Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 3/2

Here's another gem, short and sweet, I received in my email: The major difference between genius and stupidity is: genius has its limitations. Isn't it ironic? The food stamp program, part of the Department of Agriculture, is pleased to be distributing the greatest amount of food stamps ever. Meanwhile, the Park Service asks us to "please do not feed the animals" because the animals may grow dependent and not learn to take care of  themselves.
I saw an interesting Chinese film, courtesy of Netflix, last night: City of Life and Death (2009). It reminded me of Schindler's List (1993), bleak, shot in black and white, focused on atrocity, in this case what another axis power, Japan, perpetrated in Nanking 1937-38. No one knows how many were killed. Estimates range from 38,000 to 430,000 (Wiki). Scores of women were raped. This dark period in world history was chronicled in Iris Chang's 1997 book, The Rape of Nanking. It inspired a 2007 documentary. A lot of City of Life and Death plays like a documentary, spare of dialogue, especially in the early battle sequences. Memorable characters are eventually introduced. Films like this are hard to recommend. There are many poignant human touches in it, but for the most part it is an expose`of war crimes, which I believe is a topic more suited for a documentary or book of non-fiction. I felt the same way about Schindler's List. City of Life and Death is rated 7.6 out of ten at IMDb. I liked the ending. The one review I read cited it as weak. One of the main characters, a Japanese soldier, horrified by the atrocities, puts a bullet through his head. The reason I believe it is a great ending is that Japan itself was committing suicide, eventually bringing the bombs to Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Iris Chang was a suicide herself, attributed to depression. At the risk of sounding simplistic, I can see how immersing oneself in the worst of humanity would take a heavy toll.
I thank the kind folks who purchased books and videotape today. I have a new regular, Mr. Almost, a Russian gentleman who, when I ask: "How are you, Sir?" says: "Almost good."
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