Last night I watched another of the music videotapes I made long ago, this one circa 1994. It began with the unusual protest song Zombie, by the Cranberries, done on SNL. Despite its chintzy main guitar riff and bizarre vocalizations ("Eh, eh. Oh, Oh."), it somehow works. It is a stirring plea for people to wake up and demand an end to the "troubles" in Northern Ireland, which have since ended. Hopefully, the collapse of the European economy won't spark a return of them.
The tape had the usual variety I enjoy. The only mistake was having six Eric Clapton songs back to back. They were from his From the Cradle period, broadcast on PBS, when he honored the blues men who influenced him. Of course, the performances are all first-rate, although I'm not as enthusiastic about them as I was on initial viewing. Van Halen made a rare network appearance on Jon Stewart's failed talk show. Eddie's guitar playing was spectacular. Unfortunately, the songs (Amsterdam was one) left a lot to be desired. They were from the Sammy Hagar period. I've never been able to warm up to him as a front man.
There was a sad moment in the mix - the appearance of the late Adam Yauch of the Beastie Boys, tearing it up with his buddies, performing Sureshot. It was a reminder of how fickle life can be even for the successful. There were two superior highlights on the tape. Bjork and PJ Harvey teamed on a re-interpretation of the Stones' Satisfaction, done at the Brit Music Awards. Whenever I see Bjork I have the urge to pinch her cheek. She is so cute. From what I've read about her, she wouldn't take kindly to something like that. Nor would wrestling Hall of Famer Jerry "The King" Lawler, who also shows up on the tape in a madcap spot with Andy Kaufman from Late Night with David Letterman. I must not have had another blank available to have included it on a music collection. I'm glad I broke from my anal ways to record it. It was great television, my favorite Kaufman performance. As is common with his insane bits, one wonders if it is real or staged. A security person certainly wasn't sure. If you've never seen it, take a look: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2JrQhsAGSK0 Warning: somehow the person who posted it found an unedited version. It is quite blue.
My thanks to Brit, who mailed payment for a copy of Killing, and to Alan, who purchased a thriller from the floating book shop today.
Visit Vic’s sites:
Vic’s Third Novel (Print or Kindle): http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic’s Website: http://membershttp://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic’s Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic’s 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic’s 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic’s Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3f
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/30
There is interesting news on the financial side of pro sports. According to sources, the Stanley Cup finalists, the New Jersey Devils and Los Angeles Kings, are both up for sale, although ownership and the league deny that is the case with the latter. On his PBS talk show, Charlie Rose once remarked that the most common regret of successful businessmen was ownership of a sports franchise, which seems to require persons more interested in publicity than profit. The Devils have been on the brink of ruin for a while now. Their deep run in the playoffs will wipe out losses for this season, but future financial prospects remain bleak. Lou Lamoriello is one of the greatest General Managers in the history of sports, keeping the team competitive despite a limited fan base and paltry revenue. The Devils are vying for their fourth Stanley Cup, astonishing given the circumstances. Way to go, goombah.
Red Sox pitching hero Curt Schilling, he of the famed bloody sock, stands to lose the 50 million he earned playing baseball. A venture on which he gambled, 38 Studios, has been a bust. I feel bad for him, but any help should come only from the private sector. He took the risk, he must suffer the consequences. Same for all who invested in Facebook, including me. No one twisted anyone's arm to buy. The whiners are pathetic. Worse are those gloating about the fall of the stock. It reminds me of how wonderful a Yankees losing streak is to me. Stocks can and will go down - who knew?
Old Smoky visited the floating book shop. He was down in the dumps, feeling persecuted by the human race. He brought along a comforter - a flask of whiskey. When he parked his butt on the ledge of the fence that surrounds the garden where I set up, I feared I was in for another two-hour visit that would scare away customers. He soon suffered a prolonged coughing fit that had passersby edging away. I was relieved the wind was blowing the other way. Whenever he suffers such a bout, one thing crosses my mind: TB. Fortunately, one of his confederates happened by and they soon departed. Of course, I had to shout at him to retrieve the flask, which he'd left behind.
Big Al, local beat poet, is confident the Haiku poetry he has posted on the web will one day attract a publisher. He dubs it Loveku. I thank him and Mr. Almost/Mikhail for their purchases on a day of dull business. There was some action, though. Nine police cars, three unmarked, converged on East 13th. Two turned away when it was obvious they weren't needed. An officer had chased a young man from the train station a couple of blocks away into an apartment building. The perp was led away in cuffs. When a woman who spoke only Russian asked what had happened, I pantomimed as if I were in handcuffs and raised an index finger to signify one offender. She smiled and nodded in understanding.
Visit Vic’s sites:
Vic’s Third Novel (Print or Kindle): http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic’s Website: http://membershttp://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic’s Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic’s 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic’s 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic’s Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3f
Red Sox pitching hero Curt Schilling, he of the famed bloody sock, stands to lose the 50 million he earned playing baseball. A venture on which he gambled, 38 Studios, has been a bust. I feel bad for him, but any help should come only from the private sector. He took the risk, he must suffer the consequences. Same for all who invested in Facebook, including me. No one twisted anyone's arm to buy. The whiners are pathetic. Worse are those gloating about the fall of the stock. It reminds me of how wonderful a Yankees losing streak is to me. Stocks can and will go down - who knew?
Old Smoky visited the floating book shop. He was down in the dumps, feeling persecuted by the human race. He brought along a comforter - a flask of whiskey. When he parked his butt on the ledge of the fence that surrounds the garden where I set up, I feared I was in for another two-hour visit that would scare away customers. He soon suffered a prolonged coughing fit that had passersby edging away. I was relieved the wind was blowing the other way. Whenever he suffers such a bout, one thing crosses my mind: TB. Fortunately, one of his confederates happened by and they soon departed. Of course, I had to shout at him to retrieve the flask, which he'd left behind.
Big Al, local beat poet, is confident the Haiku poetry he has posted on the web will one day attract a publisher. He dubs it Loveku. I thank him and Mr. Almost/Mikhail for their purchases on a day of dull business. There was some action, though. Nine police cars, three unmarked, converged on East 13th. Two turned away when it was obvious they weren't needed. An officer had chased a young man from the train station a couple of blocks away into an apartment building. The perp was led away in cuffs. When a woman who spoke only Russian asked what had happened, I pantomimed as if I were in handcuffs and raised an index finger to signify one offender. She smiled and nodded in understanding.
Visit Vic’s sites:
Vic’s Third Novel (Print or Kindle): http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic’s Website: http://membershttp://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic’s Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic’s 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic’s 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic’s Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3f
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/29
Yesterday Antenna TV's schedule consisted of war films. There was an unusual pairing from eight to midnight: Sahara (1943) and Castle Keep (1969). The former was made during WWII and is rife with propaganda. Humphrey Bogart is the leader of a band of heroes stranded in the desert, desperate for water. There are several notable elements beyond its exciting action. Lloyd Bridges does a turn as a British soldier. Younger viewers might remember his memorable portrayal of the aged exercise guru on Seinfeld ("Mandelbaum! Mandelbaum!"). J. Carroll Naish received an Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actor. He plays an Italian prisoner who gives the film's main anti-Nazi speech. Dan Duryea, for once, plays a heroic figure, so unlike the sniveling weasels he did to perfection throughout his career. The highlight, though, is the tackling of the issue of race, seen through an African career soldier whom a German prisoner berates and Bogie defends. I'm not sure this was handled as frankly in previous Hollywood fare. To my chagrin, I was unable to figure out the actor's name among the credits at IMDB. I actually think it was left out. Sahara was directed by Zoltan Korda, whose most famous work is Jungle Book (1942).
Somehow I had never gotten around to viewing Castle Keep. Now I know why. It is too surreal for prime time TV. It is par for the era, when the iconoclastic was hip. It seemed gobbledygook to me, an opinion that would rile its supposedly avid cult following. They must be smarter than me. The only notable elements were an appearance by Michael Conrad, the original Sarge on Hill Street Blues ("Let's be careful out there."), and a bizarre turn as a conscientious objector, leading a group that frequently breaks into song, by the always reliable Bruce Dern. While I would not call the film an insult to combat veterans, it was certainly an odd choice for Memorial Day. Sidney Pollack directed. He did 36 films, most notably the critically acclaimed Tootsie (1982) and Out of Africa (Best Picture Oscar 1985), both of which I find vastly over-rated. My favorite Pollack film is The Yakuza (1974), starring Robert Mitchum.
My thanks to the folks who made purchases at the floating bookshop, especially my most faithful customer, Susan, who bought David Eggers memoir, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius.
Visit Vic’s sites:
Vic’s Third Novel (Print or Kindle): http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic’s Website: http://membershttp://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic’s Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic’s 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic’s 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic’s Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3f
Somehow I had never gotten around to viewing Castle Keep. Now I know why. It is too surreal for prime time TV. It is par for the era, when the iconoclastic was hip. It seemed gobbledygook to me, an opinion that would rile its supposedly avid cult following. They must be smarter than me. The only notable elements were an appearance by Michael Conrad, the original Sarge on Hill Street Blues ("Let's be careful out there."), and a bizarre turn as a conscientious objector, leading a group that frequently breaks into song, by the always reliable Bruce Dern. While I would not call the film an insult to combat veterans, it was certainly an odd choice for Memorial Day. Sidney Pollack directed. He did 36 films, most notably the critically acclaimed Tootsie (1982) and Out of Africa (Best Picture Oscar 1985), both of which I find vastly over-rated. My favorite Pollack film is The Yakuza (1974), starring Robert Mitchum.
My thanks to the folks who made purchases at the floating bookshop, especially my most faithful customer, Susan, who bought David Eggers memoir, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius.
Visit Vic’s sites:
Vic’s Third Novel (Print or Kindle): http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic’s Website: http://membershttp://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic’s Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic’s 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic’s 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic’s Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3f
Monday, May 28, 2012
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/28
Abraham Lincoln was not only a great president - he was a great writer. Here is the Gettysburg Address:
"Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation, so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate, we can not consecrate, we can not hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth."
A heartfelt thank you to all who have fought in the name of liberty, especially those who made the ultimate sacrifice. Long live America.
"Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation, so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate, we can not consecrate, we can not hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth."
A heartfelt thank you to all who have fought in the name of liberty, especially those who made the ultimate sacrifice. Long live America.
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/27
The law of averages caught up to the floating book shop. After many sales yesterday, zilch today at the exact same location. Right back at 'em tomorrow. Meanwhile, here's an excerpt from Killing I hope is appropriate for the holiday:
The ground floor of the two story house, whose exterior had been modernized in brick and wood, was dark except for the light emanating from a large television screen situated in the modest living room. Although it was February, the Christmas decorations had yet to be taken down.
"Danny?" a woman called, entering the front door, which led, through a small foyer, to the living room. "Why're you sittin' in the dark?"
She switched on a lamp. The interior had been modernized beautifully. Dante, slumped on a couch, squinted.
"It jus' started," he said somberly, staring at the screen.
Tension rose to his wife's thin face as she poised herself against the recliner, eyes focused on the newscaster. Dressed conservatively, dark hair cut short, she imparted a maturity and seriousness that contrasted with the youthfulness of her features. No one ever guessed she was 41, which was both a source of pride and pain to her husband, who, although by no means obese, had the thickness of middle age and receding hairline to match.
"Does your mother know?" she said.
"I doubt it. My father don't watch the news no more. He says they’re a buncha lib'ral sfacheem."
She pursed her lips, apparently stifling a response. "I'll go up and tell her."
"Let 'em eat first. Why spoil their dinner?"
She looked at him. He kept his eyes on the screen, reluctant to meet an accusing gaze.
"Where's Jo Jo?"
He shrugged lifelessly. "She wasn't here when I came in."
"I'll make you some soup. You can't fast the whole war." She took a step toward the kitchen, which was at the rear, and paused. "I hope you're satisfied."
He hadn't the resolve to respond. Besides, what might he say - that someone's children had to stand up to the thugs of the world? This was no time for arguing. He was as distressed as she. He would rather have Junior home, too, despite the fact that his country needed him. For the first time, his son had been apart from the family at Christmas. Now they feared he would never again be home for the holidays.
The kitchen door swung open. Rays of light cut into the living room. Eyes covered, he looked toward the silhouette of his wife in the doorway.
"When're you gonna take down the decorations?" she said, annoyed. "You always have ‘em down the day after the Epiphany. People must think we're giamoaks."
He'd been wondering when she would mention it. She was not one to let anything, however trivial, slide. Apparently her thoughts had been elsewhere.
"I ain't takin' 'em down 'til Junior comes home."
