Á Procura de Tempestades...Catching Storms

    source:fashiongonerogue/ www.lundlund.com

    À procura de tempestades......para mim as imagens mesmo que pareçam ter sido agregadas de modo aleatório, escondem sempre uma história que eu contei a mim mesma para as montar, e as razões para as minhas escolhas são variadíssimas, embora a base seja de forma recorrente a moda, muitas vezes mais do que isso são reflexos, metáforas de uma sensação ou momento do dia ...aqui as tempestades surgem através da lente de vários fotógrafos como sinal de transformação, revolução, renovação diária de forças e energias...por isso procurem muitas tempestades neste fim de semana, no bom sentido, claro!

    Looking for storms...for me, even that the images appear to have been attached randomly are always connected with a story that I built around them, are often an expression of feelings or metaphors of times of the day...the storms here are seen as a sign of revolution, daily renewal of energies and forces...so seek many storms this weekend, in a good way, of course!


    Meryl, here's a role where you won't have to
    suppress your boarding-school accent...
    Nine down, one to go, to you Miss Kilgallen (and why hasn't someone done a movie about Ms. Dorothy? Seems like a natural part for Meryl Streep...are we just tired of JFK conspiracy stories??) and we have reached the 1948 squad for the Showdown.

    This is yet another odd corner of the baby boom, featuring a catcher who didn't like to catch, a first baseman who didn't like to throw, a third baseman who waddled, and an outfield that is somehow shifty and shiftless all at once.

    In its own baksheeshy, careening way, it's a fascinating roster, filled with fakers, phonies, and the occasional taciturn "take it for the team" type, a cross-section of what increasingly collided on the baseball field if not (quite yet) in America as a whole.

    They haven't got a chance in the Showdown, but they will make Big Hair and Plastic Grass author Dan Epstein skip a heartbeat or two as he contemplates their louche-like lapse into seventies-dom:

    C: Earl Williams, Steve Yeager, John Ellis, Buck Martinez
    1B: Steve Garvey, Chris Chambliss, Willie Montanez
    2B: Toby Harrah, Lee Lacy, Dave Cash
    SS: Dave Concepcion, Bill Russell
    3B: Ron Cey
    OF: George Foster, Mickey Rivers, Dave Kingman, Ron LeFlore, Ron Blomberg, Mike Jorgensen

    Mickey Rivers: the "Anti-Yogi"...
    Right from the start you know that there's just a dollop or two too much "shake-n-bake" with Mickey Rivers at the top of the batting order. Mick the Quick doesn't inspire a lot of confidence with his low OBP (.327), despite some reasonably impressive seasons once he'd been shipped to the Big Apple along with fellow 48er Ed Figueroa for Bobby Bonds and became a most unlikely fixture in the Yankees' brief return to dominance during the late 70s.

    Toby Harrah, given those powder-blue pants by the
    randomly capricious "Day-Gloizer."
    He's also part of a semi-dubious fraternity that we've taken to calling the "Run, Don't Walk Boys"--players who have more stolen bases than bases on balls. As with everything, Mick has one foot in the club and one foot out of it--all while managing to be a kind of anti-Yogi: the man whose weird quips are scurrilous as opposed to endearing.

    In fact, Mick's presence provides the inspiration to go Day-Glo again, bringing some visual panache to a set of players who pale in comparison to their 60s brethren. Not that Toby Harrah wasn't a fine player--in fact, from several vantage points it can be convincingly argued that he is the most accomplished member of this squad. But he's just not, er, colorful enough...so we decided to fix that for you.

    It's the old "bat your real leadoff man second" trick--and hey, it worked for the Big Red Machine, so what the heck??

    George Foster
    The 48s take a conspicuous tilt to the right with their next five batters. Trying not to create an odd on-off pattern in the OBP progression, we've chosen to bat George Foster third, on the theory that his big homer numbers (second highest lifetime total on the team and the highest peak seasons) will translate into more runs than any other approach. A guy like Foster reminds us that astonishing accomplishments can come from those who look like they are going to be washouts: the terrible trade that the Giants made over the 1971-72 off-season didn't look like any great shakes going into 1974, when Foster had hit just .260 in AAA with 15 HRs. For once, it took the Giants a few years to look really stupid--but not nearly so stupid as the Mets, who traded for him just as he was ready to fall off a cliff...
    The short answer to the question: yes.

