Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 9/10

I just finished JT LeRoy's short story collection The Heart Is Deceitful Above All Things (2001). The back cover says his first book, Sarah, a novel whose central figure is the secondary one in The Heart..., was published when he was 16. I went to Wikipeida to research him and found a story that is a novel itself. LeRoy is the pseudonym of Laura Albert, who was impersonated in public by Savannah Knoop, half sister of her lover. I won't go into further details, as the story is complicated. It was even used as the basis of an episode of Law and Order. I did not feel deceived when I discovered this. Since the work is presented as fiction, the only thing that matters is whether it is good, unlike James Frey's A Million Little Pieces, which was presented as truth. I have a tough time with anything about cruelty to children, and that is what this story collection is all about. All the stories involve the same adolescent and his nightmare existence, depicted in a style that falls a little short of graphic, although the blanks are easily imagined. It reads like a novel. The prose is clear and concise, but I was frequently confused as to which character was speaking. The author begins sentences with dialogue, then continues in the same paragraph with another speaker's thoughts or words. The strength of the book is its use of metaphors. I often avoid them in my own work, feeling they've all been used up by now. I can cite only one of mine I think is first rate and hasn't been used by anyone else, from Triple Witching Hour, a short story in A Hitch in Twilight: "...screaming like the walls of a vagina of a victim of rape." LeRoy's seem fresh and original, indicating wonderful talent. Of course, the reader will wonder whether the author experienced the horror portrayed. According to the Wiki profile, no one knows for sure. Again, since it is fiction, it doesn't matter. On a scale of five, I rate The Heart Is Deceitful above All Things three stars.
Thanks to the kind ladies on Bay Parkway today, who purchased a book on baking, and the late, beloved  Erma Bombeck's Motherhood: The Second Oldest Profession. Her witty syndicated column was a guilty pleasure of mine.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 8/19

It was a fun day at the floating bookshop. Antonin, aka Mr. Su Do Ku for his book on the subject, was the first to visit. His head shaved, he looked like famous wrestler George the Animal Steele, who was a teacher and long-time football coach in Michigan in his alternate universe. I could barely withhold laughter. I had to avoid looking at him directly, waiting for him to say: "Hey!" He whipped out his smart phone and showed me video he'd shot the day before in Times Square of an artist doing a painting on the street. Then he showed a picture of a coffin. A friend of his died, which reminded him he too would die. He's about 75. I probably said the wrong thing: "It's one of life's sad truths - anyone can and will be replaced." Despite the faux pas, he smiled and shook my hand before leaving.
Young Sue was my first customer. She looked at A Hitch in Twilight a long time, but passed. She was ashamed to admit she isn't a reader, having read less than three books her entire life. She did choose a book on coping with divorce. She is one of its victims, as are 50% of the population.
Marie has donated about 80 CDs, which she'd secured when a friend's blues bar closed down. The most recent batch of ten, which included REM, Loverboy, Jeff Healy, Paul Butterfield and an early MTV compilation, went fast. Will, a local security guard, bought eight himself. I suspected he would.
Then Cabbie showed, parking his hack beside Waj's gyro stand. He took three thrillers and gave me his usual spiel about wasting my life, wondering how much gelt I actually make. He simply does not understand how or why anyone would adopt the artist's life - and who could blame him? It's a mild form of insanity, as Bob Rubenstein pointed out when he visited bearing fruit he'd just purchased. He shared watermelon, strawberries and pineapple, pre-cut and put on ice in plastic containers. It was nice and cold. Tomorrow he is off on another long train ride to New Mexico, with a stop in Chicago to meet a friend and hopefully visit some of the sites he mentions in his second novel, The White Bridge, for which he did extensive research. As we were conversing, seated on the ledge that surrounds the apartment building's garden, two women stopped and looked at my display. One bought a pristine hardcover edition of Nora Roberts' Birthright, the other three children's books, including a Judy Moody, for her healthy blue-eyed blond boys.
After Bob left, Esther approached. I didn't want to be cold, so I asked how things were going with her 32-year-old son, who owes her a lot of money and hasn't spoken to her in a long time. She went on for an hour. Her brother, Henry, also owes her a lot of dough. The guy offered to repay in installments and she refused, afraid she would lose track of the sums. I tried to explain that he might never be able to repay all at once and that she would probably recoup nothing if she didn't compromise. I think she understood, but I'm not sure. Fortunately, it was soon three o'clock, time to pack up. She might have gone on for another hour.
Thanks, folks.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 8/3