She turned away. Light left the doorway. He realized he'd left the decorations up to test her as well.
His thoughts were interrupted by hurried footsteps pounding the porch. The door burst open.
"Daddy..." said a teenage girl breathlessly.
"We know, mommy," he said, patting the space beside him.
She flopped onto the sofa and leaned against him heavily. As he put his arm around her, he smelled tobacco. He hadn't the will to scold her. He hoped it was her friends and not she who indulged. He'd been a smoker himself. He'd begun in Vietnam and eventually passed the habit on to his wife, who'd only recently quit herself. His daughter was now 18. It was time she made her own decisions, even foolish ones. He would mention it another time. At present it was trivial in light of what his son was facing.
"There’s nothin' to worry about yet," he said, kissing her forehead. "Looks like we're gonna bomb 'em roun' the clock hopin' they'll wise up an' get lost."
"You were right all along."
"I wish I wasn't. He gave us no choice, though. Now he's gotta be squashed before he gets even more dangerous."
The family, Dante's parents included, sat huddled around the television late into the evening. The women were the first to retire, leaving father and son alone.
"Let's see if they botch this like they did your war," said the elder, cane poised between his knees.
"We won't. If anything, it'll make us try harda to get it right." Did he really believe that or was he trying to fool himself? he wondered. "Bush's been there. He knows what it's like. He won't tie the gen'rals’ hands."
"We'll see. You can't trust politicians. They’re always up to no good, sittin' nice an' cozy in Washin'ton while the little guys're dyin'. Roosevelt let the Japs bomb Pearl Harbor to get us atta the depression. 'New Deal,' my ass, the socialis' bastid."
Dante made a face. "That's crazy, Pa. No president'd let all those people get killed jus' to get the country goin'. This ain't Russia. Now you soun' like all the conspiracy nuts you hate so much. An' where would you be wit'out Social Security an' Medicare, which the lib'rals got you?"
"I'd’ve had more money to put in the bank."
Dante was about to say the money would have been squandered on broads and booze. He restrained himself. After all, this was his father. "It wouldn'ta been enough. You’re comin' out way ahead."
"Shows you what saps they are. Why should the little guy work hard or save? Then again, they don't really give a crap 'bout the little guy. It's jus' their way'a buyin' votes."
To Dante, it did seem foolish of the government to bail out someone like his father. And he feared there were many like him. He did not know if those in need should be deprived because of the bums, however. Trouble was, it seemed the government was making it easy for too many citizens to be bums.
"You always said you were for the war, anyway."
"Sure I was, jerko. We shoulda hit first, that's all. Everybody an' 'is mother knew we were gonna get it sooner or later. We shoulda got in soon as Hitler made 'is first move. The Japs were up to no good all along in China. An idiot coulda seen what was up. We let 'em get off to a quick start an' it cost us big time."
"We don't hit first. That ain't what this country's about."
"That's why it's in the shape it's in. We shoulda knocked the Russkies all the way back to Mosco' too, or threatened to nuke 'em if they didn' get back where they belonged. They saw what the bomb did to the Japs. There never woulda been a cold war, no Korea or Vietnam to make mistakes in."
"You see everything twenty-twenty."
"I can still see that dumb hick's face. He wasn't wit’ us a week. I told 'im to put 'is pack in fronta the little slot in the bunker. He wouldn't listen. Sure enough a piece'a shrapnel got in an' got 'im. I was lucky a piece didn' get me too, the stupit bastid."
Dante grew cold with fear as he realized there wouldn't be many combat veterans on the scene to show his son the ropes, the little tidbits that increased the chances of survival. When had America last fought in a desert - World War II? He hoped there would be Israelis on hand to lend expertise. In Vietnam he'd been taken under the wing of a Californian whose parents had been raised in Brooklyn. The others in the unit, all seasoned, several into a second tour of duty, were cold to him at first, as they were to subsequent replacements, until he proved himself, "broke his cherry," as they said. Still, he would never forget the sense of panic he experienced the day his mentor's orders came through. He'd never felt such isolation. He adjusted quickly, however. He had no choice. He wondered what had happened to that guy.
"That kid an' thousands like ‘im’d still be alive if we'd’a hit firs'," said his father emotionlessly. "The war woulda been over way before then. It only had a few months to go as it was."
"You can't look at it like that. There's always gonna be mistakes. It ain't 'two an' two.'"
His father dismissed the comment with a wave. "Whatta you know? You’re a dope. I'm goin' up to bed."
Dante chuckled, then recalled the gravity of the situation and regretted the levity, as if it were an affront to the war effort.
"Need help?" he said, noting his father's difficulty.
The elder's reply was a peevish grumble. Dante watched sadly as his father rocked and bounced until he'd created enough momentum to propel himself to his feet. Stooped by pain, he walked out through the mist of cigarette smoke he'd left. 70, he appeared much older than his years. He'd had to give up golf, which he'd learned late in life and loved, and which was perhaps the only thing he'd ever loved besides his sins. At breakfast one morning long ago, Dante heard a repeated whoosh coming from the backyard. His father was practicing, strengthening his swing, a weighted donut affixed to the shaft of his driver. It became a daily routine - until various ailments defeated him. He now rarely left the vicinity of the house. There had been times he went missing for days. He refused to attend family functions, which displeased no one. Although he suffered chest pains and fits of coughing, he wouldn't stop smoking. He'd been smoking unfiltered cigarettes since the age of twelve. He'd lived fast for many years and it'd caught up to him. His wife, on the other hand, 65, was spry and energetic. Unlike her husband, she always looked on the bright side. To Dante, it seemed she was being rewarded for her goodness and his father punished for his wickedness. What an odd couple they were. He feared others thought the same of Deanna and him. Once, he'd believed they were an ideal match.
He gazed forlornly at the framed photograph of his wedding day, which was set upon a wall unit he'd built himself. How long ago that seemed. Curiously, his tour of duty, which had preceded his marriage, seemed to have ended only recently.
He returned from the kitchen with air freshener. He'd come to hate the odor of burning tobacco.
He fell asleep on the sofa, television running. His wife woke him in the morning. There were no new developments in the Gulf.
He kept vigil each night, around the clock, lying on the couch, dozing, eyes snapping open occasionally, garnering the latest information. He watched no other programming. In his mind, entertainment at this time was unpatriotic, base. It was the least he could sacrifice, besides donating blood, while young Americans were risking their lives on foreign soil, and he was in the comfort of his home.
One day he found five letters from his son in the mailbox. He suspected there wouldn't be any more for a while, as the ground war was imminent and secrecy was being observed. Although this added to his distress, it was as he preferred, as he believed silence would save lives. He despised those journalists who questioned military spokesmen about the specifics of strategy and estimates of casualties, and those who apologized for those who asked such questions, who claimed it was their duty to ask. To him, they were putting their reputations before the welfare of those doing the fighting. He would bet none had a son facing enemy fire. He hoped a bomb would fall on their headquarters.
It became obvious, at least in the early days of the effort, that the press was being frustrated - and he loved it. He believed it would help the allies attain victory or, at least, a decisive advantage, more quickly. His bitterness at what he believed had been the partisanship of the media coverage of Vietnam was suddenly fresh in mind. He now had hope that this war would be different. He was at once fascinated and appalled by the presentation of the event, which gave it the air of what pundits called a "miniseries." He was impressed by the sophistication of modern military technology, of how far it had advanced in the 20 years since Vietnam. It reinforced his belief in a strong national defense. He regretted not having voted for Ronald Reagan. He was enthralled by the terminology: "Smart Bombs," "Apache," "Humvee," "SCUD," "Collateral Damage."
Visit Vic’s sites:
Vic’s Third Novel (Print or Kindle): http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic’s Website: http://membershttp://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic’s Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic’s 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic’s 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic’s Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3f
The ground floor of the two story house, whose exterior had been modernized in brick and wood, was dark except for the light emanating from a large television screen situated in the modest living room. Although it was February, the Christmas decorations had yet to be taken down.
"Danny?" a woman called, entering the front door, which led, through a small foyer, to the living room. "Why're you sittin' in the dark?"
She switched on a lamp. The interior had been modernized beautifully. Dante, slumped on a couch, squinted.
"It jus' started," he said somberly, staring at the screen.
Tension rose to his wife's thin face as she poised herself against the recliner, eyes focused on the newscaster. Dressed conservatively, dark hair cut short, she imparted a maturity and seriousness that contrasted with the youthfulness of her features. No one ever guessed she was 41, which was both a source of pride and pain to her husband, who, although by no means obese, had the thickness of middle age and receding hairline to match.
"Does your mother know?" she said.
"I doubt it. My father don't watch the news no more. He says they’re a buncha lib'ral sfacheem."
She pursed her lips, apparently stifling a response. "I'll go up and tell her."
"Let 'em eat first. Why spoil their dinner?"
She looked at him. He kept his eyes on the screen, reluctant to meet an accusing gaze.
"Where's Jo Jo?"
He shrugged lifelessly. "She wasn't here when I came in."
"I'll make you some soup. You can't fast the whole war." She took a step toward the kitchen, which was at the rear, and paused. "I hope you're satisfied."
He hadn't the resolve to respond. Besides, what might he say - that someone's children had to stand up to the thugs of the world? This was no time for arguing. He was as distressed as she. He would rather have Junior home, too, despite the fact that his country needed him. For the first time, his son had been apart from the family at Christmas. Now they feared he would never again be home for the holidays.
The kitchen door swung open. Rays of light cut into the living room. Eyes covered, he looked toward the silhouette of his wife in the doorway.
"When're you gonna take down the decorations?" she said, annoyed. "You always have ‘em down the day after the Epiphany. People must think we're giamoaks."
He'd been wondering when she would mention it. She was not one to let anything, however trivial, slide. Apparently her thoughts had been elsewhere.
"I ain't takin' 'em down 'til Junior comes home."
She turned away. Light left the doorway. He realized he'd left the decorations up to test her as well.
His thoughts were interrupted by hurried footsteps pounding the porch. The door burst open.
"Daddy..." said a teenage girl breathlessly.
"We know, mommy," he said, patting the space beside him.
She flopped onto the sofa and leaned against him heavily. As he put his arm around her, he smelled tobacco. He hadn't the will to scold her. He hoped it was her friends and not she who indulged. He'd been a smoker himself. He'd begun in Vietnam and eventually passed the habit on to his wife, who'd only recently quit herself. His daughter was now 18. It was time she made her own decisions, even foolish ones. He would mention it another time. At present it was trivial in light of what his son was facing.
"There’s nothin' to worry about yet," he said, kissing her forehead. "Looks like we're gonna bomb 'em roun' the clock hopin' they'll wise up an' get lost."
"You were right all along."
"I wish I wasn't. He gave us no choice, though. Now he's gotta be squashed before he gets even more dangerous."
The family, Dante's parents included, sat huddled around the television late into the evening. The women were the first to retire, leaving father and son alone.
"Let's see if they botch this like they did your war," said the elder, cane poised between his knees.
"We won't. If anything, it'll make us try harda to get it right." Did he really believe that or was he trying to fool himself? he wondered. "Bush's been there. He knows what it's like. He won't tie the gen'rals’ hands."
"We'll see. You can't trust politicians. They’re always up to no good, sittin' nice an' cozy in Washin'ton while the little guys're dyin'. Roosevelt let the Japs bomb Pearl Harbor to get us atta the depression. 'New Deal,' my ass, the socialis' bastid."
Dante made a face. "That's crazy, Pa. No president'd let all those people get killed jus' to get the country goin'. This ain't Russia. Now you soun' like all the conspiracy nuts you hate so much. An' where would you be wit'out Social Security an' Medicare, which the lib'rals got you?"
"I'd’ve had more money to put in the bank."
Dante was about to say the money would have been squandered on broads and booze. He restrained himself. After all, this was his father. "It wouldn'ta been enough. You’re comin' out way ahead."
"Shows you what saps they are. Why should the little guy work hard or save? Then again, they don't really give a crap 'bout the little guy. It's jus' their way'a buyin' votes."
To Dante, it did seem foolish of the government to bail out someone like his father. And he feared there were many like him. He did not know if those in need should be deprived because of the bums, however. Trouble was, it seemed the government was making it easy for too many citizens to be bums.
"You always said you were for the war, anyway."
"Sure I was, jerko. We shoulda hit first, that's all. Everybody an' 'is mother knew we were gonna get it sooner or later. We shoulda got in soon as Hitler made 'is first move. The Japs were up to no good all along in China. An idiot coulda seen what was up. We let 'em get off to a quick start an' it cost us big time."
"We don't hit first. That ain't what this country's about."
