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Wednesday, November 7, 2018

The Writer's Life 11/7 - Let There Be Spin

I'm disappointed but not surprised. It would have been so much fun to see the left shriek and whine. Wait - that's still the case because of the half-victory. So what do the results mean? Some say gridlock, which would be refreshing given congress' spendthrift ways, but don't be surprised if those 500+ reprobates continue their irresponsibility. After all, many Republicans might as well be Democrats. In my view it's a temporary stalemate. As I've believed all along, the path to socialism is inevitable. People always want more - especially if somebody else is paying for it. Once President Trump leaves office, the major road block will be gone. The House's Freedom Caucus is fine, but its influence is minimal and will be be even less now that the Dems have retaken the lower chamber. The fact that radicals won many seats and came close in many races seems to be another indicator of a leftist tilt in the nation. I would like to be wrong, but I've always been a pessimist when it comes to politics. Given the deficit and the national debt, I don't see how anyone could be optimistic about it. On the positive side, here's some historical perspective: In Slick Willie's first midterm, he lost 52 House seats and eight in the Senate; B.O. lost a record 62 & 6. Both were re-elected. All conservatives should want Nancy Pelosi to be Speaker, as her approval rating is 32%. I don't think anything will ever sum up politics in a nutshell better than the fact that Maxine Waters will be chairman of the financial services committee. The worst aspect of all this is that the mood in this divided but still great country will remain ugly, which was demonstrated immediately today by Trump's exchange with the CNN "reporter." Your move.


To no one's surprise, Attorney General Jeff Sessions has resigned. His service was surprising and extremely disappointing.

I had another "Duh" moment last night. There was a big band stream playing in the background while I was online. A familiar melody was cued, the same that played during the closing credits of '50's-'60's sitcom Make Room for Daddy. It was Glenn Miller's version of Danny Boy, a song I was unaware of back in the day. I was shocked. I never realized the instrumental theme, arranged by Earle Hagen, and the Irish standard were one and the same, and so appropriate given that Danny Thomas was the star of the show, which ran from '53 - '64, 344 episodes. The lyrics were written in 1910 by English lawyer Frederic Weatherly. After his Irish-born sister-in-law sent him the music of Londonderry Air in 1913, he modified the lyrics to fit its rhyme and meter.

I've been a Giants fan since I was a kid. I'm not happy that they are not suspending backup QB Kyle Lauleta, who was arrested after an incident in New Jersey in which he ignored a cop directing traffic, made an illegal turn, and allegedly almost struck the officer. He was charged with eluding police, reckless driving, and other charges. It was the second straight day he pulled the illegal maneuver. Another athlete with an inflated sense of entitlement has been given a pass. Shame on the organization. It's doubly irksome given the apparent Italian last name.

After a two-day hiatus, the floating book shop was back in action. Apparently, it was not missed. My thanks to Cabbie, who purchased James Patterson's Double Cross, and to the gentleman who bought a book in Russian; and to the guy who bought the Oliver Stone director's cut DVD of Alexander (2004); and to my constant benefactress, who brought more books and movies.
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Tuesday, November 6, 2018

The Writer's Life 11/6 - The Wait Is Almost Over

I performed my civic duty early this morning, despite the fact that voting is a thankless task for a conservative in NY, although Dan Donovan has a shot at keeping his house seat. Still, it's fun to vote against the likes of Cuomo, Gillebrand, the party of Schumer. The one Republican I didn't vote for is Marty Golden, who demonstrated an ego-maniacal sense of entitlement recently regarding his driving and parking habits. I wrote in Rudy Giuliani, as I did in those cases where Dems were unopposed.  There were seven judges on the ballot, three listed across all party lines. I voted for the four who were not on the ultra-liberal Working Families line. The place was buzzing. Shelley, Barb, and Stu, who I see regularly on the street, were working. Matt was done the same time as me. He was on his way to the private school he runs. He's a money magnet. Work seems to find him even now that he's in his 70's. He said he used to take Election Day off from whatever job he had in order to bring in extra money, at least in the days before a W-2 came with the stipend and taxes were deducted. I'm surprised by two news issues: the lack of caravan violence, which I thought would be timed to affect voting, and the silence from the Special Counsel. If Mueller has not issued a bombshell to avoid affecting the outcome of the election, kudos. If he has nothing on the President, even better.


