Some media people are blaming the negative fourth quarter GDP number on Hurricane Sandy. Post Katrina growth was +1.8, but that was when Republicans were in control and everyone knows Bush made a pact with the devil.
President Obama will nominate John Brennan as head of the CIA. In an op-ed piece in today’s NY Post, Michael Walsh suggests, during the vetting process, asking Brennan why he supports drone strikes, which have killed approximately 2500, and why he is against water-boarding, which has killed no one. I’m still waiting for Springsteen or other leftist musicians to come up with protest songs titled Drone, Baby, Drone or Kill List.
Nashville repeated an episode last wherein the arch-rival divas are forced to perform together at the legendary Ryman Auditorium. Here’s a clip that shows why this is a terrific show not only dramatically but musically. From what I've read, the actors, in the case Connie Britton and Hayden Panettiere, do their own vocals. Enjoy: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BlOxk1Gzo2E
Given the high wind, I wasn't sure I'd be selling books today. Since I had to move the car for the alternate side regulation, I thought: What the heck? The sun was shining. It wasn't really that cold. And I could simply pack up and go home if conditions proved inhospitable. It looked like an unwise choice when Ol' Smokey showed and hit me up for a small loan. I expect he will be homeless soon. He's had his Medicare and Medicaid taken away. He's been received aid since 1975. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd fake his way into them back then, but he is truly a scatterbrain these days after decades of substance abuse and needs help. A young Asian woman was walking her beautiful white German Shepherd, as she does every day, and Smokey said: "Does he bite?"
"No," said the woman.
"Why not?"
The woman and I both laughed. Anyway, no sooner had he left than Lev, one of my regular customers, visited and bought four Russian CDs and a nine-disc audio book of Sherilyn Kenyon's Bad Moon Rising. Not only did he take the music without ever have heard any of the artists, he overpaid, as usual. Spasibo, sir. Later, Simon, the 85-year-old veteran, came bearing gifts, ten paperbacks. I was sad to hear he'd recently spent a week in the hospital and is scheduled for a battery of tests. Best of luck, sir.
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 1/30 - Extra
A few weeks ago Speaker of the House John Boehner, a Republican, was blasted from all sides, including his own party, for delaying a vote on Hurricane Sandy relief. How do you explain the media's silence after the Senate took two weeks to approve the bill, which is laden with pork that has nothing to do with the storm? It's just so baffling. I can't imagine the reason for the selective outrage. Now those damn right-wingers have caused the economy to contract in the fourth quarter. They are the grinches who stole Christmas, the Scrooges who diminished the spending power of all Americans. They are conspiring to make the President look bad.
Have you seen the new ad featruing Ray Lewis and golfer Vijay Singh, standing side by side with their mouths wide open and their tongues curled? Got Deer-Antler Spray? Users are to spray the substance under the tongue every two hours. Too bad it can't be sprayed under the economy's tongue.
Barbara, a retired toll collector, wishes me well each day as she passes the floating book shop. Today she had a large traveler's bag slung over an arm, which held several changes of clothing. She was off to the set of Law and Order SUV, where she will be working today. She is a member of the Screen Actor's Guild and occasionally is called upon to be an extra. She appeared in the original version of the show, in an episode titled Shotgun (2009), starring Eliot Gould, post the Sam Waterson and Jerry Orbach years. She's worried about a long day, as shoots usually become, and riding the subway late at night. All the best, madam.
My thanks to Mike , who purchased the homemade Ultimate Sinatra CD, and Alan, who bought Justin Cronin's The Passage, a thriller.
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
Have you seen the new ad featruing Ray Lewis and golfer Vijay Singh, standing side by side with their mouths wide open and their tongues curled? Got Deer-Antler Spray? Users are to spray the substance under the tongue every two hours. Too bad it can't be sprayed under the economy's tongue.
My thanks to Mike , who purchased the homemade Ultimate Sinatra CD, and Alan, who bought Justin Cronin's The Passage, a thriller.
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 1/29 - Tests
It'd been three-and-a-half, not two-and-a-half years since I'd been to the doctor. Time flies when you're having fun selling books. My blood pressure numbers were disappointing, 140/90. I've had occasional readings that high in the past and they always returned to normal or near normal. Any time I go for a check up there is the anxiety that something will be wrong. After all, my mom had high blood pressure. I figure it will eventually get to me too, although my diet is better than hers was, and I exercise. My face frequently feels flushed, but it has in the past too, so maybe that isn't a symptom. My weight was exactly where it was on my last visit, 175. I requested that the doctor hold off on the meds prescription until next time, just in case my BP slides back. I just set up an appointment for tomorrow for the rest of the routine tests, which are done at a lab a few minutes from my building. It's nervous time.
I emailed the publisher of WheelMan Press, requesting a re-submission of the file for my fourth novel, Exchanges. It was too late; it's already been mounted. He was kind enough to allow me to submit a file of corrections. I concentrated on spelling and punctuation, ignoring the use of italics for song and film titles, and the change to an em dash from a hyphen to highlight an ensuing phrase. I didn't want to drive him crazy. I doubt the page numbers will align with the mounted text, so he will have to work hard, run a search, to eliminate the errors. I sent him chunks of paragraphs to give him a frame of reference. After I sent the email, I realized I hadn't included the manuscript's final error, the failure to capitalize Twin Towers. Duh! I'll live with it.
The timing of the visit to the doctor worked like a charm. I had time to play the guitar and eat lunch before I set up the floating book shop. I returned to my usual nook at East 13th & Av. Z for the first time since last Tuesday. My thanks to the folks who made purchases. It was good to see my regular customers and well-wishers again.
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
I emailed the publisher of WheelMan Press, requesting a re-submission of the file for my fourth novel, Exchanges. It was too late; it's already been mounted. He was kind enough to allow me to submit a file of corrections. I concentrated on spelling and punctuation, ignoring the use of italics for song and film titles, and the change to an em dash from a hyphen to highlight an ensuing phrase. I didn't want to drive him crazy. I doubt the page numbers will align with the mounted text, so he will have to work hard, run a search, to eliminate the errors. I sent him chunks of paragraphs to give him a frame of reference. After I sent the email, I realized I hadn't included the manuscript's final error, the failure to capitalize Twin Towers. Duh! I'll live with it.
The timing of the visit to the doctor worked like a charm. I had time to play the guitar and eat lunch before I set up the floating book shop. I returned to my usual nook at East 13th & Av. Z for the first time since last Tuesday. My thanks to the folks who made purchases. It was good to see my regular customers and well-wishers again.
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
Monday, January 28, 2013
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 1/28 - Waiting
A few nights ago I watched another violent Asian film, The Chaser (2008), set in South Korea. It is yet another serial killer flick, made offbeat by its portrayal of the police as incompetents, which at times gave it an almost comic air. I wonder how much flack, if any, the film-makers caught. The director and two leads worked in The Yellow Sea (2010), which I thought was superior. The folks at IMDb disagree, rating the former 7.3, the latter 7.9. Although the themes are common, the settings and foreign actors give them a freshness. One thing is certain -- they are not boring. Tonight I must decide whether to watch the second installment of The Following. I’m hoping there’s a better alternative on another channel. THIS, 111 on Cablevision, has been showing movies every night, none great, but some at least watchable. Enough with the serial killers already!
When WheelMan Press accepted Exchanges, my fourth novel, so quickly, I was skeptical. The publisher simply does not communicate very often, in contrast to the people at All Things That Matter Press and Water Forest Press. When he contacted me recently and said the book would soon go into production, I felt guilty. Since the weather has pre-empted the floating book shop quite a bit lately, I had plenty of time to give the file another flush. I’m glad I did. I changed things most readers wouldn’t notice. I’d always used a hyphen (-) instead of an em dash (--) to place emphasis on an ensuing phrase. Believe it or not, while I don't see the big deal, it makes some editors batty. I first wrote Exchanges circa 1990. At the time I was putting the title of any film or song inside quotation marks. I now italicize them. Most of the other errors concerned punctuation. There were a few misspellings. I emailed the guy earlier. I hope he lets me re-submit. It would be to both our advantage. I still sense or fear that it will not come off at all, perhaps as punishment for my lack of faith. It will be very disappointing if it doesn’t. It would be a hard to have it accepted elsewhere. It is a slice of life, another chapter of the human comedy -- not much plot, plenty of action.
Tomorrow morning I will have my first check-up in two-and-a-half years, and the forecast says possible afternoon showers, so the book shop may again be sidelined. Sheesh!
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
When WheelMan Press accepted Exchanges, my fourth novel, so quickly, I was skeptical. The publisher simply does not communicate very often, in contrast to the people at All Things That Matter Press and Water Forest Press. When he contacted me recently and said the book would soon go into production, I felt guilty. Since the weather has pre-empted the floating book shop quite a bit lately, I had plenty of time to give the file another flush. I’m glad I did. I changed things most readers wouldn’t notice. I’d always used a hyphen (-) instead of an em dash (--) to place emphasis on an ensuing phrase. Believe it or not, while I don't see the big deal, it makes some editors batty. I first wrote Exchanges circa 1990. At the time I was putting the title of any film or song inside quotation marks. I now italicize them. Most of the other errors concerned punctuation. There were a few misspellings. I emailed the guy earlier. I hope he lets me re-submit. It would be to both our advantage. I still sense or fear that it will not come off at all, perhaps as punishment for my lack of faith. It will be very disappointing if it doesn’t. It would be a hard to have it accepted elsewhere. It is a slice of life, another chapter of the human comedy -- not much plot, plenty of action.
Tomorrow morning I will have my first check-up in two-and-a-half years, and the forecast says possible afternoon showers, so the book shop may again be sidelined. Sheesh!
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brookyln 1.27 - Beauties
Saturday we ventured to South Jersey for my great nephew Ronnie’s 17th birthday. It was a fun day filled with good food and good cheer. Ronnie, a junior, has taken up golf and will try out for the school team. I think this means he’s given up hope of getting anywhere in baseball. When he told me at Christmas that he’s been sharing a friend’s clubs, I immediately thought of the bag of old ones I’ve had stored in a closet for heaven knows how many years. I was glad to give them to him and he was thrilled to have his own set and bag. He will be taking the road test for his driver’s license this week. And he is practicing guitar each day and actually prefers bluegrass, like his dad, although I heard a lot of rock riffs coming from his bedroom. He has 9000 songs in his new Iphone, going back to Billboard's top hits of the 50's. His sister Danielle, a freshman, actually saw some playing time in a JV basketball game the other night and recorded an assist. Yeah, Dani!
While digesting the meal I parked myself on the couch and watched Somebody Up There Likes Me (1956), one of Paul Newman’s breakout parts. He plays middleweight champion Rocky Graziano, who many may remember as a spokesman for car repair. “Take care for your transmission,” he’d say in his pronounced New York accent. Whenever I watch the film I am touched by the sweetness of Pier Angeli, who plays the suffering wife, her only notable role. She was the twin of actress Marisa Pavan. Originally, the part of Graziano was to have gone to her former lover, James Dean, who died in that famous car crash a few months before the beginning of production. That affair was broken up by her mother, who steered her toward singer Vic Damone, whom she eventually divorced. She married and divorced a second time as well. Her career never really took off. She died of an overdose of barbiturates at 39. I can't help but wonder if she and Dean would still be alive had they wed, which would have been a major change in the course of their lives. Given the track record of Hollywood marriages, it is doubtful they'd still be together. Still.... Here is a pic of the Italian beauty:
Clare Bowen, third female banana, sweet Scarlett, in ABC’s Nashville, was profiled in today’s NY Post. I was shocked to learn she is Australian, classically trained, forced to give up opera when her voice changed. She is so genuine as a southern working class belle trying to make it in the business. The show’s greatest strength is its authenticity, especially in the song snippets. Her musical partner in the show, Sam Palladio, is a Brit! It is amazing how many Brits and Aussies carry off roles as Yanks with ease: Russell Crowe, Tim Roth, Gary Oldman, Guy Pearce, Toni Collette, just off the top of my head. Here’s a pic of the lovely Miss Bowen:
The floating book shop opened for the first time in five days, and for the first two hours it looked as if it would come up empty. A tall young man donated seven CDs, five of which are in Russian. I sold the other two, one by DePeche Mode, the other unknown. I also sold an oldies CD I'd burned to Sue, a regular customer, And a young woman bought the Twilight series. Thanks, folks.
