The Writer's Life 9/30 - Lines

I didn't think my contempt for NYC mayor Red Billy de Blasio could increase, but it has. His disdain for drivers other than his chauffeurs was never more prevalent than it was today, at least for me. I hadn't taken the floating book shop to Park Slope, Red's neighborhood, since May. This morning I posted on my Facebook feed that I'd be on 9th St. just below 5th Av. - if things were the same as they were months ago. Who knows, there might have been construction going on, or the Chase bank might have moved something into the indentation at the side of the building, which is perfect for the display. None of that was in play, but there was a big problem. I'd forgotten the newspaper account of the bike lanes being moved curbside. Folks, be aware when stepping into the street there. Fortunately, I was alert when bikers came by. I'll be surprised if a pedestrian isn't T-boned some day. As stupid as that new strategy seems, it's not the worst of it. In the first 100 yards of the block, parking space for at least five cars has been eliminated. Across the street, there is room for only one vehicle on either side of the fire hydrant, or johnny pump as we called it back in the day in our beloved Brooklyn. There used to be room for two, even if one was large. Just as asinine, the first space after Chase's driveway has been lost, replaced by white lines. I pulled in there, put on the blinkers, unloaded the wares, set up the display, then waited for somebody to pull out, nervous about getting a ticket. Fortunately, someone left the spot ahead of the postal delivery truck in the picture below. Since things went relatively well today, I'll give it a shot next Sunday too. I'd hate to abandon that spot. It gets the sun all afternoon, which makes it ideal in winter - and unworkable in summer. Since PS is an ultra-liberal area, I'd guess residents who don't drive approve of the new system. Owners of vehicles must be pissed - as if parking hadn't already been a nightmare there. That's the reason I go there only on Sunday, when folks are most likely to go visiting or on an outing.

My thanks to the two women who bought six works of non-fiction between them that included books on healthy living and Resumes for the over-50 Job Hunter; and to the young man who purchased four novels by Stephen King.

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The Writer's Life 9/29 - The Natural

Some films fly under the radar. Such is the case with The Fall (2006), which has an impressive rating of 7.9 on a scale of ten from 99,000+ users at IMDb. I watched it last night courtesy of Netflix. Set in the 1920's, a blend of fantasy and realism, it is the story of an adorable adolescent girl and a suicidal young man, each hospitalized, recovering from a fall. He bribes her into stealing morphine by telling her a story, leaving her hanging at intervals until she meets his wants. His character seems faulty, underdeveloped. His self pity is annoying. The actor's face was familiar, but I was unable to recall his name - Lee Pace, who was the star of the short lived, imaginative TV series Pushing Daisies. The little girl is played by Romania's Catinca Untaru, who was nine when the film was released. She is uncannily natural and utterly charming. her performance alone worth the price of admission. Not much is required of Justine Waddell as the femme fatale. After an impressive start to her career wherein she played numerous famous real life and fictional characters on TV and in cinema, she stopped acting, at least on screen, in 2011. She wrote and directed a short in 2013. I wonder if she is raising kids. I would be remiss in not mentioning Colin Watkinson's spectacular cinematography, shot at numerous exotic locations worldwide. I imagine the budget was high, and the flick returned only $3.7 million worldwide. I wonder if it made up a lot of ground through word of mouth in DVD sales and downloads. Tarsem Singh, whose credits are dominated by music videos, directed. He collaborated on the screenplay with three others. I'm not as enthusiastic about the flick as are so many, but it is well worth viewing. It runs just shy of two hours. There is violence, but it's not over the top. Those squeamish about the issue of suicide should probably pass. Here's the enchanting little miss:

The weather was as good as it gets, but business sucked. My thanks to the middle age woman who bought H.G. Wells' The Time Machine, and to Bill Brown, author of Words and Guitar: A History of Lou Reed's Music, who purchased John Le Carre's The Russia House.

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The Writer's Life 9/28 - LHS 1980

I've begun the next phase of work on the novel I plan to self-publish in January. The protagonist of Inside-Out is Vinnie, who served in that role in my first novel, Close to the Edge. It is 1980, about a year-and-a-half after the shooting. He is a substitute teacher, often filling in at Lafayette H.S., which was ranked third academically city-wide during at least one of the years I attended, '63-'67. It gradually became a hellhole and was so well into the '90's. These days conditions are much better. Here's an excerpt wherein Vinnie is speaking to Reuben, a security guard and assistant football coach at the school. It's a few minutes read:

"Things quiet?"
Reuben smirked. "The chains again. Can't have one quiet day." A series of robberies had the school on edge. Lockets had been stripped from males and females. Despite this, many still flaunted jewelry, defying both the thieves and those who wished to keep the peace. The crimes were attributed to blacks and Hispanics, although they were among the victimized as well. All minorities stood accused by the most thoughtless whites, and battle lines had been drawn.
The students were predominantly of Italian descent, as were most of the people of the surrounding neighborhood. The remainder of the population was chiefly Jewish. An Asian presence was becoming more pronounced. There had been few non-whites in the school when Vinnie attended. The number increased steadily as the housing project nearby opened its doors to minorities. In 1969, a progressive school opened just seven blocks away, attracting many of the brightest students. In the absence of so many of its best minds, the academic standing at Lafayette declined, morals plummeted, and violence arose. The social and political turbulence of the era accelerated the plunge. There was constant friction between the races. There were now security guards on each floor, communicating constantly by walkie-talkie. In his day, teachers alone patrolled the halls. The staff's greatest fear was all-out racial warfare. No matter how remote the possibility, it was prevalent in everyone's mind and perhaps this, above all, kept it from occurring.
Two years ago, a group of whites chased two blacks through the schoolyard, under the elevated tracks, across the wide street that separated the school from the housing project, and onto its grounds. There they encountered a larger group and fled. One boy fell behind and was caught. A black youth, knife in hand, bid the whites to: "Watch your friend die," and calmly cut the boy's throat. The murderer was still at large. Vinnie wondered if he were at all remorseful, if he still carried such venom in his heart, or if it had been purged by the killing. Did the act reflect a hatred prevalent within the housing project, which seemed so sedate from outside its boundaries and which was a model of tranquility compared to most in the city? Or was it an aberration, the result of the passion and angst of youth? To the amazement of all, the incident did not precipitate all-out war. In fact, it appeared to have opened the eyes of many to the consequences of blind hatred.

