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Thursday, June 15, 2017

The Writer's Life 6/15 - Excellente

I fear someone on the right will now rationalize a violent attack of his own. One cannot predict what a nutjob will do, but the most damaging action to President Trump would be violence from one of his constituents. His supporters need to be like Gandhi and MLK and adopt a course of non-violence. I may be reading it wrong, but it seems the far left is on a track of self destruction. Who in his/her right mind would support killing to overturn an election result with which he/she is unhappy? Okay, you hate Trump. Select a candidate who will make a compelling argument that would convince the majority to show him the door. At present I see and hear only hysteria. America's demise has been predicted before - and the country has always bounced back. The required bounce seems larger than ever, and I believe Trump's policies offer the best chance for it, but I would never get in his opponents' faces about it. In fact, I try to avoid discussing politics completely and regret when I allow myself to be goaded into an argument. I bypass Facebook posts from friends who attack the right, despite the temptation to respond to the most egregious. I want to talk about books, movies, TV, music and babes. I've always believed the less politics the better, and what I've seen lately merely corroborated it.

Today I was feeling like this 67-year-old dude hadn't in a long time - like a bull. The ideal weather was energizing. It looked like the session of the floating book shop would provide meager returns. For the first three hours I sold only two books: Thomas Mann's Death in Venice and a Russian translation of the King Arthur legend. Fortunately, two late donations delayed my departure. In a weird bit of karma, I was thinking about my Tuesday benefactress, who had failed to show, when she turned the corner a moment later. She provided her usual cache of pictorials and non-fiction. Soon Natalia dropped off ten mysteries in Russian. While I was sorting all those, a woman came along and paid the two bucks she owed me, and another bought a book by televangelist Joel Osteen. She was followed by Crazy Joe, the scourge of radio talk show hosts, who overpaid for six works of non-fiction, most of them political in nature, such as White Protestant Nation: The Rise of the American Conservative Movement by Allan J. Lichtman and a large pictorial on Israel. My thanks to those kind folks, and to Shelley, who stopped to chat and revealed an amusing anecdote. She was once seated in a candy store near her home in Brighton Beach when Jackie Mason and his lawyer, Raoul Felder, entered. The owner didn't carry the comedian's favorite drink. "No Snapple?" said Mason exactly as he would have on stage, beside himself. "How can you not have Snapple? Everybody loves Snapple." I can picture it so clearly. I also received the season's first Mamasita Report from the gregarious Russian retiree who strolls to nearby Manhattan Beach each day. He gave me a thumbs up and said: "Excellente." I believe he thinks I'm Hispanic.
Vic's Sixth novel: 
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