#1943 kai

[bitmapbooks]

PC Engine: The Box Art Collection

Offers essential reading for long-standing fans of NEC’s mighty console, retro gaming devotees of every kind, and anyone with an interest in the fascinating relationship that games, art and popular culture share.

Purchase here: www.pcenginebook.com

#bitmapbooks #book #retrogaming #retrogames #gaming #art #reading #pcengine #boxart #1943 #1943술집

[gameraboy2]

Make for Your Own Backyard Vogue, June 15, 1943 Photography by Kay Bell

[neverstopgaming]

19XX

19XXシリーズは、第二次世界大戦中に実際に起きた出来事を題材にした縦スクロールシューティングゲーム群です。 最初の 3 つのゲームは非常に人気があり、Capcom Generations の第 1 巻やその後の Capcom Classics Collection など、いくつかのコンピレーション タイトルに収録されました。

[lonelywretchjervistetch]

The State Birds Initiative - Introduction

Before I do ANYTHING else, and before you read anything else...let's start this with a little poll, shall we?

...Look, I'm an overly ambitious person by nature. It's a problem, I'm fully aware. So, in the midst of writing character essays, imagining my own version of the DC Cinematic Universe (I promise, I will return to the Legion of Super-Heroes series; been having writer's block, not gonna lie), and about a dozen other projects that don't include school and my job (one and the same thing, and I love both, but I'll get to that one day)...I had another thought. That I would like to present to the good people of Tumblr (and perhaps beyond).

The state birds suck.

Most people on Tumblr don't know this about me, save for a select few that no me in real life (hey guys, 'sup), but I'm an avid birdwatcher, and am currently working in ornithology as a profession and student. As such, and as a former (and future) teacher, I have a vested passion in spreading the word. And one of the first ways most of us in the United States engage with birds, other than through the world and people around us, is through our national bird and state birds. Oh, and for anybody reading this not from the USA, don't worry, national birds are included here, too.

Now, in case you don't know for whatever reason, each one of the states in the United States has a bird meant to represent the state, designated by the government and often nominated by the state's citizens. This tradition started in 1926, with Kentucky's national bird, the Northern Cardinal (Cardinalis cardinalis). Now, most states have an official state bird, although Pennsylvania technically has a state game bird, rather than a state bird. We'll get to it. But in any case, there's a bird associated with every state.

But, uh...most of them suuuuuuuuuuuck.

Now, for example, I'm not saying that the Northern Cardinal sucks. Far from it! I love cardinals, and honestly, who doesn't? They're handsome birds, they have a lot of character, they're recognizable in most states in the Union by most people. I love them! But, uh...cardinals are extremely overused as state birds. Kentucky chose them as their state bird first, and were followed by Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, North Carolina, West Virginia, and Virginia. That's ridiculous. Also, wait, really, Virginia? You saw that West Virginia had it already, and STILL went for the cardinal? What the hell?

But why? Maybe there's a good reason for all of those states to choose the cardinal, after all. Obviously, it's present in all of those states, because...well, the Northern Cardinal is basically everywhere. But other than that, why? Well, let's see.

Kentucky: Unclear, but it's likely because of its prevalence, songs, and nonmigratory behavior, at least according to some sources; there isn't a lot of evidence online as to why outside of this.

Illinois: For this one, we blame the children. Yeah, kids voted this one sd the symbol, choosing it over the bluebird, meadowlark, bobwhite, and oriole, according to the Illinois Department of Natural Resources. So, yeah, probably because it's familiar and red.

Indiana: For...reasons. Yeah, even less is known about this choice. Safe to assume, though, that it's because it's familiar and red.

Ohio: Apparently, this is because it's red and has a cheerful song. 'Kay. Again, not a lot of evidence for this one, but we'll go with it.

North Carolina: This one also came down to public vote, after a campaign initiated by the North Carolina Bird Club in 1943. It won over the red-winged blackbird, wild turkey, scarlet tanager, and gray catbird. Apparently, this was the second attempt at a state bird, as the Carolina Chickadee (Poecile carolinensis) had been chosen ten years earlier, but only retained the position for a week because the bird's other name is, and this is true, the tomtit. And that was apparently too lewd for the title of state bird. Jesus. We'll get back to that when I address North Carolina officially.

West Virginia: Again, chosen and voted by schoolchildren, and chosen because it's familiar, red, and has a cheerful song. 'Kay.

