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Friday, May 12, 2017

The Writer's Life 5/12 - Why & What

The headline on the front page of today's NY Post blares: "Why does God hate the Mets?" The team is suffering an unusual run of injuries, while the Yankees, infused with promising young talent, seem ready to go on another ten-year run of playoff appearances. Fans and sportswriters have always had a "what have you done for me lately" attitude. Forgotten in all the  hair-pulling and hand-wringing concerning the Amazin's troubles are the miracles of '69 and '86. These days my interest doesn't extend much beyond the sports pages. I have no sympathy for slugger Yoenis Cespedes, whom the team signed to a big contract despite his refusal to run the bases hard. How ironic that he incurs leg injuries despite being a loafer. It costs hundreds for a parent and child to attend a single game. One must also pay to watch those games broadcast only on cable, despite the many commercials. Few games are on free TV. Still, it is a choice. No one forces fans to cough up for exorbitant ticket, parking and concession prices. I sense the Orange and Blue are in for a long, disappointing season. If so, I won't feel sorry for those who forked over a lot of money confident the team would contend. If they're willing to pay those prices, they must be well off financially.

Another headline, this from Yahoo's Odd News: "Topless cleaning service owner arrested for underwear theft." What - no film at eleven?

Here's a great picture from of something that washed up on a beach in Indonesia. So far no one knows what it is, although one scientist believes it's some kind of dolphin, despite the fact that it has fur - and dolphins do not have fur. It's 45 feet long:

I posted on my Facebook page that the floating book shop would be on Avenue Z between E. 13th & Homecrest Avenue, confident I would get a parking spot there. I left the apartment 35 minutes before the alternate side regulation expired. As I rolled up three vehicles took the last of the space. Foiled again - briefly. I went home to wash up and eat, then headed for the Sheepshead Bay promenade, where I hadn't set up shop for a couple of years. I was fortunate to get a spot between a trash basket and light stanchion that was wide enough for all of my wares. I wasn't under a tree, so I didn't have to worry about bird poop, and there wasn't a cold wind coming off the water. My thanks to the two gentlemen who bought ten books in Russian between them. The lone sale in English was William Peter Blatty's Dimiter. Yes, he wrote other novels besides The Exorcist. My thanks to the gentleman who bought it... For the first time in about a week, no one donated any books, which was a relief. The trunk of the old Hyundai is full and there are two large boxes on the back seat. Apologies to any Facebook friends who may have been looking for me along Avenue Z.
Vic's Sixth novel: 
Vic's Short Works:

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