Imagine being on the jury in the trial of drug lord El Chapo. Scary. 

I've been using an over the air antenna for a few months, and I'm satisfied with it even though it doesn't bring in ABC or the WB. Suddenly a bunch of new stations have popped up. Maybe whatever sends the signal shifts around in space. Last night while browsing I came upon a fairly hardcore crime film that captured me, no commercials. I didn't recognize the language. Finally, a trophy the murderous villain earned was shown and the subtitle included the word "Swedish." The channel is WNDT, 17-1, an affiliate of PBS. At ten I was torn between sticking with it or moving on to Manifest on NBC. I'm glad I chose the latter. The show remains interesting. At eleven I again hit the remote, and the aforementioned film was being rebroadcast, the title translating to Zero Tolerance, which came out in 1999.

At the moment it looks like the Patriots will not have an easy path to the Super Bowl in the AFC. The Chiefs, Chargers and Steelers are all playing very well. And in the NFC the Saints have shown the Rams are not unbeatable.

Yesterday the floating book shop was stymied by the lack of parking. Today it was heavy rain. Since no cash came my way the past two days, I made the long walk to the closest HSBC ATM. At least the car's in the most favorable spot for the next two days, which are supposed to be clear. I found another task to fill time and keep from climbing the walls - dusting under my futon bed. What fun.
 My Amazon Author page: https://www.amazon.com/Vic-Fortezza/e/B002M4NLJE

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Monday, November 5, 2018

The Writer's Life 11/5 - Celestial, Terrestrial, Aquatic


From foxnews.com, edited by yours truly: The Harvard Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics says the above celestial object may be "a lightsail of artificial origin" sent from another civilization, or debris from advanced technological equipment. Called Oumuamua, which is Hawaiian for "scout," the most exotic theory is that it "may be a fully operational probe sent intentionally to Earth vicinity by an alien civilization." Its speed varies.

One day to go. The most interesting election ever follows the most surprising. The left has galvanized and will have a huge turnout. The question is whether its antics, and the promising economic stats have galvanized the right. I believe anyone who votes to undermine President Trump is seriously misguided, regardless of the tweets. His accomplishments have been impressive. Although my gut tells me the results will be surprising, I'm probably only wishing they will be so, but savvy people don't usually vote against their wallets.

Cue the Jimmy Durante song whose lyrics were written by Ben Ryan in 1933, music by the Schnozz: "Inka dinka do." Here's a great pic of the surprise a guy got from the squid he caught:


The floating book shop was stymied today by parking. I was unable to get the car close enough to my usual nook for even a partial showcase. The old Hundai is two blocks away. The area beneath the scaffold remained dry, but the long back and forths I used to do with the crates are history. At this stage of my life, I err on the side of caution.
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Sunday, November 4, 2018

The Writer's Life 11/4 - Marathons

Despite not registering for the event, I ran the NYC Marathon in 1979, borrowing a number from a teacher who had participated the year before. I included the experience in the novel I will self-publish in January. There is a huge exception - I was not followed around by a beautiful blond. And it is set in 1980 to fit the narrative. Here's an excerpt, a read of a few minutes:

The area was abuzz with activity: conversation, stretching, snacking, resting, meditation, running in place. Long lines had formed at the portable bathrooms. Lotions and gels were being applied to sensitive areas. One joker was dressed as Superman. The participants were of various ages.
Vinnie sat off by himself, back to a fence. He hoped he wouldn't recognize or be recognized by anyone. He wanted to run alone, at his own pace.
Soon everyone was summoned to the starting area. He removed the old warm up suit he was wearing and put it in a trash barrel. He shivered in the cool air, goosebumps rising on his flesh. A mass of humanity gathered at the toll booths of the Verrazano Bridge. He stood at the rear of the pack, approximately a quarter-mile from the starting line. Nearby, a woman was holding a placard that read: "6 Hours." He despaired at the thought that it might take him that long to finish. To his surprise, he was only mildly nervous. He'd always been near tears before the opening kickoff in high school, even occasionally while coaching.
Suddenly a cannon boomed and those in the Brooklyn bound lanes, to his right, burst forth, trailing a flatbed truck filled with photographers snapping pictures. Vinnie marveled at the sight and wondered how, at such a pace, the leaders would finish. He assumed the elite were in that group, which had a much longer straightaway with which to work. His own pack had yet to move. He wondered if there were separate starting times for each group. He anticipated a second cannon shot. None came. Suddenly he realized the race had begun for all. It was just that the side he was on was so congested as to be nearly motionless. He inched along as if exiting a sold-out ballpark. By the time he reached the starting line, he was able to jog, although the going was still very slow. One man solved the problem of crowding by running along the concrete divider that separated the upper lanes of the bridge.
In plotting the course, envisioning the most difficult stretches, he'd feared the upward slope of the bridge would drain him. To his surprise, it was not nearly as steep as it appeared in driving across it. He resisted the urge to look back, fearful that he was last and that he might increase speed in order to save face. He had to pace himself, conserve strength for the long haul.
The crest of the bridge afforded a splendid perspective of both the event and the surrounding area. Runners were funneling into Brooklyn like sand in an hourglass. Some had already reached 4th Avenue, which seemed incredible, despite the speed at which the leaders had been traveling. The view was breathtaking - all those people, a sea of colors vivid and brilliant, and all in an orderly, peaceful procession. He was reminded of the Vietnam moratorium, when thousands marched to protest the war. There were times when human beings seemed great after all. Coney Island, Bensonhurst, Bath Beach, Bay Ridge, Gravesend Bay, the ocean, the Statue of Liberty, the Manhattan skyline, were all in view beneath the low cloud cover.


As for the floating book shop, there was no sense in going to Park Slope, as streets would have been closed off to protect the runners, and I may not have been able to get to my Sunday nook. On Bay Parkway, where business was stellar yesterday, it was a marathon of waiting for customers who didn't show. My thanks to the gentleman who bought the non-fiction work Call Girl, and to the other who purchased a DVD of Michael Clayton (2007).

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Saturday, November 3, 2018

The Writer's Life 11/3 - Billboards

I don't mind bleak films as long as the story is compelling. Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (2017), which was nominated for a Best Picture Oscar left me unimpressed. I caught up to it last night courtesy of Netflix. The basis of an enthralling tale is there but lost in cliches and stereotypes. I looked forward to it because I'd recently re-watched In Bruges (2008), which was also written and directed by Britain's Martin McDonagh, and which I love. Three Billboards... is the story of an angry middle aged mom devastated by the rape and murder of her daughter and the failure of authorities to solve the crime. She buys space on the billboards to send a message to the police, hoping the investigation will be rekindled. Mayhem ensues. The actors are terrific. Frances McDormand won her second Oscar for her performance, and Sam Rockwell won Best Supporting Actor in what I thought was a thankless role until I read of the praise he received. To me, Woody Harrelson outdid them both as the cancer-stricken Sheriff. To my surprise, the flick is described at IMDb as "Comedy, Crime, Drama." There certainly is humor, much of it provided by Peter Dinklage - diminutive in stature, enormous in talent - but to call it a comedy, even in terms of black comedy, seems egregious. Users at IMDb disagree with me entirely. 289,000+ rate Three... 8.2 on a scale of ten. I rate it five. I'm sure my political and personal beliefs influenced me. Anyone turned off by grim subject matter and despicable behavior should pass. The movie runs just short of two hours. Here's a still from it: 


The floating book shop had only two buyers todays, but both went to town. My thanks to the gentleman who purchased 14 books in Russian, and to the other who found 15 works of non-fiction to his liking - in English. It was the most profitable session in a long while, and third straight above average.

Here are a couple of more billboards:



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Friday, November 2, 2018

The Writer's Life 11/2 - Persistence

In an article in today's NY Post, Johnny Oleksinski relates the odd history of a film just about to be released in the USA. Here are excerpts, edited by yours truly: 33 years after his death, Orson Welles' last film has been completed. The Other Side of the Wind has been in post-production for nearly 50 years, thwarted by a lack of funding, bitter legal disputes and technological constraints. The film was finished thanks to decades of persistence by celebrated director Peter Bogdanovich, now 79, who acted in the movie, and producer Frank Marshall, 75, who was the production manager on the set. What begins as a satire of Hollywood shot documentary-style about the birthday party of a legendary director, played by John Huston, takes a turn toward tragedy. It took six years to shoot, wrapping in 1976. Welles was notorious for constant reworking. Marshall, editor Gary Graver, a team of digital technicians, and an old-school negative cutter were able to finish the movie using their on-set experience and Welles’ extensive notes as a guide. Graver said: “In a way, I think technology has caught up to the movie. Because some of these problems were insurmountable even 10 or 15 years ago.” Michel Legrand was hired to provide a score. It runs a shade over two hours. 272 users at IMDb have rated it, forging to a consensus of 7.4 on a scale of ten. Although I'm not a big fan of Welles, I look forward to watching it on DVD. Will he win an Oscar posthumously? Here's a still from the flick:


Solid October jobs report, biggest jump in wages in ten years, gasoline prices falling - will they affect the election? Will Robert Mueller issue a surprise on Monday? Only four days to go.

The floating book shop had good luck today. The rain held off, and last minute sales came to papa. My thanks to the gentleman who donated a bag of pristine hardcovers in Russian, and to the two women who bought one each, and to the gentleman who purchased the beautifully illustrated The Family Medici by Mary Hollingsworth; and to the old timer who pulled Frederick Forsyth's The Negotiator from a box in my trunk as I was packing up. That wasn't the end of it. As I was returning from Delmar with a couple of slices, a woman emerged from the train station and said hello. Since she was on her way home, I asked if she wanted to look at some books. I pulled the entire cache of Russian wares from the back seat, and she picked out 14. She doesn't buy when she's headed the other way. Just dumb luck. 
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Thursday, November 1, 2018

The Writer's Life 11/1 - Water

Here's the only lengthy addition I will make to the novel I will self-publish in January. The setting is the boys' gym of Lafayette H.S.:
  Dave burst onto the scene and came straight toward Vinnie. “Ace told me some cock ‘n bull story about you guys throwin’ Marty into Madison’s swimming pool. Is that true?”
  Ace laughed. A much needed smile came to Vinnie’s face. It was one of his fondest memories. In his first two years with the program, the varsity won only one game, none his junior year. Then Ace arrived. His assistant, Coach Senall, who also looked at Ace as a father figure, was in his first year as a teacher. He said he would let the team throw him in the pool if it won, thinking the promise would be forgotten in the excitement of victory. It wasn’t. He was picked up, hauled to the pool, which was open and in use, and thrown in. Several players, in full uniform, cleats and all, followed. Vinnie hesitated before jumping. While in midair he noted Joe Plescia, who would be named to the All-City squad, go entirely under. Vinnie thought it was the deep end – and he didn’t know how to swim. He feared he would drown, spoil the great triumph. It was the shallow end. Joe, who never left the playing field, who gave everything he had every single play, was simply exhausted and needed complete reviving. The pool’s supervisor was livid, berating the boys as they scrambled for the exit.

A Venice pizzeria remained open despite recent flooding. Here's a pic:


When Lady Chatterley's Lover was published in the late 1950's, it was controversial and subjected to an obscenity trial. The copy that was used at the proceedings has sold at auction for $72,000. Things have changed a great deal since then. Who would imagine porn becoming mainstream? The novel I'm working on would have had to have been published by an underground press way back then. Have we become a more enlightened or more base society? I wonder myself, although I benefit from today's freedoms.


RIP baseball Hall of Famer Willie McCovey, 80, who blasted 521 home runs during his 22-year career, all but four seasons with San Francisco. He was a six-time all-star and was named the NL MVP in 1969, batting .320, hitting 45 dingers, knocking in 126 runs, and reaching base at a clip of .453. Imagine having to face Willie Mays and McCovey back to back. Well done, sir.


The day got off to a shaky start. As I returned from Stop n Shop at approximately seven AM, I got stuck on the elevator for about an hour. Fortunately, I had the NY Post and reading glasses with me. When I finished the paper, I regretted not having bought water, as it was warm in that cramped space. I then recalled that I'd purchased a small cup of mint chocolate chip ice cream, which was melting. I drank it down. My thanks to our super Super, Luis, who forced open the doors, setting me free. My thanks also to the kind folks who bought and donated books on this beautiful indian summer day.
My Amazon Author page: https://www.amazon.com/Vic-Fortezza/e/B002M4NLJE


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