It was another surprising day at the floating bookshop. I welcomed two customers back into the fold. Yelena, the young romance lady, must have left work early. I used to catch her going on a coffee run in the other direction when the weather was threatening and I set up at the viaduct. She overpaid, as usual, for Jackie Collins' Married Lovers.
I'd thought Maria was long gone from the neighborhood. I was so happy to see her. She bought A Hitch in Twilight almost two years ago. Her family was caught in the mortgage mess. The good news is they will be able to sell the house, and she is doing all she can to see that her daughter continues at the University of Bridgeport. I was shocked when she said she wanted to buy Close to the Edge. Are you sure? I wanted to say, feeling guilty about the prospect of taking money from her.
Eric, a young man of color, dressed for success, purchased a book on middle management, part of Abdul the Friendly Porter's latest donation. The other day he bought Vince Lombardi's Strive to Excel. He spoke of his dreams, one of which is to charter a plane to Bermuda, which costs $26,000. He wants to take his five-year-old sister along. He bought her a couple of books, one on aviation. Good luck, Eric.
Thanks, folks.
Hey, mystery fans - in case you don't know, PBS is running a new series, Zen, based on the novels of Michael Dibdin, on Masterpiece Mystery. It was shot on location in Rome, and centers on detective Aurelio Zen, a Venetian by birth. Rufus Sewell, whose credits go back to 1991, is the lead. Sci-fi fans will remember him as the star of Dark City (1993). Zen is a man of great integrity in a sea of corruption and cynicism characteristic of the films of Martin Scorsese. It is odd that almost the entire cast speaks in British accents, but it is the only fault of the series. Dibdin was a Brit himself. Lest we forget, all the great series based on classic Russian novels also suffered that same "flaw." To my dismay, only three episodes were shot. The second, Cabal, was as good as mysteries get.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 6/29

Even though I didn't sell any books today for the first time in a long while, I was reminded how lucky I am. A half block away, at the juncture where Sheepshead Bay Road, Avenue Z and East 14th meet, two men were replacing a window on the third floor of the shiny triangular building that went up on the spot about ten years ago. A scaffold reached the second floor, a step ladder to the third. Atop it stood an intrepid soul - without a harness. His partner was on the scaffold, handing things up to him. I don't know why they couldn't do the job from inside the building. Imagine doing that every day for a living. I was reminded of how much I hated climbing the ladder in the alley at my old house and untangling the clothesline for my mom, which was nothing compared to what that guy did. One gust of wind, a misstep - wow. What big ones. I hope his kids appreciate what he does to bring food to the table. Kudos.
Later, I got another long visit from Esther, who opened up more of her life to me. She has gone through the legal formality of disinheriting her son, who no longer visits her or her husband, who is in a nursing home, a double amputee diabetic who suffers severe arthritis and near blindness. When she was ten, her mom died of cancer at 37. Her father, a baker who worked nights for Fink on Long Island, could not raise six children himself. All were put in foster homes. Esther was separated from her twin, Regina. She lived with her foster parents until she was 24, when she married in a civil ceremony at City Hall. Her two older brothers have succumbed to cancer. It is sad and amazing what some people suffer in this life. It reminds me how easy I've had it.
Rest in Peace, Danny, who used to play his guitar outside the Sheepshead Bay train station. He lost his long battle with drug addiction.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 6/28

