Scan McCusker's article on the Tsukiji fish market (School of Fish, March) presents a thrilling portrait of an edgy, macho place. Yes, there are enormous knives, speeding forklifts and chainsmoking men (but not so many around the fish being carved); it is also a place where the delicate principles of Japanese cuisine are played out every day between wholesalers and chefs, restaurateurs, fishmongers and supermarket-chain buyers. McCusker talks about the men, but who handles the money? (Hint: It isn't the men.) Readers who want to visit this fascinating place should do so quickly. The Tokyo government plans to move it to a new location—on the site of a former petrochemical processing plant (i.e., a toxic-waste site)—where the facilities will be state-of-the-art but the hustle and bustle of the market will likely wither. By the way, Tsukiji is a fish market that serves Japanese demand. Seafood comes from all over the world in vast quantities every day. A tiny amount is exported to elite sushi chefs, but to say that much of the seafood found in American (or any other non-Japanese) markets passes through Tsukiji is inaccurate. Tsukiji sets the standards, but given the cost of airfreight and the imperative for freshness, little seafood sent there ever leaves Japan. Ted Bestor Cambridge, Massachusetts
A Cut Above (January/February) by Steve Garbarino is excellent. I have been a barber for 35 years, and we are a dying breed. With any luck Garbarino's report will breathe life back into our profession. Looking good is feeling good. Lannie Hale Waveland Barber-Stylist Des Moines, Iowa
You take the right approach with your feature on erotic album covers (Eros Vinyl, March)—let the sleeves do the talking. There's no need to intellectualize. In fact, the book I co-wrote on this topic probably ended up with too many words. I also like the fact that you have a late-1960s, early-1970s theme going on. This was when the sleeves were at their sexiest. If you go any
I enjoyed The Singularity (January/ February), though I am apprehensive about turning over the evolution of humanity to scientists locked in the ivory tower of their brain's left hemisphere. Ray Kurzweil is a genius, but like many scientists he shows total disregard for the right hemisphere and its access to the feelings, empathy and deep feminine principles of life. He sees death as a glitch of nature rather than an enigma we have to resolve, not solve. As an inventor Kurzweil has helped many people, but as a human being he is unbalanced. I think his right brain is calling out for a lucid dream experience, some shrooms or maybe even a cerebral hemorrhage, which Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor, author of My Stroke of Insight, has called the best thing that ever happened to her. (That's hyperbole; I'm not wishing a stroke on Kurzweil or anyone else.) As the economist E.F. Schumacher once said, "Any intelligent fool can invent further complications, but it takes a genius to retain or recapture simplicity."
In November 2008 in The Mail on Sunday, I outlined new evidence about the death of Brian Jones (The Rise and Fall of the First Rock Star, March). This evidence formed part of the information I gave to Sussex police last year, leading them to reopen the case. Over the past four years I have accessed the official documents relating to the case and traced the key people who were at Jones's house to piece together a forensic picture of what happened then and during the original investigation. Much of what is in the police files contradicts the official conclusion that this was an ordinary drowning. Janet Lawson, the nurse who found Jones's body, revealed for the first time that she believed Jones died when a fight with builder Frank Thorogood got out of hand. I spoke with three of the
An age-old question: What would you do if money were no object? Jay Walker, mega-millionaire founder of Priceline, built the ultimate guy's library in his New England home. Inside: everything from the instruction manual for the Saturn V rocket, which launched Apollo 11 to the moon, to props from the set of 007 movies to surgical manuals from the 1500s. He even has vintage prosthetic eyeballs (who doesn't need a few of those lying around?). We especially admire the antique laptops and pre-World War I radio (pictured above right). The only library we know of that compares? Hugh Hefner's.
Chicago's Topolobampo serves the finest Mexican cuisine in the U.S. Chef Rick Bayless shares with us his new bacon guacamole recipe, which will appear in his next cookbook, Fiesta at Rick's, out in July. We paired it with our own house mescal margarita. All the ingredients, except lime and water, come from the agave plant, which means purity of flavor and no hangover.
Shunga (n): Literally "spring images," a term used to describe the sexually explicit paintings hugely popular in Japan during the 18th century. What you see above is a mere hint of the erotica—at times hot, at times bizarre—you'll find in the new book Poem of the Pillow and Other Stories ($50, Phaidon), a collection of pieces by the most respected artists of their time.