"That's why it's in the shape it's in. We shoulda knocked the Russkies all the way back to Mosco' too, or threatened to nuke 'em if they didn' get back where they belonged. They saw what the bomb did to the Japs. There never woulda been a cold war, no Korea or Vietnam to make mistakes in."
"You see everything twenty-twenty."
"I can still see that dumb hick's face. He wasn't wit’ us a week. I told 'im to put 'is pack in fronta the little slot in the bunker. He wouldn't listen. Sure enough a piece'a shrapnel got in an' got 'im. I was lucky a piece didn' get me too, the stupit bastid."
Dante grew cold with fear as he realized there wouldn't be many combat veterans on the scene to show his son the ropes, the little tidbits that increased the chances of survival. When had America last fought in a desert - World War II? He hoped there would be Israelis on hand to lend expertise. In Vietnam he'd been taken under the wing of a Californian whose parents had been raised in Brooklyn. The others in the unit, all seasoned, several into a second tour of duty, were cold to him at first, as they were to subsequent replacements, until he proved himself, "broke his cherry," as they said. Still, he would never forget the sense of panic he experienced the day his mentor's orders came through. He'd never felt such isolation. He adjusted quickly, however. He had no choice. He wondered what had happened to that guy.
"That kid an' thousands like ‘im’d still be alive if we'd’a hit firs'," said his father emotionlessly. "The war woulda been over way before then. It only had a few months to go as it was."
"You can't look at it like that. There's always gonna be mistakes. It ain't 'two an' two.'"
His father dismissed the comment with a wave. "Whatta you know? You’re a dope. I'm goin' up to bed."
Dante chuckled, then recalled the gravity of the situation and regretted the levity, as if it were an affront to the war effort.
"Need help?" he said, noting his father's difficulty.
The elder's reply was a peevish grumble. Dante watched sadly as his father rocked and bounced until he'd created enough momentum to propel himself to his feet. Stooped by pain, he walked out through the mist of cigarette smoke he'd left. 70, he appeared much older than his years. He'd had to give up golf, which he'd learned late in life and loved, and which was perhaps the only thing he'd ever loved besides his sins. At breakfast one morning long ago, Dante heard a repeated whoosh coming from the backyard. His father was practicing, strengthening his swing, a weighted donut affixed to the shaft of his driver. It became a daily routine - until various ailments defeated him. He now rarely left the vicinity of the house. There had been times he went missing for days. He refused to attend family functions, which displeased no one. Although he suffered chest pains and fits of coughing, he wouldn't stop smoking. He'd been smoking unfiltered cigarettes since the age of twelve. He'd lived fast for many years and it'd caught up to him. His wife, on the other hand, 65, was spry and energetic. Unlike her husband, she always looked on the bright side. To Dante, it seemed she was being rewarded for her goodness and his father punished for his wickedness. What an odd couple they were. He feared others thought the same of Deanna and him. Once, he'd believed they were an ideal match.
He gazed forlornly at the framed photograph of his wedding day, which was set upon a wall unit he'd built himself. How long ago that seemed. Curiously, his tour of duty, which had preceded his marriage, seemed to have ended only recently.
He returned from the kitchen with air freshener. He'd come to hate the odor of burning tobacco.
He fell asleep on the sofa, television running. His wife woke him in the morning. There were no new developments in the Gulf.
He kept vigil each night, around the clock, lying on the couch, dozing, eyes snapping open occasionally, garnering the latest information. He watched no other programming. In his mind, entertainment at this time was unpatriotic, base. It was the least he could sacrifice, besides donating blood, while young Americans were risking their lives on foreign soil, and he was in the comfort of his home.
One day he found five letters from his son in the mailbox. He suspected there wouldn't be any more for a while, as the ground war was imminent and secrecy was being observed. Although this added to his distress, it was as he preferred, as he believed silence would save lives. He despised those journalists who questioned military spokesmen about the specifics of strategy and estimates of casualties, and those who apologized for those who asked such questions, who claimed it was their duty to ask. To him, they were putting their reputations before the welfare of those doing the fighting. He would bet none had a son facing enemy fire. He hoped a bomb would fall on their headquarters.
It became obvious, at least in the early days of the effort, that the press was being frustrated - and he loved it. He believed it would help the allies attain victory or, at least, a decisive advantage, more quickly. His bitterness at what he believed had been the partisanship of the media coverage of Vietnam was suddenly fresh in mind. He now had hope that this war would be different. He was at once fascinated and appalled by the presentation of the event, which gave it the air of what pundits called a "miniseries." He was impressed by the sophistication of modern military technology, of how far it had advanced in the 20 years since Vietnam. It reinforced his belief in a strong national defense. He regretted not having voted for Ronald Reagan. He was enthralled by the terminology: "Smart Bombs," "Apache," "Humvee," "SCUD," "Collateral Damage."
Visit Vic’s sites:
Vic’s Third Novel (Print or Kindle): http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic’s Website: http://membershttp://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic’s Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic’s 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic’s 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic’s Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3f
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/26
I add films to my Netflix list months in advance. By the time they arrive, some are a complete mystery as to why I rented them. Such was the case with French thriller Point Blank (2010), which has slam bang action from start to finish and comes in at a tidy 84 minutes. Of course, there are instances that strain credulity, but that is the case with most action pictures. There are a few especially memorable scenes: a motorcycle accident, a chase through a Paris subway station, and the chaos in a station house following multiple robberies and vandalism. It's a fun ride, strictly a popcorn movie. Kudos to director Fred Cavaye. On a scale of five, three-and-a-half. The folks at IMDb rate it 6.9 out of ten. It is not to be confused with the 1967 quirky noir classic of the same title starring Lee Marvin and Angie Dickinson, directed by John Boorman, rated 7.4; or a Mickey Rourke vehicle (1998), rated 3.9. In the 50's and 60's French cinema was influenced by Hollywood noir like Detour (1945), Double Indemnity (1944) and Out of the Past (1947), and some real beauties were the result, among them: Diabolique {'55}, Le Trou {'60}, Le Samourai {'67}. Now it seems to have picked up the pace ala modern American thrillers. Tell No One (2006), based on the novel by Harlen Coben, was also tres bien. As Marv Albert might say: Oui!
The floating book shop had a great day. I didn't even have to set up to earn my first sale. While I was visiting my buddy Bags, watching an action-packed John Wayne flick from the 30's on Encore Westerns, Impy stopped by and bought Killing. He earned that nickname in his youth, unable to stay out of trouble. He has reformed considerably. He has a new toy - a convertible. Given that the object of each day is to sell one of my books, it was a success before I went to work. I sold a bunch of books to various passersby, and a bag of VHS tapes to Bad News Billy, whose troublesome 12-year-old grand-daughter had dispatched him to get her something to eat. He was especially fired up about an SNL Best of Steve Martin video: "Well, excuuuuuuse me!" Later, when I spotted my goombah Carmine, seventyish, in the distance, walking toward me, I looked forward to his special brand of sunshine. When it looked like he was going to pass without acknowledging me, my heart sank. I immediately assumed he'd found Killing offensive to Italian-Americans. He played me like a fiddle, stopping on a dime, turning and laughing. He loved the novel, saying: "It's so real." That is exactly what I hope readers will glean from it. He has passed it on to a neighbor. I'm interested to see how Impy reacts, if he realizes one of the minor characters is patterned after him in a not so flattering light. He didn't complain when I included several of his antics in The Best Revenge, a short story about the street we called home.
Thanks, folks.
Visit Vic’s sites:
Vic’s Third Novel (Print or Kindle): http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic’s Website: http://membershttp://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic’s Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic’s 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic’s 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic’s Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3f
The floating book shop had a great day. I didn't even have to set up to earn my first sale. While I was visiting my buddy Bags, watching an action-packed John Wayne flick from the 30's on Encore Westerns, Impy stopped by and bought Killing. He earned that nickname in his youth, unable to stay out of trouble. He has reformed considerably. He has a new toy - a convertible. Given that the object of each day is to sell one of my books, it was a success before I went to work. I sold a bunch of books to various passersby, and a bag of VHS tapes to Bad News Billy, whose troublesome 12-year-old grand-daughter had dispatched him to get her something to eat. He was especially fired up about an SNL Best of Steve Martin video: "Well, excuuuuuuse me!" Later, when I spotted my goombah Carmine, seventyish, in the distance, walking toward me, I looked forward to his special brand of sunshine. When it looked like he was going to pass without acknowledging me, my heart sank. I immediately assumed he'd found Killing offensive to Italian-Americans. He played me like a fiddle, stopping on a dime, turning and laughing. He loved the novel, saying: "It's so real." That is exactly what I hope readers will glean from it. He has passed it on to a neighbor. I'm interested to see how Impy reacts, if he realizes one of the minor characters is patterned after him in a not so flattering light. He didn't complain when I included several of his antics in The Best Revenge, a short story about the street we called home.
Thanks, folks.
Visit Vic’s sites:
Vic’s Third Novel (Print or Kindle): http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic’s Website: http://membershttp://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic’s Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic’s 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic’s 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic’s Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3f
Friday, May 25, 2012
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/25
My thanks to Lev, who overpaid for two Russian translations of Stephen King novels, and to the young lady who purchased a novel based on the TV series Alias. Here's an excerpt from a short story, His Destiny, that has received more than 15,000 hits at buzzle.com. It is part of the A Hitch in Twilight collection.
Reluctant, short of breath, he opened the trunk, slowly, and shined the flashlight inside. The dark-haired woman's crumpled body was there amid broken glass, as he'd feared. He stifled a sob, quickly closed the trunk, and gazed about, fearful someone had seen his dark secret. He awoke abruptly, cold, nauseated, shivering despite the number of blankets atop him. He closed his eyelids tightly, trying to chase the frightening image, which remained vivid. The hair at the back of his neck was wet, as were his armpits and the back of his knees. It was four AM. It was the fifth consecutive night he'd been awakened at this precise hour. Tears came to his eyes. He was frustrated and baffled. His study of Freud, who claimed dreams were wish-fulfillment, had been useless. He could not imagine what wish would be fulfilled by the murder of a woman who was a stranger to him. He dressed quickly, everything at his fingertips in the tiny studio apartment. He set the three locks at his door and tiptoed down three flights to the lobby. He had difficulty opening the building's large outer door, the wind blowing furiously against it. The night was frigid, the area deserted. Light shone in only a handful of the windows of the apartment buildings that lined the street. His teeth were chattering as he approached the small car. The knot in his chest had his tall, wiry frame hunching, as if he were carrying a weight about his neck. He took a flashlight from the glove compartment and opened the trunk, slowly, respiring heavily, breath visible and filling the air. Although he feared it a concession to madness, he felt compelled to check. He was no longer able to assure himself: It's just a dream. It was too real to be false. He sighed upon finding the trunk empty. Again tears filled his eyes. Why was he having this dream? It made no sense. Why wasn't he having dreams of his mother's long, agonizing death by cancer, which still, after two years, often occupied his waking hours? Unable to sleep, he tried to analyze the dream, which he'd been having periodically for months. He was unable to bring the woman's face into focus. He knew only that she was dark-haired, which made sense, as this was the type to whom he was most attracted, dark like himself, his Greek heritage. Even the car was a blur, as only the trunk was seen. He sensed, however, that it was his. Was he only to discover and not murder the woman - or did he want her dead? He cringed as he recalled the venom he'd felt for the women who'd spurned him. Living alone the last two years had not afforded the fulfillment he'd expected. Would bitterness drive him to murder? Had he already killed while sleepwalking? Again he was nauseated. The alarm sounded just as he'd been about to drop off to sleep. His breakfast consisted of several cups of black coffee, heavily sugared, as his mother had liked it. As he was dipping a cookie into it, a roach crawled across the table. He squashed it with the flat of his fist, grunting maniacally. He sprayed and sprayed and was unable to get rid of the vermin. He feared he would be stricken with cancer before they were vanquished. He did not perform well in the classroom, mind and body too tired to summon the energy to inspire high school students to an appreciation of Plato. They stared blankly, apparently too bored even to misbehave. He questioned whether he'd ever been a good teacher. He was afraid the nightmare was affecting his waking hours. After dismissal he went to the school library to research works he would be covering in weeks to come. Before he knew it, night had fallen. He despaired. He hated the early darkness, the long nights. He longed for spring, daylight-savings-time. During winter he liked to get home early and turn the lights on to chase the gloom. "Excuse me," he heard as he approached the main exit. An attractive, dark-haired woman approached. "My name's Barbara Cohen. I'm the new dance teacher. I was wondering if you'd mind walking me out to my car." "No," he said, tense, voice sticking in his throat. He was unable to offer more than one-word responses to her small talk. Fortunately, she was glib. They did not suffer a lengthy, embarrassing silence. He'd decided to stop trying to communicate with women, having failed with several approaches. He did not think he was unattractive, but he believed he lacked whatever the opposite sex was seeking. 35, he doubted he would ever marry. He was sure the young woman thought him odd, and he wasn't sure she wasn't right. Could all of them have been wrong?