My thanks to the elderly Latina, who bought Stephen King's Delores Claiborne; and to Barry, who purchased a special edition of The Diary of Anne Frank; and to the gentleman who selected a trilogy on the Titanic geared to young adults. It was damp and chilly. The forecast calls for beautiful weather this weekend. I'm curious to see if it changes, as it did last Sunday. In other words, I'll believe it when I see it.

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The Writer's Life 9/27 - Triple Whammy Rebound

Mennonites are a conservative Christian sect that has two million-plus followers around the world. They are pacifists. The women cover the tops of their heads. The Amish broke off from them long ago, deeming them not conservative enough. They keep largely to themselves, frequently marrying second and third cousins. They are lily white. No, I'm not converting. I just finished Mennonite in a Little Black Dress, a memoir by Rhoda Janzen. Although she went out into the real world, she did not do so with bitterness. She loves her family and is fond of her upbringing. She was 43 when the book, which she began while on sabbatical in her California hometown, was published in 2010. She'd suffered a triple whammy: a hysterectomy, being dumped by her abusive bi-polar Italian-American husband for a man, and a car wreck. Despite that run of bad luck, the narrative's tone is largely upbeat and witty. Her mom is highly interesting, someone who always looks on the bright side, and who takes frugality to comical lengths. The writing is first rate. Here are two examples: "... he brought back a plate with three more Hollapse stacked up like an Egyptian pyramid. He had ladled a veritable Nile of sauce over the whole..." And, while babysitting a spoiled child: "... fists balled and cheeks aflame, his pain swelled until he seemed the very incarnation of pathos. His whole body became a rigid whirling wild thing. He was the emissary of us all, we who felt we had not received our due, we who felt the late afternoon of our lives stung with fury and sorrow." Mercifully, political commentary is minimal. The author, a PhD, has an impressive vocabulary that will have the most diligent readers reaching for a dictionary. Her poetry has appeared in big time magazines, and she has published a collection. She followed up her memoir with a second: Mennonite Meets Mr. Right. She teaches at the college level. I was skeptical when I began the book, which is only 224 pages, but it quickly won me over. Apparently, many have been. It rose to number one on the NY Times best sellers lists and is still selling modestly. 445 users at Amazon have rated it, forging to a consensus of 3.3 on a scale of five, with which I agree. Here's a pic of the author:

This early Halloween decoration in North Dakota prompted a 911 call, and calls to the house by concerned neighbors:

My thanks to Wolf and a middle age woman, who each bought a book in Russian; and to the gentleman in the mechanized wheelchair, who purchased Alex Haley's Roots; and to the local home attendant who selected a Martha Stewart Christmas cook book; and to the grandmother walking her tiny dog, who chose Al Yankovic's When I Grow Up. I wonder if he didn't use his "Weird" moniker fearing it would turn off potential buyers who knew nothing about him.

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The Writer's Life 9/26 - Back in the Day

Here's an excerpt from my high school football epic, Adjustments, which is a blend of truth and fiction. All the football incidents actually occurred at but not necessarily within the narrative's time frame. The protagonist's home life both before and during his marriage is entirely fictional. Here he is reminiscing about a game during the 1965 season, my junior year at Lafayette H.S.. We were the laughing stock of the city. We did not score a TD until the last minute of the final game.

“... We dominated the second half but couldn’t score. Toward the end of the game Joe Pascarella, our co-captain, got behind the secondary on the far sideline and caught a bomb. He limped toward the goal line with everything he had. He’d sprained his ankle a few weeks back. His ankles were so thin you could fit your hand around them.” Rick made a small circle with his fingers. “He was caught at about the ten, and their defense held. I ran off the field at the end of the game ahead of everybody else. As I was taking off my shoulder pads in the locker room, Joe came storming in, wailing as if he’d just lost his only child. He was raving, pounding his helmet against a locker. I felt so distant, so detached. It was one of the strangest feelings I ever had. I felt no remorse at all at having lost, at having been shut out again—and there was poor Joe Pasc’,
devastated that he hadn’t scored, as if it would’ve erased our shame as a team. I didn’t know what to say to him, so I kept my mouth shut, even though his eyes met mine with such sorrow.”
“Wow,” said Kelly sadly.
“I don’t think I ever saw anybody in such pain. On the bus ride home he had his head buried in his arms the whole way.”
“I doubt anything anyone would’ve said would’ve appeased him.”
“I’d always liked him before that, but from then on I looked at him as a kid would an adult. We had some great battles our senior year. I was a pulling guard and he was a defensive end. In drills I had to do what’s called a ‘kick-out’ block on him. Christ, he hit hard. I don’t know where he got his power from. He was skin and bones, always moaning about not being able to gain weight. He ignited every nerve in my body the way he uncoiled into a hit. I always wondered if he hated me for that moment in the locker room when I’d caught him at his most vulnerable. I must’ve seemed so pride-less to him. But it wasn’t only that. Maybe he had troubles at home. He might’ve been angrier inside than I was.”

And here are the co-captains of the 1966 team, which lost only one game, two guys for whom I have great respect: to the left Ralph Betesh, who threw the aforementioned pass to Joe Pascarella, who is to the right. I must mention that my comment about Joe's "troubles at home" was pure speculation and turns out not to have been true. That's one of the reason I wrote the book as a novel and not memoir:

And from the high to the low. Here's the subject of an email I received today: "SluttySarah wants to be friends." As much as I was tempted, I wouldn't dare click on the link.

My thanks to Ira, who bought a collection of New Yorker cartoons on money and a humorous pictorial on aging; and to Wolf, who purchased a bio of Israeli pilot Ezer Weizman, and five books in Russian; and to my constant benefactress, who donated a bunch of mostly non-fiction.

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The Writer's Life 9/25 - Fantastic Stuff

Aldi Novel Adilang, 19, from the Indonesian island of Sulawesi, earned $130 a month working on a fishing raft moored in the Pacific. Each week a boat would pick up the fish and drop off supplies. A storm severed the hut from its mooring, and it drifted almost 12,000 miles away. For 49 days he was lost at sea, his radio signal failing to attract rescuers. Ten boats passed without spotting him or stopping. He survived by rationing his water and cooking fish on his little stove. When his gas ran out, he burned wood to cook. He spent a lot of the time sleeping and praying. Finally, a Panamanian vessel picked up his distress signal. The ocean was so choppy that the bigger boat dared not get close to the rickety craft for fear of destroying it. A lifeline was thrown and fell short. Adilang dove into the water and swam to reach it, and hung on for dear life as he was pulled to safety. (From various sources, including the NY Post.) Here's a pic of the young man and his rompong:

Another article in the Post reports a fantastic development. After months of intense rehab, three patients suffering leg paralysis were able to stand and take steps, helped by an implant that zaps the spinal chord, and by an aide at their side. Its doubtful patients will ever regain total movement, but this must give great hope to so many. Kudos to those who are making it happen.

