The Writer's Life 1/21 - Passages

Manifest, which airs on NBC at 10PM on Monday, continues to entertain. Unfortunately, there is only one storyline. If it continues to be popular, the resolution will be delayed to the point of frustration. Friends who have ignored it said they did not want to get sucked into a commitment similar to what they gave Lost. I understand that, but there is a big difference between the shows. Manifest is strictly a thriller. Lost, although unsatisfying in the end, had existential overtones. In a similar vein, The Passage, which airs on Fox at 9PM Monday, also has a single storyline. It too is strictly escapism. Two episodes in, I'm not sure what to think of it, although it's certainly not boring. So far, it's best aspect is the little girl at the center of the plot, played with uncanny naturalness by Saniyya Sidney, who is all of 12 years old. Here's the wunderkind: 

A couple of months ago my VCR went kaput on its own, making a weird noise when I turned on the stereo, to which it was hooked up. I hadn't used it in more than a year. Today I began throwing out the 100 or so homemade tapes I'd amassed through the years that gave me such pleasure. There were clips from movies, comedy from various sources, three best of wrestlings, and live music and videos. Despite all the work that went into recording them, there was no reason to be sad. Just about everything on them is available at youtube. I cleaned the rack, tightened its screws, and am now using it largely as a book case. The only books left on the floor are a bunch by Stephen King, which will sell eventually.

The wind was still howling when I went on my morning walk just after 6AM. Crossing the bridge that spans lower Sheepshead Bay was brutal. I doubted I'd open the book shop, even though the temperature was supposed to climb to 30, which is fine as long as the sun is shining and the breeze is light. Several good things happened. To my relief, the de-icer I poured into the gas tank yesterday did the trick. The car started after brief hesitation, although for several minutes I had to occasionally step on the accelerator to keep the engine running. On my way to the old Hyundai, I'd noticed that the most favorable parking spot, the only one beside the scaffold that stands at my regular nook, was open. Since the forecast calls for the possibility of rain the next two days, having the car there will allow me the option of opening the shop if it's merely drizzling. My luck continued during my first shift on the computer. I reached payout level at two survey sites and ordered $30 worth of Amazon GC's. They're already banked. On my way to CVS at 11AM, I saw that the wind had died completely, so I gambled that I'd be able to put in an hour-and-a-half session of the book shop if I stood in the sun at the corner of E. 13th. Fortune was on my side. Mark bought hardcover bios of Charles Lindbergh, Broadway star Mary Martin, short story master Raymond Carver, and French film auteur Jean Renoir. My thanks, and also to the retired Romanian super who donated two works of non-fiction.

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