My schedule was thrown off today, as I accompanied Arlynn on a trip to one of her many doctors. What a fiasco. The guy's partners have both retired, so he is there alone. Patients waited four hours to see him. For some reason, he lets Arlynn cut the line. She was there only two hours. By the time we returned, after a couple of more stops, I was not in the right frame of mind to set up shop. I took a nap, ate, then went out. Although I didn't sell many books, I did run into Bob Rubenstein, whose second novel, The White Bridge, I'm editing. 85 pages in, I've found it confusing and unfocused. And we have such different styles of prose. Mine is direct. His is verbose, florid. That makes me wonder if I simply don't get what he is trying to accomplish. I told him to ignore my revisions if he thought they were bunk. I really dreaded telling him what I thought, as he's been very kind, buying my books and recommending them to others. I know how precious a writer's work is to himself. Fortunately, he took it very well. I was so relieved. His first novel, Ghost Runners, on which he worked on and off for 25 years, is so much more focused. I believe The White Bridge is in its first draft. I suggested he slow down. I've made so many grammatical and prosaic changes I'm afraid he'll think I'm co-opting it. I do only five pages at a time. I want to help and hope I'm not hurting. I told him how hard it is for me to sit back and enjoy any book. As I'm reading, the writer in me emerges. I imagine how I would have said certain things, how I would have punctuated them. It can be very annoying. Fortunately, I don't view movies and TV shows the same way. I simply enjoy them.
Thanks to everyone who bought books the past two days, and to the kind Russian gentleman who offered me a peach yesterday. Unfortunately, I've noted that one of my regulars, Simone, has avoided me this week. I hope she isn't haven't financial problems.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 6/23

I feel like a bum. I didn't set up shop today, as the forecast was grim. While a lot of the tri-state area has been pummeled, Brooklyn hasn't seen more than sprinkles. I could very easily have set up shop under the shelter of the viaduct, but I chose to attend to chores instead. Of course, I'm wondering if the percentages would have come due and I would have sold one of my own books today. Maybe I missed that one in a thousand chance and the wheel has now moved back to zero. While I'm way behind last year's pace in terms of my own books, I'm way ahead on used books and miscellaneous income, thanks to Arlynn. I've also built my paypal account to over $300, courtesy of various survey sites. I have a nice sum to buy copies of my own books, when - if - I'll ever need them.
I made a trip to Target, forgetting about the traffic slowdown on the ever-crowded, ever-repair-mode Belt Parkway. It took a half hour instead of the ten minutes it should have required. And I forgot my cell phone. I had that annoying "This is the day I'll have an accident" feeling, which nags me occasionally even when I have the device. I've never had an accident - the percentages are due. We all have our neuroses, I guess.
I take my cell phone outside only when I intend to drive, otherwise treating it like a landline. It is amazing how vulnerable I feel not having it in the car. We did without them for decades. Fortunately, I didn't have an accident. I replaced my electric razor, which is so old Norelco doesn't make replacement blades for that model any more. I also bought a pair of sneakers. And I spent a lot of the day reading. And my hip got some rest. It's fallen back to 75%. I hope it comes back to the 90's. I dread the thought that it will get a lot worse before it gets better.
Now I will work on my friend Bob Rubenstein's second novel, The White Bridge. Maybe I won't feel like such a bum.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 6/22

I took a chance today, forgoing the viaduct despite the threat of rain, and it paid off. I sold all the children's books I had on display, including a large one on Bible stories. Thanks, folks.
Last night I caught up to Red (2010), courtesy of Netflix. It is a fairly standard thriller, despite a star-studded cast: Willis, Malkovich, Freeman, Mirren, Dreyfus, Borgnine, and Rebecca Pidgeon and Karl Urban. Ernest Borgnine is in his 90's and still sharp as a tack. The film was too droll to be exciting and not witty enough to be satirical. It never rose above amusing. It was directed by Robert Schwentke, who did episodes of Fox's Lie To Me. On a scale of five: two-and-a-half.
After the movie I channel-surfed and came upon the premiere of Combat Hospital on ABC. Although it is far more serious, the show will arouse inevitable comparisons to MASH. In fact, there was a real familiarity to the stress and marathon work sessions the unit faced, which was captured excellently in its beloved predecessor. Even though humor is minimal, I don't know if the program will offer any new insight into the situation. Of course, all these years later the depiction of sex and violence is more graphic, and the language more liberal in prime time. I will watch more episodes. The cast is appealing. I believe the audience's connection to the characters rather than the sensational aspects will determine the future of the series. I loved MASH when it first aired, but now find it lacking whenever I run across a rerun.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 6/21