I watched the series premiere of Manifest last night on NBC at ten PM. It's too soon to dub it fantastic, but it was very entertaining. My guess right now is the jet missing for five-plus years was abducted by aliens. I've heard viewers are leery of committing to the show, fearful it will be as disappointing as Lost was in the the end. That's an unfortunate drawback that too often occurs in sci-fi. Here's the main cast, none of whom I recall having ever seen previously:

Mother Nature was fantastic today. The rain ceased just in time to allow the floating book shop to operate a full session. My thanks to the gentleman and two ladies who bought 13 books in Russian between them, among them translations of Stephen King, John Grisham and Danielle Steel; and to the Asian fellow who purchased The Films of John Wayne, a pictorial; and to Maria, who donated five books to the cause.
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The Writer's Life 9/24 - Plunging

NYC MTA commuters may want to take the plunge and consider what this inventive woman in China does:

The Vikings were touted as Super Bowl contenders. Experts believed the Bills would have trouble winning a single game in 2018. Yesterday Buffalo, 17-point dogs, won easily at Minnesota, 27-6, shocking the football world. It is the largest points swing against the spread since 1983. There is a pool usually dubbed "Last Man Standing" wherein each week participants must pick one winner to remain alive, no points involved. How many players were eliminated yesterday having selected the Vikes? In NCAA action, Old Dominion, 27.5 point underdogs, was 0-3 going into its game at home vs. Virginia Tech, which was 2-0. The Monarchs won, 49-32. And that, folks, is why they play the games despite the odds. Kudos to the gamblers who took the plunge on those huge dogs.

Given his stellar play the past few months, it seemed inevitable that Tiger Woods would soon win a tournament, which he did yesterday for the first time in five years. He has rebounded to 13th in the world golf rankings. At one time, plagued by personal and back problems, he had plunged to 1199. He will probably be the favorite for the 2019 Masters. There is a downside to his return to prominence - the insufferable fawning of the media. Lost in Tigermania, Justin Rose, ranked #1, won the Fed Ex Cup. Kudos.

The following was found in northern Virginia. It is believed to have escaped from Washington D.C.:

My thanks to Michael, who took the plunge on yet another romance paperback, and to the Frenchman, who purchased non-fiction, The Secret Self by Theodor Reik, a student of Freud's, and a large pictorial on movies, which Herbie had just donated. Special thanks to the gentleman who donated about 20 books in Russian, which gives that part of the inventory, dominated by sci-fi and fantasy, much needed variety.

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The Writer's Life 9/23 - Public Opinion

In today's NY Post, Kyle Smith devotes his op-ed piece to the defense of those who are speaking out about the legions of know-it-alls convicting people in the court of public opinion. He dubs them "Twitterati." I don't know if he is the first to use the term. Kudos to whomever came up with it.

Here's something else that can be counted on in life besides death and taxes - politics will always sink lower. It has no bottom.

For the second straight day there has been a first in MLB. Four starting pitchers for the Cleveland Indians, Corey Kluber, Trevor Bauer, Carlos Carrasco and Mike Clevinger, all have at least 200 strike-outs. Kudos. Here they are in the same order:

The season has changed but the foul weather pattern persists. For the past few years I thought forecasting had gotten a lot better. That hasn't been the case lately. The 3-5 day forecasts have been wrong consistently. The chart in today's NY Post called for clouds and sun, temperature 65-71. I doubt it got out of the mid 60's and the sun was obliterated. I was pissed when I heard a radio report this morning calling for sprinkles all day. Until this pattern changes, it seems meteorologists should be playing it safe, saying the chance of precipitation is 50%. They would be right at least half the time.

I put my laundry in the bag, went to the potty for a minute, then hurried to my car without my clean clothes - and didn't realize it for at least an hour, so preoccupied was I about where to set up shop. I'd planned to go to Park Slope for the first time since May. Given the ominous cloud cover, there was no sense going all the way there. And Bay Parkway immediately became out of the question when it began drizzling. So I headed for the neighborhood hoping I'd get parking close enough to haul at least half the wares to my usual nook under the scaffold. Dumb luck was with me. A car pulled out of the most advantageous spot just as I arrived. My thanks to the kind folks who bought books, and to Herbie, who donated a John Wayne pictorial in excellent condition he bought from the local library for a buck, which I'll sell for three. The most satisfying sales came back to back. A young man asked for easy reads to help him improve his English, which was very limited. I helped him pick out three young adult epics. And a thirtyish woman asked the same, and I pointed her to a box that contained romance novels, from which she selected two.

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The Writer's Life 9/22 - Party Time

Although she's been active since the late '60's, I was completely unfamiliar with the work of Sally Potter, who began shooting shorts and has moved on to full length independent films. Last night I watched The Party (2017), courtesy of Netflix. It is a bleak portrait of modern life leavened by occasional humor, mostly by Switzerland's Bruno Ganz and his character's new age ideas. The story is set in the London flat of a middle age woman who has just won a political race for a position as a minister. She is played with gusto by the great Kristen Scott Thomas. In fact, everyone in the stellar cast is at his/her best. It is rounded out by Patricia Clarkson, Timothy Spall, Cilian Murphy, Cherry Jones and Emily Mortimer. It may not cover all of society's foibles, but it comes close despite a running time of little more than an hour. There's infidelity, hypocrisy, cynicism, drug abuse, lesbian angst, hysteria, illness. A character who plays a huge role in the proceedings never appears on screen. The dialogue is intelligent and often biting. Although there is a liberal bias, no one is unscathed. And it ends with an awesome twist I did not see coming. Appropriately, it's shot in black and white. Chauvinist that I am, I wondered if Potter chose the format because age is not being kind to several of the actors. The Party is not a great flick, but it's worth watching, especially appealing for those who believe life is one big mess and to those who appreciate first rate performances. 11,000+ users at IMDb have rated it, forging to a consensus of 6.6 on a scale of ten. It brought in less than a million worldwide at the box office. It wouldn't surprise me if that were a slight profit, as the budget was probably very modest. Here's a still of the cast:

There was a first last night in MLB: brothers hit two home runs in a game on the same day. Blue Jays' SS Lourdes Gurriel and Astros' 1B Yuli each went deep in their first two at-bats. Very cool. Here are Cuba's gifts to the USA:

My thanks to Taurus, who bought Billionths of a Lifetime at Amazon, and to whomever downloaded Killing to Kindle. And also to the woman who bought Danielle Steel's Pure Joy, non-fiction about her love of dogs, and to the gentleman who purchased Unshakeable Trust: Find the Joy of Trusting God at All Times, in All Things by Joyce Meyer; and to Bay 37th alum Lorraine, who selected a thriller and a children's book; and to the woman who treated her grandson to Fractured Fairy Tales by A. J. Jacobs.