Virginia: No idea. Also, don't listen to the sites that say their bird "exemplifies the quality of the state" unless they have the GODDAMN PAPERWORK to back that shit up. If I had to guess, it's possibly because the northern cardinal is one of the first birds seen in the state by settlers to the continental USA, who landed in...Virginia. So, the state's got a historical connection to the cardinal, meaning that the last state to ratify it as a state bird is the one to make the most sense to do so.

So, yeah...only one of those makes sense to me. Otherwise, it just feels...random. And by the way, many of the state birds do make some sense. Utah's choice, the California Gull (Larus californicus), has roots in a Mormon miracle, which makes perfect sense for the Mormon state. Louisiana's Brown Pelican (Pelecanus occidentalis) is an iconic species to the American southeast, and a massive proportion of the species breeds in the state. Same goes for the Scissor-tailed Flycatcher (Tyrannus forficatus), the state bird of Oklahoma. Iconic and unique grassland bird, and it breeds within the state in high quantities for the global population.

But others? Why does New York (a state I grew up in and around) have the Eastern Bluebird (Sialia sialis) for its state bird? Because it's blue and nice-looking? Why exactly do Wyoming, Oregon, Nebraska, Kansas, Montana, and North Dakota ALL have the Western Meadowlark (Sturnella neglecta)? I love the song too, and it's an iconic grassland species, but really? All of you? And Maine? Maine...Maine. I mean, you didn't even go for a specific species and just listed "chickadee" as your state bird. Why? There is a MUCH. BETTER. OPTION. OBVIOUSLY. But...I digress.

...FUCK IT

WHY ON GOD'S GREEN EARTH IS MAINE'S STATE BIRD NOT THE ATLANTIC PUFFIN (Fratercula arctica)??? ANSWER ME MAINE GODDAMMIT

Seriously, what the hell? It's the only state IN THE UNION where the Atlantic puffin breeds, and it's an incredibly iconic bird! I mean, look at that thing! They're adorable, fish-eating, clumsy-flying, feathery orbs with a Froot Loops beak (for part of the year), complete with their own fucking cereal that I ate constantly as a child. And their babies are called pufflings! PUFFLINGS!!! DO YOU HEAR ME MAINE WHAT THE FU

...OK. OK. I'm good. Look, this genuinely irritates the SHIT out of me, both as a hobbyist and as a professional. There are near 1,000 bird species that can be found in the United States, and the state birds are, honestly, some basic-ass choices that doesn't BEGIN to explore the incredible diversity of this taxon. And honestly, maybe if we changed up the state birds, we could increase awareness for these animals and their conservation stories and needs. There are so many missed opportunities here for us as educators, birders, ornithologists, backyard birdwatchers, and even Birdblr, to educate those around us who aren't as ornithologically-inclined. Imagine being able to convince a friend to go find the state bird on a trip some weekend. It could be a fun activity, and a fun way to get into birdwatching and the natural world! IT'S GOT POTENTIAL!!!

And look, I realize I'm not alone on this front. Various people have proposed changing up the state birds, including some more powerful professionals than I. If you haven't seen it yet, check out this essay series from the Cornell Lab of Ornithology that came out last year, which asks whether or not eBird could be used to identify better candidates for state birds. And I'll be using it for what's coming next. Because here's the thing. I'm tired of ranting alone in the dark towards nobody while my fiancee is trying to sleep about this. I need to rant to you poor people instead. And what's more...I want people to rant with me. If they want to. So...

TO ME, BIRDBLR!!! LEND ME YOUR BINOCULARS!!!

I propose an initiative to create a new list of state birds for the United States of America. And I'm talkin' EVERY state, baby! Even the ones that have fitting birds, as mentioned above. We live in a GODDAMN DEMOCRACY, and I say that we put this to a vote. So, Imma make a series of polls, one for each state. And yeah, that's 50 polls. Each will have a selection of birds, including the current state bird for that state, and I'll present the options in each case. The rules and selection criteria for the birds I'll present are as follows:

The bird has to be wild and breed in the state in question. No migrants, to accidentals, no introduced species (looking at you, South Dakota), no domestic species (looking at you, Rhode Island and Delaware). They're from the state, they breed there, and they're wild. Don't have to be endemic to the state, but they need to be found there, at bare goddamn minimum.