American artist Jeff Koons will paint the next BMW Art Car. Ever since French racer Herve Poulain broached the idea in 1975, art superstars such as Roy Lichtenstein, Robert Rauschen-berg, Frank Stella and David Hockney have used BMWs as canvases, turning these furious four-wheelers into pricey museum pieces. The most famous is Andy Warhol's Ml from 1979 (pictured). What does Koons have up his sleeve? Stay tuned.
Turns out, even in this tricky economic climate, some big names in fashion are opening new high-profile shops aimed mostly at men. It's as though retail is finally getting the message: Guys don't want to rummage through tons of garbage to find that one shirt or pair of shoes they like. They want to go to a cool store where they like everything. Here are a few new spots that are sure to put a smile on your face and some friction on your plastic: Paul Smith's first outpost in Las Vegas (pictured, with its Mondrian-inspired facade); Hermes's first-ever men's shop, which opened in February on Madison Avenue in New York; and Coach's first men's shop, on Bleecker Street in Greenwich Village, opening this month.
Le Baron in Paris (pictured), the coolest celeb-and-model-packed nightclub in Europe, is coming to America. Its owners, the singularly named Andre and Lionel, have reportedly secured a spot on Mulberry Street in Manhattan. See you there.
The U.K.'s Royal Mail recently issued stamps commemorating the greatest British rock albums: David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust, the Rolling Stones' Let It Bleed, the Clash's London Calling. That got us thinking: If the U.S. Postal Service were to do the same (and it should!), what albums would it choose? What works should represent the American :anon? Herewith we've mocked jp some 44-cent beauties. Write js and add your picks to the list.
The big question two years ago was whether Iron Man would launch a new franchise or fizzle and become the next Daredevil. Doubters were silenced when the comic-book adaptation about industrialist playboy Tony Stark grossed more than $318 million and reignited the career of leading man Robert Downey Jr. So it's no surprise that we have Iron Man 2, which brings back Gwyneth Paltrow and Samuel L. Jackson, along with newbies Scarlett Johansson, as sexy undercover agent Black Widow, and Mickey Rourke, as the villain Whiplash. Terrence Howard is not returning as Lieutenant Colonel James "Rhodey" Rhodes, a.k.a., War Machine. This time Don Cheadle plays the hero's pal and sometime adversary. "I hope people enjoy the dynamic between Iron Man and me, but they come to these movies to see spectacular special effects," says Cheadle. "That's okay. I wouldn't mind being computer animated."
When Sienna Miller was dropped from Ridley Scott's Robin Hood, press reports hinted Russell Crowe looked too heavy next to the slim actress. No wonder studio execs insisted cinema's favorite gladiator lose most of the 63 pounds he packed < on for BodyofLies. Now Crowe says Miller's replacement, Cate Blanchett, makes a more "resilient" heroine—almost as resilient as Crowe's fluctuating waistband.
Terry Gilliam's latest elaborate fantasy, is both an exhilarating and a perplexing bit of storytelling. Gilliam spins the yarn of Parnassus (Christopher Plummer), an ancient sideshow magician whose deal with the devil (Tom Waits) has come due. This means his luscious daughter (Lily Cole) is going to hell, but not if troupe newcomer Tony (Heath Ledger, in his final role) has anything to say about it. Enter the Imaginarium, a CGI dreamscape
Most Americans came to know English actress Carey Mulligan as one of the prostitutes in Public Enemies, but you'll have to pick up the DVD of When Did You Last See Your Father? (pictured) to get a glimpse of what John Dillinger was robbing banks to pay for. Mulligan earned an Oscar nomination for her part in An Education, and after seeing the movie Oliver Stone cast her as Shia LaBeouf's love interest in Watt Street: Money Never Sleeps. She and LaBeouf have been an item ever since.
The men of Battle Company attack one another with knives and strike their superiors as a matter of course. They also represent our best chance of winning the war in Afghanistan. They've been tasked with leading the charge against the Taliban in one of its strongholds— the Korengal Valley near Pakistan, a mountainous terrain that has never been bested by outsiders. Over 15 months Sebastian Junger spent extended periods with one platoon, com-
One band was doing songs about the recession before the recession officially existed. While economists were contemplating GDP data, Drive-By Truckers were writing true tales full of booze, violence, blood and guns, stories set in towns where trouble lives next door to desperation.