    Following Foster is the squad's resident phony, Steve Garvey. A model of bruisingly boring consistency during his peak years (1974-80) with the Dodgers, Steve eventually degenerated into a just-a-bit-too-sleazy version of Ronald Reagan, who despite his many other faults never wound up as the subject of bumper stickers that extolled his prowess at parallel impregnation. One has to give Garvey props for being a terrific post-season hitter (.338, .910 OPS), but the problem is that there ain't gonna be no post-season for this team.

    Ron Cey--a master of looking the other way...
    He will be followed in this lineup by the man who always seemed just slightly ashamed to be in the same infield with him--the wizard of waddle hisself, Ron Cey. Whatever amount of mixed blessing that might be part of the sabermetric thrust and parry, one just moment of clarifying perspective can be found in the calculations that demonstrate the superiority of the quiet, unassuming Cey to the glib, glad-handing Garvey. It can all be boiled down to one stat: Cey has more than twice as many walks (1016) as Garvey (479). In a way, Cey functions as both an RBI man and a second leadoff man in the 48s' batting order. Not that it will probably matter all that much, but he can just do more for you without making a spectacle of himself.

    Past Cey, we move into "tools players"--no, not those track-star nightmares that some scouts "project" into greatness despite the fact that many of these guys often don't seem to know which end of the bat is which, but ballplayers who happen to be tools.

    And one of the game's biggest tools (in fact, encompassing virtually every dictionary definition of the term) is Dave "Kong" Kingman, whose consistency in alienating fans and insiders alike was well-nigh unprecedented.

    He can be seen as a kind of pioneer of the world we now inhabit, where entire cottage industries can be built around jerkdom. Indeed, his impassive expression in our photo (snapped by the great New York photographer Sylvia Plachy), almost makes one long for a Kong autobio entitled "The Zen of Jerk."

    Don't call him Pearl:
    Earl Williams

    Following Kong, we have another king of self-absorption, the plastic not-quite-fantastic Earl Williams. The seventies seem to be a unique time for flameouts--the extreme example of this phenomenon being represented by Joe Charboneau, who went from Rookie of the Year to dead meat in just barely over twelve months--but it's undeniably rare for a player to peak at age 22 and just bounce down the ladder one rung at a time until they are drop-kicked into a dumpster. 

    That's what happened to Earl, who found no takers when he pulled a Bette Davis and advertised that his services were available after burning every bridge that he'd driven across in the preceding six years.  Day-Glo isn't quite enough to capture the rosy world that was punctured for Williams when no one picked up the telephone.

    Dave "Immaculate" Concepcion
    One more odd shading follows, in an attempt to capture the strange half-light occupied by longtime Reds shortstop Dave Concepcion, who came up as Venezuela's answer to Mark Belanger and actually learned how to hit. He was a quintessential Astroturf fielder, a type of player now clearly threatening to go the way of the dodo bird, so the "artist" has tried to "render" him in a kind of semi-translucent haze. Going into 1973, after his first three years in the majors, Concepcion's OPS+ was 58, and while no one knew that at the time, no one needed it to question whether he was going to be in the big leagues for any great amount of time, glove or no glove.

    He doubled his OPS+ in '73 (is that some kind of record?) and spent another fifteen years with the Reds, remaining useful even after the entirety of the Machine fell apart.

    While there are some other talented players floating around on the 48s roster, it really looks as though this team is going to be one that doesn't platoon.

    That batting order, in black and white:
    "Hough as in rough," the 48s' analogue to "Veeck as in wreck"

    1. Rivers, cf
    2. Harrah, 2b
    3. Foster, rf
    4. Garvey, 1b
    5. Cey, 3b
    6. Kingman, lf
    7. Williams, c
    8. Concepcion, ss

    You've got a good defensive catcher in Steve Yeager, oodles of mediocre versatility in Bill Russell and Lee Lacy, and a whole lotta left-handed hitting on the bench with Chris Chambliss, Ron Blomberg and Willie Montanez. You just don't quite enough firepower to overcome another weak-kneed pitching staff...

    Doc Medich rendered in Rudy May pale
    Day-Glo: practicing his already
    questionable bedside manner...
    Let's face, a team whose staff ace is Charlie Hough might possess some kooky charm, but the baseball field is neither high society nor Hollywood. Hough rhymes with "rough," and that's what opposition hitters are all too often going to be on the 48s starters.

