Sometimes crazy works. The forecast was for high winds, gusts of 50 mph. As I left my buddy Bags' house, I looked toward the huge flag about a quarter mile away. It was blowing directly left, same as when I walked to McDonalds for my Saturday crispy salad. The breeze was coming right down 86th Street, which meant there was a chance it would be blocked by the Chase bank on Bay Parkway. I figured it wouldn't hurt to give it a look. Sure enough, the flag hanging in front of the building wasn't moving much. I decided to give the floating bookshop a go. I wasn't going home and starting another book, as the proof copy of Killing is due Monday or Tuesday, and I want to make sure it's in tip top shape before I give final approval. I could always pack up if conditions became too severe. My foolishness was immediately rewarded, as a Russian gentleman bought five books in his native tongue. Spasibo, sir. So even when snow flurries began to swirl through the air and passersby were looking at me as if I were nuts, it was easy to take, knowing I had some money in my pocket. Then Miguel, who I hadn't seen in months, showed. He is convinced the President is a Muslim. "It's right there in his book," he said. "Read it." He overpaid for a book on the Freemasons, an organization as hard to figure as the Church of Scientology. Gracias, amigo.
The only disappointment was not seeing Jack, employee of Chase, who has purchased at least 30 thrillers from me the past six months. I wonder if he no longer works on Saturday or if he has moved on to something bigger and better. Maybe he's simply overstocked.
Last night I watched most of The Kennel Murder Case (1933), broadcast on NET, starring William Powell as P.I. Philo Vance. I laughed out loud when George Chandler appeared as a reporter. Of all the actors I've researched at IMDb, Chandler has the most credits, a whopping 446. The only other actor I've found with more than 400 (421) is Vernon Dent, the fat guy so often seen in Three Stooges shorts. In contrast, Powell, one of Hollywood's most successful leading men, has only 94. The most I've found by a woman is Ann Doran's 353. In her remarkable career, she played mother to both James Dean in Rebel without a Cause (1955) and Christopher Reeve in Superman (1978).
Now playing on the Martini in the Morning stream, one of the most unusual songs ever, done beautifully by Linda Rondstadt, Miss Otis Regrets, the tale of a woman who kills the lover who has betrayed her and then is torn apart by a mob. Only a genius like Cole Porter could pull off something so bizarre with grace and poignancy. I still say he is the greatest writer who ever lived.
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