Selling My Books on the Streets 2/28 - Fantod

The late Lawrence Sanders wrote 38 novels that sold 58 million copies. He began late in life, The Anderson Tapes being published when he was 50. It was adapted for the screen (1971) and starred Sean Connery and a great supporting cast. It was a little too goofy for my taste. Sanders died at 78, so he was quite prolific, banging out more than one book per year in a 28 year span. He received an Edgar for Best First Novel. He is probably most famous for his deadly sin series, of which there are four. The first was adapted to the screen and starred Frank Sinatra as the detective (1980). I've never seen it. I just finished the first of another Sanders series, McNally’s Secret, which is set among the rich in Palm Beach, Florida. It is very entertaining, its 340 pages reading more like 250. The prose, dialogue and wit are first rate, and the plot is involving and grounded. Nothing unrealistic occurs, and I did not finger the culprit. The protagonist, a randy bachelor approaching 40, does discreet inquiries for the law firm of his father, a British emigrant. Given that and the frequent literary and cultural references, and the dazzling vocabulary, I was surprised to find out that Sanders was a Brooklyn boy, not a Euro transplant or from somewhere like Boston‘s Beacon Hill. He is as convincing as the character of the father, whose own father was a vaudevillian, not an aristocrat. I was unfamiliar with many of the references, but it did not diminish my enjoyment. I’d never encountered words such as “Fantods” (the willies) or “Megrims” (headaches). Sanders, a graduate of Wabash College, obviously took the pursuit of knowledge very seriously. I frequently chuckled aloud as I was reading. In a neat twist on the old apple/tree proverb, he used: “The turd never falls far from the bird.” On a scale of five, I rate McNally’s Secret three-and-three-quarters. It is superior to all the mysteries I've sampled except Tammi Hoag's A Thin Dark Line.

I hardly did any business at all today, but I had some fun. Hans, aka Mr. Su Do Ku, author of a book on the subject, has been visiting the floating book shop for years. He asked: Can you spell arrogant in five letters? Being fellow right-wingers, I knew exactly where he was going. "O-B-A-M-A." We laughed aloud. Marty also stopped by. Poor guy is going through nicotine withdrawal. I'd guess he's about 70. He'd been smoking a long time. He believes the flood waters of Sandy created mold in the lobby of his building. His chest feels heavy whenever he inhales. Ol' Smokey is still rolling his own. He paused to chat three times today. Once is usually more than enough. He was torqued off because a black woman told him not to cough as he passed her on the street. I know exactly how she felt. Since he looks homeless, a cough like that triggers thoughts of TB. He let the pejoratives fly and it was useless to tell him to calm down.

My thanks to the lovely young Asian woman who purchased the Ray Coniff CD, the last that remained of Marie's most recent donation of more than 50; and to Dave & Kim, who donated six paperback best sellers, all but one thrillers.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 2/27 - 20 Years Ago

I failed to realize that yesterday was the 20th anniversary of the first bombing of the World Trade Center. I remember that day well. I was in my tenth year of employment at the Commodity Exchange, which was located on the eighth floor of 4 World Trade Center at the time. I’d just returned from lunch and was assigned to cover a market called Eurotop, which had closed for the day. It was some sort of index that didn’t trade much. Someone had to stick around in case a complaint arose. If I remember correctly, its session coincided with overseas markets, so it opened in the wee hours and closed by noon. The regular crew had left. I parked my butt on the top step of the pit and opened a newspaper. When the explosion occurred it sounded as if someone had ignited a cherry bomb in the corner of the trading floor, which was about the size of a football field, where Coffee, Sugar and Coca were located. “Whoa!” came the collective cry, which was light, untroubled, cavalier even. I don’t know if anyone suspected it was a terrorist attack. There wasn’t any panic. I rose and looked in the direction from which the blast seemed to have come, then quickly returned to the paper. Soon a few people began leaving. Conditions on the floor slowly deteriorated. I believe we closed a bit earlier than usual. I returned to my regular post in Gold Futures. While I was entering a post market correction, the computer screen faded to black and the lights went out. We could still see, as there were windows surrounding most if not all of the trading floor, and the daylight found its way past the booths that only partially obscured it. No one panicked. It wasn’t until we began our descent to the street that there was a problem. Since the elevators were out, we had to use the stairs, and it was pitch black. We felt our way along the walls and handrails. The first hint at the seriousness of the event was the sight of a colleague seated with her back to the wall, apparently in shock, at the ground floor. She eventually recovered and had an even more traumatic time during 9/11, but she returned from that too and continues to work at the Exchange, one of last employees standing after electronic trading reduced the staff by about 80%. Anyway, as soon as I stepped outside I was stunned by the sight of the many people who had soot around their mouths after descending many smoky floors of the Twin Towers. I felt completely powerless and didn’t know what to do. Fortunately, the transit system had not been shut down and we were able to get home without even the slightest delay. Two of my colleagues, Fat Joe and Artie, who worked the Eurotop shift, had been in the underground parking lot, behind another car at the tool booth, at the time of the blast. Initially, Joe thought the driver of that vehicle had rolled a grenade at them, irked at having been honked to hurry along. Artie’s leg was injured. Lifelong friends, Joe would not leave him behind. He dragged Artie outside through the pitch blackness. The cold air alerted them to the right direction. There was a picture of them in the New York Times the next day. They were out of work for several months. Years later tiny shards of glass were still coming out of their scalps. They were lucky, unlike the poor souls who perished in that first attack.

The floating book shop was derailed by inclement weather. It was a perfect opportunity to cash in recyclables at Stop n Shop, as the room is usually empty on days such as this. The ever industrious Asian immigrants have abandoned that method for something more lucrative. They line up at the corner of Avenue Y & E. 15th, waiting for a truck that pays six cents for plastic bottles and seven for cans, instead of the nickel the machines surrender. The plastic bags they carry their bounty in are sometimes taller than they are. Recently, I encountered one during my morning walk, which begins in darkness. She was rooting through recyclables left at the curb, a flashlight similar to a miner's affixed to her hat! I chuckled aloud. They are a hardy lot, as are the Russian immigrants I pass on Tuesdays as I cross the pedestrian bridge that spans lower Sheepshead Bay and connects to the Manhattan Beach section. These guys are bundled head to toe to ward off the cold as they jig for mackerel. A jig is a series of colorful hooks moved up and down near the surface of the water. For some reason the fish are attracted to it. It’s not unusual to snag several at once. My friends and I used to do it back in the day.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 2/26 - Choices

I awoke to another vivid dream. I was at a party in a restaurant, possibly for a book launch -- only in my dreams. That part is easy to figure out. It manifests my desire to have my fifth book, fourth novel, Exchanges, finally in print. At another table across from me was a lost love, the one that got away. Soon a young, light-skinned black male sat beside and kissed her, although I’ve know her to have been involved only with white men. I suppose this has to do with my harsh opinions of the President’s economic policies and his class warfare approach to winning the majority of the public’s support. When I lost my job at the end of ‘07, I cut back my spending a lot more than the three percent the sequester will trigger. It would not be an exaggeration to say it was at least 25% and possibly as high as 50%. I did not increase it even after I began receiving Social Security payments six months ago. I preserve my rainy day funds. I postponed a visit to the doctor for three-and-a-half years. The recent check up and tests cost me about $500, with a cardiogram on tap next month. Fortunately, everything looks good. But how dare I increase my discretionary spending, tap into my emergency funds? What if something goes wrong physically? What if my car goes south? If I want to continue to pursue the literary golden grail, this is the way it must be. I accept it. The only thing that might change it is if the right woman came along. I might then have to consider getting a real job, as no woman in her right mind, other than an artist in the same boat, would put up with such insanity. Tough choices -- it’s what life is all about sometimes, something that spineless politicians avoid. Re-crank the printing press, Chairman Bernanke. Tax revenue will fall short to the tune of trillions.

