These her signatures?
General: Yes.
Marlowe: Who's Arthur Gwynne Geiger?
General: I haven't the faintest idea.
Marlowe: Did you ask her?
General: No, and I don't intend to. If I did, she'd just suck her thumb and look coy. |
Link to this entry
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| Posted: Sat Mar 19, 2005 2:34 pm Post subject: |
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Schott's Sporting, Gaming, & Idling Miscellany
Hardcover
By Ed Schott
| Quote: | | James Butler 'Wild Bill' Hickok was a stockman, soldier, spy, deputy US marshall, murderer, sheriff of Ellis County, Ka., marshall of Abilene, Ka., and holder of the most famous hand in poker. When he was shot dead by Jack McCall on 2 August 1876, Wild Bill was holding two black Aces and two black 8s -- ever after known as DEADMAN'S HAND. As might be expected from such a legend, considerable dispute surrounds the composition of Hickok's hand, especially the identity of the fifth card or 'kicker'. Most sources agree that the 'kicker' was the 8 of Hearts, but others assert the Jack of Spades, the 9 of Diamonds or even the Queen of Spades. (-- p. 82 under Classic Poker-Hand Nicknames) |
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| Posted: Sat Mar 19, 2005 4:02 pm Post subject: |
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Slouching Toward Nirvana
New Poems
Paperback
By Charles Bukowski
Bukowski: Born Into This: view trailer.
| Quote: | I was the mean
and crazy white
guy,
full of humor, laughter
and gamble.
I was shacked with
a silken-legged
beauty.
I drank and fought all
night,
was the terror of the
local bars.
(From then and now) |
| Quote: | The New Yorker
Magazine Subscription
| Quote: | Death has not put a dent in Bukowski's productivity; this is his ninth posthumous book of poems, and there are more to come. Nor has it changed his style: these "new poems" are just like the old poems, perhaps a shade more repetitive, but not immediately recognizable as second-rate work or leftovers.
An uncannily prolific afterlife was something Bukowski counted on. As early as 1970, he wrote to his editor, "just think, someday after I'm dead and they start going for my poems and stories, you will have a hundred stories and a thousand poems on hand. You just don't know how lucky you are, babe." In the next quarter century, the surplus grew, thanks to Bukowski's nearly gaphomaniacal fecundity. "I usually write ten or fifteen [poems] at once," he said, and he imagined the act of writing as a kind of entranced combat with the typewriter, as in his poem, cool black hair: "now I sit down to it and I BANG IT, I don't use the light / touch, I BANG IT." (From Smashed, The pulp poetry of Charles Bukowski by Adam Kirsch in the Mar. 14/05 issue at p. 132) |
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Buk profiled seriously in the New Yorker. We'll drink to that.
Link to this entry
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| Posted: Mon Apr 04, 2005 11:28 am Post subject: |
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Cannery Row
Paperback
By John Steinbeck
| Quote: | | Cannery Row in Monterey in California is a poem, a stink, a grating noise, a quality of light, a tone, a habit, a nostalgia, a dream. Cannery Row is the gathered and scattered, tin and iron and rust and splintered wood, chipped pavement and weedy lots and junk heaps, sardine canneries of corrugated iron, honky tonks, restaurants and whore houses, and little crowded groceries, and laboratories and flophouses. Its inhabitants are, as the man once said, "whores, pimps, gamblers, and sons of bitches," by which he meant Everybody. Had the man looked through another peephole he might have said, "Saints and angels and martyrs and holy men," and he would have meant the same thing. (Opening paragraph) |
Listen:
| Quote: | Cannery Row
Audio Cassette, only
Narrated by Jerry Farden
Only Steinbeck's publishers and/or his estate can say for sure why so little of his work is available as recorded books. We will continue to pester both until this changes. Please check back for updates. |
Sweet Thursday
Paperback
By John Steinbeck
Part II of the California classic, our favorite of the many excellent works by Salinas boy, Steinbeck, who is not as loved in his home state as you might imagine. California is, after all, the place that treated America's dust bowl refugees, the migrant harvesters mostly from Oklahoma, so appallingly during the Great Depression of the 1930s, a tragedy laid bare in the author's Nobel Prize-winning treatise, The Grapes of Wrath. Nor has the story changed much for America's farm workers, who still break their backs following the harvests for next to nothing.