Visit Vic’s sites:
Vic’s Third Novel (Print or Kindle): http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic’s Website: http://membershttp://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic’s Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic’s 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic’s 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic’s Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3f
Reluctant, short of breath, he opened the trunk, slowly, and shined the flashlight inside. The dark-haired woman's crumpled body was there amid broken glass, as he'd feared. He stifled a sob, quickly closed the trunk, and gazed about, fearful someone had seen his dark secret. He awoke abruptly, cold, nauseated, shivering despite the number of blankets atop him. He closed his eyelids tightly, trying to chase the frightening image, which remained vivid. The hair at the back of his neck was wet, as were his armpits and the back of his knees. It was four AM. It was the fifth consecutive night he'd been awakened at this precise hour. Tears came to his eyes. He was frustrated and baffled. His study of Freud, who claimed dreams were wish-fulfillment, had been useless. He could not imagine what wish would be fulfilled by the murder of a woman who was a stranger to him. He dressed quickly, everything at his fingertips in the tiny studio apartment. He set the three locks at his door and tiptoed down three flights to the lobby. He had difficulty opening the building's large outer door, the wind blowing furiously against it. The night was frigid, the area deserted. Light shone in only a handful of the windows of the apartment buildings that lined the street. His teeth were chattering as he approached the small car. The knot in his chest had his tall, wiry frame hunching, as if he were carrying a weight about his neck. He took a flashlight from the glove compartment and opened the trunk, slowly, respiring heavily, breath visible and filling the air. Although he feared it a concession to madness, he felt compelled to check. He was no longer able to assure himself: It's just a dream. It was too real to be false. He sighed upon finding the trunk empty. Again tears filled his eyes. Why was he having this dream? It made no sense. Why wasn't he having dreams of his mother's long, agonizing death by cancer, which still, after two years, often occupied his waking hours? Unable to sleep, he tried to analyze the dream, which he'd been having periodically for months. He was unable to bring the woman's face into focus. He knew only that she was dark-haired, which made sense, as this was the type to whom he was most attracted, dark like himself, his Greek heritage. Even the car was a blur, as only the trunk was seen. He sensed, however, that it was his. Was he only to discover and not murder the woman - or did he want her dead? He cringed as he recalled the venom he'd felt for the women who'd spurned him. Living alone the last two years had not afforded the fulfillment he'd expected. Would bitterness drive him to murder? Had he already killed while sleepwalking? Again he was nauseated. The alarm sounded just as he'd been about to drop off to sleep. His breakfast consisted of several cups of black coffee, heavily sugared, as his mother had liked it. As he was dipping a cookie into it, a roach crawled across the table. He squashed it with the flat of his fist, grunting maniacally. He sprayed and sprayed and was unable to get rid of the vermin. He feared he would be stricken with cancer before they were vanquished. He did not perform well in the classroom, mind and body too tired to summon the energy to inspire high school students to an appreciation of Plato. They stared blankly, apparently too bored even to misbehave. He questioned whether he'd ever been a good teacher. He was afraid the nightmare was affecting his waking hours. After dismissal he went to the school library to research works he would be covering in weeks to come. Before he knew it, night had fallen. He despaired. He hated the early darkness, the long nights. He longed for spring, daylight-savings-time. During winter he liked to get home early and turn the lights on to chase the gloom. "Excuse me," he heard as he approached the main exit. An attractive, dark-haired woman approached. "My name's Barbara Cohen. I'm the new dance teacher. I was wondering if you'd mind walking me out to my car." "No," he said, tense, voice sticking in his throat. He was unable to offer more than one-word responses to her small talk. Fortunately, she was glib. They did not suffer a lengthy, embarrassing silence. He'd decided to stop trying to communicate with women, having failed with several approaches. He did not think he was unattractive, but he believed he lacked whatever the opposite sex was seeking. 35, he doubted he would ever marry. He was sure the young woman thought him odd, and he wasn't sure she wasn't right. Could all of them have been wrong?
Visit Vic’s sites:
Vic’s Third Novel (Print or Kindle): http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic’s Website: http://membershttp://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic’s Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic’s 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic’s 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic’s Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3f
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/24
This morning on his radio show on WOR-AM, John Gambling spoke of a rumor that the Steinbrenners are quietly putting out feelers gauging interest in buyers for the Yankees. Word is Hal hates a lot of the players, which is understandable, as all are overpaid and many are juvenile ingrates or jerks. Apparently, the Boss’s heirs do not need the same goose to ego that their patriarch did. Gambling suggested Mayor Bloomberg is the most obvious choice as possible owner. My pick – JAYZ.
There was a witty blurb attached to yet another story in the NY Post about the Secret service scandal: “The Obama administration has fired the only people in Washington who were cutting spending – the … agents who stiffed the Colombian hooker.” When it’s not so frustrating it makes one feel like tearing his/her hair out, politics can be quite amusing. Speaking of which – it seems Slick Willie still has it. At an event in Monaco he was photographed flanked by porn stars Sasha Reign (left) and Brooklyn Lee. I wonder how Hillary reacted to the news. Here’s the pic:
I lucked out today. Given the rain, I would not have been able to sell books. Fortunately, it was time to accompany a handicapped friend to the doctor. Not only did she pay me, she treated me to a belated birthday lunch. Thank you, ma’am. And there was a little progress on the literary front. Amazon has come up with a cover for the screenplay I have posted to Kindle, All Hallows. It is a fun read, sheer entertainment, and only .99 cents. Here’s the cover:
Visit Vic’s sites:
Vic’s Third Novel (Print or Kindle): http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic’s Website: http://membershttp://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic’s Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic’s 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic’s 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic’s Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3f
There was a witty blurb attached to yet another story in the NY Post about the Secret service scandal: “The Obama administration has fired the only people in Washington who were cutting spending – the … agents who stiffed the Colombian hooker.” When it’s not so frustrating it makes one feel like tearing his/her hair out, politics can be quite amusing. Speaking of which – it seems Slick Willie still has it. At an event in Monaco he was photographed flanked by porn stars Sasha Reign (left) and Brooklyn Lee. I wonder how Hillary reacted to the news. Here’s the pic:
I lucked out today. Given the rain, I would not have been able to sell books. Fortunately, it was time to accompany a handicapped friend to the doctor. Not only did she pay me, she treated me to a belated birthday lunch. Thank you, ma’am. And there was a little progress on the literary front. Amazon has come up with a cover for the screenplay I have posted to Kindle, All Hallows. It is a fun read, sheer entertainment, and only .99 cents. Here’s the cover:
Visit Vic’s sites:
Vic’s Third Novel (Print or Kindle): http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic’s Website: http://membershttp://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic’s Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic’s 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic’s 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic’s Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3f
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/23
Since I really enjoyed the film adaption of Chuck Palahniuk's first novel, The Fight Club (1999), I looked forward to reading his second, Survivor. I was disappointed. His work is described as minimalist, transgressive(?), satirical humor. I did not relate to the characters, who are on the fringes of society. Their indifference to life made me largely indifferent to them. Fortunately, it was an easy read, chock full of short and run on sentences. The pages are in reverse order, a countdown. Although it worked in this regard, it also had me thinking: Oh, good, only 100 to go. The book would appeal most to those who enjoy an absurdist viewpoint. I prefer narratives that portray the human condition as most people experience it. I don't know how many sales the author enjoys. I do do know he was regarded highly enough to be profiled in and featured on the cover Poets & Writers magazine. I should be so lucky - or talented. On a scale of five, two.
Eugene Polley may be an unfamiliar name, but he has impacted millions of lives. He is the inventor of one of the most useful devices ever made - the remote control. He has passed away at the age of 96. Advertisers may hate him, but viewers like me love his work. Whenever there is a commercial break, I head for other channels. Thank you for bettering our lives, sir.
The floating book shop had a two-hour visit from Ol' Smokey today. OS has a history of alcohol and drug abuse. Fortunately, he came into some money when his sister passed away. Still, his income is very limited and he lives in subsidized housing. His conversation is at once amusing and frustrating, as he bounces from subject to subject and often makes no sense. He scrounges half-smoked cigarettes from the sidewalk. He didn't have to do that today, as he'd bought a bag of loose, "organic" tobacco. Why he would be concerned about pesticides after all he has ingested in his life is anyone's guess. The bag, which was substantial, and rolling paper cost him $27. He rolled three as he sat on the ledge that surrounds the garden of the apartment building where I set up. He smoked two and gave one to a passerby who hit him up. He recently mistook squirrels he spotted from the window of his apartment for kangaroos. He had been drinking anisette straight up. He was kicked out of a hookah shop when he asked the proprietor if he could bring his own pipe rather than suck on one used by several men. He was also chased out of a local pizzeria. Although he is not homeless, he looks the part, his clothes usually soiled. He also lets the F-bomb drop frequently. I wonder if his presence scared potential customers away. I had only one today, a nurse at Coney Island Hospital, who bought a Mary Higgins Clark thriller. Thanks, ma'am. I didn't have the nerve to ask Ol' Smokey to leave. After all, he is just as entitled to take up space on the sidewalk as I am.
Visit Vic's sites:
Vic’s Third Novel (Print or Kindle): http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic’s Website: http://membershttp://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic’s Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic’s 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic’s 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic’s Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3f
Eugene Polley may be an unfamiliar name, but he has impacted millions of lives. He is the inventor of one of the most useful devices ever made - the remote control. He has passed away at the age of 96. Advertisers may hate him, but viewers like me love his work. Whenever there is a commercial break, I head for other channels. Thank you for bettering our lives, sir.
The floating book shop had a two-hour visit from Ol' Smokey today. OS has a history of alcohol and drug abuse. Fortunately, he came into some money when his sister passed away. Still, his income is very limited and he lives in subsidized housing. His conversation is at once amusing and frustrating, as he bounces from subject to subject and often makes no sense. He scrounges half-smoked cigarettes from the sidewalk. He didn't have to do that today, as he'd bought a bag of loose, "organic" tobacco. Why he would be concerned about pesticides after all he has ingested in his life is anyone's guess. The bag, which was substantial, and rolling paper cost him $27. He rolled three as he sat on the ledge that surrounds the garden of the apartment building where I set up. He smoked two and gave one to a passerby who hit him up. He recently mistook squirrels he spotted from the window of his apartment for kangaroos. He had been drinking anisette straight up. He was kicked out of a hookah shop when he asked the proprietor if he could bring his own pipe rather than suck on one used by several men. He was also chased out of a local pizzeria. Although he is not homeless, he looks the part, his clothes usually soiled. He also lets the F-bomb drop frequently. I wonder if his presence scared potential customers away. I had only one today, a nurse at Coney Island Hospital, who bought a Mary Higgins Clark thriller. Thanks, ma'am. I didn't have the nerve to ask Ol' Smokey to leave. After all, he is just as entitled to take up space on the sidewalk as I am.
Visit Vic's sites:
Vic’s Third Novel (Print or Kindle): http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic’s Website: http://membershttp://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic’s Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic’s 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic’s 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic’s Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3f
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/22
"...faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity." These words are familiar to all, spoken by Paul in First Letter to the Corinthians. Almost every day I receive mail from one charitable organization or another. When I had a real job, I'd cut a check, usually a small amount, to more than five different organizations. As a single male, it was never a burden. Since I've plunged headlong into the writer's life and cash flow is limited, I've had to become more discriminating and less generous. The March of Dimes, Jerry's Kids, and Toys for Tots still make the cut. Each gets one small sum per year. The Wounded Warriors Project gets the most of my largesse these days. After all, soldiers give life and limb to preserve the freedom Americans hold dear. They are among the lowest paid government workers, and really should be the highest. So much is squandered on hacks. I receive a plea from WWP at least once a month, and I have to pass on it 80% of the time, which makes me feel small. Today I received a certificate of appreciation, which ramps up the guilt even more. I know I haven't done enough. I've fantasized about making a large donation after receiving a huge pay day from Hollywood, but it's easy to allocate money that isn't there. Hopefully, I would do the right thing if I ever became successful financially. I experience the same guilt whenever I receive a plea from a group that tries to talk women out of abortion. I've also received a certificate from it. It is something I believe in very deeply. I don't know how anyone who has seen pictures or film of the procedure would believe that legalization is right. Then again, mankind is never very far from savagery, as is proven each day in the media.