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The Writer's Life 9/21 Around the World

Bjorn Lomborg believes global warming is potentially dangerous, but he often refutes the findings of zealots. Here are excerpts from his op-ed piece in yesterday's NY Post, edited by yours truly:
The UN Climate Panel found that hurricanes or cyclones haven’t increased: “Current datasets indicate no significant observed trends in global tropical cyclone frequency over the past century.” In the 51 years from 1915, Florida and the Atlantic coast were hit by 19 major hurricanes. In the 51 years to 2016, just seven. In the last 11 years only two hurricanes greater than category 3 hit the continental USA — a record low since 1900. From 1915 to 1926, 12 hit. Yes, hurricane costs keep escalating, but this is not due to climate change. Rather, more and wealthier people live in harm’s way. The US population has risen 50-fold in coastal areas. The area hurricane Florence hit held fewer than 800,000 homes in 1940; there are now 11.3 million. The homes are bigger and contain expensive possessions. Adjusted for population and wealth, hurricane damage has not increased since 1900. Global weather damage as a percentage of global GDP actually fell from 1990 to 2017. The effect of global warming making storms fewer but stronger will see damage end up around 0.02% of GDP. Global warming will increase harm, but prosperity will decrease the overall impact. The Paris agreement on climate change will cost $1-2 trillion a year in lost growth for the rest of this century. It is estimated that the cuts promised until 2030 will achieve 1% of what would be needed to keep temperature rises under 2°C, while the cost would be around 10,000 times higher. That's terrible policy. We should spend far more on research and development of green energy sources to make them cheaper and more attractive than fossil fuels.

From Yahoo's Odd News: Speaking of weird climate, here's a pic of webs that spiders in a Greek coastal town have spun to trap an explosion in the population of insects on which they dine:

There's an interesting political race in a farming town in central Peru. It pits Hitler Alba against Leninn Vladimir Rodriguez. Neither is a follower of his namesake.

Yesterday I had a little fun with my tiny Bell & Howell camera shooting what's available at the floating book shop. The video is three minutes:

All business today occurred in the last half hour of operation. My thanks to the young woman who purchased Barbara Taylor Bradford's To Be the Best, and to Marsha, who bought two cook books and handed me her card in case I get anymore. She lists herself as "Image Consultant" - "Fashion, Hair, Home, Lifestyle." As I was closing shop, the middle age Latino gentleman who has been so generous rode up on his bike and cleaned out my CD's and DVD's. Gracious, amigo.

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The Writer's Life 9/20 - Treasures

Born in NYC in 1915, Belva Plain was a late bloomer in the literary world. While raising three kids, she managed to place short stories in magazines such as Cosmopolitan. Her first novel, Evergreen, was published when she was 63. 22 others followed. A total of 21 were NY Times best sellers. More than 30 million copies of her books are in print, translated into 22 languages. A large part of her canon features Jewish protagonists. Evergreen was adapted into a mini-series in the '80's. Treasures, which I just finished, features three 20-something Christian siblings from a small town in Ohio. Their parents have passed away. The elder sister, the rock of the family, stays in the hometown. Her brother and sister strike out to pursue their fortunes. Both end up in NYC. The brother quickly becomes rich in the financial world. The sister marries into wealth. The narrative follows the ups and downs of the three. This is not romance fiction. It is an intelligent portrayal of the human condition. It doesn't go as deeply into psyche as the best tales about human beings, but it is damn fine storytelling, and not always predictable. Although there is a liberal bias, the author is fairer in her portrayal of businessmen, even the most ruthless, than most writers. In the end, the theme is that the greatest treasure in life is family love. I thought the writing overdone and the dialogue a bit unnatural, but still found the 304 pages a smooth read. Plain passed away in 2010 at 95. She left quite a legacy. Kudos. (Facts from Wiki) 

Although I miss a couple of options, I do not regret having cut the cable chord, even though an over the air antenna suffers problems. This week the signal of the three channel fives - Fox, Movies! and Light - was weak, making them unwatchable. Last night I moved the antenna from the lower left of the window nearest the TV to the lower right. That weakened the signal for GetTV, 68. I then moved it to the middle of the lower window, a few inches from where it had been, and the system was a treasure again. I expect to be moving the antenna periodically. Maybe the satellite relaying the signal moves around.

My 2003 Hyundai has been a treasure, not perfect but very reliable. For the past two days, parked in the most favorable spot for the operation of the floating book shop, the rear doors would not unlock when I opened the front driver door to begin the unloading of wares. I wondered if I'd done something without realizing it. Forced to move the car because of tomorrow's parking regulations, it wouldn't start, dead as a doornail. I assumed it was an electrical problem, and my hunch seemed corroborated when the AAA guy hooked up to the battery and the car started immediately. I took the car to the shop, where the battery was changed and the electrical system checked out. Ralph says it was the battery. Of course, as one who suffers car paranoia, I expect it not to start tomorrow.

My thanks to Wolf, who purchased a beautiful art workbook for his grandkids, and to the woman who, just as she was about to turn away, spotted the Russian translation of J.D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye; and to other who, despite being laden with six heavy shopping bags, bought eight books in Russian. Those three customers walked away with treasures for mere shekels.

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The Writer's Life 9/19 - The Goal

Here's an excerpt from Michael Goodwin's op-ed piece in today's NY Post: "Trump, to 63 million Americans, was the antidote to both parties. Warts and all, he still is. He is the fighter Republicans longed for, which is why he still commands upwards of 90 percent of GOP support. They know nobody else would have beaten Clinton, so, without him, one Clinton nominee already would be on the high court and the second one about to join. Neither would be named Neil Gorsuch or Brett Kavanaugh and you can bet that many Republicans would have played nice and voted yes for her nominees." Kudos, sir. I still believe Trump is America's best and, hopefully, not last hope. Many are saying Democrats have lost their minds collectively. I thought that too until it occurred to me that they're simply following a progression toward socialism, which they have since FDR, only at a now accelerated pace. They are approximately half way to their goal. I hope I never see them achieve it.