Since the forecast called for PM rain, I decided to open the book shop a little earlier than usual. It proved fortuitous, as I immediately attracted a customer who purchased A Hitch in Twilight for a friend. Thank you, ma'am, and to Old Simon, who donated several colorful religious booklets and two non-fiction gems: James Bradley and Ron Powers' Flag of Our Fathers, an in depth look at the bloody battle of Iwo Jima, adapted memorably to the screen by Clint Eastwood; and Frank McCourt's Teacher Man, based on his experiences in NYC public schools. Thanks also, and good luck to the woman who bought The Writer's Handbook.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 2/25 - Frustration

The past two days have been disappointing for the floating book shop, no sales yesterday, only one today, and I almost didn't get that one. A woman doubled back, spotting an intellectual philosophical debate between two scholars. I was surprised, as she usually buys the most commercial books, the first she bought being something by Joy Behar. Anyway, I was grateful. I'm not carrying any Russians right now, so that doesn't help matters, but several of my regulars are MIA. I hope it's not a sign that the economy is going backward. Everyone who earns a paycheck has seen a two percent rise in taxes, and anyone who drives has seen a ridiculous rise in gasoline prices the past month. And then there is the fear-mongering of politicians regarding the automatic spending cuts due to kick in soon, which amount to less than three percent. Have we become so pathetic as to be unable to withstand so small a reduction? Sadly, many Americans have. Prediction: There will be an eleventh hour "solution" that kicks the can down the road, which always seem to be the case. Politicians are praying for an economic miracle such as the internet and real estate booms that increased revenues astronomically in the past and took away all their sins. Prediction: it won't come from the green sector.

The day wasn't a total loss, as I got to visit with several of my regular customers and well-wishers. The post-Sandy work on Gene's house is coming along. Still, it will not be finished until the end of April. Steve, the poet laureate of Sheepshead Bay, is feeling much better after a bout with pneumonia. He was on his way to lunch with mom. Viktor the Ukrainian shook my hand as he was off to another visit to a doctor. Political Man called for a ban on assault weapons, then segued to his real passion, pre-80's music. He has ordered even more CDs: Stephen Stills, Dave Edmunds. Ol' Smoky, on his way to the library, stayed only a few minutes, which was actually a relief. The highlight of the day was a rare visit from Lowwwra, a lovely Romanian who could pass for a teenager, although she has a twelve-year-old son. I got a much needed hug from her. Unfortunately, she was in a hurry, having neglected to bring money for shopping, so I didn't have time to ask if she was still trying to get into medical school. She'd just taken an exam. I miss Marie and Miss Eclectic.

I copied the following excerpt from the Fox News website: "...recent studies show the Obama administration has not enforced many gun laws already on books -- with gun crime prosecutions hitting a decade low in 2011, down 40 percent from their peak under President George W. Bush in 2004, according to federal data crunched by Syracuse University...." Current gun laws remain largely ignored. What makes anyone think new ones won't be? Yet the tiresome rhetoric continues. There may be a reason the laws are not enforced, an ugly one leaders are loath to face -- there might be even more young black males in jail. The best way to reduce the number of illegal guns, it would seem, would be mandatory incarceration for anyone caught with one. One problem -- there might not be enough room in prisons to house the added inmates. Another problem -- the likes of Sharpton and Jackson would likely fight such a law bitterly.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 2/24 - Fire

Only humble pie served on the street today. Get 'em tomorrow. Meanwhile, here's an excerpt from the All Hallows screenplay, available at Amazon for a dollar. Five nuts escape an asylum, wreak havoc on a small town. Strictly for fun, I think of it as Revenge of the Townies, an ode to films and TV fare that have entertained us for decades. The entire screenplay can be read in a sitting or two.

   Part 25: The party. Castle, squatting beside Miller, is lighting matches, letting each burn down to his fingers before dropping it. Miller's eyes are spread with fear.
   Castle: What is it about fire that fascinates me so? I've loved it since I sent the neighbors' doghouse up by accident. There's nothin't like somethin' burstin' into flames. And for that they call me a psychopath?
   He tosses a lit match toward a line of gasoline. Miller coils. There is no ignition.
   Castle: You shoulda seen the institute go up. It was beautiful, like somethin' out of a movie. He imitates the sound, gesticulates.
   Castle: This's gonna be even better. I'm at the height of my powers now. Those drugs gave me new insight. I'm really an artist at heart, that's all. You're lucky. You have a front row seat. No one else'll be seated 'til the show's over.
   He stands and hums the 20th Century Fox theme. From a position directly behind the tree, he drops a match. Fire defines a circle around Miller, who fights to break free, in vain. The fire spreads and traces four widely set lines to the house.
   Inside, Tod is playing the violin, Bach's Fugue in D Minor. Everyone is surprised at his
skill, oblivious to the flames barreling down on the house. Ginny, poised against a window sill, catches a gleam out of the corner of her eye and backs away abruptly.
   Ginny: Oh my God!
   Tod, annoyed, stops playing. Everyone looks toward the window.
   Rick: What the hell?
   And hell it is, as flames lick the house. Panic ensues. Screaming is prevalent. Windows are broken, only to have flames surge inside and set fire to drapes. The front door is opened and immediately shut, the flames on the porch so intense. Fire surrounds the house. Rick grabs Tod.
   Rick: Do you have an extinguisher in the kitchen? Tod mulls the question.
   Tod: I think so.
   Rick: Maybe we can make an alley and get everybody out.
   Tod leaves and returns with an extinguisher.
   Rick: Do you have a garden hose hooked up?
   Tod: At the side of the house.
   Rick: You first, then. Take Ginny with you. Aim the hose right at the door and keep it on it.  Man the door, Jason. Close it as soon as they're out.
   Jason reaches for the knob and snaps his hand away. He rips at Tod's toga.
   Jason: 'scuse me, Chattsworth.
   Rick: Hurry up.
   Jason wraps the rag around his hands and tries the door again. Rick sprays the
extinguisher. Tod and Ginny dash out, arms around each other.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 2/23 - Rain-out Theater

Last night PBS aired another interesting music documentary. Sister Rosetta Tharpe is called the Godmother of Rock n Roll. I’m embarrassed to say I’d never heard of her, although she was a ground-breaking artist. She was also dubbed Gospel’s first superstar, although traditionalists bristled at this, as they do whenever an art form is taken in another direction, i.e. Bob Dylan's 1965 electric guitar set at the Newport Folk Festival. I remember how disappointed I was at a Talking Heads concert in Central Park when they brought out background singers that moved their music from its rock roots to a sort of R & B. I eventually saw the error of my ways and love the Remain in Light (1980) concert DVD that features a similar if not the exact same lineup. Anyway, Tharpe influenced the likes of Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis, Chuck Berry, Little Richard and Johnny Cash. And she made a lot of money too, despite the racial attitudes that prevailed throughout most of her career. There was commentary throughout the hour from people she knew and worked with, including one of the Jordanaires. She was a good guitar player. She had several husbands, many lovers, including women, in her short life. She died of a stroke at 58 in 1978, probably brought on by diabetes. The most interesting music clip of the profile, although the sound isn’t very good, is of her at a concert at a railroad station in England, where the artists performed on one platform and the audience sat on the opposite. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find that clip. Here is another: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JeaBNAXfHfQ