No repeats! Every state will have a different species! No more repeats. If there are any ties for states to get a given bird, another set of polls will be made at the end to determine which state will get that bird, and the second highest bird will claim the spot for that state. I'll try to avoid that for each state, but we'll see how things go.

There has to be a reason for their selection. For each of the birds presented for each state, I'll make a solid argument for their nomination. This also goes for any birds submitted to me for suggestions (and yes, I mean to say y'all can make suggestions if you want to for each state). If you have a bird you think would be good for a state, especially if it's your state, please give me a reason. Not that it's pretty, not that you like it's song, not that it "represents the spirit of the state's people" for no easily defined reason. GIVE ME A REASON

And for now, that's it! And hell, if this gets popular or demanded (and I'm saying this if, like, 30 people pay attention to this post), I'll also do the District of Columbia and the U.S. territories. And hell (again), I'll even consider doing other countries if that gets demanded, definitely starting with Canada and seeing how things go from there. And finally...if people want it, maybe even the Bald Eagle (Halieetus leucocephalus) will go up for debate as the USA's national bird. Although, not gonna lie, I think that we're stuck with that one. Still, there are other questions that can be brought up if this gets popular enough. For now, though, let's focus on one thing at a time.

So, hopefully you answered the poll at the top, because I am curious as to what you think about your state bird. And just to set this up, the first state on the chopping block is Delaware, which has one of the most offensive state birds, in my opinion. Because seriously. What the fuck, Delaware? What the fuck.

See you soon, hopefully! And happy birding!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Introduction to the State Birds Initiative

Delaware - Poll | Results Pennsylvania - Poll | Results New Jersey - Poll | Results (coming soon) Georgia - incoming!

[mydaddywiki]

Jimmy Johnson

Physique: Average Build Height: 5′ 8″

James William Johnson (born July 16, 1943) is an American sports analyst and former football coach. Johnson served as a head football coach on the collegiate level from 1979 to 1988 and in the NFL for nine seasons. He is the first head football coach to win both a college football national championship and a Super Bowl, achieving the former with University of Miami and the latter with the Dallas Cowboys. Since his coaching retirement, Johnson has appeared as an analyst for Fox Sports and is one of the featured commentators of Fox NFL Sunday. He was inducted to the College Football Hall of Fame in 2012 and the Pro Football Hall of Fame in 2020.

Handsome silverdaddy with a decent body and what I like to call 'perfect hair forever.' Would just love to run my fingers though that hair of his. Kinda disappointed about the ExtenZe deal, but he has other qualities I can abuse.

Johnson attended high school at Thomas Jefferson High School, now Memorial High School, in Port Arthur, Texas. Johnson played college football as a defensive lineman at the University of Arkansas between 1962 and 1964. During his time in Arkansas, he played with future Dallas Cowboys owner Jerry Jones.

Johnson held his first head football coaching position at Oklahoma State University from 1979 to 1983. He became Miami's head football coach in 1984 and guided the team to a college championship, before succeeding original Cowboys head coach Tom Landry in 1989. He served five seasons with the Cowboys and guided the team to two Super Bowl championships. Johnson also coached the Miami Dolphins for four seasons and led the club to the playoffs in all but his first year on the job. In all, Johnson’s record as an NFL head coach was 80-64-0 in the regular season and 9-4 in the playoffs for an overall mark of 89-68-0.

Twice married, first to Linda Kay Cooper on July 12, 1963, with whom he had two sons, divorced in January 1990. On July 18, 1999, Johnson married Rhonda Rookmaaker. I swear… why do I even bother. There isn't much else I can say about him. He's good looking and I'd love to fuck him like crazy. Like a lot of other people no doubt.

Career Highlights and Awards As Head Coach: 2× Super Bowl champion (XXVII, XXVIII) AP NFL Coach of the Year (1990) Dallas Cowboys Ring of Honor National champion (1987) Walter Camp Coach of the Year (1986) Big Eight Coach of the Year (1979) As Player: National champion (1964) 2× SWC champion (1961, 1964) First-team All-SWC (1964)

Career Coaching Statistics NFL win–loss record: 80–64 Postseason record: 9–4 NCAA win–loss record: 81–34–3

[random-brushstrokes]

Dorothy Kay - Commerce (1943)

[vintage-every-day]

'Gail, Eileen, Margie, Kay & me playing records August 17, 1943.'

[fleshadept]

HOTTEST/MOST FUCKABLE VAMPIRES MASTERPOST

Will be updating as the rounds progress.