Despite an impressive array of wares, it seemed it would be another abysmal sales day at the floating book shop until two buyers showed in the final hour. My thanks to the gentleman walking his dog, who bought six books in Russian for his wife, to whom he was speaking on his cell phone; and to Ira, who purchased a beautiful color pictorial on the Dr. Who series, which doesn't include the latest, the lucky 13th protagonist, the first female incarnation, played by Jodie Whittaker. Thanks also to Maria, who donated two self-help books, and also to the retired Romanian janitor who donated a large paperback edition of H.G. Wells' The Time Machine and five books in Russian, among them a translation of J.D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye; and to the lovely woman with vivid blue eyes whose little girl has grown up and is no longer in need of her young adult novels - about 50 of them.

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The Writer's Life 9/18 - It's the Real Thing

Smart investors are buying stock in marijuana companies. Dumbbell that I am, I'm not anymore comfortable with that than I am with investments in tobacco or alcohol. Turns out I may not have a choice. A short article in today's NY Post informs that Coca Cola officials are talking with a Canadian cannabis company about infusing soft drinks with pot. I have more than two hundred shares of Coke, which has been one of my big winners. I won't sell because of this, as the stock pays good dividends. I suppose those who consider soda one of society's great evils will dub me a hypocrite. So be it. Each day I look forward to dinner when I allow myself 10-16 ounces of a soft drink. I'd drink them all day if I didn't care about my waistline and the possibility of diabetes. Maybe Coke will ask U2 permission to use Even Better Than the Real Thing in commercials for the new product.

The Weird But True column in the Post led me to this billboard message commissioned by a British businessman:

Pundits reason that if Paul Manafort had had any dirt on President Trump he would have spilled it long ago to avoid going to trial and jail. That makes sense. So what is one to make of the deal the Special Counsel has offered him? Conservatives are hoping, since Robert Mueller is often described as a stand up guy, that Manafort will spill the beans on Clinton crony John Podesta, and that an investigation will ensue. I'll believe it when I see it. In this case, right wingers seem as deluded about the possibility as leftists are about collusion with Russia. I would rather see it all go away. Does America need more of this? Then again, would the mainstream media even cover it?

I left the apartment 15 minutes early, hurrying to set up the floating book shop, anticipating rain. Today's session was about an hour old when the skies opened up. The scaffold was no help when the downpour intensified. I managed to keep the wares dry until the precip slacked off and I was able to return them to the old Hyundai. There were no sales, but it wasn't a total loss. Bob Rubenstein showed bearing a gift - a copy of his latest novel. Thank you, sir. I look forward to it.

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The Writer's Life 9/17 - Another Day

I have no idea whether Brett Kavanaugh did what he was alleged to have done during his high school days 35 years ago. I wonder what percentage of males are guilty of similar conduct back in the day. Extend it to college years, and the percentage would be even higher. I'm guilty. Although my sins did not amount to even simple assault, I'd bet that if the behavior had occurred today it would be grounds for expulsion if reported by the female. Suppose the charge is true, and it is the only one ever brought against the nominee, who by all reports has lived an exemplary adult life - would that justify disqualification?

Mr. Morty, retired salesman in his 80's, always gallivanting about, delivered news that there was a fire at the Kings Plaza mall. There have been injuries but no fatalities. Here's a pic: 

Eight year old Hailey Dawson of Henderson, Nevada has Poland syndrome. Born without a right pectoral muscle, she is missing three fingers on her right hand and has an underdeveloped pinky and thumb. At age 4 she was fitted with a 3D-printed robotic hand by the UNLV College of Engineering. She has accomplished a goal she set - to throw out the ceremonial first pitch at each of the 30 MLB ballparks. Way to go, Hailey. (From Yahoo Sports & Wiki, edited by yours truly.)

So it looks like another long season for the NY Giants. As for the Jets, I have a hunch they will steadily improve. Right now the most impressive NFL team is the Rams. Expect topsy-turvy results throughout the 16-game schedule, with the most important factor being injuries. 

My thanks to the woman who donated two books that look similar to Stephanie Meyers' Twilight series, and to the elderly Latina who purchased one of them, Passion by Lauren Kate.

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The Writer's Life 9/16 - Competitors

As Jack Benny often said when Rochester fired off a cutting quip: "Now cut that out!" The floating book shop has a new competitor, featured in an article by Raquel Laneri in today's NY Post. John Louzonis, 13, home-schooled, pint-sized, is selling copies of his book on the sidewalks of NYC. It's titled Kid Trillionaire: How a Little Kid Can Make a Big Fortune. He sells an average of 30 books a day. Like me, he is self-publishing through Create Space. He's sold 300 so far, and charges the same per book on the street as I do - $10. He also earns money building websites, doing graphic design, video editing and producing podcasts for private clients. He has $5000 in the bank, a bit short of his goal, but I wouldn't bet against him reaching it. Kudos, kid.

Here's another guy anyone would want on his team - Pittsburgh Steelers' RB James Conner. While in college at Pitt, he was stricken with cancer and underwent chemo to shrink a massive growth in his chest. That didn't stop him from returning to the playing field. He has also undergone two surgeries on his knees. That didn't stop him, either. Last week he rushed for 135 yards in the season opener vs. the Browns. Selected in the third round of the 2017 draft, he moved into a starting role when superstar Le'Veon Bell decided to hold out for more money. Doctors say the cancer has only a 10% chance of returning. Awesome, sir.

Several years ago officials at Rutgers, lured by visions of millions of dollars dancing in their heads, decided to join the Big Ten conference. Gradually, the program has sunk to a disaster. It reached a new low yesterday in a loss at Kansas, which had won only three games the past three seasons. The margin of defeat added to the demoralization - 55-14. The team surrendered more than 400 yards rushing and had six turnovers. This should not happen to an institution in a state rich in high school football talent. I wonder if the anticipated money is coming in, and if the big shots think the move was worth it.

Well, the whippersnapper probably drubbed me in sales and revenue today. My thanks to the elderly woman who bought a book in Russian, and to Bob, who purchased The Fur Person by May Sarton for his girlfriend, who loves cats. Here's one of Barbara Knox's illustrations for the fictional account of the author's feline.