"Summer's here and the time is right for dancin' in the streets." So sang Martha and the Vandellas way back when, before I was born - not! The lyrics were written by William Stevenson and Marvin Gaye.
It was a quiet day at the floating bookshop. My man, Bob Rubenstein, author of Ghost Runners, stopped by, and I later found an email from him containing a file of most of his second novel, a work in progress, The White Bridge. I will toil at weeding out any errors. I appreciate his confidence in me.
I finally sold Jimmy Carter's Palestine: Peace Not Apartheid, to a nice young man. I'd had it for so long I figured the ex-peanut farmer had fallen too low in the eyes of Americans to generate interest, even in ultra-liberal New York. The former president puts the onus for the conflict on Israel. As I see it, the Palestinians and the rest of the Arab world will not be satisfied with anything less than the destruction of Israel. That is not a plan for peace. Meanwhile, Muslims live and work in the Jewish state and even serve in its parliament. Mossad agents assassinate terrorists and Israeli leadership apologizes if the innocent are caught in the crossfire. Muslims exult at the killing of women and children by homicide bombers. It's old news.
Esther kept me company the last hour. Her son, 32, is not living right, asking her for money while driving around in a Mercedes. Sounds like some tough love is in order. Easy for me to say, I guess, as I don't have any children.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 6/20

It was perfect weather-wise today in Brooklyn. I sold the last of Marie's CD donation, The Best of the Hollies and Stormy Weather, a standards compilation featuring modern artists such as Joni Mitchell and Stevie Nicks. The biggest surprise on that disc was comedienne Sandra Bernhard's solid take on a song made famous by Peggy Lee, Is That All There Is? It doesn't seem like a hard song to pull off, but she isn't a real singer, as far as I know, and she did it live. It must have been a charitable event. It's a good introduction to standards. My only quibble is that the tempo hardly varied from start to finish. Thanks to the security guard, who had purchased several CDs in the past. He was disappointed that the two were all there was/is. Thanks also to Susan, who bought a couple of books, and a woman who took three.
I got my daily visit from Lawrence, who is mildly autistic. He calls me Mr. Books. He is frequently involved in mischief. This morning he closed the security door leading to the courtyard of our complex, drawing the wrath of housewives who don't have keys, which are $25 each, and who travel in and out throughout the day. His aim was to keep cats and bugs out of the building, or so he says. Later, he said a friend has challenged him to follow his lead and take off his clothes on the train the next time they are on it, and asked what I thought. I said he would probably be arrested and get a beat down from his dad, who would have to bail him out.
When I was in my last years at the commodity exchange, there was a young data entry reporter in the Gold Options market who spooked everyone. I'm pretty sure Van was harmless, but he was odd, keeping chicken bones in the pockets of his yellow work jacket. He was eventually let go, well before the purges that began in 2007. He lives in Sheepshead Bay and has passed the floating bookshop many times. I didn't think he remembered me. The other day he suddenly called out my name. He seemed surprised I knew his. He passed again today, without recognition, although I greeted him. I wondered if it was a matter of his having forgone his meds. He did say hi on the way back, though. Life is unfair for some.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 6/19

Just two months after his meltdown at the Masters, Rory McIlroy blew away the field at the U.S. Open at the Congressional Country Club in Maryland. He became the youngest player ever to win the tournament, and he set the record for the lowest score at -16, winning by eight shots. Normally, I would not watch such a rout, as it lacks the drama that makes professional golf so great. Given what happened to the young man at Augusta National, it was must see TV for fans. I had a lump in my throat as he hugged his dad at the finish. Incredibly, men from tiny Northern Ireland have captured the last two U.S. Opens, Graeme McDowell having won last year. And it was interesting to hear the NBC announcers go on and on about McIlroy's potential, obviously praying he will do for the game what Tiger Woods did before his troubles. Well done, Rory.
On a sad note, saxophonist Clarence Clemons has passed away at 69. The Big Man, as he was affectionately known, added so much color to Bruce Springsteen's songs. The E Street Band will never be the same without him. RIP, sir. I will always love your joyous work on Rosalita.
I knew it would be a good day on the street when the affable Carmine showed up as I was setting up shop on Bay Parkway. He threw a scare into me when he mentioned what he thought was an error in logic in my story Threes, which is part of the A Hitch in Twilight collection. The story has to do with the myth of famous people dying in threes. He thought there were only two at one point. I checked. There were three - whew! Not only was Carmine nice enough to purchase How To Be Your Own Best Friend (1986), he returned a while later with a donation of six books, including two non-fictions that were snapped up by Miguel, who has become a regular, a while later. He even overpaid. And I could barely contain my amusement when I spotted Bob in the distance. Several times he has asked if I had Warren Zevon's Werewolves of London. Zevon's Best of Collection was part of Marie's latest donation. Bob was thrilled.
Thanks, guys - it was big of you.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 6/18