Later, searching with the remote, I landed at the National Evangelical Channel (30 on Cablevision in NY), which was running Dick Tracy’s Dilemma (1947). I’d never seen any of the series, which starred Ralph Byrd, who also played the iconic figure in 48 episodes of the TV series from 1950-’52. I’ve seen and enjoyed Warren Beatty’s colorful take (1990), highlighted by Al Pacino's over the top performance as the crime lord. And of course there were the cartoons. I chuckle whenever I recall Joe Jitsu saying: "Excuse, please, so sahry," as he thrashed criminals. A friend of mine who traded Silver Futures was nicknamed Jits because of his fighting prowess. In fact, he makes a couple of brief appearances in my forthcoming novel, Exchanges. Anyway, despite its low budget, Dick Tracy's Dilemma has a gritty film noir feel, creepy atmosphere. It was directed by John Rawlins, who amassed 46 credits, apparently all at the B level. Its only real drawback is that some of the humor is lame. It runs a tidy 60 minutes. It is rated only 5.1 out of ten at IMDb, but I thought it was fun. Tragically, Byrd succumbed to a heart attack at 43. The flick’s best aspect is the casting of Jack Lambert as the murderous villain, The Claw. Movie and TV buffs will recognize, if not his name, his sinister look. Here’s a pic:

The floating book shop was rained-out today.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 2/22 - Wins

In no mood for a mystery, I chose a domestic Novel, Family Secrets by Nancy Thayer. Born in 1943, she is about to publish her 22nd novel, her first having come in 1981. Family Secrets, published in 1993, was her ninth. It is the story of three generations of women told in alternating long chapters from one of the women's point of view. The characters and situations are realistic, although I was at times exasperated by the 18-year-old grand-daughter and the all too familiar theme of teen suicide, which has never worked for me, although it is certainly not uncommon in real life. The prose and dialogue are solid, flowing, eminently readable. What I like most about the book is its honest depiction of the disappointments one encounters in life, the roads onto which it veers, and the grudging acceptance of it. The main message I took away is that parents should hope only that their children are happy, that it is wrong to persuade them to be something they’re not. Who could argue with that? There is a mystery element in the grandmother’s part of the narrative. I looked up the scientific term in question, Cold Fusion, and learned that the theory has been abandoned by all but die-hards. This doesn’t hurt the novel, as at the time (1940) and into the '80's it was seen as a real possibility. There are sex scenes along the way. Although none is explicit, it makes me hesitate to give the book to my sister, who is 20 years older than me, 82. This is kind of weird, as she has four children and is no stranger to sex. It’s just something we’ve never discussed. When she finished my first novel, Close to the Edge, where one of the characters is very much me and sexuality is at the forefront, and began discussing it, I was creeped-out. Anyway, on a scale of five, I rate Family Secrets three. It is rated four by customers at Amazon. Thayer’s books have cracked the NY Times Best Sellers list.

Speaking of Close to the Edge -- I won my silly dispute with the publisher. When I earned a $35 gift card recently, I ordered two copies. They sent one and The Presbyterian Elder. Skeptical of my complaint, they asked for photos of the cover of TBE and the bar code page at the rear, which I supplied. I received the second copy of Edge yesterday. My plan is to wait until Exchanges is in print so that I can display all five of my books at once at the floating book shop. With each book I told myself I wouldn't let the anxiety of wanting the process to be complete, the novel in print, get to me. Well, it has again. This publisher just does not communicate very often. He sent me a picture of the cover more than a month ago and I haven't heard from him since. And I, of course, refuse to make a nuisance of myself by emailing him.

It all turned out well for the floating book shop today, although I didn't sell any of my own books. It was a lot warmer, although still cold due to the lack of sunshine, but that unforgiving wind that plagued the area the past few days finally died down. As soon as I was set up, Frank, Lafayette H.S. class of '67, asked if I wanted books. He has found a buyer for his co-op and will be moving back home with his elderly mom before he embarks on the next stage of his life. He sees no reason to stay in Brooklyn, as the life we knew growing up is almost gone entirely. He brought me a lot of non-fiction winners on diverse topics: Clinton, Giuliani, Tao, Old and New Testament in modern English, health, healing, several of which I sold during the session. He is a survivor of prostate cancer. Apparently, he was looking for answers, both physical and spiritual, when he was first diagnosed. He is doing very well, retired from the Post Office. Thank you, sir, and to all my customers, and to Ipsos Surveys, which added $15 to my PayPal account. It's a far cry from Charlie Sheen, but it's nice to be winning again.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 2/21 - Tide

Last night I took another look at the Coen Brothers’ No Country For Old Men (2007). I’m 62. Until my 40’s I would remember any movie in great detail. Although the work in question is riveting, I remembered little of it besides who survives. Set in the Southwest in the 80’s, it is based on a novel by Cormac McCarthy, and aims for much more than status as a top-notch cat n mouse thriller. The main character, Anton Chigurh, played chillingly by Javier Bardem, is a remorseless killing machine, dubbed a psychopath several times during the course of the two-hour running time. The Sheriff (Tommy Lee Jones) believes Chigurh is something new, a monster created by the times, the breakdown of the social fabric. He feels “overmatched,” afraid, and looks forward to his imminent retirement. Not even a resourceful veteran of two tours in Vietnam (Josh Breslin) or a brash professional fixer (Woody Harrelson) are able to thwart the menace. There is two million dollars at stake, but the theme goes beyond greed. Although I consider myself a writer, I’ve always had trouble spotting and understanding literary symbolism, so take the following with a grain of salt. Chigurh’s character seems a metaphor for a rising tide of evil, and the film seems to be predicting dark times, not only unconscionable greed but a random violence that traps poor souls who happen into the wrong place at the wrong time. Of course, this has always plagued mankind. The film suggests it is growing on a colossal scale, and there is evidence in real life that supports it: the shootings in Colorado and Connecticut, and the greed of unscrupulous businessmen, including politicians who endorse the confiscation of the wealth of the successful. Many of us are as bewildered, afraid and imbued with a sense of powerlessness as the Sheriff. The Coens don’t provide the comfort of the easy visceral satisfaction of typical Hollywood fare. The story is open-ended, the future, as always, unclear but threatened by ominous forces, perhaps moreso than at an time in history. The film won the Oscar for Best Picture, and Joel and Ethan Coen won for Direction and Screenplay. Javier Bardem was voted Best Supporting Actor. Jones tops his memorable turn in The Fugitive (1993), a less flashy but far more compelling and subtle performance. Even though a lot of the mayhem occurs off-stage, there is more than enough to outrage those opposed to its depiction. On a scale of five, I rate No Country For Old Men four-and-a-half. It’s rated 8.1 out of ten at IMDb.

While viewing, I realized I hadn’t had one of my vivid dreams for a while, and wondered if one would be triggered by the film, or if a suspicious email I received under the name of a former object of desire would do the trick. Sure enough, there I was this morning, astride a mountain bike, which I’ve never owned, at the top of a snow-covered mountain. I zig-zagged back and forth across it, then came to a patch where the snow had melted, and navigated my way down, disrupting a campers possessions along the way. He gathered them and tossed me a little white statue of famed bandleader Xavier Cougat. Why Cougat, I’ll never know, although it may have something to do with the fact that he, like Bardem, is Spanish. I think I understand the rest of the dream, especially since the term “unloaded” (uploaded) was used. I’d guess it is an acknowledgment of how useful and how much fun the web is, and how one must avoid the dangers posed by phishers.