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The Writer's Life 9/15 - Shapes

The Shape of Water (2017) is one of those movies where there is no in-between. To be enjoyed the viewer must suspend disbelief, accept outrageousness. It is a fable, the type in which Mexico's Guillermo del Toro specializes. The setting is Baltimore 1962. A being captured in South America, similar to the Creature from the Black Lagoon (1955), is kept in a warehouse. What to do with it? Study it, kill it and study its anatomy, just kill it? A mute female janitor is touched by the Amphibian Man's plight and plots to free him. The tale is also reminiscent of Beauty and the Beast, although the female character has only inner beauty. She is played by Britain's Sally Hawkins, who won the Oscar for Best Actress. The villains are the agent who captured the creature, his boss, a general, and two communist agents. While not exactly full stereotypes, they are close enough. The American meanies are played by the ever reliable Michael Shannon and Nick Searcy. Most of the rest of the cast was vaguely familiar. Researching them at IMDb, all have impressive credits. Doug Jones plays the beast, a role similar to one in played in del Toro's magnificent Pan's Labyrinth (2006). Octavia Spencer adds much needed pizazz as the protagonist's sidekick. The film received 13 nominations, winning for Best Picture, direction, score and production design. Vanessa Taylor co-wrote the screenplay with del Toro. 248,000+ users at IMDb have rated the flick, forging to a consensus of 7.4 on a scale of ten. Anyone offended by nudity should pass. So the question is - does one accept the narrative at face value or is there larger meaning to it? Here's an excerpt from what Stephen Applebaum at thenational.ae has to say: "...he is really talking about today and what it feels like to be an outsider or part of a minority, who in story terms is represented by characters such as Hawkins’ silent Elisa and her fish-out-of-water lover; an artist and a black co-worker. On the surface, the US of the film oozes confidence and optimism. It is the US, says Del Toro, that people have in mind when you hear “Make America Great Again”. It is, though, rotting from within." I wonder if Academy voters interpreted it that way. Does the rot include that unemployment among minorities is at an all-time low? One can make a great argument that the USA is/has been rotting from within for decades - and cite points from the right or left side of the political spectrum as proof. Since I'm a supporter of President Trump's policies, I will recuse myself, ala Attorney General Jeff Sessions, and not offer an opinion about The Shape of Water. I'm just as biased as its creators. Here's a pic I'd hoped to find, a comparison of the creatures:

My thanks to the young woman who bought The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd, and to the gentleman who purchased a huge pictorial on children's comic strips; and to the woman who selected Stephen King's The Night Shift. Special thanks to the senior couple who donated about 25 books, mostly hardcover, which include 11 by Mr. King.

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The Writer's Life 9/14 - The Folly of Youth

I consider Five Cents the weakest of my nine books. It has attracted the least feedback. Surprisingly, it is profitable, although barely so. It began as a 600+ page manuscript with a pronounced liberal bias. The final incarnation is, I believe, neutral politically, at least from the protagonist's point of view. He is a Vietnam veteran adjusting to the rapid changes occurring in America in the '70's. Here's an excerpt of one of his college reminiscences, which occurred before his service. It's a very quick read:

   It was his freshman year. He followed a group of four others led by two sophomores, Pump and Binky, on a misadventure. They went to the basement, where Pump climbed a couple of rungs affixed to the wall, opened a three by three door, and crawled along the duct on the other side of it, the rest of them following. The "tunnel" ran under both Harvey Hall and Eicher, the girls’ dorm. Fortunately, the floor was covered in sand, which made it easy on their knees. The way was lit by light bulbs affixed to a side wall. In minutes, they made it to the other side and went up to the dark, deserted lobby. Binky whispered urgently to Pump to put his flashlight away. He stuffed it in his back pocket without turning it off and, as he took the first step of the stairway, a large halo appeared on the ceiling. Somehow that spooked them all and they retreated. What had been their aim – a panty raid? In those days such events were restricted to a large group of males rallying outside a girls’ dorm, clapping hands and shouting: “We want pants!” Maybe they were intent on a more intimate, exciting way. Before re-entering the "tunnel," a couple of the boys stole boxes of canned fruit from a storage room. They pushed those along while crawling on hands and knees. The group was in such a hurry to get back that someone inadvertently kept knocking out the light bulbs affixed to the left-hand side wall. As they reached the exit, they heard voices. Fortunately, Pump was in the lead. Whoever was there, no doubt dorm staff, tried to open the door, the opposite knob of which was in the grasp of Pump’s powerful grip. He grew up on a farm in Indiana, pitching hay. He was strong as an ox. Apparently, the escapade had been discovered. The guys on the other side gave up trying to get the door open and went elsewhere, for a key probably. That gave the crew a chance to escape.

Curiouser and curiouser:

My thanks to the kind folks who bought, swapped and donated books on this perfect day temperature-wise. Maria bought a couple of Debbie Macomber romances. A middle aged woman purchased a two-in-one translation of F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby and Tender Is the Night in Russian. And a young man came along on his bike while I was packing up and found a Russian sci-fi novel to his liking. Special thanks to the woman who donated about 20 books in Russian, which gives that section much needed variety. And best of luck to the burly young man who has done two prison stints, who passed the test to become a drug counselor.

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The Writer's Life 9/13 - Attributed to...

According to a blurb in today's NY Post, people are reading less fiction these days. Since 2012 the numbers have dipped from 45.2% to 41.8%. This approximates the breakdown at the floating book shop, despite the fact that the inventory is two-thirds fiction. Surprisingly, the reading of poetry has risen in that same period, 6.7% to 11.7%. It is attributed to poets who use Instagram to promote their work.

Also on the literary front: Bob Woodward's new book on the president is setting sales records. This is attributed to rabid Trump-hatred.

Another post blurb offers great news: The USA has surpassed Russia and Saudi Arabia as the number one producer of oil. It is attributed to fracking and, possibly, deregulation. Will the standing be endangered by a leftward tilt in the makeup of Congress? Probably. That would be attributed to voter naiveté.

When he turned pro in 1999, England's Justin Rose did not make the cut in his first 21 starts on the European Tour. He is now the number one ranked player in the world. To what is this attributed besides great skill? Hard work, no doubt.

For the first time since baseball's salary cap was introduced in 2003, the Yankees will not be paying the luxury tax for exceeding the threshold, which is currently $197 million. That is attributed to great scouting that brought in a plethora of talented young players seasoned in the team's own farm system.

My thanks to the middle age woman who bought My Secret Garden by Nancy Friday, which deals with women's sexual fantasies; and to the gentleman who selected DVD's featuring Michael Jackson and Chris Rock. Their purchases are attributed to smart shopping. As for the guy selling the stuff - that is attributed to lunacy.