Thanks to the young lady who purchased a thriller today outside the Dolphin Gym.
Greg Iles has written 13 best sellers in the thriller genre. I just finished 24 Hours (2000). It traveled familiar territory for the most part until a spectacular, unusual chase sequence at the end. I chose it over the other two Iles books David had donated, as it is less than 340 pages. That, I contend, is the proper length for a thriller. The writing is rock solid. One line, reminiscent of Raymond Chandler or Dashiell Hammett, had me laughing out loud: "The smile on her face was as forced as an Avon lady's on a poor street..." The novel was transformed to the screen as Trapped (2002), starring Charlize Theron, Kevin Bacon, Stuart Townsend, Courtney Love and Dakota Fanning. I'm tempted to rent it, despite knowing the story line. I'm curious as to how closely the novel was followed. The screenplay was written by Iles as well. Iles grew up in Mississippi, where the novel is set. He founded the rock band Frankly Scarlet but was forced to quit when touring made family life impossible. He turned to writing and almost immediately found success. He also plays in that band comprised of Dave Barry, Stephen King, Amy Tan, etc. On a scale of five, I rate 24 Hours three-and-a-half. Of the 15 or so thrillers I've sampled, I still find Tami Hoag's A Thin, Dark Line far superior to the others.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 6/17

What luck. I didn't expect to set up shop today, as the forecast called for a lot of rain. But when I went outside at eleven AM, I saw a substantial swath of blue sky. I thought I'd give it a shot, hoping to get in an hour or so. A Latino laborer who has purchased several CDs noticed the new batch and took ten, including two holdovers from Marie's previous donation, obscure works I figured would never sell. Gracias, amigo. I have three left: Best of Warren Zevon (ah oooh!), the Best of the Hollies and a standard compilation featuring modern artists, which I will test out on my car's CD player tomorrow.
A while later an 84-year-old veteran, who has donated a couple of bags of romance novels he picked up at the VA, brought me a beautiful coffee table book, A Celebration of the Friars Club, which he asked that I not sell but keep. Needless to say, I was touched, as it features famous caricatures of Al Hirschfeld, including Jack Benny, Groucho and Jimmy Durante. And it's in mint condition. I will treasure it, even though I don't have a coffee table. Selling it would be, as my mother used to say, an infamia.  The gentleman also gave me a large, unusual tome, Tatiana's Magical Compendium, which contains spells and rituals to help the lovelorn. Thank you, sir.
And the day was made complete when lovely young Alisa came strolling along, headset in place. She noticed a small hardcover copy of A Farewell to Arms, which actor-singer Johnny Feets donated when he moved. It is a 1932 Modern Library edition. I had Arlynn, who sells books through Amazon, look up its value, just in case. She almost had a heart attack when she saw $17,000, but that was for the 1929 edition. The 1932 is worth two to seven dollars. I let Alisa have it for one. She walked away sniffing it, as she loves the smell of old books. Thanks, miss. She has such a positive demeanor. 
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 6/16

Congratulations to the Boston Bruins, Stanley Cup Champions. While I always root for the team that has never won a championship, in this case Vancouver, it was clear the Bruins were the better team, routing the Canucks at home, narrowly losing on the road until the game seven shutout. The Bruins' defense and goal-tending were phenomenal. It seemed Vancouver rarely had a rebound to swat at. And it sure seemed like they fanned on a lot of shots in good scoring position. All of Bean Town's sports teams, Bruins, Sox, Celtics, Pats, are solid. I wonder if someone has compiled a statistic on the best winning percentage in a single season among the cities that have franchises in the four major sports.
Between periods I did some channel surfing. PBS was running NOVA, exploring the gift of musical ability. As someone who has been struggling with guitar since 1975 - and knows he doesn't have such a gift - the program caught my attention immediately. We've all been astounded by child prodigies. How does it happen? How can they be more proficient than those who work decades on their craft? It is a mystery that may never be answered. The film-makers first focused on a young autistic man, blind since birth, who is able to play pieces by classical geniuses. In all other phases of his life he has the mind of a four-year-old. The PHD doing the investigating played a recording of a complicated jazz piece - and the guy was able to play it note for note on one listen, and throw in improvisational notes! Later, a teenager who suffers Tourette's Syndrome was  featured. His tics cease entirely whenever he is drumming, and what a drummer he is. The mysteries of life never cease to astonish.
Thanks to the kind folks who purchased books today, especially to the woman who is eight months pregnant, her third child.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 6/15