With the threat of rain in the air, I went to Plan B today - all Russian books, and I thank the four kind souls who were in a charitable mood, and the 84-year-old vet for yet another books donation.
Vic’s Third Novel (Print or Kindle): http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic’s Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic’s Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic’s 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic’s 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic’s Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3f
With the threat of rain in the air, I went to Plan B today - all Russian books, and I thank the four kind souls who were in a charitable mood, and the 84-year-old vet for yet another books donation.
Vic’s Third Novel (Print or Kindle): http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic’s Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic’s Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic’s 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic’s 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic’s Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3f
Monday, May 21, 2012
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/21
Another year has come and gone. I turned 62 today. As Ian Anderson of Jethro Tull would put it: “To old to rock n roll, but too young to die.” I planned to celebrate on the golf course, but rain put a damper on that. When a friend suggested I do something special, I replied there wasn’t anything more special to me than selling copies of my books.
Here are some pictures from my life, starting with the pair who made it all possible for their often ungrateful son – Vittorio and Gaetana Fortezza, may they rest in peace:
Here’s me in action as a proud member of the Lafayette H.S. Redmen, 1966, a team that began a football renaissance at the school:
Here’s one circa 1966. All these baby boomers and, still, there are several missing from the shot. That stone fence still exists. There was a perpetual racket on summer nights back then that is absent these days:
This is my graduation day, 1967, with my buddy Sal, who also lived on Bay 37th:
Here I am with my lifelong friends Jim and Judy on a visit to Florida, circa 1974. Not hard to tell who the Sicilian is:
Jim and Judy are in this one too, along with their kids and our friend Joanne and her kids, and Judy’s dad Gene, circa 1990. Tom, Jo’s husband, took the shot. I’m the white knight all the way right. Note the Towers in the background:
Moving the timeline forward to 2009, here I am at my great nephew Ronnie’s confirmation, along with his sister, Danielle, my godchild:
And here is a recent shot of me running the floating book shop, courtesy of my friends Bags:
Here’s to life – L’chaim!
Visit Vic’s web pages:
Vic’s Third Novel (Print or Kindle): http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic’s Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic’s Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic’s 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic’s 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic’s Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3f
Here are some pictures from my life, starting with the pair who made it all possible for their often ungrateful son – Vittorio and Gaetana Fortezza, may they rest in peace:
Here’s me in action as a proud member of the Lafayette H.S. Redmen, 1966, a team that began a football renaissance at the school:
Here’s one circa 1966. All these baby boomers and, still, there are several missing from the shot. That stone fence still exists. There was a perpetual racket on summer nights back then that is absent these days:
This is my graduation day, 1967, with my buddy Sal, who also lived on Bay 37th:
Here I am with my lifelong friends Jim and Judy on a visit to Florida, circa 1974. Not hard to tell who the Sicilian is:
Jim and Judy are in this one too, along with their kids and our friend Joanne and her kids, and Judy’s dad Gene, circa 1990. Tom, Jo’s husband, took the shot. I’m the white knight all the way right. Note the Towers in the background:
Moving the timeline forward to 2009, here I am at my great nephew Ronnie’s confirmation, along with his sister, Danielle, my godchild:
And here is a recent shot of me running the floating book shop, courtesy of my friends Bags:
Here’s to life – L’chaim!
Visit Vic’s web pages:
Vic’s Third Novel (Print or Kindle): http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic’s Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic’s Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic’s 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic’s 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic’s Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3f
Sunday, May 20, 2012
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/20
Every year at this time the community runs an event called Bayfest, where artists display and sell their works along the Sheepshead Bay promenade, and local businesses set up tables to promote themselves. There is music and entertainment for children. If the weather is right, I usually try to horn in on the activity, setting up the floating bookshop about 200 feet away, hoping for spill-over. It couldn't have been a nicer day, the breeze taking any heat out of the air. The place was buzzing. The only thing missing was the swans that so many people feed with bits of bread. The Mr. Softee ice cream truck was doing fantastic business. How I yearned for a chocolate cone with sprinkles, which so many kids were having as they passed. At least two of my short stories, Rude Awakening and Mystery by the Bay, are set there. My dad had a little boat, which he kept moored just yards from where I was standing. He fished commercially in the summer time, filling the two wine barrels at the rear of the craft with porgies, which he would sell to old Mr. Randazzo, whose fish store is long gone but whose restaurant still flourishes, run, I assume, by his heirs. The area has seen a tremendous renaissance the past 20 years. Russian immigrants have plowed a lot of money into it, including a huge, beautiful catering hall named Baku Palace.
Of course, parking was a problem. In fact, my first pass through the area proved fruitless. I decided to go home and walk back, carrying only one crate of books, which would decrease the odds of sales. Fortunately, there were no parking spots available on my block, so I decided to give the Bay another shot. Sure enough, someone was leaving just as I rolled up. I was 500 feet from where I wanted to be, but in the ballpark. I carried the three crates in stages, going back and forth, certain passersby thought I was nuts. It was well worth it, however. The mission is always to sell at least one of my books, and that I did. Beverly recognized me from Bay Parkway. She asked if I did any ghostwriting. She is a survivor of a rare disease and does not have the energy to complete a manuscript she has left half finished. She even rolled up her blouse to show me the holes in her back. After that, how could I say no when she asked for a discount on Killing? I more than made up for it with sales of other books. Many of the people who see me whenever I set up shop on Avenue Z passed and wished me well. Jon was Johnny on the Spot, not only buying two books but hauling one of the crates back to my car, saving me a lot of work, even though the load was considerably lighter than at the start of the session. A retired teacher, he is taking a class on Organic Chemistry. He has hired a tutor and works with him every day for two hours. Fortunately, the class has only two weeks left. Then he will be able to concentrate on promoting his novel, The Man with the Silver Skull Ring, that I was privileged to read. He seems impressed that I have the will to promote my books on the street. Obviously, insanity does not run in his family. Thanks, my friend, and to everyone else who bought.
Here are some shots of the Bay. I was just to the left of the bridge, near side:
Of course, parking was a problem. In fact, my first pass through the area proved fruitless. I decided to go home and walk back, carrying only one crate of books, which would decrease the odds of sales. Fortunately, there were no parking spots available on my block, so I decided to give the Bay another shot. Sure enough, someone was leaving just as I rolled up. I was 500 feet from where I wanted to be, but in the ballpark. I carried the three crates in stages, going back and forth, certain passersby thought I was nuts. It was well worth it, however. The mission is always to sell at least one of my books, and that I did. Beverly recognized me from Bay Parkway. She asked if I did any ghostwriting. She is a survivor of a rare disease and does not have the energy to complete a manuscript she has left half finished. She even rolled up her blouse to show me the holes in her back. After that, how could I say no when she asked for a discount on Killing? I more than made up for it with sales of other books. Many of the people who see me whenever I set up shop on Avenue Z passed and wished me well. Jon was Johnny on the Spot, not only buying two books but hauling one of the crates back to my car, saving me a lot of work, even though the load was considerably lighter than at the start of the session. A retired teacher, he is taking a class on Organic Chemistry. He has hired a tutor and works with him every day for two hours. Fortunately, the class has only two weeks left. Then he will be able to concentrate on promoting his novel, The Man with the Silver Skull Ring, that I was privileged to read. He seems impressed that I have the will to promote my books on the street. Obviously, insanity does not run in his family. Thanks, my friend, and to everyone else who bought.
Here are some shots of the Bay. I was just to the left of the bridge, near side:
Visit Vic's web pages:
Vic's Third Novel (Print or Kindle): http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3f
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/19
The results are in - I paid $42 for 100 shares of Facebook, $300 less than I was willing to lay out. So if it craps out I stand to lose $4208 in my retirement account, which won't make a difference in my life. It's acceptable risk. I am expecting the stock to lose at least half its value, as I believe the overall market is headed for a big dip, finally surrendering to the fact that the European economy is a disaster. And if the Democrats retake power in November, I think stocks prices will really dive. Hope I'm wrong. Rich Lowry devoted his op-ed piece, syndicated in the NY Post, to Facebook, dubbing it as largely useless, a fad that might be supplanted by the next big thing. While reading I got to wondering - hoping - that FB will be the Seinfeld of stocks. One of the most successful series in TV history, it famously lampooned itself as being about "nothing."
I hadn't dreamed of a certain someone in a while. I awoke to the pleasant thought that we were married and had adopted a boy. When I fell back asleep the dream shifted gears to a post-apocalyptic world where massive re-construction was taking place. There was an element of shame to it, the meaning of which has eluded me. Having read Freud's Interpretation of Dreams, I always think back to events (clues) of the day before that triggered the dream. The only one I could pinpoint was the film Drive (2011), which I watched last night courtesy of Netflix. In it, Ryan Gosling sort of adopts a boy whose dad is in prison. The story takes an ultra-violent turn. The most interesting aspect for me was the casting of Albert Brooks (real name Einstein) as a vicious gangster. What a contrast to his madcap stand up bits in the 70's as an incompetent ventriloquist and a guy selling a kit that teaches one how to imitate Curly of The Three Stooges. Drive is not for the squeamish. Screenwriter Hossein Amini and director Nicolas W. Refn pull no punches. It is based on a novel by James Sallis. I was not familiar with Refn's previous nine films. On a scale of five, I rate it three-and-a-half. The folks at IMDb rate it 8.0 out of ten.
My thanks to Mary Ann, so enamored with Killing that she took a chance on A Hitch in Twilight, and to Jack of Chase Bank, who not only donated 17 books but bought three, refusing to take them as a less than fair exchange. The best part of the session was the reappearance, after a two month absence, of Bad News Billy, whose pre-teen grand-daughter is driving him nuts. It looks like she will be attending summer school - and guess who will be driving her every day? Grandpa was kind enough to buy all but two of the VHS tapes I had on display, which included two Red Skelton compilations he can't wait to watch. Thanks, my friend.
I hadn't dreamed of a certain someone in a while. I awoke to the pleasant thought that we were married and had adopted a boy. When I fell back asleep the dream shifted gears to a post-apocalyptic world where massive re-construction was taking place. There was an element of shame to it, the meaning of which has eluded me. Having read Freud's Interpretation of Dreams, I always think back to events (clues) of the day before that triggered the dream. The only one I could pinpoint was the film Drive (2011), which I watched last night courtesy of Netflix. In it, Ryan Gosling sort of adopts a boy whose dad is in prison. The story takes an ultra-violent turn. The most interesting aspect for me was the casting of Albert Brooks (real name Einstein) as a vicious gangster. What a contrast to his madcap stand up bits in the 70's as an incompetent ventriloquist and a guy selling a kit that teaches one how to imitate Curly of The Three Stooges. Drive is not for the squeamish. Screenwriter Hossein Amini and director Nicolas W. Refn pull no punches. It is based on a novel by James Sallis. I was not familiar with Refn's previous nine films. On a scale of five, I rate it three-and-a-half. The folks at IMDb rate it 8.0 out of ten.
My thanks to Mary Ann, so enamored with Killing that she took a chance on A Hitch in Twilight, and to Jack of Chase Bank, who not only donated 17 books but bought three, refusing to take them as a less than fair exchange. The best part of the session was the reappearance, after a two month absence, of Bad News Billy, whose pre-teen grand-daughter is driving him nuts. It looks like she will be attending summer school - and guess who will be driving her every day? Grandpa was kind enough to buy all but two of the VHS tapes I had on display, which included two Red Skelton compilations he can't wait to watch. Thanks, my friend.
Visit Vic's web pages:
Vic's Third Novel (Print or Kindle): http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3f
Friday, May 18, 2012
This morning I put in an order to buy 100 shares of Facebook at a limit of 45, never expecting to get it, certain the stock would be trading 90 by the time the orders of the privileged were filled. Last I looked it was 35 and change, so I've saved about a thousand bucks, pending confirmation. I'm sure I got it, as it is listed among the stocks in my IRA, although the price is not in place. Financial companies must have a ton of paperwork to sort through today. The stock seems to be a dud so far. FB execs will have to do with fewer billions than anticipated. My track record in investing is mediocre. I hope I haven't jinxed this wonderful product that has a billion active users and eight billion overall. I just can't imagine myself as rich, a feeling that is almost supernatural. For example, I just received a safe driver decal from my insurance company. As soon as I saw it I felt jinxed. I can't imagine my books becoming best sellers, either, although I don't let that stop me from going out every day and promoting them. I don't feel unlucky. In fact, I've been very lucky. I just have a problem being self-assured. That seems to be the privilege of politicians, chiefly, especially the creepiest like Schumer, Wiener or Spitzer. The psyche is endlessly fascinating.