| Quote: | Mack and the boys had lived so long in the shadow of vagrancy laws that they considered them a shield and an umbrella. Their association with larceny, fraud, loitering, illegal congregation, and conspiracy on all levels was not only accepted, but to a certain extent had become a matter of pride to the inhabitants of Cannery Row. But they were lamb-like children of probity and virtue compared to Joseph and Mary. Everything he did naturally turned out to be against the law. This had been true from his earliest childhood. In Los Angeles, where he had been born, he led a gang of pachucos while he was still a child. The charge that he lagged with loaded pennies, if not provable, at least seems reasonable. He rejected the theory of private ownership of removable property almost from birth. At the age of eight he was a pool hustler of such success that Navy officers had been known to put him off limits. When the gang wars started in the Mexican district of Los Angeles, Joseph and Mary rose above pachucos. He set up an ambulatory store, well stocked with switch knives, snap guns, brass knuckles, and, for the the very poor, socks loaded with sand, cheap and very effective. At twelve he matriculated at reform school, and two years later emerged with honours. He had learned nearly every criminal technique in existence. This fourteen-year-old handsome boy with sad and innocent eyes could operate the tumblers of a safe with either fingers or a stethoscope. He could make second storeys as though he had suction cups on his feet. But no sooner had he mastered these arts than he abandoned them, reasoning that the odds were too great. He was always a smart boy. Joseph and Mary was looking for a profession wherein the victim was a partner of the predator. The badger game, the swinging panel, and the Spanish treasure were nearer to his ideal. But even they fell short. He had never made a police blotter and he wanted to keep it that way. Somewhere he felt there was a profession illegal enough to satisfy him morally and yet safe enough not to outrage his instinctive knowledge of the law of averages. You might have said he was well launched on his career when, suddenly, puberty smote him, and for a number of years his activities took a different direction.
In the fields of larceny and fraud Joseph and Mary vegetated for a number of years. He was a man when the fog cleared from before his eyes, and he could see again. Then just when he was set to go, the Army got and kept hims as long as it could in good conscience. It is said that his final dishonourable discharge is a masterpiece of understatement. (-- pgs. 18-19)From Poolrooms. |
Listen:
| Quote: | Sweet Thursday
Narrated also by Jerry Farden
|
Watch:
| Quote: | Cannery Row
VHS
Another [i]John Huston classic, featuring Nick Nolte and Debra Winger, who jitterbug with reckless abandon on the hardwood floor of Fauna's infamous home for wayward girls[/i].
|
Update on farmworkers:
The Economist
Magazine Subscription
The grapes of wrath, again
The miserable state of California's farm workers
Sept. 10/05
| Quote: | The heat is relentless, with the summer sun baking California's San Joaquin Valley to 100 degrees Farenheit (38 Celsius) and more. In the Giumarra family's vast vineyards, Latino workers, most of them illegal immigrants from Mexico, toll against the clock to pick and pack table grapes for the princely sum of $7 an hour and 30 cents for each box. On July 22nd, one such worker, Agustin Gudino, was found dead among the Giumarra vines, the morning after a 10-hour shift picking grapes. A second worker collapsed in a tomato-field, a third while picking bell-peppers, a fourth while picking melons.
... California's previous Republican governors, George Deukmejian and Pete Wilson, rolled back the enforcement of labour laws that tough on paper. When Democrats in the state Assembly voted for a bill in July requiring the kind of measures just ordered by Mr. Schwarzenegger, every Republican voted against it. Some four decades after Cesar Chavez and the United Farm Workers of America (UFW) fought to improved conditions for California's farm workers, they remain a disgrace. (emphasis added) (-- p. 36) |
Yes, and now this:
Beyond the Outer Shores
The Untold Story of Ed Ricketts, the pioneering ecologist who inspired John Steinbeck and Joseph Campbell
Hardcover
By non-'Billy Frostback Eric Enno Tamm
| Quote: | Having depleted the ocean, we are now trying to domesticate it by "farming" fish. The U.S. government is even proposing new legislation to privatize the ocean within the two-hundred-mile Exclusive Economic Zone by promoting fish farnming in much the same way that pioneers settled the West. In the words of one newspaper reporter, who obtained a draft of the proposed legislation, "Look out at the boundless ocean, and envision a new Iowa - homesteaded by fish farm colonies... with row upon row of undersea cages roiling with swimming livestock."
Today, the outer shores of the North Pacific represent a tragic microcosm of the world at large. In British Columbia, pristine inlets are being turned into the aquatic equivalent of industrial feedlots with thousands of fish crammed into tiny floating pens. The fish are particularly susceptible to disease and sea lice infestation, are fed pellets and dyes to color their flesh, and contain a level of toxic PCBs seven times higher than in wild salmon. Production from this type of industrial salmon farming soared from 15,500 tonnes in 1990 to 89,000 tonnes in 2002, while wild salmon catches plummeted.
