Mark Richards in the Pipeline
Photo Lance Trout
During the Hawaiian winter of 1971 - 1972 MR commissioned an unknown artist to produce a logo for his Surfboard Company. Originally inspired by the Bruce Lee movie posters of the Day. MR hoped for some-thing similar. The final result was not what he was expecting. When the artist presented the seemingly unfinished drawing, an out of money MR had no choice but to accept the sketch and get on with it. Despite MR’s initial disappointment everyone else loved the drawing and the MR Dragon logo has adorned MR’s boards ever since.
“He drew me a black outline of the dragon on a sheet of A4 paper. To say I was ‘underwhelmed’ wasn’t an exaggeration. I told him I liked it, but I really wasn’t inspired by it. It looked nothing like what I wanted and reminded me of a lizard. From memory he charged me $50 for the artwork.” MR
Love this graphic!
(Ps This Torana ad from their research blog is off chops)
This is without a doubt the best segment of Coffee and Cigarettes.
With Bill Rice and Taylor Mead, written and directed by Jim Jarmusch.
Hey wait is that Dan Moynihan in about fifty years!
The Mad Canadian
Directed by Robert Fortier - 1976
A tense, tight close-up of stunt man Ken Carter’s role on the stock-car racing track. Risking life and limb to rocket a car from a ramp over a parked line of cars takes more than the will to make a living. What else is involved is shown by the film as the camera looks and listens while the stunt man readies for his act and then makes his wild ride.
Also worth watching is Carter’s famous film Devil at Your Heels, shown here years ago I think by the D-Gen/Late Show crew. Watch the whole thing or skip to 1:30 for the main event. It’s brilliant. Carter eventually chickens out and they get a guy named Kenny Powers to jump in the drivers seat.
Japanese Man Preparing a Fish
Medium: Albumen silver print from glass negative
Dimensions: 25.2 x 19.9 cm
Inscribed in pencil on mount, recto BL: Fish monger (sea perch)
The Metropolitan Museum of Art
Don’t Get All “Fresh” with Me
By David Chang for
GQ April 2014
I take a seat at one of the finest sushi counters in the world and marvel at the exquisite craft of the chef. He slices an ever-so-slightly concave peel of tuna, smears a dab of wasabi onto the fish, shapes a handful of warm sushi rice in his hand, lays the tuna on top, brushes it with an aged soy sauce, and places the piece of nigiri in front of me. I chew a sliver of pickled ginger to refresh my palate and happily accept the perfectly constructed bite. The chef watches for my reaction before deciding that what I should have next is a cylinder of toasted nori, filled with cured ikura.
No dining experience is more associated with the concept of freshness than sushi: If the notoriously squeamish American diner is to consider eating raw fish, that fish had better be fresh. But the truth is, sushi’s not great because it’s fresh. It’s great because it’s actually sort of rotten.
That rice the chef presented to me was stored for a year or two before being cooked with sugar and rice-wine vinegar. The pickled ginger was probably made three months ago. The artisanal soy sauce could be four years old. The ikura has been cured in wet brine and stored for who knows how long. The nori hasn’t seen the ocean in ages. And the star of the show? Truthfully, unless you’re Tom Hanks in Cast Away or the kids from The Blue Lagoon, you don’t want to eat fresh fish. Once a fish has been dead for more than a few minutes, the flesh goes into rigor mortis, and it can take four or five days to relax and reach its apex of deliciousness.
We reflexively recoil from the word “rot” when it comes to food, and we shouldn’t. We pay a premium for dry-aged beef because we know the older the steak, the more tender it is and the more umami it develops. That beef is rotting (okay, “aging”), but under our terms and to our benefit. Many foods are rotted to make them edible at all: olives, chocolate, coffee. And there are those that we rot to improve: pickles, cheese, wine. I find it hilarious that even the freshest foods are seasoned with rot. We dress salads with vinegar, a.k.a. rotten wine. I can’t even come up with a list of foods that I enjoy fresh more than aged—it basically stops after orange juice.
Wait, I just thought of one more: peas. With spring approaching, I would be a fool not to put green peas on the menus at my restaurants. Peas are one of the rare foods where fresh truly is much better. But fresh peas begin to degrade in quality immediately and are in short supply even at the height of their season. So I tend to supplement fresh peas with frozen ones. I’d wager that the next time you eat a vibrant sweet-pea soup, it was made with a little fresh peas and a lot of frozen.
Still, I’m looking forward to all those fresh spring vegetables: I’m anxious to start preserving them in all kinds of ways, making them unfresh and a whole lot tastier. Technology and modernity have done away with the necessity of preservation, but those techniques—pickling, curing, drying, fermenting—remain the root of almost everything that’s good to eat. So let’s stop fixating on “fresh” and embrace things that are old and rotting. Even if it takes some time to get used to the idea.
(Editors Note: I’m hungry)
Directed by Alex van Warmerdam
“Caustic, surreal, creepy, and blackly funny, Dutch polymath Alex van Warmerdam’s Borgman is the trickster god in this year’s Cannes competition pantheon, Tonally similar to recent cultish favorites from Yorgos Lanthimos and Ben Wheatley (Dogtooth feels like a particularly close and favored first cousin), there’s also a little Haneke in its chilly dissection of a perfect bourgeois life. But it’s really its own thing, due to the inspired choice to take recognizable archetypes of evil and mischief-making, and let them loose on a crisply contemporary, contained playground in the form of an aspirational, architect-designed modernist house, its gardens, and the lives of the family who live there.”
I’m going to struggle to get through this in the cinema.
The trailer is terrifying enough.
Vegas nuclear bunker home
By Girard “Jerry” B. Henderson
Recently a property came up for auction in Las Vegas — a 16,936 square-foot nuclear bunker home on 1.05 acres at 3970 Spencer Street. The vendor is asking for $1.7 million. The home is decorated to keep occupants calm with fake grass, “natural” light, hollow-plastic rocks and staged water features.
A local magazine has compiled a comprehensive account of the home and its original owners (Girard “Jerry” B. Henderson), who made their fortune from Avon cosmetics, before entering the armageddon home market in the 1960s. The home up for sale was built in 1978 according to the realtors listing, but is noted to be 1971 according to the family records.
For those who are really interested, there’s even a terrible video tour (with commentary) available.
It sold for just over a million and the new owners said they did not care about farts smelling the place up.