I wasn't too crazy about the season finales of Person of Interest and The Mentalist. I suppose the latter will not resolve the Red John arc until its series finale, whenever that may be. The villain remains one step ahead of the hero. Instinct tells me the final twist will be that the serial killer will be a woman. Person of Interest seemed to end one of its arcs. Its other wasn't even a part of last night's episode, which ended on what promises to be a lame cliffhanger that would threaten the show's premise if worse came to worst. Alcatraz ended with one of its leads at death's door. Are the writers really going to terminate a character that's been a linchpin since the beginning - in the show's first season? Maybe there's a salary dispute that hasn't been publicized. Fringe has seen Leonard Nimoy move to the dark side, setting up its fifth and final season. And it seems the BBC's MI5 has concluded after ten seasons and 86 episodes. There were several twists in the last 15 minutes of the finale, and all of them worked. Unfortunately, the death scene of one its leads seemed forced and unconvincing, rare for what I believe is as good a series as there ever was.
My thanks to the kind folks who purchased books today, and to Marie, who recently finished A Hitch in Twilight and said she "loved it so much."
Visit Vic's web pages:Vic's Third Novel (Print): http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Third Novel (Kindle): http://tinyurl.com/bt6a9uy
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection: http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Word Press blog: http://vicfortezza.wordpress.com/wp-admin/post-new.php
Vic's Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3f
I wasn't too crazy about the season finales of Person of Interest and The Mentalist. I suppose the latter will not resolve the Red John arc until its series finale, whenever that may be. The villain remains one step ahead of the hero. Instinct tells me the final twist will be that the serial killer will be a woman. Person of Interest seemed to end one of its arcs. Its other wasn't even a part of last night's episode, which ended on what promises to be a lame cliffhanger that would threaten the show's premise if worse came to worst. Alcatraz ended with one of its leads at death's door. Are the writers really going to terminate a character that's been a linchpin since the beginning - in the show's first season? Maybe there's a salary dispute that hasn't been publicized. Fringe has seen Leonard Nimoy move to the dark side, setting up its fifth and final season. And it seems the BBC's MI5 has concluded after ten seasons and 86 episodes. There were several twists in the last 15 minutes of the finale, and all of them worked. Unfortunately, the death scene of one its leads seemed forced and unconvincing, rare for what I believe is as good a series as there ever was.
My thanks to the kind folks who purchased books today, and to Marie, who recently finished A Hitch in Twilight and said she "loved it so much."
Visit Vic's web pages:Vic's Third Novel (Print): http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Third Novel (Kindle): http://tinyurl.com/bt6a9uy
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection: http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Word Press blog: http://vicfortezza.wordpress.com/wp-admin/post-new.php
Vic's Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3f
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/17
Here's the latest review of Killing at Amazon, posted by a friend: "Lead character Dante's lot in life during the course of this novel leads him (and the reader) to experience a gamut of emotions: anguish, uncertainty, suspicion, despair, indifference - and rage, to cite a few. These are triggered by family dynamics, which include a son off to fight for his country and the stench of suspected spousal infidelity. Once again, author Vic Fortezza's character depiction is so in-depth that the reader is fairly forced to deal in his own mind with the thought-provoking issues with which the protagonist is faced. We've found this to be the case in several of the author's works, and here we found once again that from literary experience we can discern much regarding our own outlook, hopes and fears - if we are so adeptly led to confront them."
Thanks, Bags.
RIP Donna Summer, the Queen of Disco, 63, winner of five Grammys. My favorite track of hers was the hard pop She Works Hard for the Money, which was accompanied by a wonderful video that was refreshingly free of lip-synching, if I recall correctly. I remember arguing with a friend at work who was convinced the ugly, vicious rumor that Summer was transgender was true, despite the fact that she was the mother of three. He also believed the one about the late Teddy Pendergrass, which was so base I will not repeat it here. Some people....
Eduardo Saverin, co-founder of Facebook, took a lot of heat when it was reported that he was moving to Singapore to avoid U.S. taxes. I just read he is saving 67 million by doing so. I don't blame him. I wonder how many people will be leaving California now that the state is even further in the billions in debt, and taxes are going to be raised. The biggest criminals are in politics. The Facebook IPO looks like it will come in at $38 per share. To buy or not to buy, that is the question, to paraphrase the bard. I've missed out on the stocks of several companies whose products I love (Google, Snapple, Netflix). Dare I let this opportunity pass? Would it really hurt to risk $3800 of the money in my retirement account on 100 shares? Should I wait for the price to come off a bit? Suppose it doesn't? Decisions, decisions....
I thank whoever purchased A Hitch in Twilight at B&N, my first Nook sale, and also to the kind folks who bought books today at the floating book shop.
Read Vic's stories, free: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Thanks, Bags.
RIP Donna Summer, the Queen of Disco, 63, winner of five Grammys. My favorite track of hers was the hard pop She Works Hard for the Money, which was accompanied by a wonderful video that was refreshingly free of lip-synching, if I recall correctly. I remember arguing with a friend at work who was convinced the ugly, vicious rumor that Summer was transgender was true, despite the fact that she was the mother of three. He also believed the one about the late Teddy Pendergrass, which was so base I will not repeat it here. Some people....
Eduardo Saverin, co-founder of Facebook, took a lot of heat when it was reported that he was moving to Singapore to avoid U.S. taxes. I just read he is saving 67 million by doing so. I don't blame him. I wonder how many people will be leaving California now that the state is even further in the billions in debt, and taxes are going to be raised. The biggest criminals are in politics. The Facebook IPO looks like it will come in at $38 per share. To buy or not to buy, that is the question, to paraphrase the bard. I've missed out on the stocks of several companies whose products I love (Google, Snapple, Netflix). Dare I let this opportunity pass? Would it really hurt to risk $3800 of the money in my retirement account on 100 shares? Should I wait for the price to come off a bit? Suppose it doesn't? Decisions, decisions....
I thank whoever purchased A Hitch in Twilight at B&N, my first Nook sale, and also to the kind folks who bought books today at the floating book shop.
Read Vic's stories, free: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/16
I finalized the All Hallows screenplay and it's now available as a Kindle book. I'm not completely happy with the way it came out, but I'll live with it. I worked hard to clean it up and get the format right. I laughed when I noticed a particular error in the preview copy. My scanner back in the '90's mistook a lot of the small l's as ones, so a certain name appeared like this: Mi11er. The original manuscript was done on a typewriter that had by then provided thousands of pages. The most disappointing aspect is the lack on indentation. I have no idea why the finished version has come out like that. Another disappointment, which is probably temporary, is the lack of a cover. Amazon is supposed to generate a generic one, which would be a whole lot better than the gaping blank that makes the entire endeavor seem slap dash. I doubt I'll do another Kindle book myself. It's just too frustrating. Of course, I'd be thrilled if another of my novels was published and was made available in electronic format, which finally seems here to stay. Anyway, I think the script is a lot of fun and, of course, I hope it will eventually find it's way to someone with clout. It'd be nice to earn some real money at writing for a change. The price is .99 cents and my commission for any sale would be one-third of that. Another quirk is that there are no page numbers. I'm not too upset by this, as the entire book/screenplay can probably be read in a sitting or two. I included page breaks after only the title and cast of characters. Some scenes are only a couple of lines. It seemed silly to separate them by more than a couple of spaces. All Hallows is a roller coaster ride. After the potential for menace is established in the bloody opening segments, it becomes a slam-bang thriller chock full of twists and narrow escapes. Throughout it there are references to movies and TV shows that have entertained us for decades. There is no nudity or profanity, although the dialogue tips toward the salacious on a few occasions, hopefully in an artful way. Check it out here: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3f
Viktor the Ukranian approached the floating bookshop asking if I knew it was a national holiday - his birthday. All the best, sir. And the 84-year-old veteran visited bearing gifts once again, which included Bibles in Russian and Chinese, as well as several best-selling paperbacks. Thank you, sir, and to the other kind folks who bought books today.
Viktor the Ukranian approached the floating bookshop asking if I knew it was a national holiday - his birthday. All the best, sir. And the 84-year-old veteran visited bearing gifts once again, which included Bibles in Russian and Chinese, as well as several best-selling paperbacks. Thank you, sir, and to the other kind folks who bought books today.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/15
I've spent too much time at the computer today. The floating book shop was rained out, so I had a lot of hours to kill. A few days ago I mentioned that I was working on publishing a screenplay, All Hallows, to Kindle. The original manuscript was uploaded to my first PC with a scanner. The file required a huge clean up. The typical screenplay format seems foreign to Kindle. The first few uploads were a complete mess. I may have solved most of the problems. I took a quick look at the latest upload before taking a much-needed shower. There are still some problems in the early pages, where unintended indentations occur. If that's the worst of it, I'll go ahead with the process, buy a copy and see if the problems appear in the finished version. When I uploaded Killing, any paragraph that began at the top of a page had no indentation. I emailed Amazon and the techie said the aberration might not appear in the marketable version. He was right. I'm planning to offer it for .99 cents. The file is 66 pages and can probably be read in one sitting, two at the most. Many lines consist of only two words, i.e. Sheriff: What? I have nothing to lose. It's been on the shelf in my closet for almost 20 years, and in files on my PCs for ten. In fact, it had been so long since I'd thought about it I'd forgotten I'd put it on a Cruzer stick. I'd assumed it had been lost when my previous computer crashed, and I wasn't going to take the time to type it into Word. I'd even secured a copyright for it and another screenplay, a romantic comedy, as Hollywood types have a reputation for theft. Only trouble is, I don't remember writing the numbers down. I may have to email the Library of Congress for them. I wonder if there will be a fee involved. I hope not.
Read Vic's stories, free: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Read Vic's stories, free: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Monday, May 14, 2012
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/14
Last night I watched yet another adaptation of an enduring literary classic, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's The Hound of the Baskervilles, episode two of the current BBC series Sherlock, which brings Holmes and Watson into the present age. Thankfully, it put fresh, high tech spin on the story. It would have been pointless to do it the same way. There are 20 versions of the spooky tale listed at IMDb, including a couple of silents and several in another language. The highest rated, 8.9, was made in the Soviet Union (1981). There is one I hope I never see, rated 4.4, starring Peter Cook and Dudley Moore as the immortal leads. The very thought makes my flesh crawl. The 2012 version scored 8.4. The 1988 version, starring Jeremy Brett, who seems to be the favorite Holmes of fans, was rated 7.7, tied with the 1939 version starring my favorite portrayer, Basil Rathbone. The 1959 version, starring Peter Cushing, is rated 7.0. My favorite, a BBC production starring Richard Roxburgh (2002), rated only 6.5. The hound had a truly demonic, frightening dimension probably attributable to CGI. In the literary hall in heaven, Sir Arthur must be beaming.
Here's a picture of my favorite version:
Since age has turned us into girly-men, Cuz and I cancelled our weekly round of golf rather than risk getting caught in the type of downpour we laughed off not so long ago. Of course, the rain has yet to materialize. I was able to set up shop and sell a bunch of books. Four of my regulars, the Merry Mailwoman, Alan, Herbie and Susan made purchases, while Michael donated several more books in Russian, three of which I sold immediately. Alan's mom, who must be in her 80's, is in the hospital again, suffering respiratory issues. Of course, she has still been smoking. I fear for Alan, whose IQ was once off the charts, should his mother pass away. He had a prosperous pharmacy business that he had to give up when he began suffering mental difficulties. He is on medication. Who will be there to make sure he takes it once his mom is gone? Will he be able to take care of himself, cook, pay bills? He struggles to get around, despite significant weight loss. He pauses and leans against the nearest fence every 50 yards or so. Life is cruel to an unfortunate few. It should serve as a reminder whenever the rest of us complain about the mundane like paltry book sales or age-related aches and pains.
Thanks, folks.
Read Vic's stories, free: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Here's a picture of my favorite version:
Since age has turned us into girly-men, Cuz and I cancelled our weekly round of golf rather than risk getting caught in the type of downpour we laughed off not so long ago. Of course, the rain has yet to materialize. I was able to set up shop and sell a bunch of books. Four of my regulars, the Merry Mailwoman, Alan, Herbie and Susan made purchases, while Michael donated several more books in Russian, three of which I sold immediately. Alan's mom, who must be in her 80's, is in the hospital again, suffering respiratory issues. Of course, she has still been smoking. I fear for Alan, whose IQ was once off the charts, should his mother pass away. He had a prosperous pharmacy business that he had to give up when he began suffering mental difficulties. He is on medication. Who will be there to make sure he takes it once his mom is gone? Will he be able to take care of himself, cook, pay bills? He struggles to get around, despite significant weight loss. He pauses and leans against the nearest fence every 50 yards or so. Life is cruel to an unfortunate few. It should serve as a reminder whenever the rest of us complain about the mundane like paltry book sales or age-related aches and pains.