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
While digesting the meal I parked myself on the couch and watched Somebody Up There Likes Me (1956), one of Paul Newman’s breakout parts. He plays middleweight champion Rocky Graziano, who many may remember as a spokesman for car repair. “Take care for your transmission,” he’d say in his pronounced New York accent. Whenever I watch the film I am touched by the sweetness of Pier Angeli, who plays the suffering wife, her only notable role. She was the twin of actress Marisa Pavan. Originally, the part of Graziano was to have gone to her former lover, James Dean, who died in that famous car crash a few months before the beginning of production. That affair was broken up by her mother, who steered her toward singer Vic Damone, whom she eventually divorced. She married and divorced a second time as well. Her career never really took off. She died of an overdose of barbiturates at 39. I can't help but wonder if she and Dean would still be alive had they wed, which would have been a major change in the course of their lives. Given the track record of Hollywood marriages, it is doubtful they'd still be together. Still.... Here is a pic of the Italian beauty:
Clare Bowen, third female banana, sweet Scarlett, in ABC’s Nashville, was profiled in today’s NY Post. I was shocked to learn she is Australian, classically trained, forced to give up opera when her voice changed. She is so genuine as a southern working class belle trying to make it in the business. The show’s greatest strength is its authenticity, especially in the song snippets. Her musical partner in the show, Sam Palladio, is a Brit! It is amazing how many Brits and Aussies carry off roles as Yanks with ease: Russell Crowe, Tim Roth, Gary Oldman, Guy Pearce, Toni Collette, just off the top of my head. Here’s a pic of the lovely Miss Bowen:
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
Friday, January 25, 2013
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 1/25 - Wheels
ABC ran the season finale of Last Stand last night. I’d heard it will not be renewed or that it might move to another network. I was glad the show wrapped up definitively. I was surprised. The episode lacked the detail of those that preceded it, but it was nice not to be left hanging. The series reflected the diversity of our armed forces. A woman was third in command, another played a pivotal role, each convincingly. Yesterday Secretary of Defense Leon Panetta announced that females would soon be assuming a greater role in combat. Although it is right, it saddens me. Of course, women have fought for their countries in the past, almost always as a last resort. But this is 2013 and gender roles are less specific. These women are volunteers, willing to do dirty work many men would not do. I have not served. Perhaps my being uncomfortable with women in combat stems from guilt or a self consciousness engendered by the fear that I am a coward or a suppressed resentment of their being braver than me. The only real concern should be whether they can meet the physical qualifications. Politicians should not force the unqualified into harm’s way. I was concerned when women entered the police force in large numbers. Well, crime in NYC is down considerably, so there hasn’t been a negative effect. When I asked a former officer his opinion of female cops, he said there was a lot more to the job than busting creeps, something I’d never even considered. I hope my concerns about women in combat prove as groundless. The prospect prompts this agnostic to think: God’s speed.
It was 14 degrees when I left the house for my morning walk at 6:30. The floating book shop has now been sidelined four days, and will be so again tomorrow when I venture to Jersey for my great nephew’s 17th birthday. And the warming trend has been pushed back till Monday, which means business is in jeopardy on Sunday too. I’ve lost about ten days this month. I miss my regular customers and well-wishers, and the few dollars that roll in, although last Saturday, Sunday and Monday sessions were a lot more profitable than usual. I tried to make this idle period productive by re-reading the Exchanges file, finding errors. The publisher of WheelMan Press has not communicated with me much. He said the book was close to being put into production. I worry that he won’t send me a file for approval, that he’ll go straight to print. In the first half of the manuscript, I’ve found 17 errors. Many, such as failing to capitalize Democrats, might not even be noticed, but I’d still prefer to get as close to zero as possible. Fortunately, the writing seems solid.
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
It was 14 degrees when I left the house for my morning walk at 6:30. The floating book shop has now been sidelined four days, and will be so again tomorrow when I venture to Jersey for my great nephew’s 17th birthday. And the warming trend has been pushed back till Monday, which means business is in jeopardy on Sunday too. I’ve lost about ten days this month. I miss my regular customers and well-wishers, and the few dollars that roll in, although last Saturday, Sunday and Monday sessions were a lot more profitable than usual. I tried to make this idle period productive by re-reading the Exchanges file, finding errors. The publisher of WheelMan Press has not communicated with me much. He said the book was close to being put into production. I worry that he won’t send me a file for approval, that he’ll go straight to print. In the first half of the manuscript, I’ve found 17 errors. Many, such as failing to capitalize Democrats, might not even be noticed, but I’d still prefer to get as close to zero as possible. Fortunately, the writing seems solid.
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 1/24 - Stir Crazy
The floating book shop has now been sidelined by the cold for three days. Which will come first -- going stir crazy or my eyes falling out from web abuse? Here's an excerpt from Exchanges, which I hope will be in print shortly. The year is 1988. Jenny is 15.
Shea Stadium was filled, as Mets’ fans, encouraged by the team's fast start, were flocking to the park, envisioning another divisional title and trip to the World Series. Jenny was wearing her white Mets jacket, which Loretta kept immaculate, as she did Billy's blue one. Their seats were in the third level, the mezzanine, along the right field line, a considerable distance from home plate. Charley was not disappointed, considering the circumstances.
As the moment of truth neared, father and daughter fell silent, a silence made unnerving by the buzz of the crowd. Jenny remained seated as the public address announcer asked everyone to rise, as everyone around her, including her father, stood. Charley was so tense he was unable to hum the melody. He did not address or even glance at his daughter. He tried his best to appear impartial and sensed he was failing miserably. In fact, he was torn. He did not approve of what she was doing, but he admired her courage. To his relief, she soon rose, quietly, as inconspicuously as possible, although no one had said anything to her or even appeared to notice her defiance. He reacted as if nothing had changed.
They were quiet throughout the top of the first. Jenny fought back tears, chomping on her lower lip. Sensing she craved escape, Charley said: "Let's go get a bite to eat."
He led her past a concession area and toward an open space near an exit ramp along the outer edge of the stadium. They leaned against a cement retaining wall that overlooked the parking lot, which was filled with cars and buses. Many people were still on their way into the ballpark.
"You okay?" he said.
She burst into tears and buried her face in his shoulder.
"Awright," he said, caressing her back; "let it out."
He gazed about, fearful a policeman would suspect he was molesting a minor, amazed he could have so absurd a thought.
"You tried. It ain’t easy to go against forty thousand people. At least you had the guts to try. I'm proud of you."
"No, you're not. I could see how uncomfortable you were."
"I didn't say I agreed with you. I'm proud you care enough to think about things. That was a good kind of protest, the kind where nobody gets hurt."
They parted and gazed out into the distance. There was a roar in the background.
"You're missing the game," said Jenny.
"There're plenty left. Some things're more important."
"I didn't think anything was more important to you than the Mets except Billy."
He was stumped for a reply.
"You know," said Jenny, "I didn't give in because I thought it was the right thing to do. I just didn't want you to be embarrassed."
"You shouldn't’ve let that stop you."
"It wasn't only that," she said, jerking and shaking her head in frustration at having tried to fool herself. "As I was sitting there it suddenly dawned on me that nobody knew why I wasn't standing. They probably assumed I didn't love my country, that I hated it, which isn't true at all. They might've guessed anything but the real reason,"
"Next time bring a sign: 'I'm not a robot!'"
"Daddy!"
"Just a little joke to break up the tension. Don't be so hard on yourself. You have a lotta guts for a fourteen-year-old kid, and a lotta brains. When I was your age somethin' like that woulda never even’ve crossed my mind. You'll have plenty of chances to try again, only I wish you'd wait ‘til you were old enough to go to games with your girlfriends. I wanna keep what hair I got left."
She kissed his cheek. "Thanks, Dad."
"D’you like those seats? Wanna see if we can find better?"
"No. I want to go back to them. I already chickened-out once today. That's enough."
He was in awe of her toughness. She put him to shame.
He’d suggested the change not only for her benefit but for his own as well. He did not want to face those people again. He dared not insist, however. He did not want her to suspect the truth -- that she was stronger than he.
It was a few innings before he was able to relax, to feel confident that those in the area weren't discussing them or making obscene gestures behind their backs. He wondered if anyone had even noticed or if those offended had been appeased when Jenny had relinquished. The only peculiarity that had him suspect they’d been ostracized was the fact that no one tried to engage them in conversation. Fans loved to discuss their team. He’d spoken to countless strangers at Shea about the fortunes of the Mets. He had a congenial manner that invited conversation. People frequently approached him in the cafeteria or on the ferry.
Just as he was beginning to believe he’d escaped the incident unscathed, a troubling thought occurred to him -- the people in the immediate area might mention it to the broker who’d given him the tickets. He realized he’d taken advantage of the man's generosity in order to satisfy his daughter's whim. He berated himself for not having foreseen this, for not having purchased his own tickets. He could have told his wife and son that the tickets had been given to him, that he hadn't left them out of the purchase. They would never have suspected a thing. Now he might face grave embarrassment. The entire Exchange might learn of the incident.
You'll just hafta tell the truth, he told himself, wondering if he would ever again have a sound night's sleep. He supposed he wouldn't until Jenny was out of the house.
"She's so strong it scares me," he said to his wife as they were preparing for bed. "And it's a good kinda strong. She doesn't use it to hurt anybody."
"I'm glad I wasn't there. I’d've been so embarrassed."
"You think I wasn't?"
"But you stood there without a word. Obviously she gets her strength from you."
"Then how come I feel so weak all the time?"
"Because you take your responsibilities so seriously. You never shirk them. You relish them."
"I do?"
The thought was with him long after his wife had switched off the lamp -- did he relish his conflicts with his daughter? No, he was sure. As she had felt compelled, against her wishes, to stand for the national anthem, he felt compelled to do his best as a parent. He could not even say it was instinct that guided him, as the lure of negligence, of freedom, tugged at him constantly. It was a matter of choice -- either the debilitation of trying to be a good parent or the ease of negligence, wherein one left the development of children entirely to chance, at the risk of suffering conscience if the children went too far astray. His greatest fear was that all his work, all his love, would have been for naught, that his children would not grow up right, leaving him a failure in his most important role in life, leaving him without a single accomplishment. There was no guarantee that a caring parent would raise solid children, although the chances were certainly in his favor.
"Will it ever get even just a little bit easier?" he whispered aloud.
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
Shea Stadium was filled, as Mets’ fans, encouraged by the team's fast start, were flocking to the park, envisioning another divisional title and trip to the World Series. Jenny was wearing her white Mets jacket, which Loretta kept immaculate, as she did Billy's blue one. Their seats were in the third level, the mezzanine, along the right field line, a considerable distance from home plate. Charley was not disappointed, considering the circumstances.
As the moment of truth neared, father and daughter fell silent, a silence made unnerving by the buzz of the crowd. Jenny remained seated as the public address announcer asked everyone to rise, as everyone around her, including her father, stood. Charley was so tense he was unable to hum the melody. He did not address or even glance at his daughter. He tried his best to appear impartial and sensed he was failing miserably. In fact, he was torn. He did not approve of what she was doing, but he admired her courage. To his relief, she soon rose, quietly, as inconspicuously as possible, although no one had said anything to her or even appeared to notice her defiance. He reacted as if nothing had changed.
They were quiet throughout the top of the first. Jenny fought back tears, chomping on her lower lip. Sensing she craved escape, Charley said: "Let's go get a bite to eat."
He led her past a concession area and toward an open space near an exit ramp along the outer edge of the stadium. They leaned against a cement retaining wall that overlooked the parking lot, which was filled with cars and buses. Many people were still on their way into the ballpark.
"You okay?" he said.
She burst into tears and buried her face in his shoulder.
"Awright," he said, caressing her back; "let it out."
He gazed about, fearful a policeman would suspect he was molesting a minor, amazed he could have so absurd a thought.
"You tried. It ain’t easy to go against forty thousand people. At least you had the guts to try. I'm proud of you."
"No, you're not. I could see how uncomfortable you were."
"I didn't say I agreed with you. I'm proud you care enough to think about things. That was a good kind of protest, the kind where nobody gets hurt."
They parted and gazed out into the distance. There was a roar in the background.
"You're missing the game," said Jenny.
"There're plenty left. Some things're more important."
"I didn't think anything was more important to you than the Mets except Billy."
He was stumped for a reply.
"You know," said Jenny, "I didn't give in because I thought it was the right thing to do. I just didn't want you to be embarrassed."
"You shouldn't’ve let that stop you."
"It wasn't only that," she said, jerking and shaking her head in frustration at having tried to fool herself. "As I was sitting there it suddenly dawned on me that nobody knew why I wasn't standing. They probably assumed I didn't love my country, that I hated it, which isn't true at all. They might've guessed anything but the real reason,"
"Next time bring a sign: 'I'm not a robot!'"
"Daddy!"
"Just a little joke to break up the tension. Don't be so hard on yourself. You have a lotta guts for a fourteen-year-old kid, and a lotta brains. When I was your age somethin' like that woulda never even’ve crossed my mind. You'll have plenty of chances to try again, only I wish you'd wait ‘til you were old enough to go to games with your girlfriends. I wanna keep what hair I got left."
She kissed his cheek. "Thanks, Dad."
"D’you like those seats? Wanna see if we can find better?"
"No. I want to go back to them. I already chickened-out once today. That's enough."
He was in awe of her toughness. She put him to shame.