    Gary Nolan...basically
    going to get broken.
    Doc Medich? For goodness' sake, the tall, well-spoken one got into some post-career fracas over false prescriptions, and he's all that and more as a #2 starter in this league.

    Gary Nolan? Some flashes of real brilliance there, but far more fragility and inconsistency. Ed Figueroa had a blip of a peak. Doug Rau had one of the most graceful deliveries one could hope to see, but he was the #4 guy on the Dodgers' 70s teams and has no "step-up" potential.

    The bullpen, like so many of these teams, will have a lot of potential for fun, what with big-innings guy Bill Campbell, Aurelio "Senor Smoke" Lopez, "la lob" lefty Dave LaRoche, Randy Moffitt (aka Billie Jean's little brother), and swing man Jim Barr. But the same caveat that we've mentioned at least twice previously needs to be put out there: these guys might not be able to get into the game until it's already too late.

My Favorite

    Pippa Middleton

    Simples e elegante, à semelhança do vestido da noiva foi desenhado por Sarah Burton, da casa Mcqueen...o vestido da minha homónima foi o meu vestido preferido entre os convidados

    Simple and elegant, like the bride's dress was designed by Sarah Burton, McQueen's house...this was my favorite among the guests dresses

No comment...

    Eugenie and Beatrice

    Como definir o chapéu usado por Beatrice no casamento real da autoria de Philip Treacy?...

    Excêntrico, com personalidade própria?...sem dúvida que quer seja por bons ou maus motivos fez-se notar, pessoalmente como acessório de moda acho-o exagerado e pouco lisonjeador para quem o usa, mas admiro o esforço criativo da peça, interessante individualmente e observado fora deste enquadramento, lembra-me os estuques artísticos de finais do séc.XIX...sem dúvida que em matéria de chapéus os designers ingleses tentam sempre estar um passo á frente

    How to define the Philip Treacy hat worn by Beatrice at the Royal wedding?...

    Eccentric, with its own personality? ... no doubt that whether for good or bad reasons it was noted, as a fashion acessory personally I think it is exaggerated and not flattering, but I admire the creative effort, it is interesting individually, reminds me of the final plaster art of the nineteenth century... no doubt that in terms of hats the British designers are always trying to stay one step ahead

Jardim Secreto...Secret Garden

    source: Monki campaign

    Outra campanha fantástica da Monki, acho muito interessante o facto de tratarem cada imagem como se fosse parte de uma fábula ou uma peça de teatro...são este tipo de composições, que misturam a realidade e a fantasia, ao brincarem com diversos elementos plásticos, que primeiro captam a minha atenção quando vejo um editorial...embora, noutro extremo a simplicidade seja também algo de muito difícil alcançe e que surpreende sempre quando é alcançada neste tipo de produções fotográficas.

    Another fantastic campaign from Monki, it's so interesting that each image seems the beginning of a fable...


    We are still struggling to get truly detailed pinch-hitting records in place. While this data has always been one of the most prominent of "orphan children" in the overall context of baseball information, the good news is that the recent publication of box scores and game logs dating back to 1920 (at bb-ref) and to 1918 (at Retrosheet) at least makes it possible to assemble some details.

    A full look at the overall performance characteristics for pinch-hitting in the pre-WWII era will have to wait (team-by-team stats), but several of the more prominent "bench kings" can be given some face time here.

    By and large, the top "pinchers" in the time when offense spiked were those folks who had some issues with the glove. In 1930, of course, everyone hit, and though run scoring did slack off somewhat it was still an above-average proposition.

    Smead Jolley, who like Babe Herman denied that he'd ever been conked on the
    noggin by a fly ball. "It hit me on the shoulder," he insisted.
    The most colorful of these types were "Sheriff" Dave Harris and Smead Jolley. These two were part of a breed of defensively challenged sluggers who began to appear in the mid-to-late 20s as the live ball penetrated into the minors. (Jolley absolutely terrorized the PCL from 1926-29, including two years in which he amassed more than 500 total bases!) As with any such development, a certain amount of overspecialization occurred and players who really needed the DH rule four decades before its adoption had twilight careers in major league ball.

    Jolley is the most remembered of these, due to a series of tales about his spectacular ineptitude in the outfield. (Bill Nowlin summarizes these in Smead's SABR biography.) Given how well he could hit, it's a bit surprising that some team didn't think to keep Jolley around as a pinch-hitter after he had proved all-too-suspect in the field.

