Today’s must-reads from around the Internet.
Breaking news: today is, apparently, Tweed Day.
Now, we’ve taken a pretty hard-line stance against bullshit holidays in the past. We even spent the requisite paperwork and fees to name a “No Bullshit Holidays Day” (get excited for May 10, gentlemen).
But we’ve also been known to bend the rules every so often, because… tequila. And today, we’re revising our stance once more to include the glorious celebration of a fabric that we rely on so dearly during the fall and winter months but won’t see much of for the next six or so. Like most of these holidays, the founding is dubious at best—but ultimately, it feels like a good enough reason to give the rugged wools a proper farewell until we meet again.
No one paid much attention to Spud Webb at the 1986 NBA Slam Dunk competition. At 5′7″, he was (and remains) the shortest player ever to compete in the contest. The rest of the field dwarfed him by over a foot. Even Dominique Wilkins, Webb’s teammate and the reigning slam-dunk champion, brushed Spud aside. “I don’t think he’s ever seen me dunk before,” Webb said in a pregame interview. Then he did the following:
An elevator two-handed double-pump dunk, a one-handed off-the-backboard jam, a 360-degree helicopter one-handed dunk, a 180-degree reverse double-pump slam and a 180-degree reverse two-handed strawberry jam from a lob bounce off the floor, the latter two of which received perfect 50-point scores in the final round to bring home the gold.
We have no control over how tall we stand—height is fixed from the start. How we stand, though (or soar, in Mr. Webb’s case) is measured in stature. And stature knows no bounds. With that in mind, we proudly present:
The Reentry: February 27
1. Billy Crystal told a Flomax joke.
2. Meryl Streep won Best Actress for a film about a prime minister who hasn’t been relevant for 20 years.
3. Woody Allen won Best Screenplay for a film about writers who’ve been dead for 50 years.
4. A silent film won the rest.
As connoisseurs of history, we sometimes find styles, trends and turns of phrase from the past that we wouldn’t mind bringing back to the present, Doc Brown-style. This time around, we’re dusting off the well-dressed comedian.
Ladies and gentlemen, this man is a comedian.
Hard to believe, we know, but once upon a time, this was the uniform for a successful stand-up, right down to the skinny tie and the pocket square. If you had the money, you spent it on a first-class suit and then you traveled from town to town looking like you owned the train. (A trade secret: Puns always sound funnier if the guy telling them is dressed like a senator.)
It’s a professional custom we’d like to dust off…
With all our attention to the new James Bond, we may have overlooked the old one. The 1967’s loveably ramshackle *Casino Royale* is getting a belated 40th Anniversary Edition, giving you a chance to check out the film that almost killed the franchise.
Shared between five auteur-minded directors and even more diva-minded stars, *Casino Royale* is pretty much the disaster you would expect, but as disasters go, it’s pretty fantastic. Abandoned by Peter Sellers halfway through production, the movie ping-pongs between a sinister Orson Welles, David Niven trying his best to add a shred of dignity to the proceedings, and Woody Allen doing his best to turn everything into a proto-Austin Powers sex farce.
In short, it was ripe for a remake.
Duke Ellington dubbed him the “Maharajah of the Keyboard” and Count Basie said he played “the best ivory box I’ve ever heard,” while Ray Charles simply called him “one motherfucking piano player!” Oscar Peterson, one of the all-time jazz greats, died at the age of 82 over the holidays, and we here at Kempt can’t help but be saddened by the passing of man who provided the soundtrack to some of our most memorable moments.
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