He’d suggested the change not only for her benefit but for his own as well. He did not want to face those people again. He dared not insist, however. He did not want her to suspect the truth -- that she was stronger than he.
It was a few innings before he was able to relax, to feel confident that those in the area weren't discussing them or making obscene gestures behind their backs. He wondered if anyone had even noticed or if those offended had been appeased when Jenny had relinquished. The only peculiarity that had him suspect they’d been ostracized was the fact that no one tried to engage them in conversation. Fans loved to discuss their team. He’d spoken to countless strangers at Shea about the fortunes of the Mets. He had a congenial manner that invited conversation. People frequently approached him in the cafeteria or on the ferry.
Just as he was beginning to believe he’d escaped the incident unscathed, a troubling thought occurred to him -- the people in the immediate area might mention it to the broker who’d given him the tickets. He realized he’d taken advantage of the man's generosity in order to satisfy his daughter's whim. He berated himself for not having foreseen this, for not having purchased his own tickets. He could have told his wife and son that the tickets had been given to him, that he hadn't left them out of the purchase. They would never have suspected a thing. Now he might face grave embarrassment. The entire Exchange might learn of the incident.
You'll just hafta tell the truth, he told himself, wondering if he would ever again have a sound night's sleep. He supposed he wouldn't until Jenny was out of the house.
"She's so strong it scares me," he said to his wife as they were preparing for bed. "And it's a good kinda strong. She doesn't use it to hurt anybody."
"I'm glad I wasn't there. I’d've been so embarrassed."
"You think I wasn't?"
"But you stood there without a word. Obviously she gets her strength from you."
"Then how come I feel so weak all the time?"
"Because you take your responsibilities so seriously. You never shirk them. You relish them."
"I do?"
The thought was with him long after his wife had switched off the lamp -- did he relish his conflicts with his daughter? No, he was sure. As she had felt compelled, against her wishes, to stand for the national anthem, he felt compelled to do his best as a parent. He could not even say it was instinct that guided him, as the lure of negligence, of freedom, tugged at him constantly. It was a matter of choice -- either the debilitation of trying to be a good parent or the ease of negligence, wherein one left the development of children entirely to chance, at the risk of suffering conscience if the children went too far astray. His greatest fear was that all his work, all his love, would have been for naught, that his children would not grow up right, leaving him a failure in his most important role in life, leaving him without a single accomplishment. There was no guarantee that a caring parent would raise solid children, although the chances were certainly in his favor.
"Will it ever get even just a little bit easier?" he whispered aloud.
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 1/23 - Cusses
Profanity alert. Anyone who reads this blog knows it rarely includes cuss words. About halfway through my writing career, I did an about face on “realistic” dialogue, bludgeoned by the overuse of our four-letter friends by Hollywood. I was able to eliminate it in most of my work. In Killing I substituted what I call Brooklyn Sicilian, hoping it would be a more artistic and fun approach. In Exchanges, which I hope will be in print shortly, I would not change the language of the trading floor, which was often blue. To have done so would be to move too far from the truth. In the arts, there are many instances where profanity works. I’ll cite two: Iggy Pop in concert. I don’t know how, but he managed to make it seem natural, unforced. And I found it exhilarating in David Mamet’s Glengarry Glen Ross (1992), especially in the scene where Al Pacino rips Kevin Spacey a new one. Anyway, countless times I’ve borrowed bits of dialogue friends have used or some I’ve overheard in every day situations at work or on the street. It was so cold during my morning walk that I was reminded of two gems I’ll probably never use in any of my works. I went to Western Michigan University in Kalamazoo. My freshman year it seemed like there were at least snow flurries every day, attributed to what natives call the Lake Effect. One day as I was about to exit the dorm, a student entered and said: “Motherfuckin’ cold outside.” The inflection was so perfect, so rhythmic that I was laughing all the way to class. Another time my friend Donnie, who was from Gary, Indiana, and I were walking out of the cafeteria when we heard: “Five mother-fuckin’ dollars, bitch” come from a table of males nearby. We looked at each other and guffawed. We repeated it to each other the entire semester, trying vainly to capture the naturalness with which it had been delivered. We might have done so longer had he not transferred the next school year.
Andre Malraux was a French leftist intellectual who lived a fascinating life. He participated in the Spanish Civil War and in the resistance during WWII. He was appointed to three ministerial positions by Charles DeGaulle. He also did a lot of writing. Among a recent donation of books, there was his first novel, The Conquerors, copyright 1929. It is set during the Chinese revolution of the mid 20’s, when a myriad of forces, including foreigners, strove to drive the British out of the country. Although I found it confusing to a large extent, it contains some gems. The lead character is fascinating. He grew up middle class, hated it, and believes he will despise the revolutionaries once they pull themselves to that level, which he, ironically, is helping them attain. He makes a few telling observations: “…though life is worth nothing, there is nothing worth so much as a life.” And: “Those who want to let go of the earth find it sticking to their fingers.” His best known work is Man’s Fate. He also wrote extensively on the arts. On a scale of five, I rate The Conquerors three. Then again, Malraux is on a much higher intellectual plain than I, so it’s probably absurd for me to offer an opinion on his work.
The floating book shop was again sidelined by the weather, but my good luck continued. I received a $35 gift card from Kantar, for whom I did a survey a while ago, entering my daily beverage consumption into an Iphone the company provided. Thanks.
Even cable TV has been affected by the cold, most channels unwatchable last night. I had to go to my video library. It was either that or watch back to back to back episodes of Charlie's Angels on THIS, 111.
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
Andre Malraux was a French leftist intellectual who lived a fascinating life. He participated in the Spanish Civil War and in the resistance during WWII. He was appointed to three ministerial positions by Charles DeGaulle. He also did a lot of writing. Among a recent donation of books, there was his first novel, The Conquerors, copyright 1929. It is set during the Chinese revolution of the mid 20’s, when a myriad of forces, including foreigners, strove to drive the British out of the country. Although I found it confusing to a large extent, it contains some gems. The lead character is fascinating. He grew up middle class, hated it, and believes he will despise the revolutionaries once they pull themselves to that level, which he, ironically, is helping them attain. He makes a few telling observations: “…though life is worth nothing, there is nothing worth so much as a life.” And: “Those who want to let go of the earth find it sticking to their fingers.” His best known work is Man’s Fate. He also wrote extensively on the arts. On a scale of five, I rate The Conquerors three. Then again, Malraux is on a much higher intellectual plain than I, so it’s probably absurd for me to offer an opinion on his work.
The floating book shop was again sidelined by the weather, but my good luck continued. I received a $35 gift card from Kantar, for whom I did a survey a while ago, entering my daily beverage consumption into an Iphone the company provided. Thanks.
Even cable TV has been affected by the cold, most channels unwatchable last night. I had to go to my video library. It was either that or watch back to back to back episodes of Charlie's Angels on THIS, 111.
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 1/22 - Taxed
Golf pro Phil Mickelson, a native Californian, has been socked by the tax man. Given the rates instituted at the start of the year, he will be surrendering about 62% of his earnings to the federal and state governments. Yesterday he spoke out about the injustice. Today he regretted making such a personal matter public. Only strident leftists would blame him if he left the state. Such a rate proves that the biggest thieves are in politics. Mickelson earned 47 million last year, and it is estimated that his net worth is 180 million. Not even a 50-50 split is good enough for government hogs. And the thinking is not restricted to this side of the Atlantic. French actor Gerard Depardieu is moving from France to Russia to avoid the policies of Socialist leader Francois Hollande, who proposed a 75% levy on millionaires. How ironic is that? I don’t blame those who believe they are being treated unfairly from going elsewhere, as those who fled tyranny have come here. The United States was born as a result of a tax revolt. The extravagant spending of government is leading to oppressive rates that won’t even begin to lower the deficit. The next few years will be interesting. The relative calm that characterized America from the mid 80’s until 9/11 is a distant memory. Socialism seems inevitable. Let’s hope it will work as well for us as it does for Norway and Sweden. It doesn’t look too promising right now.
The Harbaughs are getting a lot of ink this week, rightfully so. Their dad, Jack, was the head coach at Western Michigan, my alma mater, from ‘82-‘86. His record was 25-27. John was one of his assistants. He fared much better at Western Kentucky, 91-68, winning the 1-AA national title in 2002, his last year in coaching. One of his sons will be a world champion on Super Bowl Sunday. Great job, sir.
Last night I had another vivid dream that had me chuckling as I woke. There was a row of black trucks filled with recycled metal. I was on top of one of them, riding along to make sure a certain gizmo kept working. The foreman, who I’ve never met in real life, was the boyfriend of a woman I was crazy about decades ago, whom I still think about frequently. And this was just the first part. I think I can analyze all but the gizmo aspect. In essence, I recycle the books people donate to me by selling them. Since my friend Marilena was kind enough to visit and buy a couple of my own books yesterday, my subconscious was probably longing for the other woman to stop by, and the presence of the foreman was there to remind me that she is probably married or involved with someone. From there things got wacky. I was in a park and the other woman I was crazy about in my lifetime, 17 years younger than me, was playing volleyball - topless! She is one of the last women who would so something like that. Then she asked me to play soccer, which I told her I hated. Nevertheless, we went about kicking a ball through lush grass. I suppose this was reiterating my belief that my age really was a factor in our not being together. I wonder if I will see either woman ever again.
The pedestrian bridge that spans lower Sheepshead Bay, damaged by Hurricane Sandy, has been re-opened. It is part of my Tuesday route on my morning walk. Unfortunately, Delmar Pizzeria still seems weeks from returning. It was cold, the wind howling. It looks like the floating book shop will be on hiatus at least through tomorrow.
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
The Harbaughs are getting a lot of ink this week, rightfully so. Their dad, Jack, was the head coach at Western Michigan, my alma mater, from ‘82-‘86. His record was 25-27. John was one of his assistants. He fared much better at Western Kentucky, 91-68, winning the 1-AA national title in 2002, his last year in coaching. One of his sons will be a world champion on Super Bowl Sunday. Great job, sir.
Last night I had another vivid dream that had me chuckling as I woke. There was a row of black trucks filled with recycled metal. I was on top of one of them, riding along to make sure a certain gizmo kept working. The foreman, who I’ve never met in real life, was the boyfriend of a woman I was crazy about decades ago, whom I still think about frequently. And this was just the first part. I think I can analyze all but the gizmo aspect. In essence, I recycle the books people donate to me by selling them. Since my friend Marilena was kind enough to visit and buy a couple of my own books yesterday, my subconscious was probably longing for the other woman to stop by, and the presence of the foreman was there to remind me that she is probably married or involved with someone. From there things got wacky. I was in a park and the other woman I was crazy about in my lifetime, 17 years younger than me, was playing volleyball - topless! She is one of the last women who would so something like that. Then she asked me to play soccer, which I told her I hated. Nevertheless, we went about kicking a ball through lush grass. I suppose this was reiterating my belief that my age really was a factor in our not being together. I wonder if I will see either woman ever again.
The pedestrian bridge that spans lower Sheepshead Bay, damaged by Hurricane Sandy, has been re-opened. It is part of my Tuesday route on my morning walk. Unfortunately, Delmar Pizzeria still seems weeks from returning. It was cold, the wind howling. It looks like the floating book shop will be on hiatus at least through tomorrow.
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
Monday, January 21, 2013
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 1/21 - More Luck
There was a great op-ed piece by Kyle Smith in yesterday’s NY Post. He pointed out the hypocrisy of the Hollywood left, which has excoriated Zero Dark Thirty for its neutral position on torture, and embraced Lincoln, which omits the fact that torture occurred during the Civil War, and that Lincoln imposed martial law, arrested political enemies and harassed those critical of him in the press. This isn’t a condemnation of Abraham Lincoln but of the selective outrage of liberals. In today’s Post, Ralph Peters informs that three-quarters of our casualties in Afghanistan have come on Obama’s watch, and he asks: "Where is the outrage" that was so prevalent during the Iraq war?
The gun controversy gets more strident: since the Sandy Hook massacre, membership in the NRA has increased by 250,000. Conservative pundits have questioned why the left hasn’t criticized the creators of video games and Hollywood films, which some believe are warping the minds of the most vulnerable. FOX is tapping into America’s love of violence, and fascination with serial killers by airing a new series, The Following, starring Kevin Bacon, which premiers tonight at nine. Only vampires seem more popular. Although I believe a sound case can made that society has been coarsened and debased by popular culture (50% divorce rate, STDs, drop in academic standards), I’m not sure how much such fare contributes to the violence prevalent in America. It is impossible to quantify. Our nation now has a population of almost 312 million. I graduated high school in 1967. I remember the population being 200 million then. Maybe the increase in madmen correlates directly to the increase in population. If statistics are correct, crime, including murder, is down overall. None of the great issues has easy answers or solutions.
I'm ready to enjoy the Super Bowl - no Belichick. I'll be rooting for the 49ers against Ray Lewis, the perfect symbol for a debased culture, and the Ravens.