    1931 was a fine years' worth of pinch-hitting for ol'Smead, however. (It's also odd that so many of the players in this odd-man-out category were truly odd as well--often the most colorful of all the hick/cracker types who were legion in the game at this time.) Despite its inherent statistical insignificance, Jolley's five consecutive pinch-hits (four of which were doubles) make for an oddly thrilling feat (though not quite as protracted as the fictional one we chronicled in the previous post). In a world with an increasingly saturated media presence, Jolley's five straight pinch hits would warrant a goodly amount of airplay. (For the year as a whole, he was 14-for-30 "in the pinch.")

    Dave Harris, who anticipated (sort of...) the Bob Marley and the Wailers
    song "I Shot the Sheriff" by claiming that he'd really only been "the deputy"...
    Most, though, these players performed for also-ran teams. No good team would have anything to do with Jolley after his defensive lapses, but Dave Harris got a shot with a still-solid Senators squad in 1930 after  doing a bit more low-key job of tearing up the PCL the year before (.366, .599 SLG). It's almost astounding to note that Harris was first brought up that year by the White Sox, who'd already splurged for Smead. The Sox kept Carl Reynolds in center field to keep the two from colliding with one another; in early June, they sent Harris to Washington.

    Bibb Falk
    It's easy to forget that the Senators were a solid franchise in the 1924-1933 time frame, but they were a canny (if cash-poor) organization led by another solid old-time baseball man (Clark Griffith). Dave Harris played extremely well for them, and was a dangerous pinch-hitter (40-for-129 lifetime). While he wasn't quite as spectacular as Jolley, he did have two occasions in '32 where he had three consecutive pinch-hits, and he wound up 14-for-43 on the year. He lost his hitting prowess midway through the Senators' last pennant-winning season the next year, and was back in the minors by 1935.

    Red Lucas
    Another category of player who'd find himself in a part-time role is the aging veteran. Bibb Falk, who was traded away by the White Sox in 1929, suddenly found himself in an outfield jam-up in Cleveland the following year. He adapted well to pinch-hitting that year (13-for-34), including a game-winning pinch homer against the Yankees on July 20th. Though Falk was "only" 31, he would play only one more season in the big leagues and would eventually become the longtime baseball coach for the University of Texas.

    Over in the NL, Red Lucas had a nice sequence of yearly pinch-hit totals from 1929-31: 13 in '29, 14 in '30, and 15 in '31. 1930 was Red's best year at the plate: he hit .336 and slugged his only career pinch-hit homer (a slap hitter, he had just three lifetime jacks). As discussed in an earlier segment, Lucas held the record for pinch hits and pinch-hit ABs for more than twenty years after his retirement in 1938.

    Sam Leslie
    Sam Leslie was a big, left-handed hitting first baseman who was lusted after by several NL teams due to the lofty batting averages he posted while on his way up to the big leagues. When he made it to the New York Giants, however, he found himself blocked by Bill Terry. (Hard to dislodge someone who was the last NL batter to hit .400, as Terry did when he hit .401 in 1930). John McGraw kept Leslie around as a pinch-hitting specialist (something he'd done some years earlier with Mel Ott) and Sam set a record in 1932 with 22 pinch hits. The next season, with Terry firmly in command as McGraw's replacement, Sam was finally sent across town to be the Dodgers' first baseman, but the Giants brought him back in 1936. He was 2-for-3 as a pinch-hitter in the World Series that year. (Harry "Peanuts" Lowrey tied Leslie's single-season pinch hit mark in 1953.)

    The team in the early thirties with the deepest crop of pinch-hitters, however, had to be the 1930 St. Louis Cardinals. The complex (and often aleatory) platooning practiced by manager Gabby Street didn't seem to be doing much for the team--going into August the Cards were just a .500 team. But the lofty hitting in the league that year leveled out the competition, so that they weren't that far from first place (only 10 games out). They proceeded to win 44 of their last 57 games, the fourth best such performance in baseball history. And they had a raft of good pinch-hitters on their bench, depending upon whom Street wasn't playing: on any given day, you'd have George Watkins (.373), Ray Blades (.396), Showboat Fisher (.374), Gus Mancuso (.366), Ernie Orsatti (.321), or Jimmie Wilson (.318) available to hit from the bench.