What remains of the wild fisheries, including groundfish, black cod and halibut, among others, are being privatized. The fish in the ocean are being divvied up into individual quotas owned by corporations and so-called "arm chair" fishermen who trade and lease their quotas for profit. Tenant fishermen, not unlike the tenant farmers depicted in The Grapes of Wrath, often pay usurious "rents" equivalent to 70 percent of the revenue from their catches to the quota owners. Poorer rural and aboriginal fishermen have been pushed off the sea, as quota holdings are consolidated in the hands of a rich few. Of the 1,006 quota licences in B.C., for example, only thirteen are owned by people living on the outer shores of Vancouver Island.
A billionaire businessman, Jimmy Pattison, now owns more fishing licences than all these communities combined .
... Are we slaves to a great industrial machine, or "monster" as Steinbeck called it, or are we a species living in mutual dependence with our natural environment? It seems we have failed to heed the one biological truth so evident in the various writings of Ricketts, Steinbeck and Campbell: humans, like other animals, live in communities. Our traditional knowledge, connection to place, dependence on clean air and water, and intergenerational bonds are part of a lifecycle that has allowed us to thrive in nature and persevere despite history's travails. Destroy this organic entity or try to replace it with the harsh mathematics of a corporate ledger or sever a community's connection to the land and sea, and you'll ultimately destroy what makes us human. We will become the brutal machines we have created. (From Epilogue, pgs-. 313-314)) |
Link to this entry
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editor
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| Posted: Wed Apr 20, 2005 11:00 am Post subject: |
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Smithsonian
Magazine Subscription
Where East Met (Wild) West
Excavations in a legendary gold rush town uncover the unsung labors of Chinese immigrants on the frontier
By Raffi Khatchadourian
March, 2005
| Quote: | The fortunes of Deadwood's Chinatown grew along with the town. Locals soon took to calling the Black Hills "the richest 100 square miles on earth." The boom eventually generated a billion dollars in gold. But by 1918, with the town's major gold deposits tapped out, Deadwood's economy went into a sharp decline. The Chinese left for other parts of America or returned to China; by 1935 none remained.
Barely any serious attention was given to the history of Deadwood's Chinese community until recently, says Rose Estep Fosha, director of the excavation. At the Rapid City lab, she spreads out an old insurance map across her cluttered desk. "We've got here an emporium, a gaming house, three homes, a boarding house, a bakery, hay barns and a laundry," she says. "The gaming houses and emporium are the only buildings still standing."
...So far, the archaelogists' tentative findings underscore the influence of Western culture on Deadwood's Chinese: French cleavers are buried beside Asian-style spoons, beer bottles beside porcelain jugs for rice wine, gambling dice beside mahjong tiles...(-- p. 26) |
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editor
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| Posted: Fri Jul 29, 2005 1:00 pm Post subject: |
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Multiple Streams of Income
Second Edition
Paperback
By Robert G. Allen
Link to this entry
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| Posted: Mon Aug 08, 2005 1:13 pm Post subject: |
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Farewell, My Lovely
Paperback
By Raymond Chandler
| Quote: | Two more swing doors closed off the head of the stairs from whatever was beyond. The big man pushed them open lightly with his thumbs and we went into the room. It was a long, narrow room, not very clean, not very bright, not very cheerful. In the corner a group of Negroes chanted and chattered in the cone of light over a crap table. There was a bar against the right hand wall. The rest of the room was mostly small round tables. There were a few customers, men and women, all Negroes.
The chanting at the crap table stopped dead and the light over it jerked out. There was a sudden silence as heavy as a water-logged boat. Eyes looked at us, chestnut colored eyes, set in faces that ranged from gray to deep black. Heads turned slowly and the eyes in them glistened and stared in the dead alien silence of another race. (Chapter Two at p. 7, describing a bar along Central Avenue in Los Angeles in about 1940) |
Listen:
Farewell, My Lovely
CD Audio
Read by Elliott Gould, who might have been born to read
Chandler aloud
Central Avenue Sounds
Jazz in Los Angeles
Edited by Clora Bryant, Buddy Collette, William Green, Steve Isoardi, Jack Kelson, Horace Tapscott, Gerald Wilson, and Marl Young
Central Avenue Sounds
Jazz in Los Angeles (1921-1956)
Various Artists
Box Set
Watch:
Farewell My Lovely
DVD
The Dick Powell version is best!