For the second day in a row, Facebook proved a boon to the floating book shop. I was lucky to get the second-most favorable parking spot, just across from the side of East 13th where I usually set up. I placed my wares outside the car, sat in the front passenger seat, and waited for customers to show. Only one did the first two hours, a man purchasing Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre for his son. Then Abdul the Friendly Porter approached with a box filled with about 20 books in excellent condition, among them the Twilight collection, my fourth go round with it. Since my supply of popular fare has dwindled, this was timely and appreciated. That alone would have been enough on a cold winter day. To my surprise and delight, Marilena, fellow Lafayette H.S. alum, visited. She saw my posting on Facebook, was on business in Brooklyn, and swung by. She bought Killing and A Hitch in Twilight. Most of the time, trying to sell my books on the street and coming away frustrated, I feel like the biggest chump going. The rest of the time I feel like the luckiest guy in the world. Thanks, folks.
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
The gun controversy gets more strident: since the Sandy Hook massacre, membership in the NRA has increased by 250,000. Conservative pundits have questioned why the left hasn’t criticized the creators of video games and Hollywood films, which some believe are warping the minds of the most vulnerable. FOX is tapping into America’s love of violence, and fascination with serial killers by airing a new series, The Following, starring Kevin Bacon, which premiers tonight at nine. Only vampires seem more popular. Although I believe a sound case can made that society has been coarsened and debased by popular culture (50% divorce rate, STDs, drop in academic standards), I’m not sure how much such fare contributes to the violence prevalent in America. It is impossible to quantify. Our nation now has a population of almost 312 million. I graduated high school in 1967. I remember the population being 200 million then. Maybe the increase in madmen correlates directly to the increase in population. If statistics are correct, crime, including murder, is down overall. None of the great issues has easy answers or solutions.
I'm ready to enjoy the Super Bowl - no Belichick. I'll be rooting for the 49ers against Ray Lewis, the perfect symbol for a debased culture, and the Ravens.
For the second day in a row, Facebook proved a boon to the floating book shop. I was lucky to get the second-most favorable parking spot, just across from the side of East 13th where I usually set up. I placed my wares outside the car, sat in the front passenger seat, and waited for customers to show. Only one did the first two hours, a man purchasing Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre for his son. Then Abdul the Friendly Porter approached with a box filled with about 20 books in excellent condition, among them the Twilight collection, my fourth go round with it. Since my supply of popular fare has dwindled, this was timely and appreciated. That alone would have been enough on a cold winter day. To my surprise and delight, Marilena, fellow Lafayette H.S. alum, visited. She saw my posting on Facebook, was on business in Brooklyn, and swung by. She bought Killing and A Hitch in Twilight. Most of the time, trying to sell my books on the street and coming away frustrated, I feel like the biggest chump going. The rest of the time I feel like the luckiest guy in the world. Thanks, folks.
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 1/20 - Redmen
RIP Stan “The Man” Musial, 92, one of baseball’s all-time greats, who played his entire career for the St. Louis Cardinals. He won three MVP awards, seven NL batting titles, and was a member of three World Series winners. His lifetime BA is a phenomenal .331. He hit 475 home runs, long before the steroid era. And from what I’ve read, he was a first class human being. In this instance, a nice guy did finish first, many times.
Facebook has been my second best tool in selling books, and it came through again today. I received a message from an old friend, asking where I was setting up shop. I always try to keep my hopes in check whenever this happens, as life frequently interferes in our plans. I was thrilled when Angelo called out to me as he approached. I hadn't seen him since the mid 80's when we'd play touch football in the park at P.S. 281. He's more than twelve years younger than me. He graduated from Lafayette H.S. in '81, several years after I'd ceased coaching there. A lot bigger than me, he was a tackle. He now lives in northern Jersey and was back in Brooklyn to visit his mother in law. I was saddened to hear that he'd had a falling out with his older brother. They made the mistake of going into business together. Angelo, affectionately known as Lobo, a shortening of his last name, makes his living as an electrician. From the hardy looks of him, no one would know he'd survived lymphoma and testicular cancer. Of course, that reminded me of how lucky I've been and how petty my frustration about paltry books sales is. Although a member of a union for 30 years, Angelo suffers three to four month furloughs. Because of that, he has signed up to work in Afghanistan for a year, which will pay him a hundred grand, and which provides month long vacations. He will spend the entire time on an Army base and expects to be out of harm's way. I pray that it is so. He will be leaving in a month. Since he won't have much to do there besides work, he bought Adjustments and Killing to help pass the time. God's speed, big guy. Thank you. Now all is forgiven for the many passes of mine he intercepted back in the day. My thanks also to regular customers Maryann and Miguel, and the woman who purchased the large pictorial, The Miracle of Birth.
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
Facebook has been my second best tool in selling books, and it came through again today. I received a message from an old friend, asking where I was setting up shop. I always try to keep my hopes in check whenever this happens, as life frequently interferes in our plans. I was thrilled when Angelo called out to me as he approached. I hadn't seen him since the mid 80's when we'd play touch football in the park at P.S. 281. He's more than twelve years younger than me. He graduated from Lafayette H.S. in '81, several years after I'd ceased coaching there. A lot bigger than me, he was a tackle. He now lives in northern Jersey and was back in Brooklyn to visit his mother in law. I was saddened to hear that he'd had a falling out with his older brother. They made the mistake of going into business together. Angelo, affectionately known as Lobo, a shortening of his last name, makes his living as an electrician. From the hardy looks of him, no one would know he'd survived lymphoma and testicular cancer. Of course, that reminded me of how lucky I've been and how petty my frustration about paltry books sales is. Although a member of a union for 30 years, Angelo suffers three to four month furloughs. Because of that, he has signed up to work in Afghanistan for a year, which will pay him a hundred grand, and which provides month long vacations. He will spend the entire time on an Army base and expects to be out of harm's way. I pray that it is so. He will be leaving in a month. Since he won't have much to do there besides work, he bought Adjustments and Killing to help pass the time. God's speed, big guy. Thank you. Now all is forgiven for the many passes of mine he intercepted back in the day. My thanks also to regular customers Maryann and Miguel, and the woman who purchased the large pictorial, The Miracle of Birth.
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
Saturday, January 19, 2013
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 1/19 - Finales
Fringe ended its run on Fox last night after 100 episodes. There wasn't much fanfare leading up to it. I didn't even know the end had come. How strange that it occurred in January. I guess the network is anxious to get to its new programs. In back to back shows, it came to a definitive, satisfying conclusion, unlike The X-Files or Lost. It was unusually touchy-feely. Even the two Olivias embraced as the heroine briefly visited the parallel universe, or should I say one of the universes. There were several in the series’ arc. There had been so much tension between the Olivias previously that it was unusual to see them be so warm to each other. As expected, Walter made a heroic sacrifice to atone for his past sins. I’m not sure how the show will stand up to the test of time. Given the amount of cable channels, it will find a home somewhere. It’s a lot better than most series. Now I wonder if ABC’s Last Resort will have a satisfying conclusion. Given the most recent plot events, I don’t see how it can be wrapped up quickly. There are only a few episodes remaining. Rumor has it that it will be picked up by another network. Although grim, it is absorbing. I hope it doesn’t end up in limbo like FOX’s Alcatraz or ABC’s Flash Forward, which hooked and left me dangling after they were cancelled.
RIP Earl Weaver, 82, legendary manager of the Baltimore Orioles, who won 1480 games, three pennants and the World Series in 1970. He was frequently more entertaining than the actual game. He still holds the record for ejections, 94. He has been quoted many times. Here's one of my favorites: "On my tombstone just write, 'The sorest loser who ever lived.'" He was one of a kind.
A woman approached the floating book shop today and asked if I had anything appropriate for a 14-year-old boy. I spotted only Stephen King, with whom she was familiar. She also took a look at A Hitch in Twilight, and I knew I'd have to shoot myself in the foot, and said several of the stories would not be right for her son. I use my youngest niece, Sandra, as a guide on this. When the collection first came out, she would not let her son, 14 at the time, read it. I don't know if he has since then. He will be 17 next week. My thanks to the woman, and to the young man who purchased Richard Minter's Mastermind, a book on Khaled Sheik Mohammad, the fiend who instituted the plot to bring the Twin Towers down. And special thanks to Bad News Billy, who overpaid for the Wayne Dyer and Deepak Chopra audio cassettes, and good writing and research paper guides.
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
RIP Earl Weaver, 82, legendary manager of the Baltimore Orioles, who won 1480 games, three pennants and the World Series in 1970. He was frequently more entertaining than the actual game. He still holds the record for ejections, 94. He has been quoted many times. Here's one of my favorites: "On my tombstone just write, 'The sorest loser who ever lived.'" He was one of a kind.
A woman approached the floating book shop today and asked if I had anything appropriate for a 14-year-old boy. I spotted only Stephen King, with whom she was familiar. She also took a look at A Hitch in Twilight, and I knew I'd have to shoot myself in the foot, and said several of the stories would not be right for her son. I use my youngest niece, Sandra, as a guide on this. When the collection first came out, she would not let her son, 14 at the time, read it. I don't know if he has since then. He will be 17 next week. My thanks to the woman, and to the young man who purchased Richard Minter's Mastermind, a book on Khaled Sheik Mohammad, the fiend who instituted the plot to bring the Twin Towers down. And special thanks to Bad News Billy, who overpaid for the Wayne Dyer and Deepak Chopra audio cassettes, and good writing and research paper guides.
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
Friday, January 18, 2013
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 1/18 - Hoaxes
Manti Te’o is an All-America linebacker at Notre Dame who will likely be playing in the NFL next year - if his career isn’t derailed by involvement in a bizarre hoax in which he pretended to have a dying girlfriend. Why he did this, I have been unable to ascertain. Although it is creepy, I doubt it would prevent a pro team from drafting him, but it may affect his draft position, which has already taken a hit because of his poor performance in the national championship game against Alabama. The controversy has got me thinking. He may have inspired me to try a new marketing ploy to sell books. What if I invent a virtual girlfriend stricken with an incurable disease, and blog about the trials each day? I need money to pay her medical bills - please help! Think of the publicity it would garner. Or what if I, like Lance Armstrong did to win bicycle races, took steroids to improve my literary prowess and output? When journalists question how I’d account for the sudden popularity of my work, I could cite a secret, camera-shy muse. And if the truth came to light and I were forced to return a Pulitzer Prize, I could go on Oprah’s show, bare my soul, shed a few tears and apologize. Imagine the sales such shenanigans would generate.
Last night I had back to back vivid dreams. In the first I was a pilot in WWII. As I was exiting a building with two colleagues, a huge, black, flat-nosed plane came taxiing toward us and turned away at the last instant. I know what triggered it. While Person of Interest was in commercial, I scanned other channels with the remote. PBS was running a program on the Russian front carnage. As for the dream’s meaning, the only thing I can think of is a wish that the dark forces of the planet continue to be turned away. The second dream involved a young man, Joe, who traded gold at the Exchange until electronic trading took away 80% of the floor business. He is now pursuing another passion - college football analysis. He used to wear a jersey, usually Florida St., on dress down days. He has a web site and Facebook page. He shoots video of himself giving his opinion on match-ups. This dream may have been triggered by the news yesterday that I will be receiving a ten dollar Amazon gift certificate for finishing in the top ten at the end of the NCAA Football season at CrowdPicks.com. If Exchanges makes it into print, I will use my Amazon GC’s to buy a couple of copies of Close to the Edge, and have all five of my books on display at once. Of course, the public likely will remain unimpressed.
No luck selling books on this cold, windy day.
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
Last night I had back to back vivid dreams. In the first I was a pilot in WWII. As I was exiting a building with two colleagues, a huge, black, flat-nosed plane came taxiing toward us and turned away at the last instant. I know what triggered it. While Person of Interest was in commercial, I scanned other channels with the remote. PBS was running a program on the Russian front carnage. As for the dream’s meaning, the only thing I can think of is a wish that the dark forces of the planet continue to be turned away. The second dream involved a young man, Joe, who traded gold at the Exchange until electronic trading took away 80% of the floor business. He is now pursuing another passion - college football analysis. He used to wear a jersey, usually Florida St., on dress down days. He has a web site and Facebook page. He shoots video of himself giving his opinion on match-ups. This dream may have been triggered by the news yesterday that I will be receiving a ten dollar Amazon gift certificate for finishing in the top ten at the end of the NCAA Football season at CrowdPicks.com. If Exchanges makes it into print, I will use my Amazon GC’s to buy a couple of copies of Close to the Edge, and have all five of my books on display at once. Of course, the public likely will remain unimpressed.
No luck selling books on this cold, windy day.