    George Puccinelli, achieving "International (League) dominance" in 1935...
    Oh, yes--and George Puccinelli. "Pooch" was another one of those defensively-challenged sluggers who would have thrived in the age of the DH: a look at his minor league fielding statistics will clue you in on why he spent most of his career in places like Hollywood, Rochester, and Baltimore (when the O's were in the International League). Puccinelli had a lifetime minor league SLG of .582; in 1935, he hit 53 homers at Baltimore and Connie Mack decided that he had to ignore Pooch's reputation and give him a full shot. (He didn't hit well enough to hold a job on a team that finished 53-100.)

    But in 1930, Pooch had a "featured bit" role with the Cardinals. Called up in July (after hitting .396 in the Three-I League...) when the team was in its doldrums, Puccinelli made his third pinch-hit appearance on July 21st vs. Brooklyn. The game was tied 5-5, in the top of the eighth when "Pooch" hit a three-run pinch homer off Watty Clark to give the Cards an 8-5 lead. There were a total of three pinch-hit HR hit in this game: Jim Bottomley and Harvey Hendrick hit the other two--with Hendrick's three-run blast wresting victory for the Dodgers, who prevailed by a score of 9-8.

    After sitting around for ten days, Puccinelli got a pinch-hit assignment on August 3. The Cards had jumped out to a 4-0 lead over the Reds, but Cincinnati had chipped away and now trailed 5-4. Pooch blasted a two-run homer off Jakie May to give St. Louis a 10-4 lead and kickstart a long, hot summer of sizzling baseball for the Cards. All in all, Puccinelli was 4-for-8 off the bench and while he was "just"  9-for-16 for the year (!!) when St. Louis blitzed its way into the post-season, the Cards thought enough of his performance to add him to their World Series roster.

    The next spring, however, Pooch got things ass-backward and screwed himself by dropping three fly balls during a spring training game. It cost him a shot at a big league job that year, and it clearly affected his play. He moped through the '31 season in the minors, hitting under .300 for the first time in his career: 'twas something of a Rubicon for him.

Luz Quebrada...Broken Light

    source:  fashiongonerogue/ peony photo:Filipa Sousa

    Este editorial tem algo de especial, em cada milímetro existem tantos detalhes para descobrir...todos esses pormenores conjugam-se sob os primeiros raios de luz do dia, uma luz límpida e leve que ao atravessar as janelas e incidir sobre os objectos parece criar uma aura de luz...(reparem nessa altura do dia, a sério) a combinação perfeita com este ambiente, uma das minhas peónias que está a desabrochar, cada dia um pouco mais...absolutamente perfeita, as tonalidades vão desde o rosa até ao branco e tem um perfume fantástico que não consigo descrever, lembra o perfume forte de uma rosa conjugado com o travo quente e acolhedor das especiarias

    This editorial has something special, in every inch there are so many details to find out ... all these details are combined under the first rays of daylight, a clear and weightless light ...the perfect combination with this environment, one of my peonies that bloom

Perdida no Sotão da Avó...Lost in Grandmas Attic

    Lost in Grandma’s Attic by Jeff Bark for Bullett Spring 2011

    Acho que todas nós adoramos descobrir peças antigas que pertenceram ás nossas avós e visavós, testemunhos de outros tempos, no meu caso principalmente malas e acessórios,eu adoro fazer pesquisas em casa das minhas avós por esses autênticos tesouros.
    Muitas vezes através de fotografias antigas de família descubro peças verdadeiramente únicas e simbólicas para mim, e embora muitas se tenham perdido, são sempre uma constante inspiração, para mim são importantes, não por serem peças vintage de alguma casa reconhecida,(não me importava de encontrar alguma assim, claro) mas porque me permitem transportar comigo um pouco de memória e muitas vezes ajudam-me a reconstituir histórias por detrás daquelas fotografias...é tão interessante poder usar por exemplo uma carteira que a minha visavó usou há décadas, acho sinceramente que ela acharia piada ao facto de eu usar uma carteira que ela usaria pontualmente numa altura especial, e que eu uso no meu dia-a-dia, ela era realmente uma pessoa com garra e que na sua juventude sempre esteve á frente do seu tempo, e que me dá muito prazer homenagear desta maneira, para mim este é o verdadeiro significado do vintage.

    I think we all love to find antique pieces that belong to our gradmas, truly testemonies of old times, I love to make researches in my grandmas house looking for bags and acessories that I saw in old family photographs...for me the pieces are truly important not because are from any very important label, but because they carry memories, I think the mother of my grandmother  would find it funny that I use her bags nowadays...for me this is the true meaning of vintage

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