Here are some quotes, some silly, some profound, that have struck a chord in me:
Michael Ray Richardson, NY Knicks point guard, on the team's troubles: "The ship be sinkin'." My all-time favorite. I chuckle whenever I recall it.
Master thief Willie Sutton when asked why he robbed banks: "That's where the money is." Crystalline logic and a slap in the face to all psychologists.
An angel to Mary Magdalen on her way to Jesus' tomb: "Why do you seek the living among the dead?" Absolutely touching.
Teri Hatcher to Jerry Seinfeld on whether she's had a boob job: "They're real and they're spectacular." I bet they are.
A boy to Shoeless Joe Jackson on the accusation the White Sox threw the 1919 World Series: "Say it so, Joe." Out of the mouths of babes.... Wonderful even if it's mythology, the creation of a sportswriter.
Pope John Paul: "Be not afraid." Great advice. We would accomplish so much more if not for our fears.
Oscar Wilde: "I can resist everything but temptation." This resonates because I've so frequently fought off temptation - to my own frustration.
Tom Clancy: "The difference between fiction and reality? Fiction has to make sense." One of my goals as a writer is to try to make sense of the bittersweet mystery of life. It's a losing battle.
Marie's CD donation has already begun to pay dividends, as Vinnie bought Pink Floyd and Pearl Jam today. Thanks, goombah.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 6/14

Fall returned to the area today. A stiff wind played havoc with the floating bookshop, but my luck continued, although it didn't seem it would for the first two-and-a-half hours of operation. 30 minutes into the session, it began to rain. It lasted about five minutes and, given the forecast, had me scurrying to the viaduct. Sure enough, the sun came out and I stood there kicking myself for moving, hoping the romance lady, Yelena, would make a coffee run so that I'd have something to show for the shift. After an hour-and-a-half of being ignored, I packed up. Along the way, I passed Yelena, outside her work place sneaking a smoke with a co-worker. She turned her back as I approached. I think she saw me. Maybe she has maxed out on potboilers. I am grateful to her nonetheless.
It looked like it would be more of the same at my usual post. I'd probably missed any of my regulars who'd happened by. And the temperature was so un-June-like I couldn't blame people for not stopping. Then everything turned around, as a woman purchased three children's books for her birthday girl. An Asian man picked up a beautiful pictorial on deer and looked through the whole thing. When someone does that, it usually means no sale. When I went down to one dollar, he took it. I'm such a soft touch. A few minutes later Marie brought me another CD donation, at least ten, including Led Zeppelin II, the Police Singles and the Best of the Hollies, which I'm listening to right now (Long Cool Woman). And then lovely young Alisa approached, addressing me in Italian, dressed as if she were coming from work. Sure enough, she has landed a gig as a Russian translator. I asked her the phonetic spelling of certain terms, i.e., Dosvedanya (Goodbye til next time). Finally, Bob Rubenstein, author of Ghost Runners, came by and bought a CD of  legendary jazz saxophonist Charlie Parker.
Thanks to all for brightening my day.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 6/13