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 1/17 - Lamour
There wasn't much action at the floating book shop today. My thanks to the two women who bought, and the one who donated. Here's another excerpt form my as yet unpublished rock n roll epic, Rising Star. It's about a five-minute read:
15 "...Whip it good...."*
Lamour was empty as Paul arrived. It'd been a while since he'd been there. The stage was to the right, bar to the left, a large space of open floor in between. There was seating only in the area behind the bar. The interior was plain and unpolished, a perfect setting for metal.
Two young women, one white, one Asian, approached and passed him, smiling. He assumed they were cocktail waitresses. The Asian was in a black body suit, black panty-hose and black space boots. The other, tall and pale, was wearing tight black leather pants, black, fingerless gloves; black sleeveless T-shirt; black high heel boots; studded armbands and necklace; and light chains. Each of her fingers, even the thumbs, had a ring on it. Her long dark hair fell well beyond her sturdy shoulders.
Paul felt the blood coursing through his veins as he looked at her. He hadn't been as attracted to a girl since he'd met Gina.
"You the only one here," said Susan, appearing suddenly.
He started.
"Relax. Are you really that nervous?"
"This's big."
"How'd practice go?"
"Better, but we're still not where we were."
"You'd better be good. I want to be headlining here before the new year."
"I listened to the records. I really enjoyed 'em, to my surprise. I even put some tracks on cassette. I assumed she was just another boring folk-rock protestor from the sixties."
"She started writing about herself and touched the universal in all humanity."
"Centerpiece' is unbelievable, the way she turned the meaning of the original around. That's one of my father's favorites. He loved her version until he realized how the 'Harry's House' part changes the whole meaning. He had it rough as a kid. He won't listen to anything but pop, romance or Italian folk songs."
They discussed the lyrics of certain tracks.
"I can't believe anybody can be that perceptive an' deep within the confinements of a song. It's like readin' short stories by a great writer. It makes me feel like a total amateur."
"I've cried to those records more than once."
Paul looked into her eyes. "I'd pay to see that."
"You really listened," she said, beside herself.
"I'm trying to be more open-minded. I always thought 'Help Me' was a mindless pop song 'til I listened to it with the headset and lyric sheet. The theme knocked me out - what's more important, love or freedom? I useta think she was sayin' love made you free, but it doesn't, does it? It's great, but it makes things tough at the same time."
"I can definitely relate to it."
"An' she extended the theme through the other albums without makin' it sound repetitive. She's constantly runnin' away to keep her freedom, even though she's dyin' for love. The shot of her with the highway runnin' through her body is dead on. An' Larry Carlton's guitar work is beautiful."
"Now you're talking. I'll lend you some Wes Montgomery and Stanley Jordan so you can hear some genuine artistry."
"You're gonna think I'm crazy, but I see a correlation between Mitchell an' Led Zeppelin."
"You are crazy."
"Their styles are totally different, but the theme of 'movement' is the same, only she moves to escape commitment, while they move to escape boredom. I had no idea they had a recurring theme 'til I listened to Mitchell. I thank you for that."
"Why do you have such a fixation with those hacks?"
"Because when Page is at his best he communicates an unbelievable depth of feeling. His great leads are precise from start to finish. There's never a wasted note. A lotta guys are quick, but feeling's what sets him apart. When I look at that emaciated mother...., I can't believe he's capable of what he does. He should look like a good. Even the bad songs have fun riffs to play."
"There are so many guitarists who blow him away."
The waitress passed, smiling as she carried a tray that held a package of cigarettes and a peculiar doll. Paul followed her with his eyes as she approached the service bar at the other side of the floor, where she lit a long, white-filtered cigarette.
"You never cease to surprise me," said Susan, amused.
He lowered his head. "Sorry. It's tough not havin' a girlfriend. What was that on the tray?"
"An Ewok."
His face went blank.
"From 'Star Wars.'"
"Oh. I didn't see it. I don't like that space stuff."
"I would've thought space movies and metal went hand in hand."
"Not for me. I like movies and songs about people. Where's Mitchell, by the way?"
"Parking the car. It may take a while, if you know what I mean. They were apart a week. We picked her up at the studio."
"By the way, there's a song on the new wave tape - 'Mirror in the Bathroom.' It's unbelievable, so beautiful for such a dark theme. An’ the sax! That's what a woody'd sound like if it could be played."
"That girl's gone to your head, figuratively as well as literally."
He flushed. "That's the first time I ever heard you joke, and it almost went right past me. It's the type of humor people expect from me. Maybe there's hope for you after all."
She begrudged a slight smile. "Every time I think there may be hope for you you dispel it immediately."
Even John was early and anxious to go, although he would not help with the dirty work. Susan brought Bonnie to the office with her, to Mitchell's consternation.
"Relax," said Paul. "I bet she's only usin' her to make us look good. Maybe if they watch the soap they'll think of us. You don't really believe Susan'd encourage her to do anything bad when she belongs to you?"
Mitchell did not respond.
"C'mon! She's not gonna do anything stupid now that she has you and that part. What's the matter with you?"
"Bonnie Stevens," said Mitchell contemptuously. "I could ring her neck."
Paul was about to reply, then decided against it.
"The show's crap. It's beneath her."
"You didn't tell her that?"
"You think she doesn't know?"
"She's gotta start somewhere, just like us. Maybe you're jealous she's way ahead of us right now."
Mitchell stormed away. Paul admonished himself. It was no way to prepare for a show.
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
15 "...Whip it good...."*
Lamour was empty as Paul arrived. It'd been a while since he'd been there. The stage was to the right, bar to the left, a large space of open floor in between. There was seating only in the area behind the bar. The interior was plain and unpolished, a perfect setting for metal.
Two young women, one white, one Asian, approached and passed him, smiling. He assumed they were cocktail waitresses. The Asian was in a black body suit, black panty-hose and black space boots. The other, tall and pale, was wearing tight black leather pants, black, fingerless gloves; black sleeveless T-shirt; black high heel boots; studded armbands and necklace; and light chains. Each of her fingers, even the thumbs, had a ring on it. Her long dark hair fell well beyond her sturdy shoulders.
Paul felt the blood coursing through his veins as he looked at her. He hadn't been as attracted to a girl since he'd met Gina.
"You the only one here," said Susan, appearing suddenly.
He started.
"Relax. Are you really that nervous?"
"This's big."
"How'd practice go?"
"Better, but we're still not where we were."
"You'd better be good. I want to be headlining here before the new year."
"I listened to the records. I really enjoyed 'em, to my surprise. I even put some tracks on cassette. I assumed she was just another boring folk-rock protestor from the sixties."
"She started writing about herself and touched the universal in all humanity."
"Centerpiece' is unbelievable, the way she turned the meaning of the original around. That's one of my father's favorites. He loved her version until he realized how the 'Harry's House' part changes the whole meaning. He had it rough as a kid. He won't listen to anything but pop, romance or Italian folk songs."
They discussed the lyrics of certain tracks.
"I can't believe anybody can be that perceptive an' deep within the confinements of a song. It's like readin' short stories by a great writer. It makes me feel like a total amateur."
"I've cried to those records more than once."
Paul looked into her eyes. "I'd pay to see that."
"You really listened," she said, beside herself.
"I'm trying to be more open-minded. I always thought 'Help Me' was a mindless pop song 'til I listened to it with the headset and lyric sheet. The theme knocked me out - what's more important, love or freedom? I useta think she was sayin' love made you free, but it doesn't, does it? It's great, but it makes things tough at the same time."
"I can definitely relate to it."
"An' she extended the theme through the other albums without makin' it sound repetitive. She's constantly runnin' away to keep her freedom, even though she's dyin' for love. The shot of her with the highway runnin' through her body is dead on. An' Larry Carlton's guitar work is beautiful."
"Now you're talking. I'll lend you some Wes Montgomery and Stanley Jordan so you can hear some genuine artistry."
"You're gonna think I'm crazy, but I see a correlation between Mitchell an' Led Zeppelin."
"You are crazy."
"Their styles are totally different, but the theme of 'movement' is the same, only she moves to escape commitment, while they move to escape boredom. I had no idea they had a recurring theme 'til I listened to Mitchell. I thank you for that."
"Why do you have such a fixation with those hacks?"
"Because when Page is at his best he communicates an unbelievable depth of feeling. His great leads are precise from start to finish. There's never a wasted note. A lotta guys are quick, but feeling's what sets him apart. When I look at that emaciated mother...., I can't believe he's capable of what he does. He should look like a good. Even the bad songs have fun riffs to play."
"There are so many guitarists who blow him away."
The waitress passed, smiling as she carried a tray that held a package of cigarettes and a peculiar doll. Paul followed her with his eyes as she approached the service bar at the other side of the floor, where she lit a long, white-filtered cigarette.
"You never cease to surprise me," said Susan, amused.
He lowered his head. "Sorry. It's tough not havin' a girlfriend. What was that on the tray?"
"An Ewok."
His face went blank.
"From 'Star Wars.'"
"Oh. I didn't see it. I don't like that space stuff."
"I would've thought space movies and metal went hand in hand."
"Not for me. I like movies and songs about people. Where's Mitchell, by the way?"
"Parking the car. It may take a while, if you know what I mean. They were apart a week. We picked her up at the studio."
"By the way, there's a song on the new wave tape - 'Mirror in the Bathroom.' It's unbelievable, so beautiful for such a dark theme. An’ the sax! That's what a woody'd sound like if it could be played."
"That girl's gone to your head, figuratively as well as literally."
He flushed. "That's the first time I ever heard you joke, and it almost went right past me. It's the type of humor people expect from me. Maybe there's hope for you after all."
She begrudged a slight smile. "Every time I think there may be hope for you you dispel it immediately."
Even John was early and anxious to go, although he would not help with the dirty work. Susan brought Bonnie to the office with her, to Mitchell's consternation.
"Relax," said Paul. "I bet she's only usin' her to make us look good. Maybe if they watch the soap they'll think of us. You don't really believe Susan'd encourage her to do anything bad when she belongs to you?"
Mitchell did not respond.
"C'mon! She's not gonna do anything stupid now that she has you and that part. What's the matter with you?"
"Bonnie Stevens," said Mitchell contemptuously. "I could ring her neck."
Paul was about to reply, then decided against it.
"The show's crap. It's beneath her."
"You didn't tell her that?"
"You think she doesn't know?"
"She's gotta start somewhere, just like us. Maybe you're jealous she's way ahead of us right now."
Mitchell stormed away. Paul admonished himself. It was no way to prepare for a show.
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 1/16 - Pioneers
PBS has run a series called The Pioneers of Television, which focuses on the talent of the medium‘s early years, both in front of and behind the cameras. I‘m not sure if it has produced new episodes. Last night I viewed one I hadn‘t seen before on funny ladies, which I suspect is new, as there was a different narrator, a light, upbeat voice replacing a deep reverential one. It featured chiefly Betty White, Lucille Ball, Mary Tyler Moore, Carol Burnett, Phyllis Diller and Joan Rivers. Several others were cited briefly. The ubiquitous White appeared on TV in its infancy in the late 40’s and is still going strong. In listing credits, IMDb counts a series as one, although an actor may have appeared in hundreds of episodes. My unofficial tally on White is 625; Ball 510; Moore 379; Burnett, who also did Broadway shows, 323. I wasn’t able to come up with a figure for Diller or Rivers, which would no doubt be high if appearances on talk shows and Ed Sullivan were included. Rivers served as Johnny Carson’s permanent guest host and has done numerous spots with her daughter, Melissa. I am not a fan of stand up comedy. My mind begins to drift after about five minutes. I remember laughing out loud at her opening monologues on The Tonight Show at the height of her career, when she was hitting on all cylinders and looked great, better than she did in her youth. I remember one brilliant line in particular and chuckle whenever I recall it: “My body’s fallin’ so fast my gynecologist wears a hard hat.” These broads began their careers way before feminism was fashionable. In an interview on the program, MTM spoke of her falling out with Gloria Steinem, who wanted her to speak out and cite career above motherhood. She refused to denigrate stay at home moms, the backbone of any society. Kudos, and to all these fantastic artists.
The NRA is getting heat for mentioning that the school the President's daughters attend has armed guards. I don't see anything wrong with it. His kids are no more precious than anyone else's. I see only two alternatives to the gun issue: Confiscation, which might lead to armed resistance and a number of deaths on both sides, or armed guards. The latter would be costly. I have a solution - get the money from the teachers' unions, use it to buy the safety of children rather than the votes of spineless politicians who protect their outrageous benefits and salaries.
The floating book shop was rained out today. I filled the hours dusting, reading, redeeming recyclables and shopping. I also made deposits for a friend, and the bank offered free cookies. And I found a quarter on my way home.
The NRA is getting heat for mentioning that the school the President's daughters attend has armed guards. I don't see anything wrong with it. His kids are no more precious than anyone else's. I see only two alternatives to the gun issue: Confiscation, which might lead to armed resistance and a number of deaths on both sides, or armed guards. The latter would be costly. I have a solution - get the money from the teachers' unions, use it to buy the safety of children rather than the votes of spineless politicians who protect their outrageous benefits and salaries.