ROUND ONE:

Count Dracula (Dracula [1931], Bela Lugosi) VS. Count Dracula (Bram Stoker's Dracula [1992], Gary Oldman) WINNER: Dracula (Gary Oldman)

Dr. Hess Green (Ganja & Hess) VS. Serana (Skyrim) WINNER: Dr. Hess Green

Father Paul (Midnight Mass) VS. Adam (Only Lovers Left Alive) WINNER: Father Paul

Father Sang-hyun (Thirst) VS. The Girl (A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night) WINNER: The Girl

Lestat de Lioncourt (Interview with the Vampire AMC) VS. Spike (Buffy the Vampire Slayer) WINNER: Lestat de Lioncourt

Alucard (Castlevania) VS. Louis de Pointe du Lac (Interview with the Vampire AMC) WINNER: Louis de Pointe du Lac

Armand (Interview with the Vampire AMC) VS. Carmilla (Castlevania) WINNER: Armand

Carmilla (Carmilla [1872]) VS. Blade (Blade) WINNER: Carmilla

Countess Marya Zaleska (Dracula's Daughter [1936]) VS. Alice Cullen (The Twilight Saga) WINNER: Alice Cullen

Angel (Buffy the Vampire Slayer) VS. Nadja of Antipaxos (What We Do in the Shadows [2019]) WINNER: Nadja of Antipaxos

Count von Krolock (Tanz der Vampire) VS. Kay Caldwell (Son of Dracula [1943]) WINNER: Kay Caldwell

Queen Akasha (Queen of the Damned) VS. David (The Lost Boys) WINNER: Queen Akasha

Edward Cullen (The Twilight Saga) VS. Laszlo Cravensworth (What We Do in the Shadows [2019]) WINNER: Laszlo Cravensworth

Tae-jun (Thirst) VS. Marko (The Lost Boys) WINNER: Tae-jun

Viago (What We Do in the Shadows [2014]) VS. Eve (Only Lovers Left Alive) WINNER: Viago

Darla (Buffy the Vampire Slayer) VS. Vladislav the Poker (What We Do in the Shadows [2014]) WINNER: Vladislav the Poker

ROUND TWO:

Count Dracula (Bram Stoker's Dracula [1992], Gary Oldman) VS. Dr. Hess Green (Ganja & Hess)

Father Paul (Midnight Mass) VS. The Girl (A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night)

Lestat de Lioncourt (Interview with the Vampire AMC) VS. Louis de Pointe du Lac (Interview with the Vampire AMC)

Armand (Interview with the Vampire AMC) VS. Carmilla (Carmilla [1872])

Alice Cullen (The Twilight Saga) VS. Nadja of Antipaxos (What We Do in the Shadows [2019])

Kay Caldwell (Son of Dracula [1943]) VS. Queen Akasha (Queen of the Damned)

Laszlo Cravensworth (What We Do in the Shadows [2019]) VS. Tae-jun (Thirst)

Viago (What We Do in the Shadows [2014]) VS. Vladislav the Poker (What We Do in the Shadows [2014])

[shoshiwrites]

Wishing you the happiest of birthdays, @mercurygray! ♡ Thank you so much for letting me borrow Fred and Cord — they were, and are, a delight, and for letting Jo poke her head into this universe. Go read these babes, friends, and go wish Merc a happy birthday! Also on Ao3!

in a sentimental mood

When Jo had applied to go overseas — arguing her case in front of her editors and then down in Washington, not to mention the paperwork, been through a battery of security screenings, had every inch of her life turned upside down like a suitcase and somehow stamped approved, not to mention the armful of immunizations that had left her queasy until lunch the next day — nowhere in her accreditation paperwork had it said anything about baby-sitting.

She could hardly complain though, since Spark Plug of Thorpe Abbotts was about the cutest date a girl could have for a Saturday night.

It was all less of a grouse, and more of a surprise, she thinks, lightly scratching her fingertips between the kitten’s ears. Spark Plug mreows softly in reply.

Outside, the light fades out of the sky — streaks of blue-gray and peach over the expanse of the runway, behind the black of the trees at its edge, the low outline of the town beyond.

England is beautiful, she thinks. Out here, by the coast, so different to London or to Philadelphia. Old and green and full of weathered stone, thatched roofs, rose gardens. Maybe her picture was rosy — as much as it could be with air raid sirens, with the hell that rained down, as one reporter said, bricks and ashes along cobblestones, fireweed growing in the bomb craters. 

