(via bunnysuit)
12 notes
A propman carries a 9-foot wooden wrench during the underwater filming of Walt Disney’s production of “20,000 Leagues Under the Sea”. The wrench will be used in a scene where the Nautilus crewmen leave the submarine to repair a crippled propeller.
FL, US, February 1954, Peter Stackpole
Hannah Wilke. So Help Me Hannah: What Does This Represent / What Do You Represent (Reinhart), 1978–1984.
On March 28, 1941 Virginia Woolf committed suicide. She put on her overcoat, filled its pockets with stones, then walked into the River Ouse near her home and drowned. Her body was not found until April 18th. Her husband, Leonard buried her cremated remains under a tree in the garden of Monk’s House, their home in Rodmell, Sussex.
In her last note to her husband she wrote:
I feel certain that I am going mad again. I feel we can’t go through another of those terrible times. And I can’t recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can’t concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don’t think two people could have been happier ‘til this terrible disease came. I can’t fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I can’t even write this properly. I can’t read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that — everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can’t go on spoiling your life any longer. I don’t think two people could have been happier than we have been. V.
Until about the middle of the last century, most of the turkeys eaten on Thanksgiving would have been what we now call “heritage breeds,” including the Standard Bronze, Bourbon Red, White Holland, Naragansett, and Jersey Buff varieties. These turkeys are gorgeous, hardy creatures, developed in Europe and America over hundreds of years and rich in flavor. Though they are the ancestors to the Broad-Breasted White, a sort of made-up breed that arose in the 1960s with the advent of industrial turkey farms (the Broad-Breasted Bronze was mostly abandoned because its dark pinfeathers put off consumers), they bear little resemblance to that now ubiquitous bird in taste or texture.
Today more than 99 percent of turkeys sold in America come from the roughly 270 million raised on factory farms each year. These birds are bred to be so literally broad-breasted that by the time they are 8 weeks old, they are too fat to walk, much less procreate—every Broad-Breasted White on the market is the product of artificial insemination. They are kept in giant barns, given antibiotics to prevent disease, and fed constantly so that they reach maturity in almost half the time it takes a heritage turkey. The result is bland, mushy meat that we have come to equate with tenderness, but in reality processors inject the dressed birds with saline solutions and vegetable oils to improve “mouth feel” and keep the oversize breasts from drying out.
Yukio Mishima committed seppuku this day in 1970.
I had my first experience with Mishima recently when I read The Sound of Waves. It was a calm and gentle book about young love on a quiet Japanese fishing island. It is hard for me to mesh the two images of Mishima in my head - the author of that wonderful, subdued book, and the militant, bodybuilding nationalist shown above.
Original NYT article about the suicide here.