Kudos to the Dallas Mavericks, champions of the NBA. I didn't think they had it in them. I'm glad I was wrong. Dirk Nowitzki has been vindicated. Several years ago, facing the same Miami Heat, pre-Labron, in the finals, he missed free throws that would have given the Mavs a 3-0 series lead. The series turned around, Miami winning the next four games and the title. I didn't think he'd get another chance. I thought Jason Kidd, a rare player who makes everyone around him better, was too old when the Mavs acquired him. I remember the uproar when he was accused of beating his wife during his stint with the New Jersey Nets. He was excoriated in the press and by most people at work, although details of the event were never disclosed. Was it a pattern of abuse or a single argument that got out of control? It was never made clear. I withheld judgment. Things happen between a man and wife. I witnessed it in my own family. It's something that is never forgotten and leaves emotional scars, especially on children. These instances can eclipse the thousands of days when there were no altercations. "Never hit a woman," several of my co-workers said. That is the correct standard, of course, but life is what it is, not how we want it to be. No one outside Kidd's family knows what actually occurred.
As for the Miami Heat and its three-headed Lebron-Wade-Bosh monster, I hope they've been humbled, but I doubt it. The modern athlete lacks humility and class with few exceptions. If they remain healthy, they will get their rings, perhaps next year. A little fine tuning and they'll remain the team to beat. The Celtics and Spurs have gotten old, and it's doubtful the Mavs will repeat, given the age of their squad. It appears the Chicago Bulls and Oklahoma City Thunder stand in the Heat's way. And perhaps the Lakers. I don't understand what happened to them this season, but it was refreshing not having them in the finals.
I don't know if it was the cool weather, but I sold a lot of books the past two days, none of mine, of course. Oh, well, maybe tomorrow.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 6/11

The floating bookshop was closed today due to inclement weather.
Here's the latest review I've posted at amazon. It's for the kindle edition:

			Skyline Review 2011 Literary Anthology Price: $0.99 Availability: Auto-delivered wirelessly		196 used & new from $0.99
Something for everybody, June 9, 2011 This review is from: Skyline Review 2011 Literary Anthology (Kindle Edition) Water Forest Press has issued the third edition of Skyline Review, chock full of poetry, stories and book reviews. In My Most Days..., Jaimie Eubanks illuminates the sense of futility of a writer just starting out on her dream. In Nick of Time, Russell H. Krauss brings readers to a bar, where two males set their sights on twins. Mike Clough's Berkeley and the Half Man is a portrait of a self-taught, intellectual, bitter combat veteran. Gerald Farrell explores the psychology of a rape victim in Ice-cream Thunderbolt. In The Disappearance of PFC Ned Lansing, Sue Ellis focuses on the tragedy of alcoholism. George G. Wilson returns with another amusing tale, The Scarlet Storm. In Sleeping Beauty, Trodayne Northern offers a look at cancer and sibling rivalry. In The Interview, Bill Gibson writes of a nasty competition for a job. Leland Thoburn reveals the secrets of sinners in The Confession. In The Consummation, Laura Drysdale takes readers on a trip down a Portuguese river, circa 1861. Andrew Broxton delves into the mindset of a woman coping with the death of her husband in After the Reading. Geoffrey Smagacz paints a picture of a crotchety old woman in Agnes. Harris Tobias predicts the future in The Last Robin. In Into Metamorphosis, Susan Dale writes of the transformation of a Cherokee. And Sue Sabia tells the story of an odd couple in Ray and the Angel. What diversity! Full disclosure: My story, The Unknowable, appears in the anthology.  Read Vic's stories, free:  http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 6/10

It was a great day at the floating bookshop. Most of my regulars showed. Alisa is in her first year at the New School, a liberal college in Manhattan. She took a class on piano. Playing less than one year, she passed her test, learning a piece by Chopin. At a party the other night, she sat at a Steinway and improvised some blues. Obviously, she has an affinity for music. She spotted a book on Ethics and was disappointed I had set it aside for mailman extraordinaire, Mr. Chou. That's the kind of stuff she reads. Clearly, she is on a higher intellectual plain than most of us. Of course, Mr. Chou didn't want it.
Alexander the Poet followed up on my recommendation of lulu.com and is awaiting a phone call from them, which he is more comfortable with than web exchanges. And my man Bob Rubenstein, author of Ghost Runners, is 37,000 words into his second novel. He has asked me to edit, and I look forward to it.
The following was in the Weird But True section of today’s New York Post. I hope you find it as amusing as I did: A computer tech pulled a scam straight out of "Revenge of the Nerds." When the Fullerton, Calif., geek fixed laptops for female customers, he secretly installed a Webcam program, authorities said. He then told the women to take the computers into their steamy bathrooms while they showered in order to keep the machines clean. Several women fell for the line, leading to the arrest of the nasty geek.
People are endlessly fascinating.
Thanks to Susan, Giggles Pulaski, Uncle Charlie Grizzly Bear, and a first-time young customer for buying books to day.
All the links at my alternate website are now live: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 6/9

