Most people call me...Jim

Gene Wilder, RIP

Ace

What an amazing character.

Blue Monday, Freddie King edition

Ramparts!

Warren Hinckle, RIP.

In Feed/Back magazine in 1975, Adam Hochschild, a staff writer and later a founder of Mother Jones, wrote: “All action at the magazine swirled around him: a pet monkey named Henry Luce would sit on his shoulder while he paced his office, drink in hand, shouting instructions into a speakerphone across the room to someone in New York about a vast promotional mailing; on his couch would be sitting, slightly dazed, a French television crew or Malcolm X’s widow (who arrived one day surrounded by a dozen bodyguards with loaded shotguns), or the private detective to whom Hinckle had given the title Criminology Editor.”

Who do you love?

Hopefully, this makes up for last week's unaccountable submission.

Consent!

There are so many things about this that defy explanation.

Can't anyone here play this game?

Choo Choo Coleman, RIP.

He stood 5 feet 9 and played at 165 pounds or less, slight for a catcher. His hands were suspect — he “handles outside curve balls like a man fighting bees,” Roger Angell observed in The New Yorker — and in 1963 he finished third among National League catchers in errors (15) and fourth in passed balls (11) despite starting just 66 games behind the plate. He was known for his hustle, and, Angell observed, he was speedy on the bases (though he added, “This is an attribute that is about as essential to catchers as neat handwriting”).

Blue Monday, Jimmy Reed edition

Killin' for that whiskey, wine and gin

Nothing left to do but smile, smile, smile

Ichiro!

In honor of his 3,000 MLB hit (and, damn, a triple, the most exciting play in baseball and no need to have to negotiate with a fan for the ball!  Guy's a genius):

Blue Monday, Jerry Garcia edition

We're gonna give an exhibition

Jerry Garcia's model for playing

Whawha

Blue Monday, McKinley Morganfield edition