The floating book shop was rained out today. I filled the hours dusting, reading, redeeming recyclables and shopping. I also made deposits for a friend, and the bank offered free cookies. And I found a quarter on my way home.
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brookln 1/15 - Phaedra
Since I receive many donations from customers and passersby, I get to read books I’ve never heard of. I just finished Phaedra, A Novel of Ancient Athens by the late June Rachuy Brindel, who is labeled a feminist. I was attracted to the title because it reminded me of a song. It is a re-working of the Theseus legend beginning after he has slain the Minotaur and abducted his future bride. I slogged through it. It seems unfinished, sketchy. Theseus is mostly off stage, seemingly paranoid, unable to stop killing, abandoning the Goddess-faith for something masculine and deadly. I suppose the author was making a case for a more balanced approach to leadership, a harmony of the best of male and female. Since I found it so puzzling and difficult, I won’t rate it. There is only one review of it at Amazon, and the woman rated it five stars out of five.
Almost two decades before the publication of that novel, the late Lee Hazlewood wrote and performed one of the most unusual and haunting, described as "psychedelic" at Wiki, pop songs ever: Some Velvet Morning, in which he speaks of a lost love, Phaedra, to which many males would relate. Nancy Sinatra sings the female part in a spacey voice in stark contrast to the deep, grounded resonance of Hazlewood. I’m hearing it more these days than when it was first released. It was not a big hit, rising to only #26 on the charts, but it has stood the test of time. The duo partnered on several songs, mostly notably Jackson. Hazlewood wrote her biggest hit, These Boots Are Made for Walking. He also wrote This Town for her father, as well as the theme song for Old Blue Eyes' 1967 detective movie, Tony Rome. His earliest success was a collaboration with pioneer rock guitarist Duane Eddy. It would be a stretch to dub Nancy Sinatra a good singer, but her contributions to the art of music are significant and impressive. Here is a link to the video of Some Velvet Morning. Enjoy:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sb-SVPJM4L4
Given the raw cold and lack of sunshine, I did not expect much business at the floating book shop. I sat in my car and waited for customers to come along. I sold five books, among them a large Stephen King I'm happy not to have to lug around any more. The highlight of the day was a visit from local poet Big All, who came bearing gifts - a number of popular paperbacks, some non-fiction, and two collections of Wayne Dyer on audio cassette. Thanks, folks.
Almost two decades before the publication of that novel, the late Lee Hazlewood wrote and performed one of the most unusual and haunting, described as "psychedelic" at Wiki, pop songs ever: Some Velvet Morning, in which he speaks of a lost love, Phaedra, to which many males would relate. Nancy Sinatra sings the female part in a spacey voice in stark contrast to the deep, grounded resonance of Hazlewood. I’m hearing it more these days than when it was first released. It was not a big hit, rising to only #26 on the charts, but it has stood the test of time. The duo partnered on several songs, mostly notably Jackson. Hazlewood wrote her biggest hit, These Boots Are Made for Walking. He also wrote This Town for her father, as well as the theme song for Old Blue Eyes' 1967 detective movie, Tony Rome. His earliest success was a collaboration with pioneer rock guitarist Duane Eddy. It would be a stretch to dub Nancy Sinatra a good singer, but her contributions to the art of music are significant and impressive. Here is a link to the video of Some Velvet Morning. Enjoy:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sb-SVPJM4L4
Given the raw cold and lack of sunshine, I did not expect much business at the floating book shop. I sat in my car and waited for customers to come along. I sold five books, among them a large Stephen King I'm happy not to have to lug around any more. The highlight of the day was a visit from local poet Big All, who came bearing gifts - a number of popular paperbacks, some non-fiction, and two collections of Wayne Dyer on audio cassette. Thanks, folks.
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
Monday, January 14, 2013
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 1/14 - French
There are interesting developments in France. Many French citizens show signs of re-growing a pair. Commandos attempted to rescue a hostage in Somalia, which, unfortunately, failed. And the government has come to the aid of a former African colony, Mali, bombing Islamic terrorists trying to take control of the country, and even dispatching combat ground troops to aid in the fight. And this under a Socialist leader, Francois Hollande. And hundreds of thousands of citizens took to the streets to protest gay marriage and adoption. Sacre bleu! What would the world be saying if a conservative was leading? Is France moving right? I doubt it. Despite high unemployment and a faltering economy, the people take to the streets in large numbers whenever there is a threat to the cut back of entitlements.
Since Liam Neeson has been in several action flicks I’ve enjoyed, I decided to give The Taken (2008) a look. Since it spawned a 2012 sequel, I figured it must be at least a crowd-pleaser. It is another in the long line of one-man-army films, in this case an ex-clandestine agent searching Paris for his kidnapped daughter. The pace is fast and the body count is high. It is most satisfying viscerally, as the evil get their just desserts. And it runs less than an hour and forty minutes, most unusual these days. The under-utilized and under-appreciated Famke Janssen plays the distraught mom. Xander Berkeley, a Brooklyn boy, appears as the benevolent step-dad. Only 57, he has massed 197 credits, an unbelievable total in this era, and that’s not counting his many stints as a regular in TV series. On a scale of five, I rate The Taken three. It is rated 7.9 out of ten at IMDb. Get this - it was directed by Pierre Morel, a Frenchman! And the screenplay was by Luc Besson, whose films seem more American than European stylistically. Maybe those two have had their minds warped by McDonalds.
Sign of the times: Baltimore Ravens LB Ray Lewis, implicated in a murder in which his blood-stained clothing was never recovered, is celebrated, and Tim Tebow, devout Christian without even a hint of skeleton in his closet, is vilified.
It was a disappointing day for the floating book shop. My thanks to the young home attendant who purchased a three-for-one paperback deal, none in French. At least I managed to nab the perfect parking space. I don't have to move the car until Thursday afternoon and, if I get cold, I can take a seat for a while and still keep an eye on my wares.
Visit Vic's sites:
Since Liam Neeson has been in several action flicks I’ve enjoyed, I decided to give The Taken (2008) a look. Since it spawned a 2012 sequel, I figured it must be at least a crowd-pleaser. It is another in the long line of one-man-army films, in this case an ex-clandestine agent searching Paris for his kidnapped daughter. The pace is fast and the body count is high. It is most satisfying viscerally, as the evil get their just desserts. And it runs less than an hour and forty minutes, most unusual these days. The under-utilized and under-appreciated Famke Janssen plays the distraught mom. Xander Berkeley, a Brooklyn boy, appears as the benevolent step-dad. Only 57, he has massed 197 credits, an unbelievable total in this era, and that’s not counting his many stints as a regular in TV series. On a scale of five, I rate The Taken three. It is rated 7.9 out of ten at IMDb. Get this - it was directed by Pierre Morel, a Frenchman! And the screenplay was by Luc Besson, whose films seem more American than European stylistically. Maybe those two have had their minds warped by McDonalds.
Sign of the times: Baltimore Ravens LB Ray Lewis, implicated in a murder in which his blood-stained clothing was never recovered, is celebrated, and Tim Tebow, devout Christian without even a hint of skeleton in his closet, is vilified.
It was a disappointing day for the floating book shop. My thanks to the young home attendant who purchased a three-for-one paperback deal, none in French. At least I managed to nab the perfect parking space. I don't have to move the car until Thursday afternoon and, if I get cold, I can take a seat for a while and still keep an eye on my wares.
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 1/13 - Options
I got a flu shot three weeks ago. Now I’ve read in the newspaper where the vaccine covers only 62% of the strains. And I'd thought I was home free.
Sales of electronic cigarettes are booming, up 600%. This must be terrible news to politicians, who do not receive any taxes for the sale of e-cigs. Since the devices do not produce the stink regular tobacco products do, users are asking to be allowed to indulge in all those places where smoking has been banned. The health effects of the product are still not known, although they are certainly less harmful than real butts. People are endlessly fascinating in the way they adapt.
Last night there were a lot of good options on television. There was the NFL playoff matchup between the 49ers & Packers. I watched about five minutes of it. The biggest change in my life the past 20 years is how little time I spend viewing sports. For many reasons, I no longer have patience for it. I prefer movies and TV dramas. Antenna TV, 114 on Cablevision in NYC, offered different programming than its usual vintage series. Beginning at 8PM, it showed back to back films from the cold war era, the deadly serious Fail Safe (1964), starring Henry Fonda as the President, directed by Sidney Lumet; and Dr. Strangelove, or How I learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964), a satirical work on the nuclear arms race, starring Peter Sellers in three roles, including the President, and directed by Stanley Kubrick. Both films feature top-notch casts and terrific writing. The former is rated 8.0 out of ten at IMDb, the later 8.6. I prefer Fail Safe. Dr. S is a little over the top for my taste, but either is well worthwhile. Kudos to ATV. We’re all fortunate that such scenarios never played out in the real world. Unfortunately, we now worry that terrorists will smuggle a dirty bomb into one of our cities. Such is man. At nine PBS ran a film I'd never seen: The Spirit of St. Louis (1957), starring Jimmy Stewart as Charles Lindbergh, and directed by Billy Wilder. I'd expected it to be a saccharine account of Lindbergh's magnificent solo crossing of the Atlantic. Although not a great film, it was very entertaining. I kept expecting to break away from it and resume my usual channel hopping, especially since there were so many good choices available, but I stayed with it all through its two-plus-hours of running time. In 1961, Newton Minnow famously described commercial television as a "vast wasteland." Given the broadcasting of the work of these legendary directors and actors, it certainly wasn't last night.
Speaking of nuclear devastation, my thanks to the gentleman who purchased two huge tomes, Tom Clancy's The Sum of All Fears and Without Remorse, which I was beginning to think I'd never sell. What a relief not to have to carry them any more.
Sales of electronic cigarettes are booming, up 600%. This must be terrible news to politicians, who do not receive any taxes for the sale of e-cigs. Since the devices do not produce the stink regular tobacco products do, users are asking to be allowed to indulge in all those places where smoking has been banned. The health effects of the product are still not known, although they are certainly less harmful than real butts. People are endlessly fascinating in the way they adapt.
Last night there were a lot of good options on television. There was the NFL playoff matchup between the 49ers & Packers. I watched about five minutes of it. The biggest change in my life the past 20 years is how little time I spend viewing sports. For many reasons, I no longer have patience for it. I prefer movies and TV dramas. Antenna TV, 114 on Cablevision in NYC, offered different programming than its usual vintage series. Beginning at 8PM, it showed back to back films from the cold war era, the deadly serious Fail Safe (1964), starring Henry Fonda as the President, directed by Sidney Lumet; and Dr. Strangelove, or How I learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964), a satirical work on the nuclear arms race, starring Peter Sellers in three roles, including the President, and directed by Stanley Kubrick. Both films feature top-notch casts and terrific writing. The former is rated 8.0 out of ten at IMDb, the later 8.6. I prefer Fail Safe. Dr. S is a little over the top for my taste, but either is well worthwhile. Kudos to ATV. We’re all fortunate that such scenarios never played out in the real world. Unfortunately, we now worry that terrorists will smuggle a dirty bomb into one of our cities. Such is man. At nine PBS ran a film I'd never seen: The Spirit of St. Louis (1957), starring Jimmy Stewart as Charles Lindbergh, and directed by Billy Wilder. I'd expected it to be a saccharine account of Lindbergh's magnificent solo crossing of the Atlantic. Although not a great film, it was very entertaining. I kept expecting to break away from it and resume my usual channel hopping, especially since there were so many good choices available, but I stayed with it all through its two-plus-hours of running time. In 1961, Newton Minnow famously described commercial television as a "vast wasteland." Given the broadcasting of the work of these legendary directors and actors, it certainly wasn't last night.
Speaking of nuclear devastation, my thanks to the gentleman who purchased two huge tomes, Tom Clancy's The Sum of All Fears and Without Remorse, which I was beginning to think I'd never sell. What a relief not to have to carry them any more.
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
Saturday, January 12, 2013
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 1/12 - Madwoman
Except for a couple of spots a bird dropped on my jacket, it was an uneventful day for the floating book shop. My thanks to Jack of Chase Bank, who purchased a couple of thrillers. Here's an excerpt from my unpublished rock n roll epic, Rising Star. I based one of the minor characters on a crazy lady who lived on Bay 37th. I bet most blocks in the five boroughs had someone like her. It's about a ten-minute read.
Paul did penance by clearing the table and rinsing the dishes for the washer. He sat on the front steps and waited for his friends. The block gradually came alive with the sounds of summer: children laughing, the clash of bicycle chains, the pop of bat striking rubber ball, firecrackers in the distance, girlish screams echoing in the schoolyard around the corner, revving engines, screeching tires. Teenagers passed continuously on the way to the small park at the corner to his right, where he'd gone to junior high. His parents' tenants, a young couple, returned from work. He struggled to conceal his lust for the petite, red-haired woman. He avoided looking at her, certain she - worse, her husband, would read his thoughts.