No luck selling books today. The wind is supposed to relent tomorrow. I'll be able to interact with people instead of sitting in my car.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 2/20 - Bluster

I don’t like Alec Baldwin, chiefly because of his smug, know-it-all political views. In fact, I used him as a model in a rant-like short story, Actor-Activist, which is available to read for free at my website, link below. He obviously has anger management issues, as his infamous diatribe to his teenage daughter and other incidents have manifested. It has become difficult for me to watch anything in which he performs, although he is an excellent actor. Any movie in which he is featured would have to be universally applauded by critics for me to view. I haven’t seen a single episode of 30 Rock, despite its excellent reputation. I have little patience for sitcoms to begin with, which I know is narrow-minded, given my addiction to Seinfeld, which I never viewed in its prime time heyday, either. All that said, I don’t believe for an instant Baldwin is a racist, despite the things he said recently to a black NY Post photographer. I believe he is a creep, but even creeps should get a pass on anything said in anger. I said terrible things to my parents that still haunt me from time to time, and I loved them. These days I put a cork in myself when it comes to political arguments for fear of saying anything regrettable to friends I love who fail to see the obvious as I see it. I use literary characters to get points across and hope that opposing thought is represented fairly in my works. Regarding Baldwin's buffoonery as a hate crime is ridiculous, although it is always fun to see the left victimized by one of its own ideas.

This morning I received an email in the name of a woman I was crazy about, whom I haven't seen for more than five years. It was a link to a travel agency. It immediately brought faded feelings to the forefront and raised a quandary within me. I was fairly certain her email address, perhaps unused or abandoned, had been hijacked by another of those dastardly fishers. Suppose it wasn't? I thought. I clicked on the link, hoping my anti-virus program would detect an invasion. It led to a page at Fox News that featured information on a Raspberry fat burner. So I had to decide whether to ignore it or send her a message about it. Would it be perceived as a desperate reaching out? Since one can never be sure how much trouble such a hijacking may cause, I chose to give her a heads up. I kept it formal and pleasant. As I've said a million times, the mind never ceases to fascinate, especially in matters of the heart.

When I waited only a minute for the perfect parking spot to open up this morning, I hoped it was a good omen for the floating book shop. Alas, it wasn't. Although several people browsed, no one bought on this frigid, blustery day. After the session, I walked to Ali Baba's gyro truck. For the first time since I've been asking him how his business was doing, he responded in the negative. I don't know that any conclusions about the economy can be drawn from this, but it does give one pause.
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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

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 2/18 - Waiting

I've noticed one of those truncated cars, brand new, parked on East 13th. It's a Sports 1. A young educator who donated many books and CDs to the floating book shop is the owner. It's looks no more than five feet long. She said it is made with the same steel that's used for race cars, and that it has tons of airbags. It gets 40 miles to the gallon and holds $30 worth of gas at current prices. And she always finds parking. She doesn't have kids yet, so interior space isn't a problem, but I wonder how much stuff she and her husband could fit in it. I imagine they do their shopping in stages. I'm sure she's a careful driver, as am I, for the most part. Still, I don't think I'd ever feel comfortable in such a vehicle, no matter how many air bags it has. At least it runs on gas, doesn't have to plugged in to a re-charger. What a nightmare that must be. Electric cars are the toys of the rich, a feel-good purchase, about one-percent of the market. Hybrids are three-percent. I'll hold out for an environmentally correct car that performs well and is reasonably priced, unless I too become rich.

Sign of the times: A few days ago in L.A. dozens protested the death of ex-LAPD cop and alleged murderer of four, Christopher Dorner, who burned to death in a cabin after shooting himself in the head as authorities closed in on him. In the same vein, many black leaders are demanding an end to the NYPD's stop and frisk tactic, despite the fact that NYC has become the safest big city in America. Illegal handguns are used in most of the homicides in the metropolitan area. Another measure to attack this would be a mandatory prison term for anyone carrying one. I'm sure this too would be opposed, as many of those arrested would be young black males. I'm waiting for leaders to continually call out the perpetrators, put the blame on the actual violators, where it belongs, rather than on social and environmental factors. The programs they favor have led to the breakdown of the family, the absence of fathers, the single-most common denominator of the incarcerated.

The wait to see my fifth book, fourth novel, Exchanges, in print, is becoming annoying. The only good thing is that I'm adding survey funds to my Paypal account so that I'll be able to buy more copies than I'd expected. With that in my mind, my gut just contracted as I spotted an email in my junk file that said I'd sent an $150 payment to someone I'd never heard of. I didn't click on the link. I simply copied the email and sent it to Paypal's security department. Fortunately, the account was untouched. One has to be constantly on guard against these dastardly phishers.

It wasn't nearly as windy as yesterday, but it was still frigid. Even the perfect parking spot was of no help today as I sat waiting in the back seat, hoping customers would show. Although it proved futile, it had to be done, as I've been surprised so many times, even in harsh weather. Only one of my regulars showed, and he didn't find anything to his liking. Get 'em next time.
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

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 2/17 - Toys

The floating book shop did not open today for fear of being blown away by the wind. Fortunately, I lucked into the perfect parking spot for tomorrow's session. Meanwhile, here's another excerpt from my near 200,000 word rock n roll epic, Rising Star. It's the band's first video shoot, about a ten-minute read. The chapter begins with a quote that is likely to be obscure to many, from New Toy by Lene Lovitch.

27              "...I need a new toy to keep my head expanding...Nothing too demanding...."*