Link to this entry
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| Posted: Sun Oct 30, 2005 1:35 pm Post subject: |
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The Year of Magical Thinking
Hardcover
By Joan Didion
| Quote: | Harper's
Magazine Subscription
The Still Point of the Turning World
Joan Didion and the opposite of meaning
By Jennifer Szalai
Photographs by Jason Fulford
November, 2005
| Quote: | On December 30, 2003, John Gregory Dunne, Joan Didion's husband of forty years, sat down at the dinner table and died. A massive coronary event was the sudden cause: "John was talking, then he wasn't."
The Year of Magical Thinking is Didion's memoir of the twelve months that followed, which "cut loose any fixed idea I had ever had about death, about illness, about probability and luck, about good fortune and bad, about marriage and children and memory, about grief, about the ways in which people do and do not deal with the fact that life ends, about the shallowness of sanity, about life itself." John died five nights after their adult daughter and only child, Quintana Roo, was admitted to the hospital with a flu that had turned into pneumonia and then septic shock. They had returned from visiting Quintana, who was then in a coma and would remain in the hospital for another twenty-four days. (-- p. 98) (Quintana Roo died on Aug. 26, 2005). |
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Didion became one of California's major literary icons by laying bare some of America's most cherished illusions and helping to usher in journalism in the first person. Her insights into family, death and the American medical establishment in this book are as you might expect.
Link to this entry
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editor
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| Posted: Sat Feb 04, 2006 4:22 pm Post subject: |
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Saveur
Magazine Subscription
Restaurants You Can Bet On
By Max Jacobson
The Saveur 100 Special Edition
February, 2006
| Quote: | | When Wolfgang Puck opened Spago in Las Vegas in 1992, he wondered publicly whether anyone would bother coming. If he'd only known. Puck now has five bustling restaurants in the city, and the parade of other top chefs who have recently opened dazzling showplaces here (with great food) just doesn't stop -- from LA favorites like Piero Selvaggio and the "Hot Tamales" (Mary Sue Miliken and Susan Feniger) to superstars with names like Robuchon, Boulud, Vongerichten, Keller, and Ducasse (Guy Savoy and Mario Batali are slated to join the roster later this year). Vegas may not be, as Robin Leach likes to bellow, "the greatest dining destination in the world today," but it must be pretty close. Here's what's new. (Opening paragraph at p. 60) |
The absolute best international cooking magazine in the English language.
Link to this entry
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editor
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| Posted: Tue Feb 28, 2006 10:35 am Post subject: |
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The Mayor of MacDougal Street
A Memoir
Hardcover
By Dave Van Ronk with Elijah Wald
| Quote: | ..., I will never forget my arrival in San Francisco: we came in through a huge fog bank, and suddenly there was a cutoff, just as if somebody had drawn a line in ink, and the sky was completely clear, and looming up over us was the Golden Gate Bridge. As an introduction to San Francisco, you just cannot beat that. (footnote omitted)
We docked across the bay in Richmond, but I had a little time off, so I took my duffel bag and my recently acquired Gibson and got a lift over the Bay Bridge into San Francisco. Walking up the Embarcadero, I passed a saloon where a traditional jazz band was playing Ace in the Hole, a song I had never heard before but that became one of my favorites. I went in and introduced myself to the band. I had just picked up my pay, so I was relatively solvent. Not for long, though. In one wonderful afternoon they introduced me to the mysteries of steam beer and poker dice, and I remember very little else. (-- p. 52) |
Another popular Ace in the Hole:
Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Cole Porter Songbook
Vol. 2
CD Audio
Featuring the track, Ace in the Hole, by the legendary Cole Porter
Link to this entry
http://pokerpulse.com/news/viewtopic.php?p=2430#2430
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editor
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| Posted: Thu Mar 23, 2006 4:29 pm Post subject: |
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The New Yorker
Magazine Subscription
Million-Dollar Murray
Why problems like homelessness
may be easier to solve than to manage.
By Malcolm Gladwell
Feb. 13 & 20/06
| Quote: | Murray Barr was a bear of a man, an ex-marine, six feet tall and heavy-set, and when he fell down -- which he did nearly every day -- it could take two or three grown men to pick him up. He had straight black hair and olive skin. On the street, they called him Smokey. He was missing most of his teeth. He had a wonderful smile. People loved Murray.
His chosen drink was vodka. Beer he called "horse piss." On the streets of downtown Reno, where he lived, he could buy a 250-ml bottle of cheap vodka for $1.50. If he was flush, he could go for the 750-ml bottle, and if he was broke he could always do what many of the other homeless people of Reno did, which is to walk through the casinos and finish off the half-empty glasses liquor left at the gaming tables. (Opening paragraphs of the story, p. 96) |
Link to this entry
http://pokerpulse.com/news/viewtopic.php?p=2449#2449
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