Soon the battered Bonneville cruised up the street.
"Where's Mitchell?" said Paul.
Richie made a face. "Can't ya at leas' say 'hi' first?"
"Cut the crap."
"I couldn't get a hold of 'im. I called three times. Nobody answered."
"At the store?"
"Yeah. I never call his house. Maybe it's some Jew holiday."
"Let's start settin' up. If he's not here by the time we're finished. I'll call him."
Mike, who lived around the corner, arrived on foot.
"Don' leave the van in the driveway," said Mr. Ranga from behind the screen door. "I don' wanna hear Ann tonight."
Paul parked it in the street and joined the others on the front steps. John drove up in a Monte Carlo and parked before the fire hydrant that stood at the curb before the house next door, which was joined to the Ranga house.
"Figures he'd pull up when all the dirty work was done," said Mike.
"Hoe d'ya sweet talk every chick into lendin' ya their car?" said Richie with awe.
"Talent."
Darkness fell and Mitchell had yet to appear.
"Call 'im again," said Richie, peeved.
"You worried too?"
"Maybe he's still shacked up wit' that actress," said Mike.
"That must be it," said Paul, relieved, jealous.
"Hey, Mikey," said Richie, "that yer ol' man on the stoop? I hardly recognize 'im no more."
Mike looked away. "He lost a lotta weight since he quit boozin'. The heart attack scared 'im. I hope he didn't see me. I don' wanna go over there. I took the long way aroun' so I wouldn't hafta pass the house. We ain't got nothin' to say to each other."
"Don' it bother ya?"
"I could care less."
His expression seemed to belie the statement.
"Really? Not me. No matter how much I fight wit' my ol' man I pray for the day we get along." He craned his neck. "Here's Mitchell, in 'is ol' man's car, no less."
Mitchell approached slowly, apparently self conscious.
"Mitchell mus' be in love," Mike teased, "hung up on a horny actress. He don' even call to say he's gonna be late."
"Maybe he's goin' by Israel time," said Richie.
"You're just jealous, fat boy," said Paul, leading them down the driveway. "You gonna have enough energy to play?"
Mitchell did not reply.
"Look at him. He must be in love. He's lost his sense of humor. Don't tell me you had a fight already."
It required an inordinate amount of time to tune the instruments. Paul sensed that practice would not be good, that they would suffer a letdown after the high at Marino's. He dreaded pulling down the garage door. He stopped it two feet from the ground.
"I gotta put in a bigger bulb. It's too dark in here."
"Any gigs lined up?" said Mike.
"Susan's takin' care of that from now on, and I haven't heard from her."
"Can't ya at least set somethin' up at Ronnie's in case we don' get nothin'?" said Richie.
"Then what'll we do if somethin' comes up?"
"Play the better one." "What about our reputation?"
What about payin' the rent?"
"Get another job."
"I did. Ya think I sponge off my mother an' father like you. I'm workin' at a fruit stand on Eighty-Sixth Street."
The others howled.
"Perfect," said Mitchell, shaking his head.
"Then what're you worried about?" said Paul.
"I don' wanna work for a livin'. I wanna play."
"Then let's shut up and get down to business."
Although the pace was swift, they lacked intensity. It seemed their main objective was to finish as quickly as possible. Paul did not complain. He sensed the majority of the practices would be like this from now on, as they were familiar with the material and little could be done to refine it. He just hoped to keep the band from getting sloppy between gigs, and that could be avoided only through practice, no matter how tedious it became. He hoped there would be more gigs and less practice.
As they neared the end of the set, John's voice wavered. He gazed about, puzzled, distracted by a harsh sound that rose above the music. One by one the others ceased playing, and the sound became louder. Paul was the last to detect it, pulling out his earplugs and asking what was wrong. The others, except John, laughed. Paul stifled a guffaw as he gazed at the bottom of the garage door, where thick legs were standing in the night and chubby hands appeared at intervals, as if the person were bowing continuously in obeisance.
"That's enough! That's enough!" the piercing wail cried. "That's enough!"
"Okay, Ann," said Paul, raising the door.
The large, sturdy, white-haired, bespectacled woman stood before them, scowling. "Every night, every night," she said wildly, approaching the rickety back porch of the house next door. "Stop it awready."
When she was inside Richie leaped out from behind the drums, positioned himself just outside the garage door, and imitated her, bowing and whispering: "That's enough!"
"Mimic ya mother," came Ann's gravelly voice out of the darkness next door.
The others struggled to suppress guffaws.
"Where's Michael?" said Richie softly in Ann's voice, a tone amusing for its absurdity rather than accuracy. "He's dead. 'Deaaaaad.' 'Poleece!' Poleece!'"
Mike doubled over, face flushed. "Stop," he pleaded, breathless.
Paul turned to John. "That was the legendary Ann the Pollock. You were lucky to catch her in rare form."
"I thought it was your mom. I can't believe she penetrated the music."
"She shoulda married my ol' man," said Mike. "They'd've been perfect for each other."
"Michael's her adopted son," said Paul. "He disappeared. He's not dead. We added that. He's down south somewhere. That 'Police!' nonsense is somethin' she made famous."
"She brawled with 'er husband every day," Mike interjected excitedly. "Every cop in the precinct knew 'em."
"She's been the primary source of entertainment around here for as long as I can remember. She's nuts. She abused Michael. It's a miracle he's still alive."
"They gave 'er another kid once," said Mike, "a little four-year-ol' greaseball just off the boat. They took 'im away fast. She burned 'is fingers with boilin' water or on the stove. I guess they figured Michael was too far gone or they woulda took him too. He got almost as much abuse from us as he did from them."
John stared. "I don't see what's so funny. I guess some kids are better off in an orphanage."
The others fell silent.
"I know it's sick to joke about," said Paul. "We just didn't realize how ugly it was when we were kids, and it just carried over. Somehow it never seemed real. It was more like theater of the absurd or 'Raging Bull.' We useta peek through the window when they were wailin' on Michael."
"It's my turn," said Richie in Ann's voice. "Michael's dead, I tell ya. He died in the torture chamber in the basement."
"Stop. You saw the picture he sent. We wanna make a movie about them. We know exactly who to cast. Shelley Winters'd play Ann. Richard Thomas'd play Michael - he looks just like him. And Buddy Ebsen'd play Mike the Drunk. He died of cirrhosis about five years ago."
Richie seized a milk box, set it upon his shoulder, and limped along. "He bought a case of beer a day. He limped from gettin' hit in Korea.."
"We saw a lotta bizarre things. I know it must not sound funny, but you probably woulda reacted the same way if you'd been here. Even Mitchell laughs, and he missed the golden years before Michael ran away. The cops were here every day, car Eight-thirty-nine."
"Remember that 'coon?" said mike, face twisted sourly.
"He brought a West Indian girl home with him for a while. Sure enough, Ann caught 'em one day. They clubbed her with a bat and ran away. She sat on the front steps and wailed. She thought it was a big disgrace that he was seein' a black girl, as if anything could disgrace that family. Every time she has a fight with a neighbor she puts up a 'For Sale' sign and threatens to sell the house to blacks."
"She kisses the little kids on the block an' gives 'em candy," said Richie. "She helps ol' people, then alluva sudden she'll snap."
"I can imagine what went on in her childhood. She doesn't have tenants any more. She let the house go to pot. See the backyard? The weeds're four-feet high and the fence's rotten. I can imagine what the inside looks like. The aluminum sidin' hides the outside, 'cept for the windows. Listen to the bugs."
Their buzz was loud, constant.
"That's what happens to old rock 'n rollers," said Mitchell. "Too much noise, too many drugs, too much sex."
Paul laughed. "He's only jokin', John. I hope we didn't open any old wounds. I don't want you to think we're insensitive to child abuse. We just learned to deal with her madness by laughin' at it, like you would at the characters in one of Martin Scorsese's movies."
"I'm sure Michael's not laughin'."
Paul lowered his head, pained, miffed that he was more concerned that John might quit rather than play with such louts than he was about John's feelings.
"Wait a minute," said Richie, gazing at John. "I knew you reminded me of somebody. Say he shaved the beard an' cut 'is hair? It's Michael in disguise! Maybe he's gonna kill us in our sleep some night."
Mrs. Ranga called from the back door. "Telephone. It's Susan. Hi, boys."
The others, except John, who had yet to be introduced to Mr. Ranga, returned the greeting.
"Hi, John. You can call me Phil."
Minutes later Paul burst out of the house. "She got us a coupla gigs in the city, seventy-five apiece."
The others cheered.
Paul did penance by clearing the table and rinsing the dishes for the washer. He sat on the front steps and waited for his friends. The block gradually came alive with the sounds of summer: children laughing, the clash of bicycle chains, the pop of bat striking rubber ball, firecrackers in the distance, girlish screams echoing in the schoolyard around the corner, revving engines, screeching tires. Teenagers passed continuously on the way to the small park at the corner to his right, where he'd gone to junior high. His parents' tenants, a young couple, returned from work. He struggled to conceal his lust for the petite, red-haired woman. He avoided looking at her, certain she - worse, her husband, would read his thoughts.
Soon the battered Bonneville cruised up the street.
"Where's Mitchell?" said Paul.
Richie made a face. "Can't ya at leas' say 'hi' first?"
"Cut the crap."
"I couldn't get a hold of 'im. I called three times. Nobody answered."
"At the store?"
"Yeah. I never call his house. Maybe it's some Jew holiday."
"Let's start settin' up. If he's not here by the time we're finished. I'll call him."
Mike, who lived around the corner, arrived on foot.
"Don' leave the van in the driveway," said Mr. Ranga from behind the screen door. "I don' wanna hear Ann tonight."
Paul parked it in the street and joined the others on the front steps. John drove up in a Monte Carlo and parked before the fire hydrant that stood at the curb before the house next door, which was joined to the Ranga house.
"Figures he'd pull up when all the dirty work was done," said Mike.
"Hoe d'ya sweet talk every chick into lendin' ya their car?" said Richie with awe.
"Talent."
Darkness fell and Mitchell had yet to appear.
"Call 'im again," said Richie, peeved.
"You worried too?"
"Maybe he's still shacked up wit' that actress," said Mike.
"That must be it," said Paul, relieved, jealous.
"Hey, Mikey," said Richie, "that yer ol' man on the stoop? I hardly recognize 'im no more."
Mike looked away. "He lost a lotta weight since he quit boozin'. The heart attack scared 'im. I hope he didn't see me. I don' wanna go over there. I took the long way aroun' so I wouldn't hafta pass the house. We ain't got nothin' to say to each other."
"Don' it bother ya?"
"I could care less."
His expression seemed to belie the statement.
"Really? Not me. No matter how much I fight wit' my ol' man I pray for the day we get along." He craned his neck. "Here's Mitchell, in 'is ol' man's car, no less."
Mitchell approached slowly, apparently self conscious.
"Mitchell mus' be in love," Mike teased, "hung up on a horny actress. He don' even call to say he's gonna be late."
"Maybe he's goin' by Israel time," said Richie.
"You're just jealous, fat boy," said Paul, leading them down the driveway. "You gonna have enough energy to play?"
Mitchell did not reply.
"Look at him. He must be in love. He's lost his sense of humor. Don't tell me you had a fight already."
It required an inordinate amount of time to tune the instruments. Paul sensed that practice would not be good, that they would suffer a letdown after the high at Marino's. He dreaded pulling down the garage door. He stopped it two feet from the ground.
"I gotta put in a bigger bulb. It's too dark in here."
"Any gigs lined up?" said Mike.
"Susan's takin' care of that from now on, and I haven't heard from her."
"Can't ya at least set somethin' up at Ronnie's in case we don' get nothin'?" said Richie.
"Then what'll we do if somethin' comes up?"
"Play the better one." "What about our reputation?"
What about payin' the rent?"
"Get another job."
"I did. Ya think I sponge off my mother an' father like you. I'm workin' at a fruit stand on Eighty-Sixth Street."
The others howled.
"Perfect," said Mitchell, shaking his head.
"Then what're you worried about?" said Paul.
"I don' wanna work for a livin'. I wanna play."
"Then let's shut up and get down to business."
Although the pace was swift, they lacked intensity. It seemed their main objective was to finish as quickly as possible. Paul did not complain. He sensed the majority of the practices would be like this from now on, as they were familiar with the material and little could be done to refine it. He just hoped to keep the band from getting sloppy between gigs, and that could be avoided only through practice, no matter how tedious it became. He hoped there would be more gigs and less practice.
As they neared the end of the set, John's voice wavered. He gazed about, puzzled, distracted by a harsh sound that rose above the music. One by one the others ceased playing, and the sound became louder. Paul was the last to detect it, pulling out his earplugs and asking what was wrong. The others, except John, laughed. Paul stifled a guffaw as he gazed at the bottom of the garage door, where thick legs were standing in the night and chubby hands appeared at intervals, as if the person were bowing continuously in obeisance.