   They gathered at a midtown bar early one morning to film a video of "I Should Have Said No," which was to be their first .45, backed with "Crowd Noise." Stevens was the producer. The director, Bill Norman, a tall, lean, introspective sort, had gained acclaim for imaginative commercials.
   "You guys have any ideas?" he said, scratching his head.
   Paul and Mitchell exchanged looks of concern.
   "Too many videos rely on mimin' an' lip synchin'. I hope we're not gonna do one of those. That's like goin' backwards to the early sixties. We should be more sophisticated than that. I'd rather do somethin' fresh an' fail than be pat. I hate dancin' in videos too. It's just a substitute for ideas."
   Norman looked him in the eye. "There'll be a little of all those things you hate, but not much. I intend to make the piece as simple as the song's theme. We have a strict budget. Basically, we're putting something together for promotion. Don't get me wrong - simple can be good - it will be good."
   "Then let's get on with it. You know a helluva more about this than we do. Just tell us what to do."
   "I'm surprised. I expected a bunch of temperamental jerks."
   "We're not in character yet."
   Norman stared, unsure of himself.
   "He's joking," said Mitchell.
   Chuckling, Norman asked them to take the small stage, then placed the extras. Phillips, Stevens, O'Connor and their wives were seated at a table, as were Susan and Goldberg. Teresa and Laura, whose sweatshirt clung to her bulging pregnancy, were placed with their backs to the bar. Norman explained the premise and retired to a position off stage.
   The song was played over the sound system. The band pantomimed. A young beauty in a full-length mink, diamonds and elegant gown entered, smiling affectedly, a handsome man in a tuxedo in tow. She greeted people at several table, offering a bejeweled hand to kiss. She allowed the bartender to kiss her cheek. She settled at a table near the stage, despite the "Reserved" ticket standing upon it, which she tore in two and tossed over a shoulder. She ignored the band and flirted with her companion, whispering in his ear, which had a tiny diamond earring in its lobe.
   "Okay," said Norman. "Great, Melissa, but I need more animation from the band. The song's so emotional. You all have to feel John's pain. Only look down occasionally, John. You're trying not to give in, not to show how hurt you are. Don't ever look up, Melissa. You want to kill him with indifference. Everybody else pretend you love her. Stare at her with admiration. Make it look like you're talking about her. The idea is to isolate John. Come to think of it, let's not have any animation from the band. John should suffer alone. Give me smirks and eye rolls. Let's take it all the way through this time."
   When the couple was seated a bottle of champagne was brought forth. The two seized their glasses and sipped, arms entwined, eyes aglow, faces beaming. As the song drew to a close, the man peeled a hundred dollar bill from a wad and dropped it on the table, then offered the woman his arm and led her away.
   They did not leave the bar until five P.M.. Norman filmed scenes from different angles. He asked for shots of extras shaking their heads and saying "No." He took close-ups of Paul's hands pantomiming the lead, which followed the first verse, and Mitchell's, whose solo followed the second. Norman planned to have Melissa's dancing image superimposed on the strings of the guitar and the keyboard. Laura was shot in close-up, hands on her belly as she told Teresa: "I should've said no." Several bottles of champagne were popped before Norman was satisfied he'd captured the right burst.
   "Can we go home now?" said Paul wearily.
   "You thought we were through?" said Norman, smiling impishly. "I said ‘simple,' not one dimensional. Television isn't as easy as it looks. We're goin' to a studio for dream sequences and flashbacks. There's not going to be much lip synching. Relax."
   Teresa whined when Mike would not allow her to go home in the cab Richie had summoned for Laura.
   "Is Bonnie coming or not?" said Mitchell to Susan.
   "She's not sure yet."
   "Everybody'll be in this but her. Now it'll be incomplete for posterity."
   Susan rolled her eyes. "In two months it'll be forgotten."
   "By everybody but us. I'll have a copy and she won't be in it."
   A stand-in performed the dance sequences as Melissa huddled in the wings with John. She was called away for a scene wherein she walked across the stage arm in arm with a man in a tuxedo, only to take the arm of another passing in the other direction, then another and another.
   "I wonder where they got the tuxedos," said Mitchell ironically.
   "Patience," said Susan. "You know how important this is. Play the game. It's not coming out of our pockets. Have you noticed the beer bottles and cigarette prominently displayed?"
   "We're makin' a commercial?" said Paul, irked.
   "That's the way a lot of videos get made. Haven't you noticed it in movies? Wake up, for God's sake. What do you think a video is - art? It's promotion, an advertisement."
   "Look at Mike," he moaned, changing the subject. "He looks like he's about to go over the edge. He can't stand still. She's makin' him a nervous wreck. He's worse than ever."
   "If either of them complains again I'll scream."
   "You've been a little jumpy yourself."
   "Where the hell's Bonnie?" Mitchell snapped, glancing at his watch. "It's eight already."
   "From this experience you should see why she's always late and tired," said Susan.
   "Why isn't this fun?" said Paul. "Why's it all have to be done in one day?"
   "To save time and money. Welcome to the machine, my son."
Visit Vic's sites:
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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

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 2/16 - Surprises

Great news out of the pro wrestling world: Bruno Sammartino, who held the heavyweight title longer than anyone, has ended his feud with Vince McMahon and will enter the WWE Hall of Fame. He was very unhappy when McMahon first admitted that the outcome of matches was pre-determined, which was obvious to everyone except those fans wrestlers themselves dub “marks.” Lately, he has claimed he was upset about the use of steroids, which prompted him to walk away from the game 25 years ago. Now that his own personal physician, not Dr. Vinnie Boom-Bots, is working to ensure the safety of the performers, all is forgiven. He helped sell-out large arenas such as Madison Square Garden 187 times. His matches with Gorilla Monsoon (fellow goombah Gino Morella) and Ivan Koloff are legendary to fans of the con. Circa 1960, I saw him approach the Rollerama, just up the street from where I grew up, where cards were staged every so often. His duffel bag looked so tiny in hand. He was massive, his suit stretched to its max, seemingly about to burst at the seams. His signature closing hold was the Bear-Hug, which squeezed the life out of opponents. It was claimed that he bench-pressed 500 pounds. Of course, all claims in the pro wrestling world must be taken with a grain of salt, but there was doubt he was incredibly strong. One of his ears was cauliflower. I was ten, so awed I couldn’t speak. I always got a kick out of it when TV ringside announcer Ray Morgan asked him to say a few words to his Italian-speaking fans. I laughed out loud at what he said he’d do to stu disgrotsyod. That’s the Brooklyn spelling for "disgrace to the human race." Anyway, auguri, Bruno. Hai sempre fatto bene. Grazie. 

It was a surprising day at the floating book shop. I knew Jack of Chase Bank would make a purchase, but I didn't know he was going to donate the same amount of thrillers he bought -- seven. And Bad News Billy made his usual contribution, buying a spiritual pamphlet. His weight is up to 254. Still, he came out of the bank with a handful of lollipops and gave me a root beer flavored one. A middle age woman asked if I had any more books on WWII. Her father, a veteran of that war, devoured the previous one she'd purchased, on Frogmen. This time she took one on the Philippines and another on the allies strategy to defeat Hitler. I'd had those two a long time and had begun to doubt they would ever sell. Then a woman who has passed the floating book shop a thousand times without making a purchase exited the bank, coffee in hand, and approached. The last month or so she has begun to greet me. Maybe today she saw the pile of books on Jack's desk and was inspired. She bought Tom Wolfe's late 80's blockbuster, The Bonfires of the Vanities, a huge tome I'd been carrying for months. She then sat in her usual slot, on the cold ground, near the entrance to the parking lot, smoked a couple of butts, and read from the book. The crates were a lot lighter on the way back to the car, despite Jack's donation. Thanks, folks.
Visit Vic's sites:
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Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
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Vic's Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 2/15 - Visualizing

Here’s a young woman who’s the personification of pluck. Earlier this week Swedish golf rookie Daniela Holmqvist, 24, tried to qualify for the Women’s Australian Open. On the fourth hole she was bitten near an ankle by a spider of the widow family. Refusing to leave for medical attention, she dug the poison out with a golf tee and continued playing. She said: "A clear fluid came out. It wasn’t the prettiest thing I’ve ever done, but I had to get as much out of me as possible.” Unfortunately, she shot 74 and missed the cut. Golf refuses to lower its standards even in unusual circumstances. She is now on antibiotics. Be my valentine, Miss Holmqvist.

A few months ago I watched Incendies (2010) on DVD, a French-Canadian drama about twins, a male in female in their twenties, fulfilling their mom’s last wish, which reveals the hell she experienced in the Middle East before emigrating to Canada. It was directed by Denis Villaneuve. I was so impressed that I decided to try one of his earlier works, Maelstrom (2000). Although I didn’t like it as much, it is the fruit of someone willing to take chances, unafraid to examine humanity. In theme it has the bleak existentialism of Swedish master Ingmar Bergman, which is contrasted by beautiful cinematography and the narration of fish about to be chopped up for the market. In a way it sort of defines my view of life. I struggle to see any real meaning to it, but acknowledge the vast beauty that makes it worth living. I hope Villaneuve continues to make art that challenges.