Since the temperature was forecast to be near 100, I wasn't unhappy about accompanying Arlynn to the doctor at mid afternoon and losing a day at the floating bookshop. I'm sure sales would have been paltry, perhaps even zilch, and she paid me, although I did not ask for it. Her bills have been arriving and have passed $200,000. She believes they will reach $300,000. She says: "Is it any wonder Medicare is going broke?"
Last night I watched an outstanding independent film, Buried (2010), courtesy of Netflix. The entire 90 minutes takes place in a coffin. It is part mystery, thriller and political commentary, and it worked on all levels except for one brief aspect that seemed outlandish overkill but fell in line with most artists' view of the business world. It is an allegory on the U.S. involvement in Iraq. Those who opposed the war or believe its price was too high will likely think it is spot on. Those of us who supported the war will have to wait years, if not decades, to see if the film-makers were wrong. Given what some pundits call "the Arabs genius for failure," which has been going on for 2000 years or so, no one would be surprised if the entire Middle East fell under the thumb of Islamofascists. The so-called Arab Spring, the current uprisings, may be a direct result of what is taking place in Iraq. Still, it won't be known for a long time if the results are positive. Are the odds even 50-50? Will the Arab Street reject Jihad and embrace Democracy? We should all live so long. Stayed tuned.
Kudos to director Ricardo Cortes, who made a riveting film in a single, cramped setting, and to actor Ryan Reynolds, both of whose previous work I had not known. Reynolds has more than 50 credits, including a guest spot on one of my favorite shows, The X-Files. I do not remember it.
All but one of the links at my alternate website is live: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/

• Brooklyn Day will be celebrated tomorrow. Yes, there is such a thing. I so looked forward to it when I was a kid. The schools closed. I don't know if they still do. Here is a list of famous people born in the borough of  kings. I took out the names of politicians. I did not add my own name. For a more complete list, go here:  http://www.famouswhy.com/Born_Where/Location/Brooklyn.html

• Allen, Woody
• Beastie Boys
• Blaine, David
• Bleu, Corbin
• Brooks, Mel
• Brown, Foxy
• Burns, Ken
• Buscemi, Steve
• David, Larry
• Day, Dorothy
• Diamond, Neil
• Dreyfuss, Richard
• Durante, Jimmy
• Edwards, Vince
• Eisner, Will
• Fadiman, Clifton
• Fallon, Jimmy
• Ferrigno, Lou
• Gershwin, George
• Ginsburg, Ruth Bader
• Giuliani, Rudy
• Gleason, Jackie
• Hayworth, Rita
• Heller, Joseph
• Horne, Lena
• Jay-Z
• Jordan, Michael
• Kamen, Jack
• Kaye, Danny
• Keitel, Harvey
• Kim, Lil'
• Kimmel, Jimmy
• King, Carole
• King, Larry
• Lethem, Jonathan
• Lombardi, Vince
• Manilow, Barry
• Maslow, Abraham
• Milano, Alyssa
• Moore, Mary Tyler
• Mos Def
• Murphy, Eddie
• Nidetch, Jean
• Perelman, S.J.
• Reed, Lou
• Rhymes, Busta
• Rivers, Joan
• Rooney, Mickey
• Salmi, Albert
• Sandler, Adam
• Schlessinger, Laura
• Seinfeld, Jerry
• Sendak, Maurice
• Shakur, Tupac
• Soto, Talisa
• Stanwyck, Barbara
• Streisand, Barbra
• Thalberg, Irving
• Tomei, Marisa
• Tyson, Mike
• Wallach, Eli
• West, Mae
• Wilson, Robert Anton

Thanks to the Merry Mailwoman, who purchased thrillers by Jonathan Kellerman and Iris Johannson today on Avenue Z - despite the heat.
My alternate website is almost completely operational. There are just a few more links to correct and add.
http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/