Thanks, folks.
Read Vic's stories, free: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Sunday, May 13, 2012
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/13
I'm experimenting with Kindle again. Some time in the early '90's I wrote a screenplay, All Hallows, wherein five inmates escape from an asylum and terrorize the small fictional town of Bela. What I intended was a revenge of the townies story, pure fun. Throughout I make references (i.e. The Bate-Myers Institute) to film and TV fare baby boomers and media buffs would appreciate, paying tribute to what entertained us, no nudity or profanity, the emphasis on suspense, the potential for violence and breakneck action. I imagined Tom Selleck as the star, a Vietnam vet now in law enforcement, Willford Brimley as the retired Sheriff and Korean War vet, and Rachel Ticotin as the hot station house secretary who was raped years earlier. Each suffers flashbacks the night the story takes place. Anyway, I wasn't able to get anyone interested in it. I think the only person who read it is my niece, Tanya. When I got an email from Amazon the other day suggesting another upload, I thought: Why not? I'll offer it for .99 cents and also make it available for free to the lending library. There's only one problem - formatting. If memory serves me, I scanned the original print manuscript into my first computer. I noticed the spacing was odd in some places and, sure enough, the first upload to Kindle was a mess. I'm now working on cleaning it up. I won't post it unless it looks good. I'll also opt for the generic cover Amazon makes available.
There is interesting news out of the music world. Dee Snider, former front man for the hard rock band Twisted Sister, has jumped on the bandwagon, cutting an album of standards: Dee Does Broadway. Several vocalists guest star on the CD: Cyndi Lauper, Clay Aiken, Bebe Neuwirth and Patti Lupone. It's amazing how time and circumstances change us. Here are then and now pictures of Snider:
"We're not gonna take it."
The weather was spectacular, as moms deserve on their big day. Given the fact that billions is spent on Mother's Day each year, I wasn't expecting much business at the floating book shop, and that proved to be the case. I thank the two customers who bought.
Read Vic's stories, free: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
There is interesting news out of the music world. Dee Snider, former front man for the hard rock band Twisted Sister, has jumped on the bandwagon, cutting an album of standards: Dee Does Broadway. Several vocalists guest star on the CD: Cyndi Lauper, Clay Aiken, Bebe Neuwirth and Patti Lupone. It's amazing how time and circumstances change us. Here are then and now pictures of Snider:
"We're not gonna take it."
The weather was spectacular, as moms deserve on their big day. Given the fact that billions is spent on Mother's Day each year, I wasn't expecting much business at the floating book shop, and that proved to be the case. I thank the two customers who bought.
Read Vic's stories, free: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Friday, May 11, 2012
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/11
Jon has purchased both Close to the Edge and Killing from me, so when he published a novel through Book Locker I gladly ordered it when it became available at Amazon. I just finished The Man with the Silver Skull Ring, part one of Paradise Lost. I enjoyed it, although it could stand some tweaking. It is more well-written than most self-published books, but not as strong as it could have been. I'm sure I could have eliminated a couple of thousand words from it in places where there is repetition or a bit of overkill. Most readers might not even notice the excesses. Jon, pseudonym Ole Romer, did everything but the cover himself. The story is told from a libertarian point of view, that is, leave people alone to pursue happiness, including vices such as drugs and prostitution. It is an argument for legalization of them, also for the elimination of gun control. Given the fact that a staunch conservative pundit like George Will recently wrote two columns on the futility of the war on drugs, the book couldn't have been more timely. This war has been a costly, abysmal failure that enriches thugs. It is Jon's opinion that legalization is a far better alternative. The hero of the novel owns an island where unadulterated drugs are available in exchange for work, and treatment is available to anyone who tires of usage. If such a measure were undertaken on a national scale, would it be better than what we have now? I'm not sure, but I do believe it would be more cost effective, although one despairs at the thought of a government agency handling it. The potential dangers are two-fold as far as I can see. Addiction would undoubtedly increase. The unknown factor is what something like this would do to our country's character. Behavioral boundaries have been receding since the late '60's. Would they recede even further? And there are always dastardly unintended consequences that few foresee. Think of all the damage the abuse of alcohol does. Would it be any different if drugs were legalized? It's a great argument. If not for my complete lack of faith in bureaucrats, I would definitely be in favor of legalization. Regardless, it may be an idea whose time has come.
What I enjoyed most about the novel is the background of the characters, even though in some instances it is rendered late in the narrative. The aspect I did not like was the buffoonish nature of the politicians. The President and Vice-President are obviously modeled after Bill Clinton and Dick Cheney, the former simply sleazy, the latter downright evil, a dealer who wants drugs to remain illegal so that he can continue to enrich himself. I admire Cheney, moreso since a Bill O'Reilly editorial on the charitable donations of politicians. One year, the former VP donated a stunning 77% of his earnings, something like six million dollars. Given my regard for him, I had to grin and bear the portrayal in the book.
When Jon first told me his novel was an indictment of the war on drugs, I suggested he send it to All Things That Matter Press, which published my short story collection, A Hitch in Twilight. It seemed the type of radical politics that small house supports. I was puzzled as to why Jon never received a response from them. Perhaps it was because of the depiction of those two men and its overall cynicism, which dwarfs even Martin Scorsese's. Jon went light years beyond where I went with Clinton in Killing. I did not use a pseudonym because it would have been obvious who it was, and he remains only on the fringe of the novel, as seen from the point of view of the protagonist. He has no dialogue, although he is giving a speech in the background in the next to last chapter. The Man with the Silver Skull Ring is completely uncompromising, hardcore, true to the vile nature of some of the characters, for mature audiences only. I'm not sure if it was a mistake to divide the book in two. Only time will tell. I will definitely purchase the second. The first is as good as most of the thrillers I've sampled the past few years. On a scale of five, three.
A middle aged gentleman paused at the floating book shop today, drawn by a Russian physics text book, which he claimed was outdated. I'd noticed that it wasn't fiction, but hadn't taken the time to try to figure out its subject. I thanked him and resolved to leave it in the lobby of my building in case anyone should want it. An hour later another gentleman spotted it, began waxing nostalgic, and overpaid for it, thanking me profusely. Weird how stuff like that happens. Spasibo, sir, and to everyone else who purchased books today.
Read Vic's stories, free: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
What I enjoyed most about the novel is the background of the characters, even though in some instances it is rendered late in the narrative. The aspect I did not like was the buffoonish nature of the politicians. The President and Vice-President are obviously modeled after Bill Clinton and Dick Cheney, the former simply sleazy, the latter downright evil, a dealer who wants drugs to remain illegal so that he can continue to enrich himself. I admire Cheney, moreso since a Bill O'Reilly editorial on the charitable donations of politicians. One year, the former VP donated a stunning 77% of his earnings, something like six million dollars. Given my regard for him, I had to grin and bear the portrayal in the book.
When Jon first told me his novel was an indictment of the war on drugs, I suggested he send it to All Things That Matter Press, which published my short story collection, A Hitch in Twilight. It seemed the type of radical politics that small house supports. I was puzzled as to why Jon never received a response from them. Perhaps it was because of the depiction of those two men and its overall cynicism, which dwarfs even Martin Scorsese's. Jon went light years beyond where I went with Clinton in Killing. I did not use a pseudonym because it would have been obvious who it was, and he remains only on the fringe of the novel, as seen from the point of view of the protagonist. He has no dialogue, although he is giving a speech in the background in the next to last chapter. The Man with the Silver Skull Ring is completely uncompromising, hardcore, true to the vile nature of some of the characters, for mature audiences only. I'm not sure if it was a mistake to divide the book in two. Only time will tell. I will definitely purchase the second. The first is as good as most of the thrillers I've sampled the past few years. On a scale of five, three.
A middle aged gentleman paused at the floating book shop today, drawn by a Russian physics text book, which he claimed was outdated. I'd noticed that it wasn't fiction, but hadn't taken the time to try to figure out its subject. I thanked him and resolved to leave it in the lobby of my building in case anyone should want it. An hour later another gentleman spotted it, began waxing nostalgic, and overpaid for it, thanking me profusely. Weird how stuff like that happens. Spasibo, sir, and to everyone else who purchased books today.
Read Vic's stories, free: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/10
I caught up to The Ides of March (2011), courtesy of Netflix. It is well worthwhile. George Clooney wore many hats during its production: Producer, Director, Co-Writer and Co-star. He does his usual smooth work, perfectly cast as an ultra-liberal Democrat vying for presidential nomination. The character expresses the views Clooney has so often in interviews, more honestly than President Obama does. After all, there are no consequences to what an actor on script says beyond the parameters of the movie. Ryan Gosling stars as a dedicated campaign worker immersed in the filthy, back-stabbing, cold world of politics. It conforms to my opinion of the people in the field, either side of the aisle, although I believe the right does less damage to us than the left. These liberals are not portrayed in a flattering light, and that honesty is commendable. The supporting cast is first-rate. Phillip Seymour Hoffman, Paul Giamatti, Marisa Tomei and Evan Rachel Wood bring their abundant talents to the work, which was adapted from the play Farragut North by Beau Willimon. It is intelligent and thought-provoking. My only misgiving is the climactic incident that brings the story to an ugly head. It seems inconsistent with the character's behavior earlier in the film. Of course, none of us is completely consistent, especially after experiencing what the character in question did. Still, that aspect did not work for me, although an alternative is proposed as a possibility for the behavior. Excuse me while I dance around any chance of spoiling the film. On a scale of five, I rate The Ides of March three-and-a-half. The folks at IMDb rate it 7.3.
And in the real world of politics, there was an incredible, embarrassing turn of events in West Virginia's Democratic primary. A federal convict paid to get his name on the ballot and drew 41% of the vote vs. the President's 57%. I don't know if it means anything in the overall race for the White House. After all, Obama has vowed to put an end to coal-mining, which provides the livelihood of many West Virginians. He must have angered many coal miners' daughters. Republicans, of course, are gloating. Democrats and their media acolytes are pretending it doesn't matter.
The rain stopped but the wind picked up. More than once I had to track down some pamphlets and paperbacks that blew away. I thank the kind folks who bought, and those who donated. I have quite a Russian library.
Read Vic's stories, free: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
And in the real world of politics, there was an incredible, embarrassing turn of events in West Virginia's Democratic primary. A federal convict paid to get his name on the ballot and drew 41% of the vote vs. the President's 57%. I don't know if it means anything in the overall race for the White House. After all, Obama has vowed to put an end to coal-mining, which provides the livelihood of many West Virginians. He must have angered many coal miners' daughters. Republicans, of course, are gloating. Democrats and their media acolytes are pretending it doesn't matter.
The rain stopped but the wind picked up. More than once I had to track down some pamphlets and paperbacks that blew away. I thank the kind folks who bought, and those who donated. I have quite a Russian library.
Read Vic's stories, free: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/9
The above are The Cleveland Five, members of Ohio's Occupy Wall Street movement, who didn't think enough was being done, so they decided to blow up a bridge. Fortunately, they proved incompetent at detonating the explosive devices they used. I guess they should've used the new underwear bomb Al Qaeda has developed. Rich Lowry's op-ed piece, syndicated in today's NY Post, focused on the creeps, the only information I've seen on this troubling story. I wonder how much press coverage this would be getting if the felons were right-wingers. Here's a picture of the bridge they tried to take down:
RIP Maurice Sendak, 83, a superb illustrator who has had more than 50 children's books published. Like me, he was born in Bensonhurst and is a graduate of Lafayette H.S.. Unlike me, his books have sold in the millions. His most loved, Where the Wild Things Are, has sold 17 million copies. He makes all alums (Redmen) proud. Well done, sir.
I got lucky today in more ways than one. I accompanied a handicapped woman to the dentist, earning money I wouldn't have made at the floating book shop, given the rain. I also ran into Maria, who was scheduled for a tooth extraction. She has finally moved from the house she lived in for 22 years. She avoided foreclosure but had to sell at a far lower price than she would have liked. Still, she doesn't owe any money. She has moved to an apartment in Bensonhurst, a few blocks from where I set up shop on weekends. She promised to visit and purchase Killing. She has read both Close to the Edge and A Hitch in Twilight. Also, she ran into an old-timer who once was the super of the building next door to her house. His daughter used to babysit her daughter. Small world indeed.
Read Vic's stories, free: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/8
As I was walking to my car, six Russian books in tow, I noticed that Roberto and Luis were working in the garden that surrounds the building where I usually set up the floating book shop. I decided not to get in their way, especially since the forecast called for rain, so I dropped my wares directly from my trunk to the curb. The results were good. Kayla, attractive, 30-something, bought A Hitch in Twilight. She'd just been picking flowers, at least the purple bulbs. I also sold three of those Russian books. And a woman purchased several children's books. Thanks, folks.