Last night ABC premiered Zero Hour, starring TV veteran Anthony Edwards, at 8PM. The first episode had elements of Indiana Jones and Dan Brown, and a familiar apocalyptic theme. I was not bored, but not excited, either. I’ll give it at least one more look. My hunch is that it won’t be successful. I’ve been a little disappointed in the last two episodes of Nashville. Rayna’s storyline is getting very soapy. Juliet’s is far more interesting, as it concentrates on her musical evolution. And Scarlett’s still has potential, as does Avery‘s, although his character is unlikable. Elementary remains solid. It was refreshing to see the police Captain and Watson, haul off on Holmes in successive episodes. Such exasperating arrogance has to invite physical consequences. The only thing that worries me about the show is that it seems to be leaning toward Holmes and Watson becoming lovers. Right now that would strain credulity.

It was a glorious day weather-wise, not so much business-wise. I thank the only two customers I had, who each chose intellectual fare, one book on the ten steps the west needs to take to preserve the free world, and the other on creative visualization, a term I first heard in the 70's. I was a young assistant football coach in Kalamazoo, Michigan, and one of the other assistants, Bill Stuifbergen, a three-sport All-Stater in the 50's, used it, urging young athletes to picture success before performing a feat. I found I did it subconsciously, almost exclusively on the golf course. Unfortunately, the results were usually a lot different than I envisioned.
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

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 2/14 - Valentine

My thanks to Gladise, who purchased Killing on Avenue Z & East 13th this afternoon. Since it's Valentine's Day, I thought I'd post an excerpt from an as yet unpublished novel about modern romance, Inside-Out. It's set in the early 80's and tries to capture the changes the 60's brought to American society, especially in terms of relationships. In pitching the book to publishers, I wrote: "Can a novel be explicit and meaningful at once?" It has been toned down considerably since its early drafts, as I tried to master what I call the "Art of Sexuality." There is still a lot of sex in it. Hopefully, it is done in an interesting and not pedestrian manner. This clip is the first time Vinnie and Karen meet. It's about a ten-minute read:

   He was at the rear, near the door, when a young woman entered. They stood frozen a moment as their dark eyes met. She was blonde and beautiful, simply attired in a black sweater and faded jeans. There was a stirring within him  similar to that he'd experienced upon first setting eyes on Kathy.
   "Can I help you?"
   A female student giggled.
   "I work here," said the woman, styrofoam cup in hand, blue down jacket over an arm; "but not for long if I keep showing up late. Wild night." She rolled her eyes heavenward.
   He smiled, holding her gaze. She wasn't wearing a wedding band. His eyes followed her to the desk, where she hung the jacket on the back of the chair. Her body was every bit as alluring as her face. He started, as his attention was requested by a student.
   Karen approached. "I had no idea Jack was gonna be out. I hope eveything's okay. He's never absent."
   "I haven't heard anything. I'm sure it's nothing serious."
   "I'll give him a call later. I haven't seen you before."
   "I hardly ever work here, and when I do it's usually in Phys. Ed.."
   "That figures. I mean, you look athletic."
   He was glad he'd rolled up his sleeves, displayed his forearms. "I was an aide here a few years ago."
   "Really? Do you know Peggy?"
   He suppressed emotion. "No." Doesn't everybody? he thought. Her name had come up so quickly. He wondered if there were something about him that would arouse it.
   "She worked here before me. I'm surprised you don't know her. We go way back. She recommended me for the job. She got her per diem license last summer."
   He wondered why Hy, who loved Peggy, hadn't called her here instead of him. He assumed she'd already secured an assignment. He was happy for her, despite his bitterness, the thirst the thought of her aroused, a thirst never slaked. Suddenly her presence was strong. He hadn't even realized that his was her former workplace. He imagined her moving about, helping the students. He resisted the urge to find out more about her. It was a lost cause. He doubted he would ever get over his failure with her. It would be wiser to concentrate on this beauty, who was at hand. He tried his best to be congenial, to overcome his difficulty with small talk. Fortunately, she was friendly, unintimidated by his reticence and appearance, unlike most women. He tried to keep from fantasizing, planning, but he already had them on a date, in bed, and living together - all at a glance.
   "What's your name, by the way?" she said.
   "Vinnie, Vinnie Russo."
   She offered a hand, a weak grip. "Karen Miller."
   "My pleasure. Do you like the job?"
   "Yes. I should say I like the hours and all the days off and the summer stipend. The job's bull."
    She cringed and gazed about to see if anyone had heard. Her face had the trace of a tan, in contrast to her hands, which were quite pale.
   "Was that what they call biting the hand that feeds you?"
   He smiled. "Pretty close. What's so bad about it?"
   She moved toward the windows, where they could converse more privately.
   "All I do is walk around or sit up front waiting. It gets excruciatingly boring at times."
   "I thought it'd be rewarding to help kids learn how to read."
   "That's what I thought when I started, but so few of them improve. It's a good thing we're not paid by production. We'd be in the poorhouse. They come in at such a low level, though. You wouldn't believe it. I guess you really can't expect them to take a sudden interest after all these years. I mean, these kids've all discovered sex by now. Think back to when you were in high school - what was first in your mind? Can you really expect a kid to put reading before it, especially after he's neglected it for so long?"
   Brains too, he thought, repressing excitement. "But isn't it worth it for those few who do improve?"
   "That's what I told myself in the beginning, but it didn't work any more after a while. If I thought about it too much I'd get depressed. I try not to think, as a rule."
   Try not to think? he thought, dismayed yet outwardly composed. How odd that someone who expressed herself so well would profess an aversion to thinking. Had she heard the ideas elsewhere and merely repeated them? He cautioned himself not to attribute traits to her she did not possess, as he'd done with her predecessor, Peggy.
   The bell rang. Karen went to the desk. He remained at the window, looking out on the surrounding area. Directly ahead stood the housing project, to the left an elevated line, to the right tracks that were below street level and passed through a train yard at the rear of the school's athletic field. He watched Karen out of a corner of an eye. The boys fawned about her. She smiled for each. She was as poised, confident, and amiable as anyone he'd ever met. He wondered how many erections she'd inspired here, how many of the males fantasized about her while masturbating.
   Could you blame 'em? he thought, becoming aroused himself. No doubt she was in great demand and never spent an evening alone other than by choice. Her physical being suggested privilege. He hoped she would teach him to enjoy himself more. He imagined her experience was vast and feared he would have nothing new to offer her. They seemed opposites, as different as the shade of their hair and flesh.
   She approached. "Have you been subbing long?"
   "Since September. The pay as an aide wasn't too good, as you know, so I got a per diem, even though I don't like teaching."
   He realized that his failure with Peggy had been his main reason for leaving. After the shooting, once he returned to work, she paid him considerable attention. It took all the strength he had to distance himself from her. Since the basis of her attention was sympathy, not love, he would not have it. She would never have loved him, he knew. He had to accept it and get on with his life. Trouble was, it was as baffling as an agent's rejection of his work. How, having poured out so much of himself, had he been refused?
   "What d'you wanna do?" said Karen.
   He shrugged.
   "How old are you?"
   He told her.
   "Really? You don't look it, even with that beard."
   Apparently she didn't like it. He wished he'd shaved.
   "I'd've guessed twenty-five."
   He wondered if she were acting, flattering him, then admonished himself. Even if it were a lie, it was harmless, an attempt at socialization. One thing he knew - the shooting had added years to his soul. He found it hard to believe it didn't show in his demeanor.
   "I'd say you were about the same age as me."
   "Just about," she returned, looking away, apparently pained, as if he'd implied she looked older.
   He regretted not having played the social game, having failed to return the compliment. He scoured his mind for something that might appease her.
   "I didn't mean to offend you. There's just something about you that tells your age. Maybe it was only wishful thinking on my part. You certainly don't look old. You look great, better than anybody in the school, staff or kids."
   "But for how much longer?"
   He stared, incredulous. "You're not serious?"
   "You don't know what it's like."
   He was startled by her pain. Suddenly the self confidence with which she'd carried herself had vanished.
   "You could be the nicest, smartest woman in the world, but the minute your looks go guys don't wanna know you any more."
   "What kind of guys are you talking about?"
   "As if you're any different. Your jaw almost hit the floor when you first laid eyes on me."
   She walked away. Baffled, he attended to the students. When his presence was no longer in demand, he approached her. She was at the desk, scanning a newspaper.
   "What're you doing here?" he whispered.
   She gazed at him severely, puzzled.
   "I mean, you say this's bull - why d'you stay? A woman with your looks and intelligence can find something a lot better than this. Do you have something special planned? Are you into modelling or acting?"
   She tensed, as if ashamed of her station. "No. I love to dance, but in clubs, not professionally."
   "Are you in school?"
   She shook her head, gazing at the floor. "No, I didn't finish. I have this problem finishing things or making any kind of commitment. That's why this's perfect for me. It requires minimal effort. I can save my energy for partying."
   "Do you make enough money to party?"
   She shrugged, apparently irked.
   Dumb question, he thought. A woman of such beauty did not have to spend any of the money she earned. What she needed was a rich husband.
   "Don't you have any goals?"
   "Only one - to enjoy myself."
   She strolled to the other side of the room, a look of doubt, confusion, annoyance on her face.
   Just as well, he told himself, certain they would despise each other upon familiarization. He doubted they had at all anything in common. And he'd compared her to Kathy! He'd even tried to establish an artistic link between them.
   Typical, he thought, chagrined, realizing he was drawn to her nonetheless. Her beauty bound him, was all that bound him. Obviously, the stirring inside him had been lust. It was Peggy all over again.
   So what? he thought, irked at his shame. At worst she would show him a good time, however brief.
   She returned to the newspaper, shuffled through the pages briefly, and approached. "My horoscope says I'm gonna meet a tall, dark stranger. Well, you're not tall, but you are dark and you certainly are strange."
   He laughed, so pleased with her wit he wanted to kiss her cheek, irked that he lacked the nerve to do it. Suddenly he was puzzled, recalling her aversion to thinking.
   "I read mine every day. If I believed what it said, I'd've had dozens of affairs by now and had books published and everything."
   He'd revealed more than he'd intended. It was what the presence of beauty did to him. Fortunately, she seemed not to have heard. Perhaps she'd assumed he was generalizing, or perhaps she was accustomed to engendering such gushing.
   "You don't take that stuff seriously, do you?"
   She eyed him warily, as if she'd been ridiculed. She went back to work. She gazed at him repeatedly across the room, apparently troubled. Soon she approached, timorously.
   "I worked at a bank once. There was this Puerto Rican girl there who'd just broken up with her boyfriend. She was so crushed. Her mother was really superstitious and religious. She told her that if she wanted him back she should think about him all the time and do all these crazy things like writing his name on her wrists and keeping pictures of him in her shoes. Well, one night I went home and thought and thought about this guy I used to see - and he called me. And I'll never believe it was just coincidence."
   He was at a loss for words. He wanted to be believe in cosmic forces, but he didn't think they could be forced or controlled. He remained silent, although her eyes pleaded for approval. He feared an ill-chosen response would ruin any chance he had with her.  Fortunately, he was called by a student, enabling him to escape. He helped the girl, then strolled about the room, feigning the role of teacher while actually mulling what Karen had said and wondering how he might expose its foolishness without being haughty. It was a half-hour before he'd formulated an argument.
   "Think about what you said. I'm sure you'll see how wrong it is."
   She shook her head, pained. "I don't have to. I know what happened."
   "But doesn't your belief that a mystical power made him call you cheapen the action? It wasn't his love for you that made him do it but some higher force. He was compelled. He didn't do it of his own volition. Is that what you wanted?"
   She grimaced. "You think too much."
   He was about to walk away and turned back to her. "By the way, what happened to the girl? Did she get her boyfriend back?"
   "I don't know. I quit the job."
   "Then the jury's still out. There's still hope for your theory."
   She was not appeased. When the bell rang she hurried from the room.
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