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The Writer's Life 9/12 - Big Ones

There are interesting stories in the news today from the world of sports. Many talented basketball players chase the NBA dream by honing and showcasing their skills in leagues worldwide. In a long article at Yahoo Sports, Jeff Eisenberg writes about a surprising destination - Iraq. In the past six years there have been almost four dozen Americans braving the turmoil to play in that struggling country's leagues. Pay is four to ten grand per month. There isn't much to do off the court, and many areas are not safe. Kudos to these young men for having the big ones to give it a shot... In golf, Jordan Spieth seems to have let his ego get away from him. American pros are required to play in 25 tournaments each season. Spieth played in 24, believing he would be a shoo in for his 25th, the Fed Ex final. He finished 31st in the rankings, one place out of the big show. He now faces a fine of $20,000. That's why I love pro golf... In baseball, pitcher Jacob deGrom of the NY York Mets has allowed three runs or fewer in 26 straight starts, breaking a record that had stood since 1919 when Leslie “King” Cole did it in 25 straight starts. Oddly, the team has managed only a .346 winning percentage in those starts. The Mets, whether positive or negative - are still amazin', as the "ol' perfesser" Casey Stengel used to say. Despite his excellence, deGrom is 8-9. Some scribes are arguing that he should win the Cy Young award despite his record. I disagree. His luck should remain bad. Wait 'til next year, Jake... Okay - show of hands: how many people expected the Jets to win, let alone romp on Monday night? Fans of Gang Green have hope, at least through week one. As for the Giants, they lost to a good team, so it's hard to gauge where they are... Who would you guess was college football's most profitable team in 2017? I was very surprised to learn it was Texas A&M, which cleared $107 million, $20 million more than second place Texas. National champs Alabama was tenth at $59 million. I bet any of the top nine schools would gladly switch places with the Crimson Tide.

I just heard Newt Gingrich say in a radio interview that Republicans have an easy argument to run on in the midterm elections. One of his comments was: "What do you want - jobs or food stamps?" As I've said before, it will be so interesting to see how it all breaks. Will the economy, which appears to be humming and raising all boats, win it for the right, or will the energized base of the left and constant anti-Trump barrage of the mainstream media prevail? 56 days to go.

My thanks to the sweet elderly woman who bought a book in Russian, and to the middle age one who purchased two historical fictions by Philippa Gregory; and to Ira, who selected Invisible New York: The Hidden Infrastructure of the City by Stanley Greenberg and Thomas Garver; and to my constant benefactress, who donated books and DVD's I'm surprised were not jumped on immediately.

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The Writer's Life 9/10 - Dreams on & off the Field

I experience periods where dreams are particularly vivid. I had two in the wee hours this morning. In the first I was face down in a narrow space filled with water. I managed to turn and breathe. Applying Freud's belief that dreams are coded wish fulfillment, with which I'm not in one hundred percent agreement, I believe it was telling me to keep battling, especially against the advance of age. The second found me underground, on a bench in the concourse of the old World Trade Center. As I climbed stairs toward my job on the commodity trading floor, where I worked for almost 25 years, I realized I was late, the markets already open. I then was in an office waiting to be reprimanded. I asked myself why I kept working a job I hated. Another employee was present. He took to tapping on the wall of a cubicle and a middle age woman emerged and asked him to stop. I wonder if that part was telling me to stop hitting on women. I'm pretty sure the first part was related to my recent struggles at the floating book shop, where business has been terrible. Maybe it's time to return to my original intent - to try to sell only my own books at a different location each day. Or maybe dreams are just a mix of meaningless mumbo jumbo.

The floating book shop was rained out today. I filled time doing the Sunday crossword and watching NFL highlights at youtube. I've only gotten through half the games. I really enjoyed the Tampa Bay-New Orleans matchup. Veteran backup QB Ryan Fitzpatrick, playing because bonehead Jameis Winston is serving a suspension for sexual harassment, had a phenomenal day, passing for more than 400 yards on only 14 completions. It was bombs away, the Saints secondary MIA. Fitzgerald, 35, Harvard grad, seventh child on the way, had four TD passes. He even ran for a one, lowering his shoulder into a defender and bulling across the goal line. In the same game Saints RB Alvin Kamara, now in his second year, continues to dazzle, his elusiveness uncanny... Tyreek Hill, in his third season for Kansas City, was phenomenal vs. San Diego, catching seven passes for 169 yards, an average of 24.1 per, and two TD's. He also had a 91-yard punt return for another score. He may be the fastest player in the league. Anyone who has bet against the Chargers in the early season the past decade or so must be rich. Moving to L.A. has not changed their bizarre penchant for slow starts.

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The Writer's Life 9/9 - Potpourri

Captain John McKenna IV, raised in Brooklyn, was killed in action in Iraq in 2006 at the age of 30. Yesterday a park in Windsor Terrace was renamed in his honor. Kudos to those who made it happen.

NFL 2018 is fully underway. I just glanced at the results of the four o'clock games. Buffalo may replace Cleveland as the worst team in the league. For the past decade or so it seems the season boils down to who will face New England in the Super Bowl. Again - hope I'm wrong. I will not be watching any games on TV, not in protest but because I so enjoy the commercial-free highlights on youtube.

Author Barry Spunt, associate professor of Sociology at John Jay College, has been one of the floating book shop's best customers. Today his picture appears in the NY Post among others accused of sexual harassment at the school, where he has taught since 1993, and formerly chaired the soc department. He is on paid leave while the drama plays out. His lawyer said his client “plans on cooperating with their investigation, and he will be vindicated at the conclusion based on the evidence that I’ve seen of the falsity of the allegations made against him.” He cited the charges as “vague and nebulous” and made by a single individual, and also said: “Professor Spunt is completely innocent, and it’s a shame how people with hidden agendas and nefarious intentions can manipulate the system and the public in the name of #MeToo.” I wonder what defense will do to his finances, and if the matter will change his ultra-liberal views. I didn't mention it when I saw him today. From Boston, he was hurrying home to watch his beloved Patriots.

The scaffold bailed out the floating book shop for the umpteenth time since it was constructed, keeping out the light rain. My thanks to the woman who bought three books in Russian for her mom. Rosemary, who lives in the building that is being renovated, visited. We both went to Catholic school. She laughed as I related being pummeled by nuns. We agree that things are a lot different from back in the day. She said her husband was strict. When her son screwed up big time one day and knew he was about to suffer a smack down, he said her knew two lawyers. Dad countered with: "I hope you know two doctors" and commenced the beating.