Joan, who uses a walker, stopped by and asked if I'd be interested in taking her to the cemetery in Staten Island where her parents are buried. I won't decide until she comes up with what she thinks will be a fair fee. Heck, these days a full tank of gas might be enough. The toll alone is $13. I'd do it if she bought all four of my books. She is an avid reader who has balked at the ten dollar price tag for my works. Rather than purchase A Hitch in Twilight, she will be borrowing it when Marie, who lives in the same building, is done reading her copy.
Later, one of the porters stopped by and asked if I was interested in encyclopedias. He purchased a set in 1995 for $2500. Of course, they have sort of been made obsolete by PCs. I suggested he put a message on the bulletin board. The building is huge. I'd bet somebody would want them. He may even be offered a token sum. As hard as it is to believe, some people want nothing to do with computers. A few have yet to convert to CDs or DVDs. Some cling to vinyl records, which astounds me. My literary quest would be nowhere without a computer.
Facebook has changed its look. I needed a picture for my personal page and chose the following, which I believe captures the essence of growing up in Brooklyn, at least for me, second from left bottom row.Click to enlarge.
Read Vic's stories, free: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Joan, who uses a walker, stopped by and asked if I'd be interested in taking her to the cemetery in Staten Island where her parents are buried. I won't decide until she comes up with what she thinks will be a fair fee. Heck, these days a full tank of gas might be enough. The toll alone is $13. I'd do it if she bought all four of my books. She is an avid reader who has balked at the ten dollar price tag for my works. Rather than purchase A Hitch in Twilight, she will be borrowing it when Marie, who lives in the same building, is done reading her copy.
Later, one of the porters stopped by and asked if I was interested in encyclopedias. He purchased a set in 1995 for $2500. Of course, they have sort of been made obsolete by PCs. I suggested he put a message on the bulletin board. The building is huge. I'd bet somebody would want them. He may even be offered a token sum. As hard as it is to believe, some people want nothing to do with computers. A few have yet to convert to CDs or DVDs. Some cling to vinyl records, which astounds me. My literary quest would be nowhere without a computer.
Facebook has changed its look. I needed a picture for my personal page and chose the following, which I believe captures the essence of growing up in Brooklyn, at least for me, second from left bottom row.Click to enlarge.
Read Vic's stories, free: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Monday, May 7, 2012
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/7
There are many nice surprises in life. Such was the case today when I played hooky on the golf course with my buddy Cuz, our third round of the season. I did not play last year because of hip pain. Given that it had been a year and a half since I'd taken to the links, I wondered if I'd ever break 90 again. I did so this afternoon at Forest Park in Queens. I don't know if it was because of low expectations, but I'd never felt more relaxed on the course. I felt my gut contract with anxiety only once, and that was due to slow play, which allows too much time for thinking negative thoughts. My concentration was as good as it ever gets. I didn't duff any shots until the last hole. And my ball-striking was so consistent. I didn't make any birdies, but I was either on the green or near it in regulation each hole but the last. The prior week I scored better (92) than I played, as I dropped in four long putts. This week it was just the opposite. I had two three-putts, and I failed to get a tough uphill pitch to hold the sloping 17th green. I nearly blew it on 18, but managed to put a long putt that traveled through a swale inches from the cup, and came in at 89. Cuz struggled mightily again, hitting the century mark, although he showed signs of regaining his form on the back nine, where he crushed a couple of drives only as he can. We were paired with Alvin and Calvin, two seniors with delightful islands' accents. I hope today's success doesn't resurrect the old Vic, who used to get so keyed up out there.
Congratulations to Mr. Connally, father of one of my ex-supervisors at the Exchange, who had his first hole-in-one recently. He is in his 80's, I believe.
There was a surprise waiting for me in the mailbox. I terminated my landline phone several years ago to save money. I have not regretted it. Although my internet fee rose $20 as a result, I still came out way ahead. I was ticked off at Verizon. On at least two occasions, features were added to my bill without my approval, which I had to rectify by calling customer service. I received a post card saying there has been a class action suit against the company regarding third party charges. It looks like I will be entitled to $40. If it weren't such a hassle, I would have dropped them as my ISP as well. I've lost a lot of respect for them, despite their outstanding products.
I hope there will be more surprises tomorrow, like the rain holding off for a couple of hours so that I might sell some books.
Read Vic's stories, free: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Congratulations to Mr. Connally, father of one of my ex-supervisors at the Exchange, who had his first hole-in-one recently. He is in his 80's, I believe.
There was a surprise waiting for me in the mailbox. I terminated my landline phone several years ago to save money. I have not regretted it. Although my internet fee rose $20 as a result, I still came out way ahead. I was ticked off at Verizon. On at least two occasions, features were added to my bill without my approval, which I had to rectify by calling customer service. I received a post card saying there has been a class action suit against the company regarding third party charges. It looks like I will be entitled to $40. If it weren't such a hassle, I would have dropped them as my ISP as well. I've lost a lot of respect for them, despite their outstanding products.
I hope there will be more surprises tomorrow, like the rain holding off for a couple of hours so that I might sell some books.
Read Vic's stories, free: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/6
I thank the kind folks who bought books on Bay Parkway, and Mother Nature for giving us a respite from the gloom of the past five days. Here's an excerpt from an unpublished story titled Change, probably written in the early '80's:
I never thought I'd work there again. Funny how life worked. I was a stock-boy in Gimbel's the summer of 1968, as Vietnam was increasing its stranglehold on the nation, as ghettos were erupting in flames, as sexual mores were changing, as America was doubting, questioning itself. Abortion had yet to be legalized. Drug use was not nearly as prevalent.
I'd just completed my freshman year, one-quarter of a degree in Physical Education that would serve no purpose save the biding of time and the realization that teaching and coaching would not be my life. I turned 18 in May. My father, 68, was still alive. The store, at the time the world's second largest, provided my first job. Minimum wage was $1.60 per hour. I avoided joining the union. I did not understand the need, as the job was temporary. Besides, I could not imagine allowing others to make decisions for me, telling me when to work and when not.
To my surprise, employees in 1982 were still required to sign in and out of work. There was no time-card to punch. This seemed the only remaining similarity, however. In '68 I often left at 5:30, signing 6:00, in order to be home in time to play softball. I would arrive late most of the time, which forced me to be a spectator rather than a participant. It was one of my first tastes of the disappointments of adulthood.
I was reprimanded by a manager once or twice, but was not deterred. After having put in a hard day under Mr. Gold, my cheating was easily rationalized. My friend Bill had recommended me for the job. He'd entered the store's Career Development Program upon graduation from high school. 15 years later, he remained, a monument to loyalty, although he hadn't risen above salesman. In fact, it was his recommendation that saw me hired during the Christmas season of 1982. Minimum wage had increased to $3.35. I guess there were things more absurd than an intelligent, hard-working man of 32 earning minimum wage, but not from his own perspective. At times I would laugh about it, at times cry. I was nearly in dire straights, having managed to get myself fired from a bar tending job because of a personality clash with the boss, then squandering my savings anticipating the opening of a restaurant in which I'd been promised employment by a man who appreciated honesty, punctuality and ability. I gladly accepted the sales position offered me, although I knew nothing about salesmanship. I'd always believed I was capable of adapting to anything.
Read Vic's stories, free: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
I never thought I'd work there again. Funny how life worked. I was a stock-boy in Gimbel's the summer of 1968, as Vietnam was increasing its stranglehold on the nation, as ghettos were erupting in flames, as sexual mores were changing, as America was doubting, questioning itself. Abortion had yet to be legalized. Drug use was not nearly as prevalent.
I'd just completed my freshman year, one-quarter of a degree in Physical Education that would serve no purpose save the biding of time and the realization that teaching and coaching would not be my life. I turned 18 in May. My father, 68, was still alive. The store, at the time the world's second largest, provided my first job. Minimum wage was $1.60 per hour. I avoided joining the union. I did not understand the need, as the job was temporary. Besides, I could not imagine allowing others to make decisions for me, telling me when to work and when not.
To my surprise, employees in 1982 were still required to sign in and out of work. There was no time-card to punch. This seemed the only remaining similarity, however. In '68 I often left at 5:30, signing 6:00, in order to be home in time to play softball. I would arrive late most of the time, which forced me to be a spectator rather than a participant. It was one of my first tastes of the disappointments of adulthood.
I was reprimanded by a manager once or twice, but was not deterred. After having put in a hard day under Mr. Gold, my cheating was easily rationalized. My friend Bill had recommended me for the job. He'd entered the store's Career Development Program upon graduation from high school. 15 years later, he remained, a monument to loyalty, although he hadn't risen above salesman. In fact, it was his recommendation that saw me hired during the Christmas season of 1982. Minimum wage had increased to $3.35. I guess there were things more absurd than an intelligent, hard-working man of 32 earning minimum wage, but not from his own perspective. At times I would laugh about it, at times cry. I was nearly in dire straights, having managed to get myself fired from a bar tending job because of a personality clash with the boss, then squandering my savings anticipating the opening of a restaurant in which I'd been promised employment by a man who appreciated honesty, punctuality and ability. I gladly accepted the sales position offered me, although I knew nothing about salesmanship. I'd always believed I was capable of adapting to anything.
Read Vic's stories, free: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/5
The sportswriter I respect most, Phil Mushnick, is under fire for comments he made Friday in his column in the NY Post. For years he has concentrated his criticism on the sports media, chiefly television, exposing the sins of the likes of Cablevision, which owns the Knicks and Rangers, Nike, the local pro teams ticket-gouging practices, the networks' transparent adoration of Tiger Woods, and much more. He has been fearless in taking on racial hucksters, especially Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson. The column in question took on record mogul JAYZ, whom he has criticized many times through the years, saying, essentially, that he made his millions denigrating blacks and women. The only things I know about JAYZ's work is what I've read in those columns. I've never heard any track of his, so I won't comment on his work, especially since, as a writer, I deplore any form of censorship. In the column in question, Mushnick suggests the Nets, owned in part by JAYZ, be called the NY N_____(Mushnick used the dash in the column), the cheerleaders the Brooklyn Ho's, and that the logo be a 9mm Glock with shell casings all around it, words and images JAYZ has used frequently in his recordings. This unleashed a firestorm and has many calling for his termination. He is being dubbed a racist by many who have not called JAYZ to account for his use of such terms and images. To me, Mushnick is one of the few journalists who will cite the ugly truths that plague the black community. He will not look the other way. In reading his work, I often wonder if he would condemn my novels, Killing and Close to the Edge, because of what some of the characters say. The thought is disappointing, as I so admire his work. When I first started writing in 1975, I used profanity liberally. A decade later, weary of its overuse by Hollywood, I did a complete about face and eliminated almost all of it from my work, none of which, fortunately, had been published yet. In Killing I use what I call Brooklyn Sicilian, Italian words bastardized here in America, and include a 30 or so word glossary of them, hoping readers will find it artful. The only argument against Mushnick that gave me pause was one that mentioned if he would make similar remarks if Francis Ford Coppolla were the owner of the Nets. I immediately thought: Or Scorsese. Regardless, I believe it is perfectly legitimate to raise the issues Mushnick does, especially in light of the violence that plagues the black community, which dwarfs the murders the mob commits. Firing him would be a blow against free speech and integrity.
The forecast said sunny, temperature in the 70's. In the words of the late Rodney Dangerfield: "You're way off!" I waited in the car for a half hour, then set up shop when it looked like the mist had stopped. The floating book shop was open 15 minutes when the rain returned. Fortunately, Jack, my best customer, bought six thrillers before that. I also sold ET on VHS to a young mom I knew would buy it if she happened by. Thanks, folks.
I haven't seen Bad News Billy for a month. Jack, an employee of Chase, where Billy banks, hasn't seen him, either. I hope he's okay. He wasn't taking care of himself. Maybe he had hip surgery, which he'd mentioned he was considering.
Read Vic's stories, free: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
The forecast said sunny, temperature in the 70's. In the words of the late Rodney Dangerfield: "You're way off!" I waited in the car for a half hour, then set up shop when it looked like the mist had stopped. The floating book shop was open 15 minutes when the rain returned. Fortunately, Jack, my best customer, bought six thrillers before that. I also sold ET on VHS to a young mom I knew would buy it if she happened by. Thanks, folks.
I haven't seen Bad News Billy for a month. Jack, an employee of Chase, where Billy banks, hasn't seen him, either. I hope he's okay. He wasn't taking care of himself. Maybe he had hip surgery, which he'd mentioned he was considering.
Read Vic's stories, free: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
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