The cold rain was different too, from the Georgia red clay that still stuck between the treads of her lace-up shoes. She’d watched a different group of men become infantry before her very eyes. It was something of a culture shock, coming here, finding the war well underway, men who’d been flying and training for years. Who’d grown up watching Lindbergh and Gable and Tracy, read the feats of barnstormers and even saw them, papered their rooms in clippings and posters, built model planes. 

Spark Plug fixed her with a very serious look, mreowed a little louder this time. “Now, mister, Fred told me you were very well fed before she left.” As well fed as any living being could be on this island, in 1943.

Spark Plug seemed to consider this; Jo was suddenly glad she’d made embarrassingly quick work of the bag of bridge mix sent by her friends back home. She can still taste chocolate on her back teeth, the slightly waxy sweetness, a sticky bit of raisin between two molars. She felt only a little guilty that she hadn’t offered any to anyone else. The human sort, of course. 

She’d spent the morning making edits and going through some of Kay’s photo proofs. She was fighting her better instincts now, not to return to work, having turned her attention to the stack of books on the table beside her — Betty Wason’s latest, which she’d actually started, and a copy of last year’s Best American Short Stories, and a dog-eared Jamaica Inn that Kay had somehow snuck into her luggage.  

The Red Cross girls had been kind enough to let her intrude on their lunch, after which followed a conversation on sweets they missed from back home, which spilled into the afternoon work of cleaning the fryers and coffee urns and writing reports, talk of almond cakes and Christmas cookies and mom’s shortbread. Candy too, and sweet coffee, sugar rationing be damned. Another reason Jo felt guilty for hoarding her supply. She’d share the next package, she decided then. 

She’d been at Thorpe Abbotts coming up on two and a half weeks, now. It had been a rocky start — new faces, sure, colonels and S-2s with no inclination to give Jo the time of day, not that she could blame them, much less get her name right. She’d put her foot in it more than a time or two about this or that, despite all the reading she’d done, the clips she’d bugged The Clarion for before she’d left. 

Turns out being here was a lot different than reading about it. Yeah, that was right. Jo smiled to herself, just a little. Half at Spark Plug, who was now making a furry doughnut of himself on the blanket beside her, half at the thought that maybe she was getting some kind of approval here, too. She told the folks at home about them, the pilots and the bombardiers and the gunners, the mechanics, the tower and the WACs and the Clubmobile and the office orderlies, the runway builders, the townspeople too. It was her job. It was something she did well, or so she hoped to think. 

And just last week she’d been trying to get an interview that could not be gotten, wondering if she should let it rest, when one of the majors had even jumped in on her side, the tall, dark-haired one who called himself, inexplicably, Bucky. “Even Buck likes her!” Jo knew by now that she was meant to take that as high praise. Buck, the blonde, who’d only agreed to a profile because it would mean something to his girl back home. 

Major Egan had taken up her case with the subject in question, a looey in the control tower, serious and studious and exactly the kind of temperament Jo imagined a pilot would want when being guided down from the sky. 

Jo, for her part, would have forgiven the lieutenant for never speaking to her again, given how Jo had first approached her fresh off the train and the Jeep from London — and not 12 hours after a fort had gone down with Callaway on the other end of the radio. Nobody had told Jo. Why would they? But somehow, Bucky’s reasoning had done the trick. Jo had even gotten a smile out of her, sitting there across from the two of them at the table, after Jo had politely told the major to can it and let the lieutenant speak.

And then there was Captain Brady, who was half the reason Jo was sitting here with Spark Plug at all this evening. The other half, she acknowledged, may have been her volunteering.

He was serious too, the way you had to be when you were responsible for a fort full of men. Men. He was a college kid, a musician, who just so happened to be a pilot. He was reserved, for the most part, except for the soft spot he held for his crew and for the lovely Miss Torvaldsen, Fred, even though the two of them tried to hide it.

They couldn’t hide it too much now, on Saturday night. At least not from Jo. He’d borrowed a Jeep, Captain Brady, to take his date all the way to Norwich. At that Jo thought of William, whose idea of a night out had been sandwiches after a ballgame. Her brow furrowed like she’d just imagined sour milk. The spot on her finger where her ring had been still felt empty, even if she knew it shouldn’t. She was here. He was back home. Trying to get here, probably. 