Shana tova to Jews worldwide. Long live Israel.

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The Writer's Life 9/8 - Good Golly Ms. Molly

Because there was no close captioning on the DVD of Molly's Game (2017), I don't have much confidence in my opinion of it. I couldn't make out approximately half the dialogue in a film that has perhaps the wordiest voice-over ever. It's the story of Molly Bloom, who went from Olympic skiing hopeful to the brains behind high stakes card games that included actors, athletes, businessmen and, eventually, mobsters. Written and directed by Aaron Sorkin, it takes the usual Hollywood liberties with the truth. I visited a couple of sites that cited what was false. The one aspect that irks me most is the fact that Molly's competitive skiing career was not derailed by an injury. She stepped away on her own. The second is that her on-screen lawyer, so vital to the narrative and played solidly by Idris Elba, is totally fictional, and seems blatant politically correct casting. A lot of the flick plays more like a documentary. What I enjoyed most was Molly's relationship with her hard-nosed father. I've never been impressed with Kevin Costner's acting, but he was excellent in this role - kudos. The awesome Jessica Chastain largely underplays the lead role. The movie received only one Oscar nomination, for Sorkin's adaptation of the memoir on which it's based, in which she names only the famous already outed by others. Tobey Maguire and Ben Affleck were among them. The film was mildly successful at the box office, returning $59 million worldwide on a budget of $30 million. 80,000+ users at IMDb have rated it, forging to a consensus of 7.4 on a scale of ten. It's long, running 2:20. Whatever one may think of Sorkin's liberal views, his work is infinitely more literate than most of tinseltown's, and he has an impressive knack of blending the serious and the flashy. Here's a side-by-side of Chastain and the woman she portrayed:

Betty Goedhart of California, 85, reads about herself in the recent update of the Guinness Book of Records. She's the world's oldest trapeze artist. Man - to look that good at 85.

Conditions were great but business was terrible today at the floating book shop. My thanks to the woman who bought Christianity and Paganism in the Fourth to Eighth Centuries by Ramsay MacMullen, and made out a list of pro-Trump sites to visit. I don't know if I will, even though I support the president. The less politics, the better, I say. Lou also stopped to chat. At a flea market recently he bought two baseball figurines, a pitcher and batter, for a buck each. He looked them up on the web and discovered they're from 1940 and worth $999 each. He's looking for the third piece of the set - the "empire," as he called it, a common Brooklyn misnomer back in the day. Well done, sir.

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The Writer's Life 9/7 - All in a Day's Work

When I hit page three of William Hjortsberg's Falling Angel I faced a decision. I recognized the name Mr. Cyphre and realized it was the novel on which Angel Heart (1987) was based. I enjoyed its absurd fun, but since I still recalled the basics of the story, I considered putting the book aside. I chose to read a bit further, hoping there would be deviations from the script, as there almost always are in adaptations. The most important is location, NYC rather than New Orleans, a big plus. Although the work has a 1978 copyright, the author chose to set in 1959. News of Hawaii's statehood flash on the board in Times Square as the protagonist passes. Perhaps the author needed certain locations to fit the narrative. His knowledge of the city is impressive. In a blurb on the front cover of the paperback version, which must have been released well before the movie was planned, Stephen King wrote: "Terrific... As if Raymond Chandler had written The Exorcist..." That's a perfect description. The lively writing is the novel's best asset. Here are two examples: "The revelation hit me like an ice-water enema..." And: "... His companion was a kid in his twenties with a d.a. haircut and the wet, imploring eyes of a greeting card Jesus..." As for the story, of course it is more detailed than the picture, as any novel is. Since it's been so long since I've watched the film, I can't say which is better. I enjoyed both despite their absurdity. One aspect rankled. For anyone who hasn't seen the flick or read the book, this is a spoiler alert. While the private eye is certainly no angel or even a good person, he seems to have reformed a great deal from the evil he embraced in his past, which he has forgotten entirely after injury in WWII that required plastic surgery. Such evil seems innate. I doubt it could be quashed, although head injuries might change personality. This is Hjortsberg's most famous work, the fifth of his eight forays into fiction. He also wrote three original screenplays, the most notable being Legend (1985), a fantasy that starred Tom Cruise. He also did a bio of quirky author Richard Brautigan, perhaps a case of birds of a feather... 222 users at Amazon have rated Falling Angel, forging to a consensus of four on a scale of five. I wouldn't go nearly that high, but I respect the lively prose and dialogue enormously. The 242 pages read like considerably less. Here's a pic of Mickey Rourke in character as the shamus:

And here's a picture of Senator Corey Booker at yesterday's hearings on Supreme Court nominee Kavanaugh:

I didn't make much money at the floating book shop today, but the effort was well worth it. My thanks to the young woman and the middle age gentleman who purchased four works of fiction between them. Marty, NYPD retired, stopped to chat. He really opened up. He hasn't had a drink in more than three years, citing the date exactly. He went cold turkey on his own. He doesn't know if he actually was/is an alcoholic or if his job led to his drinking. He also is on a watch list composed by Mt. Sinai Hospital for those who worked at ground zero. He thanked me for listening and hurried away, as it looked as if it was about to pour. It didn't, fortunately. Next up was a group of three young Hasids, barely into their 20's, asking male passersby if they were Jewish. They usually confine themselves to the area just outside the Sheepshead Bay Road train station, but today they were out in full force, groups passing continuously. The three set up shop beside me under the scaffold. I didn't mind, as there was space between us. They managed to persuade two men to go through a brief ceremony that seemed a reconfirmation of faith. The first was a young man wearing a Yankees cap. Around his arm they wrapped a long vinyl substance that looked a lot like videotape. They also placed similar tape around the top of his head and a yarmulke on top. The guy put the baseball cap over it and quietly recited a prayer written out on paper. In the meantime, his female companion was chowing down on a plate of chicken and rice from Waj's food truck. At the end of the ceremony, one of the three Hasids pulled out a little shofar and blew into it for several seconds. I repressed laughter. Later, a retiree also complied and took it all very seriously. That wasn't the end of the entertainment. A middle aged woman wearing a back pack and carrying a bag in one hand and satchel in the other smiled as she came jogging by. She had to stop to let traffic pass at the corner of E. 13th. That gave a short, snarling Asian man the opportunity to catch her and snatch the satchel, which, apparently, she had stolen. All in a day's work.

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