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 2/13 - Thanks

I’m becoming addicted to BBC mystery series broadcast on Cablevision Channel 21. The latest is DCI Banks, set in contemporary Yorkshire, a large county in the north of England, whose largest city is Leeds, the site of the famous live Who album. I’ve watched at least four of the 14 episodes filmed so far, and find it engrossing. It stars Stephen Tompkinson, a veteran of European TV. I scanned his credits at IMDb and did not spot a single movie appearance, which seems odd, as he is excellent in the title role. Only two people have rated it, so I wouldn’t put much stock in the 6.5 out of ten. It’s a lot better than that. Perhaps they are comparing it to the novels of Peter Robinson, on which the show is based. Readers seem, as a rule, dissatisfied with film adaptations. This is at least the fifth such series that has hooked me while I was channel surfing. The others are Foyle’s War, starring Michael Kitchen, set in Hastings during WWII; Wallander, starring Kenneth Branagh, set in modern Sweden, based on the novels of Henning Mankell; Vera, starring Brenda Blethyn, set in modern rural England, based on the novels of Ann Cleeves; and my favorite, Zen, starring Rufus Sewell, set in modern Rome, based on the novels of Michael Dibdin, which aired only three episodes and apparently has been discontinued. Each runs about 75 minutes, without commercial breaks. Since only a handful of each is filmed, it seems to guarantee care and quality. Of course, they are often grim, dealing with the ugly side of human nature. I enjoy these programs so much more than the mystery novels I‘ve sampled. Perhaps at the end of the day it's simply a good way to escape oneself and the troubles of the real world. Or maybe I've just chosen the wrong books.

There is great news out of Hollywood. Steve Martin, 64, has become a first time dad. I remember a friend reacting negatively when Tony Randall, who was even older, had a child. His perspective was that of a young father who looked forward to sharing his children's youth. Mine was that of a middle age man who regretted not ever having had a child. Even though Randall died a few years later and Martin, heaven forbid, might die tomorrow, I think both children would be extremely grateful to have been given life. I've enjoyed Martin's work through the years. I'm sure he will love the kid to death and that his wealth and young wife, 41, will provide the care the physical limitations of his age might prevent. Congratulations, sir, and long life.

I had a couple of great moments operating the floating book shop today. Lev, one of my best customers, stopped by and bought three classical CDs -- Chopin, Strauss and Grieg - and a Jeffrey Deaver audio book. Later, old Simon, bless his heart, came walking up East 13th, pulling a cart laden with a dozen books, most of them hardcover best sellers. Months ago he mentioned how much he enjoyed pianist Carmen Cavallaro's work. I remembered the name because it's Italian in origin and because a classmate of mine, whose dad's plane was shot down in Korea, was named Cavallaro. The junior high up the street from my old house is named in his honor. Anyway, among Marie's latest music donation was a disc featuring The Poet of the Piano, who began playing at three, came to prominence in the 30's, and died in '89. I gave it and a Billy Eckstine CD to Simon, who must have given me 100 books by now, and he was thrilled, which thrilled me. Thank you, sir, and to Lev and to the woman who bought a Fern Michaels romance.
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

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 2/12 - Whew!