"That's enough! That's enough!" the piercing wail cried. "That's enough!"
"Okay, Ann," said Paul, raising the door.
The large, sturdy, white-haired, bespectacled woman stood before them, scowling. "Every night, every night," she said wildly, approaching the rickety back porch of the house next door. "Stop it awready."
When she was inside Richie leaped out from behind the drums, positioned himself just outside the garage door, and imitated her, bowing and whispering: "That's enough!"
"Mimic ya mother," came Ann's gravelly voice out of the darkness next door.
The others struggled to suppress guffaws.
"Where's Michael?" said Richie softly in Ann's voice, a tone amusing for its absurdity rather than accuracy. "He's dead. 'Deaaaaad.' 'Poleece!' Poleece!'"
Mike doubled over, face flushed. "Stop," he pleaded, breathless.
Paul turned to John. "That was the legendary Ann the Pollock. You were lucky to catch her in rare form."
"I thought it was your mom. I can't believe she penetrated the music."
"She shoulda married my ol' man," said Mike. "They'd've been perfect for each other."
"Michael's her adopted son," said Paul. "He disappeared. He's not dead. We added that. He's down south somewhere. That 'Police!' nonsense is somethin' she made famous."
"She brawled with 'er husband every day," Mike interjected excitedly. "Every cop in the precinct knew 'em."
"She's been the primary source of entertainment around here for as long as I can remember. She's nuts. She abused Michael. It's a miracle he's still alive."
"They gave 'er another kid once," said Mike, "a little four-year-ol' greaseball just off the boat. They took 'im away fast. She burned 'is fingers with boilin' water or on the stove. I guess they figured Michael was too far gone or they woulda took him too. He got almost as much abuse from us as he did from them."
John stared. "I don't see what's so funny. I guess some kids are better off in an orphanage."
The others fell silent.
"I know it's sick to joke about," said Paul. "We just didn't realize how ugly it was when we were kids, and it just carried over. Somehow it never seemed real. It was more like theater of the absurd or 'Raging Bull.' We useta peek through the window when they were wailin' on Michael."
"It's my turn," said Richie in Ann's voice. "Michael's dead, I tell ya. He died in the torture chamber in the basement."
"Stop. You saw the picture he sent. We wanna make a movie about them. We know exactly who to cast. Shelley Winters'd play Ann. Richard Thomas'd play Michael - he looks just like him. And Buddy Ebsen'd play Mike the Drunk. He died of cirrhosis about five years ago."
Richie seized a milk box, set it upon his shoulder, and limped along. "He bought a case of beer a day. He limped from gettin' hit in Korea.."
"We saw a lotta bizarre things. I know it must not sound funny, but you probably woulda reacted the same way if you'd been here. Even Mitchell laughs, and he missed the golden years before Michael ran away. The cops were here every day, car Eight-thirty-nine."
"Remember that 'coon?" said mike, face twisted sourly.
"He brought a West Indian girl home with him for a while. Sure enough, Ann caught 'em one day. They clubbed her with a bat and ran away. She sat on the front steps and wailed. She thought it was a big disgrace that he was seein' a black girl, as if anything could disgrace that family. Every time she has a fight with a neighbor she puts up a 'For Sale' sign and threatens to sell the house to blacks."
"She kisses the little kids on the block an' gives 'em candy," said Richie. "She helps ol' people, then alluva sudden she'll snap."
"I can imagine what went on in her childhood. She doesn't have tenants any more. She let the house go to pot. See the backyard? The weeds're four-feet high and the fence's rotten. I can imagine what the inside looks like. The aluminum sidin' hides the outside, 'cept for the windows. Listen to the bugs."
Their buzz was loud, constant.
"That's what happens to old rock 'n rollers," said Mitchell. "Too much noise, too many drugs, too much sex."
Paul laughed. "He's only jokin', John. I hope we didn't open any old wounds. I don't want you to think we're insensitive to child abuse. We just learned to deal with her madness by laughin' at it, like you would at the characters in one of Martin Scorsese's movies."
"I'm sure Michael's not laughin'."
Paul lowered his head, pained, miffed that he was more concerned that John might quit rather than play with such louts than he was about John's feelings.
"Wait a minute," said Richie, gazing at John. "I knew you reminded me of somebody. Say he shaved the beard an' cut 'is hair? It's Michael in disguise! Maybe he's gonna kill us in our sleep some night."
Mrs. Ranga called from the back door. "Telephone. It's Susan. Hi, boys."
The others, except John, who had yet to be introduced to Mr. Ranga, returned the greeting.
"Hi, John. You can call me Phil."
Minutes later Paul burst out of the house. "She got us a coupla gigs in the city, seventy-five apiece."
The others cheered.
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
Friday, January 11, 2013
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 1/11 - Madness
Just before Christmas, the Westchester Journal News published the names and addresses of gun owners in its area, a misguided strike whose consequences the staff did not consider thoroughly. Not only did the publication attract fierce criticism, it has suffered threats. Now - you guessed it - the paper has hired armed guards to protect its employees. Writers love irony. Life is so damn fascinating.
Goldman Sachs personifies the crony capitalism that infuriates many Americans on both siides of the political aisle. Its CEO, Lloyd Blankfein, dubbed Obama's proposed tax increases "appropriate." Apparently, they were not appropriate for his own charges, at least not this year. The firm usually hands out its bonuses in January. This year it did it in December to avoid the higher rates that went into effect in 2013. And this is a company that has received 1.6 billion in tax-free financing to build its headquarters. Those in government and corporate offices must laugh at the rest of us, saps that we are.
The Academy Award nominees have been announced and there is a bit more controversy than usual. In the category of Best Director, Katherine Bigelow, the only woman ever to have won the honor (The Hurt Locker {2008}), and Ben Affleck have been snubbed. There respective films, Zero Dark Thirty and Argo, almost universally acclaimed by critics, could not in good reason have been left out of the Best Picture category, so the nominators may have gone after those most responsible for these works. There is speculation in the press that the artists are being punished for views that are too pro-American and anti-Islamic. Zero Dark Thirty has been attacked for a scene involving water-boarding that has a neutral rather than condemnatory tone. Torture is ugly, but if authorities suspected a terrorist attack was imminent it would be madness not to pursue information, by any means necessary, that would prevent the deaths of innocents. As far as if it is warranted in the capture of an individual terrorist, the question is at least debatable, although I'm sure 90% of the public would have approved it in the case of Osama Bin Laden. If water-boarding may have led to the demise of OBL, how could it have been left out of the film? Liberals demand compassion for violent offenders but have zero tolerance for those assigned the dirty work of the War on Terror. Oh, I forgot - there is no War on Terror. Does, should principle trump the potential deaths of scores of humans? "That way madness lies." (King Lear, Act III, Scene IV by William Shakespeare)
It was a rain-abbreviated session for the floating book shop. I thank the woman who purchased Elizabeth Stout's Olive Kitteridge, a Pulitzer Prize winner.
Goldman Sachs personifies the crony capitalism that infuriates many Americans on both siides of the political aisle. Its CEO, Lloyd Blankfein, dubbed Obama's proposed tax increases "appropriate." Apparently, they were not appropriate for his own charges, at least not this year. The firm usually hands out its bonuses in January. This year it did it in December to avoid the higher rates that went into effect in 2013. And this is a company that has received 1.6 billion in tax-free financing to build its headquarters. Those in government and corporate offices must laugh at the rest of us, saps that we are.
The Academy Award nominees have been announced and there is a bit more controversy than usual. In the category of Best Director, Katherine Bigelow, the only woman ever to have won the honor (The Hurt Locker {2008}), and Ben Affleck have been snubbed. There respective films, Zero Dark Thirty and Argo, almost universally acclaimed by critics, could not in good reason have been left out of the Best Picture category, so the nominators may have gone after those most responsible for these works. There is speculation in the press that the artists are being punished for views that are too pro-American and anti-Islamic. Zero Dark Thirty has been attacked for a scene involving water-boarding that has a neutral rather than condemnatory tone. Torture is ugly, but if authorities suspected a terrorist attack was imminent it would be madness not to pursue information, by any means necessary, that would prevent the deaths of innocents. As far as if it is warranted in the capture of an individual terrorist, the question is at least debatable, although I'm sure 90% of the public would have approved it in the case of Osama Bin Laden. If water-boarding may have led to the demise of OBL, how could it have been left out of the film? Liberals demand compassion for violent offenders but have zero tolerance for those assigned the dirty work of the War on Terror. Oh, I forgot - there is no War on Terror. Does, should principle trump the potential deaths of scores of humans? "That way madness lies." (King Lear, Act III, Scene IV by William Shakespeare)
It was a rain-abbreviated session for the floating book shop. I thank the woman who purchased Elizabeth Stout's Olive Kitteridge, a Pulitzer Prize winner.
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 1/10 - Picks
Baseball writers have struck a blow against steroid use. In the annual balloting for the Hall of Fame, no one was selected, although several players of incredible accomplishment qualified. I do not like Roger Clemens or Barry Bonds, but it is ludicrous to keep them out of the Cooperstown. There’s no way of knowing how many of their opponents were juicing. I sense the writers will eventually relent. Given the drivel and swill many serve to the public in their columns, I don’t know that they should be throwing stones. If I were on the committee, I might apply the same reasoning I do toward Pete Rose: I will vote for your induction on the day you die; you should not be allowed that honor in your lifetime.
Just before the end of 2012, WOR-AM in NYC let go of the Mike Gallagher, the “Happy Conservative Warrior.” I was disappointed, although I listened to his show only 20 or so minutes a day. This week a permanent replacement has been installed: Mark Simone, legendary local DJ. I was skeptical at first, although I enjoyed his work back in the day. I’m pleased that he is at least right of center. He is not yet comfortable in his new role. I hope he will display the great wit he did while spinning records. Good luck, sir.
I’m not sure what to think of the Redskins’ handling of their brilliant rookie QB, Robert Griffin III, who needs major surgery to repair a damaged knee. Before placing blame on head coach Mike Shanahan, let’s remember that RGIII did not want to come out of the game against the Seahawks, despite a pronounced limp. Let’s hope for a full recovery for this amazing talent.
I’m a member of a free sports website, Crowd Picks, wherein there is competition for cash prizes, and a $20 payout that takes a long time to accumulate. I forgot about a contest it was running on college football, which I am no longer passionate about but at which I’m still competent at predicting outcomes. The top ten finishers are due prizes. At the end of the regular season, I was fifth. I almost blew it selecting bowl games, which have bedeviled me the past three years. Wanting to vault into first place, I picked a lot of games. Fortunately, I finished tenth, so I’m due a little something. I do well in soccer, which is the sport I know the least about, and I’m currently doing well in the NBA, which is not my strong suit. When it comes to golf, which I follow more closely than other sports these days, I don’t even crack the top 25. Go figure.
The floating book shop had more good luck today. A woman donated a bag of paperbacks that included 21 Harlequin romances. I immediately thought: Now if only the lady who loves them (who I hadn't seen in months) shows up. Sure enough, she did, and bought them all. I also sold out my inventory of Russian books. Thanks, folks.
Just before the end of 2012, WOR-AM in NYC let go of the Mike Gallagher, the “Happy Conservative Warrior.” I was disappointed, although I listened to his show only 20 or so minutes a day. This week a permanent replacement has been installed: Mark Simone, legendary local DJ. I was skeptical at first, although I enjoyed his work back in the day. I’m pleased that he is at least right of center. He is not yet comfortable in his new role. I hope he will display the great wit he did while spinning records. Good luck, sir.
I’m not sure what to think of the Redskins’ handling of their brilliant rookie QB, Robert Griffin III, who needs major surgery to repair a damaged knee. Before placing blame on head coach Mike Shanahan, let’s remember that RGIII did not want to come out of the game against the Seahawks, despite a pronounced limp. Let’s hope for a full recovery for this amazing talent.
I’m a member of a free sports website, Crowd Picks, wherein there is competition for cash prizes, and a $20 payout that takes a long time to accumulate. I forgot about a contest it was running on college football, which I am no longer passionate about but at which I’m still competent at predicting outcomes. The top ten finishers are due prizes. At the end of the regular season, I was fifth. I almost blew it selecting bowl games, which have bedeviled me the past three years. Wanting to vault into first place, I picked a lot of games. Fortunately, I finished tenth, so I’m due a little something. I do well in soccer, which is the sport I know the least about, and I’m currently doing well in the NBA, which is not my strong suit. When it comes to golf, which I follow more closely than other sports these days, I don’t even crack the top 25. Go figure.
The floating book shop had more good luck today. A woman donated a bag of paperbacks that included 21 Harlequin romances. I immediately thought: Now if only the lady who loves them (who I hadn't seen in months) shows up. Sure enough, she did, and bought them all. I also sold out my inventory of Russian books. Thanks, folks.
Visit Vic's sites:
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/cyckn3
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