Reeves Wiedeman

I had reason to locate the Manhattan Detention Complex today. It’s not Bernie Madoff’s home, but rather it’s The Tombs, the only place in the five boroughs that makes Rikers look like a Days Inn. Thankfully enough, a kind Googler provided a review of the facility:

This is a good fucking jail!!!!!! 5 Stars

I was a guest of the city of NY at the Tombs and I just wanna say the tombs is the best facility in the city! The officers there are more friendly than in the other facilities (except the ‘lady’ in the package room). its disrespectful to read the paper when good paying tax citizens (who by the way pay your salaries,and contribute to the state prison in the way of commisary) stand there and wait! She should read in the back if its her break.‎

More on the Googlicious project, here.

Sept. 28, 9:35 a.m.
Northeast Regional, Amtrak, Washington D.C. to New York City

Cindy, I just had to call to tell you something. Have you been to Canal Street? In New York City? I’m going up there, and I’m looking for a Burberry purse, and I thought if I didn’t call you you’d be upset because…have you been back in the secret rooms? Well I was just talking to my girlfriend Sally, and she was telling me about them, and she was saying all these stores have these secret purses in the back, in these secret rooms, and in the secret rooms they have the better quality ones, or something. I thought you’d want to know? Well yeah, they’re probably illegal. Is ther anything you want me to look for, for you? A belt? [To Sally: Do they have belts in the secret rooms, or just purses?]. OK, I’ll look for the belt. Yeah, it sounds too good to be true. Mark will probably be mad, but whatever. Sally? She was up with her two brothers and sisters and she actually had addresses, and she’d walk down the streets stopping at the places she knew were good. They have like these storefront business offices, like a dentist office. I had never heard of it. But the police only want the big dogs, they’re not gonna waste time with these small time dealers.

More details, here. Submit yours to meanderingstalk@gmail.com

Your ability to smile in school yearbook photos determines your ability to stay married.

Dick Fosbury revolutionized a sport you’ve probably never watched: the high jump. He struggled with other things along the way:

Maybe there comes a time in every kid’s life when he confronts his mediocrity and submits to the tyranny of normality. A life without expression: just another guy, not a single trait or talent to mark him in a crowd. Fosbury, all of 15 now, wasn’t there yet. He hadn’t been crushed. On a 25-mile bus trip to Grants Pass, Ore., for a rotary meet with a dozen schools, he stared out the window and decided he was going to do whatever it took, make one last jump. If he finished the year at 5’4″, the same as he jumped in ninth grade, he was done, doomed to a third-string life…

Dick Fosbury was the perfect, maybe the only, vehicle for innovation when it came to the high jump. All athletes recognize a performance imperative, a drive to exceed their limits, to explore upper boundaries. It’s why they train and tweak. But Fosbury had the additional impetus of being a teenager. There is no swifter, more terrible saber-toothed tiger than the ritual humiliation of adolescence. He felt that animal’s breath on his neck every day, and he felt it more keenly than his peers: He had picked the one sport that might return the favor of his determination but had gotten embarrassment instead.

The first half of this SI profile is full of good nuggets. Then it weirdly tapers off in purple nonsense. Enjoy, and stop when you get bored.

Meanderings prefers its photos in black and white. Nick Brandt’s wildlife pictures, all in grayscale, are some of the more stunning I’ve seen. Ditto for Michael Rajkovic’s work with fog.

They’re so good I refuse to violate copyright and post any here. Just click through.

(Via MetaFilter)

For your weekend…beer!

Craft beer is a curious market. They’re all better than Miller Lite. But it’s hard to figure out which ones are better than others if you’re in a store like this. That’s why craft beers would do well to invest in top notch design, like these 15 great ones. This is my favorite:

But I’d probably buy this one:

(Via Twitter @ryanlq)

We made it to 30. Keep your submissions coming: meanderingstalk@gmail.com.

Sept. 21, 8:16 p.m.
2 Train – 96th St. to Bergen St.

Kareem – A Drama In One Act

INT. BROOKLYN BOUND 2 SUBWAY TRAIN – EVENING

SUSAN boards the train at 96th Street. She spots an open row and sits next to DONALD, leaving an open seat between them. A 19-year old Asian, about 5’4″, she’s dressed like she’s off  to catch a bus home to suburban New Jersey. DONALD is black and overweight with unkempt dreadlocks. His loose white oxford, the bottom three buttons unhooked, makes him look even bigger. He has several items scattered on the bench – a stack of newspapers, a bag of bamboo shoots, and a once-black backpack – putting a buffer between him and SUSAN.

DONALD turns to SUSAN.

DONALD
Have you ever heard of Kareem Abdul Jabaar?

SUSAN
No.

DONALD
Have you heard of Bruce lee?

SUSAN
Yes.

DONALD
Well, Kareem Abudl-Jabaar taught Bruce Lee everything he knows.

DONALD pauses. SUSAN looks down and away.

DONALD
You don’t believe me? Ask your people. They did a movie. You ever seen Enter the Dragon?

SUSAN
No.

DONALD
You ever seen a Bruce Lee movie?

SUSAN
Yes.

DONALD
No you haven’t, everybody says they have, but they haven’t.

SUSAN
Yes I have.

DONALD
No you haven’t.

SUSAN
When I was a kid.

DONALD
Ohhh when you was a kid. Well, go see this movie, it’s called Enter the Dragon. You’ll see a tall black guy. That’s Kareem Abdul-Jabaar.

They sit in silence for over a minute as the train rumbles on. SUSAN desperately tries to avoid eye contact, wishing she had a book to stare blankly into. The train pulls into Times Square, DONALD collects his things, and departs. SUSAN waits, looks up to where DONALD was, then quickly sneaks out of the car at the same station.

It is possible to do a pitch-perfect version of Rod Stewart’s “Maggie May,” in Spanish (via @ericnwhub). What’s more, Ol’ Blue Eyes took My Way from a French dude. But only Johnny Cash can do “Walk the Line,” even when it’s in German.

Some good cartoons this week, but here’s the best.

The Millions is counting down the 20 best books of the century (“so far,” as they add). They’re only halfway through, and I’m curious what the top 10 will look like, because my favorite book came it at No. 11.

It’s not easy to explain why I liked Oscar Wao so much. But one reason is the ability to weave lines like this:

Instead of finding himself in nerd heaven- where every nerd gets fifty-eight virgins to role-play with- he woke up in Robert Wood Johnson with two broken legs and a separated shoulder, feeling like, well, he’d jumped off the New Brunswick train bridge.

And this:

Dude, you don’t want to be dead. Take it from me. No-pussy is bad. But dead is like no-pussy times ten.

And, finally, this:

Nothing else has any efficacy, I might as well be myself.
But your yourself sucks!
It is lamentably all I have.

Into something that actually made sense. Go read it – it’s got a money-back satisfaction guarantee from me.

Oh, and let me know what book’s been better than this.

Update: The people side with Meanderings.