She much preferred to think of Fred and her date, the night they would have, listening to music and forgetting the war as much as they could. Jo would have lent her a dress if she had one that fit — she could hear Kay scoffing somewhere in the recesses of her mind — but Fred had managed with a little blue number from one of her colleagues, with a skirt in Swiss Dot that would be perfect for dancing. 

The rain had cleared for them, and Jo couldn’t think of anything lovelier than that.

And for all of Brady’s seriousness, she hadn’t had to try to get any stories out of him — not directly, at least. He’d approached her one day, maybe a week in, hands in his pockets. "Curt — Lieutenant Biddick — said you wanted to hear about a wheels-up landing."

She’d had a few conversations with Fred by that point, in the kitchen or by the truck, one or two in the Aero Club, which surely he’d seen, and she wondered now if that had had anything to do with it.

They’re good together, Jo couldn’t think of another way to say it. It felt hopeful, and cruel. 

They reminded her of Evie and Angelo, childhood sweethearts. Of couples the country over, steady and engaged and married.

There were things she didn’t dare think about, here — dark eyes and quiet conversations, times she felt free. A touch of whiskey at he the back of her throat. A dance she hadn’t wanted to end. 

She yawned then, or was it a sigh? She could blame the early mornings she’d been pulling to rise with the crews and the Clubmobile, the air raid that had kept them all up the night before. The air in the Nissen hut, home to her bunk and Fred’s and Helen’s and Tatty’s and the rest of the crews’, was warm and a bit damp from the rain, smelling of wool blankets and hair pomade and perfume and last night’s wood fire.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and she couldn’t tell whether it had been ten minutes or three hours when she opened them again, to darkness outside and Spark Plug purring contentedly in his sleep. There was rain once again, against the prefabricated steel, and outside, under the eave of the doorway, two figures saying their goodnights. Fred, and Brady. Jo wondered for a brief moment if she should pretend to be asleep again. But the door opened, the sound of the rain growing momentarily louder, and Fred shook off an umbrella she hadn’t left with before closing the door behind her. 

“I would have moved if he wanted to come in,” Jo said, only a little bit sorry for the look that crossed Fred’s face.

“Jo.”

Jo giggled, just a little, when she saw that Fred was smiling. 

“How was it?” Beside her she could feel Spark Plug’s little paws moving on the bed, as he nuzzled against the back of her hand expectantly.

She could see that she hardly needed to ask, seeing Fred’s cheeks pink with happiness, loose wisps of blonde hair curling around her face in the lamplight. 

“It only started raining the last few minutes of the walk,” she said. “We got lucky.” Jo smiled at that. “It was- it was wonderful.”

“I’m glad.” She thought a moment, starting to swing herself up to a seated position, absentmindedly smoothing a wrinkle in her trouser leg. “That’s a lovely umbrella there, Freda.”

Fred looked at it, where she’d carefully placed it by the door. Jo thinks of Captain Brady, walking home in the rain. She imagines she could be forgiven for picturing him whistling, his hands in his pockets. Fred’s mouth twitches, just a little. 

“How was our Spark Plug?”

Jo gives her something like a knowing look, something like a key in a lock. She eyes her pajamas, hanging on a hook next to the bed, the small jar of cold cream on the nightstand, her toothbrush. The rest of the girls would be filtering in at some point, back from the Aero Club for a few hours’ rest before the morning and fresh coffee, the truck parked on the gravel under early clouds, dew wet on the grass. It never stopped, of course — you were always a girl back home, for the boys over here. She hoped Fred had felt special, last night. Like she could let someone do something for her, for once. She hoped they’d lost themselves in a song.

“Just a darling. You’ll let me know the next time you need a sitter, alright?”

[byneddiedingo]

Joe Pesci and Barbara Hershey in The Public Eye (Howard Franklin, 1992)

Cast: Joe Pesci, Barbara Hershey, Stanley Tucci, Jerry Adler, Dominic Chianese, Richard Riehle, Richard Schiff, Jared Harris. Screenplay: Howard Franklin. Cinematography: Peter Suschitzky. Production design: Marcia Hinds. Film editing: Evan A. Lottman. Music: Mark Isham. 