The Splinter Celt series redefined stealth video games, but later entries fatigued us with their methodical pace and punishing difficulty. After wisely taking some years off to plot Sam Fisher's next move, Ubisoft now returns with a spectacularly reimagined experience for Xbox 360 and PC that will satisfy both old-school purists and those who favor looser, more action-oriented gameplay. The story line has new twists (Fisher is now an embittered ex-black ops employee searching for his daughter's killer), but the real stars are the revamped combat system that allows manifold solutions to any situation and extensive co-op multiplayer modes that offer further variations on the
Have you ever heard of a guy faking an orgasm? I've been doing it for about 10 years, and my wife of 28 years and five other women have had no idea. The first time I did it I was having intercourse with my wife on the morning before a date with one of my girlfriends. I wanted to be "full" for my girlfriend, so I stopped my stroke a few seconds before ejaculation but continued with the convulsions, the drooling, the shaking—everything but the semen. I did it so well I surprised myself. Every once in a while I slip and ejaculate, but overall, faking has given me better control. I can now go longer and come stronger. Is this sick, or have I discovered something uncommon?—D.D., New York, New York
DRESSED OLDER THAN SHE WAS. SHE WORE SUITS SHADED PEACH AND PASTEL. SHE WORE SCARVES SHOULDER-FLUNG: ONE TIME I WATCHED HER EXAMINE HERSELF IN A DARKENED SHOP WINDOW, FLINGING HER SCARF BACK ONCE, TWICE, THREE TIMES BEFORE JUDGING IT TOSSED ARIGHT. SHE MADE STRANGE FACES IN MIRRORS, LIPS INPUCKERING TO BLOT LIPSTICK. THEN SHE WOULD GIVE HERSELF THE SAME NARROW STARE SHE SOMETIMES GAVE HER PARTNERS IN CONVERSATION, AND PAT, TO NO EFFECT, HER
here's a popular myth about the origins of jazz, a sort of Bible story, in which New Orleans is the Garden of Eden and Adam and Eve are horn players who entertain Johns in the whorehouses of Storyville, the city's notorious red-light district. In this story, jazz is the apple, the fruit of the dives, fuck music, what was playing downstairs when you lost that last shred of innocence. In early accounts, jazz is sometimes spelled jnss and is sometimes said to be a variation of the word jism. "If the truth were known about the origin of the word jazz" rhe trombonist Clay Smith said in 1924, "it would never be mentioned in polite company."
International party girl Miss November 2001 Lindsey Vuolo traveled to St Maarten to celebrate the joint birthday party of 'N Sync's Joey Fatone and photographer Jamie McCarthy at Tantra Nightclub. Here she cozies up to birthday boy McCarthy (no relation to Jenny) while DJ Ruckus and Rev Run perform.... Miss December 1998 Jaclyn Dahm and her
"New Obama rules provide women 40 and older health insurance for $15 a month." "Tell Sarah Palin we won't stand for her smears and falsehoods." "Attention Volkswagen drivers...." "Earn your marketing MBA online." These are headlines from a few of the ads delivered to me on Facebook. The problem? I don't need health insurance (and I don't respond positively to seeing my age in an ad), I'm not politically active, I drive a Mini Cooper, and I already have an MBA. Could we call these ads relevant? I don't think so. Ben Parr's essay ("The New Ad Age," March) explains that advertisers can use the content we share, the actions we take and the friends with whom we interact to create the most relevant ads ever developed. True, the potential is there, but for now
THE NOVELIST GOES TO HOLLYWOOD-HAVING HIS BOOK UP IN THE AIR MADE INTO AN OSCAR-NOMINATED FILM STARRING GEORGE CLOONEY SHOULD HAVE BEEN ONE OF THE BEST THINGS THAT EVER HAPPENED TO WALTER KIRN. BUT THE AUTHOR FOUND OUT THE HARD WAY HOW HOLLYWOOD CAN BREAK YOUR HEART.