Before they were paparazzi, they were shutterbugs, and the most notorious of them was Arthur Fellig, known as Weegee. Fellig's ability to get to a crime scene first, often before the police, made him famous, but he also thought of himself as a serious documentary photographer. Howard Franklin based the protagonist of The Public Eye, Leon Bernstein, aka Bernzy (Joe Pesci), on Fellig/Weegee, including the character's willingness to cheat a little to make his pictures better. Bernzy, for example, coming upon a corpse before the cops arrive, rearranges the body a little to make the composition of the shot better. Once, he asks a bystander to toss the victim's hat into the frame: "People like to see the hat," he says. Weegee likewise knew how to pose and frame his pictures: One of his most famous documents the arrival of a pair of bejeweled and befurred dowagers at the Metropolitan Opera opening night in 1943, while a drab and frowzy woman gawps at them. It was published in Life magazine and in the following year was exhibited at the Museum of Modern Art, where the reaction to its comic juxtaposition gave the shutterbug a reputation as an artist. But it was not a candid photograph: Weegee and his friends had found a barfly, plied her with wine, and shoved her into the frame at just the right moment. Franklin gives Bernzy some of Weegee's duplicity, but he's more intent on making his shutterbug into a hero who uses his street smarts to foil a plot by the mob to muscle in on the distribution of gasoline rationing coupons -- the film takes place in 1942. He also falls in love with Kay Levitz (Barbara Hershey), a beautiful nightclub owner. In short, the movie is slick when it should be gritty. Pesci gives a restrained performance, almost as if he doesn't want to repeat himself, having just won an Oscar as the volatile Tommy DeVito ("What do you mean I'm funny?") in Goodfellas (Martin Scorsese, 1990). There are good performances by Hershey, Stanley Tucci as a young mobster, Jerry Adler as a newspaper columnist friend of Bernzy's, and Jared Harris as a doorman at Kay's nightclub. But the movie never builds the tension it needs for the story to have much payoff at the end. 

[yestergaze]

In September of 1943, the Hollywood Bond Cavalcade arrived at the first destination of their cross-country bond selling trip. Pictured here on the National Mall in Washington, D.C. are Harpo Marx, Fred Astaire, Lucille Ball, Betty Hutton, Mickey Rooney, Judy Garland, James Cagney, Greer Garson, Kay Kyser, and Kathryn Grayson; plus starlets nicknamed "Bondbardears", Ruth Brady, Margaret Stewart, Doris Merrick, Rosemary Laplanche, Dorothy Merritt, and Muriel Goodspeed.

[fidjiefidjie]

Bon jour, bonne semaine à tous ☕️ 📰

Newspapers Welcome Mme Chiang Kai-Shek 🇺🇸 San Francisco 1943

Photo de Hansel Miet /The Life /Getty Images

[neverstopgaming]

CAPCOM GENERATIONS

は、カプコンが PlayStation および Sega Saturn 向けに制作した 5 つのビデオ ゲームのコンピレーション シリーズです。 各巻には、特定のシリーズまたはゲーム ジャンルからの 3 ～ 4 つのゲームが含まれており、オリジナルのアーケード バージョンから直接移植されました (元はスーパー NES ゲームだった Super Ghosts'n Ghosts を除く)。 各ディスクには、歴史、ヒント、アートワーク、キャラクタープロフィール、アレンジされた音楽 (ゲーム自体でも有効にすることができます)、および各ゲームのその他のロック解除可能なコンテンツを備えた「コレクション モード」も含まれています。 PlayStation バージョンのゲームには、DualShock コントローラーのサポートも含まれていました。

[garadinervi]

Onchi Kōshirō, Chu. Gyo. Kai., (illustrated book with twelve woodcuts, including front and back covers), Aoi Shobô, Tokyo, 1943, Edition of 250 [MoMA, New York, NY. Ursus Books, New York, NY]

[thunderstruck9]

Kay Sage (American, 1898-1963), Ten Minutes, 1943. Graphite, ink and wash on paper, 10 5/8 x 7 in.

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Gathered for a press conference at the Hotel St. Moritz in 1943 are the stars of the Hollywood War Bond Cavalcade, headed by James Cagney, who made appearances at the big bond rally in Madison Square Garden. Rear, left to right: James Cagney, Lucille Ball, Fred Astaire, Greer Garson, Paul Henreid, Judy Garland, Betty Hutton, Harpo Marx, Marjorie Stewart. Front, left to right: Sgt. Barney Ross, Kay Kyser, Mickey Rooney, Rosemary La Planche.

Photo: NY Daily News