The Olympics will add golf and eliminate wrestling, as it moves further from any pretense at ideals. This is obviously a money move, bringing in big names to attract big dollars. Golf has four major prizes: the Masters, the U.S. Open, the British Open and the PGA Championship. A gold medal would be perhaps fifth, although I think a pro would rather win the FED-EX Cup too. There is nothing a wrestler would rather have than an Olympic medal, second is his country's title. I love golf and do not watch any wrestling matches these days, even the silly antics of the WWE, so I'm not speaking from an agenda. This move strips the dream of hard working young men who yearn for a single moment in the sun, one that would quickly be forgotten by the general public, in favor of a privileged few who bask in the spotlight regularly, although they too work extremely hard to stay there. It is a travesty, par for the course the modern Games has taken, and, for me, another reason to boycott them.

Nancy Gotter Gates writes novels whose protagonists are older than 55. From the pictures of her on the web, she seems well past that age. I just finished one of her mysteries, When Push Comes to Death, which features a familiar theme -- the amateur female sleuth. It's set in the area of Greensboro, North Carolina, where the author lives. It is solid, if unspectacular, the plot, characters, events and motivations all plausible. And she did it all in 250 pages -- most refreshing. It kept me guessing. I did not know who the killer was until it was revealed. The dialogue is only okay. The prose is smooth, although it could have used another wash to remove redundancies. She has had ten novels published. Her last two are available only in Kindle, which, given her age, surprised me. I'd guess most of her audience is senior, probably female and, in my discussions with readers on the street, most people in my age group prefer print. On a scale of five, I rate When Push Comes to Death three.   

I was really nervous this morning when I drove to the doctor for the results of the blood and urine tests I did two weeks ago. It had been three-and-a-half years since my last check up. A lot can happen in such a span. To my relief, the numbers all were good. My blood pressure is a tad high, lower than two weeks ago, but out of medication range. I'm surprised it wasn't higher, given how anxious I was. All that's left is a cardiogram next month. No one in my family has ever had a heart problem.

It looked like I wasn't going to be able to operate the floating book shop, but, as I waited, grumbling, for a parking spot to open up, a young mom piled her brood into an SUV sitting in the best possible space and soon drove away. What luck. I was able to duck inside my car, out of the stiff wind, a couple of times to warm up, and I'm set until Friday. Fortunately, the sun emerged late in the session. My thanks to the ladies who bought books.
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

Selling My Books on the Streets fo Brooklyn 2/11 - Potpourri

Last night this-TV (111 on Cablevision) ran Game of Death (1978), starring Bruce Lee, who died in 1973. According to IMDb, the film was crafted using old, unused footage and a look-alike. It’s by no means good but it's noteworthy for its odd cast. Playing a reporter, it was Gig Young’s last appearance. He committed suicide that year at 64, although not likely because of despair in having acted in such a flick. Hollywood veteran Dean Jagger played the crime boss, and he had six more credits after that and died at a ripe old age in 1991. TV’s Wyatt Earp, Hugh O’Brian, was the second villainous banana. The flick’s most memorable scene is a fight between Lee and basketball legend Kareem Abdul Jabbar, all seven feet of him! Chuck Norris also had a brief role that IMDb lists as "fighter." It is rated 5.7 out of ten. It's strictly for fans of chop-socky and those of us smitten with a lust for movie trivia.

I cruised to the Grammy’s three times last night, hoping to catch a live performance, even though I'm unfamiliar with 99% of the nominated songs. I caught only commercials. At the same time NBC, probably raising a flag of surrender to CBS, ran a sort of documentary on the Saturday Night Live of the ‘80’s, post the original crew and creator Lorne Michaels, who has long since returned. It was actually interesting. The show was on life support until Eddie Murphy was brought to the forefront. Joe Piscopo provided a significant assist. I’d completely forgotten a lot of the players, i.e. Gary Kroeger and Robert Downey Jr.. I have no idea what the quality of the show is these days. I haven’t watched it in years. It’s certainly had many great moments in its long history, including the appearance of music artists. Last night’s show aired 30 second clips of performances by the likes of Bruce Hornsby, Tom Petty, and the Cowboy Junkies.

I’ve finally heard a decent counter argument against the use of drones, offered in a letter to the editor in today’s NY Post. Although the scenario is very unlikely, the writer wonders what the reaction would be if Russia were to execute a strike in America to kill, say a Chechen, terrorist it considered a danger to its country. Nice reasoning, but it still doesn’t change my opinion. I accept that we are at war. Many people do not.

I used this rainy day to do the annual maddening task of tax filing. Despite the advantages of doing it online, and the fact that my return is fairly simply, it is an exasperating process, and I'm relieved it's done. I lose about nine bucks on the ordeal, the fee minus the return on my state and city taxes. I get zero from the feds, as expected. I wonder if I would have gotten more had I not reported my street income. I do it not out of good citizenship but because I don't want to tangle with the IRS mafia, although the odds are miniscule that such paltry earnings would ever be audited.
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

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 2/10 - Cloud

My buddy Bags received an unexpected boon the other day while downloading the latest version of itunes (11.0). He once had more than 1000 songs there. Since that was taking up so much space and affecting his PC's performance, he pared the list to about 300. To his surprise and delight, every song he ever downloaded from the store has become available for play in its cloud -- and it doesn't take up any space on his hard drive! If he should want to burn a CD from it, all he has to do is select the tracks and download them. When my desk top crashed and burned three years ago, I lost my whole catalog. I didn't want to go through the hassle of uploading the songs from the CDs I've burned, so I decided to use Amazon to purchase music and store it in Windows Media Player, although I don't like its format. I'm reluctant to download any apps these days for fear of disturbing the sterling performance of my Dell laptop (just jinxed it). But when Bags said the songs were now available in the cloud, I decided to give it a shot. Sure enough, even though it's been more than three years since I've made a purchase at itunes, the songs are there. The only ones missing are those I uploaded from store-bought CDs or those burned by others. One never ceases to be amazed by the genius of the people who come up with this stuff. And perhaps the best aspect of all is being able to access Apple's wide variety of music stations through its mini-player, which I hope is safe to keep open while I perform tasks in another application. When I used web pages for radio, I had the feeling I was being monitored by the Wi-fi network of users I somehow picked up. There are about 20 names on the list. Now playing: CCR's Down on the Corner. I can also create new CDs to burn for sale on the street. Oh, I forgot -- that's illegal. Speaking of which -- given the snowfall yesterday, I wasn't expecting to open the floating book shop today. Since it was so beautiful, I decided to spin by Bay Parkway and see how things looked in front of the Chase Bank at 85th Street. The sidewalk was almost entirely clean and dry. What the heck, I thought. Why not spend a few hours in the sunshine, especially since the forecast calls for rain tomorrow? I didn't sell any books, but I did sell several of the CDs in Marie's latest donation. I'm not surprised the Swing Era stuff has been popular. I'm surprised Russians haven't snapped up the classical artists. Author Bill Brown, who just received a yearly $300 royalty check from Lulu, did, buying a Haydn CD. Thanks buddy, and to all the other customers, and Bags.
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 

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 2/9 - Snow Day

In Greek mythology, Prometheus is a figure who represents human striving, particularly the quest for scientific knowledge, and the risk of overreaching or unintended consequences. He created mankind from clay and gave it the gift of fire to insure its survival. This angered Zeus, who had Prometheus chained to a rock, where an eagle picked at his liver, which grew back each day. He was eventually rescued by Hercules. (Wiki).

I’ve been a member of Netflix for about ten years. At one time my list of DVDs to watch had 300+ titles. These days it’s about 20, mostly foreign and independent films from which I do not know what to expect. It’s been a while since I really looked forward to a movie. Ridley Scott has given us a lot of great grand scale entertainment: Alien (1979), Blade Runner (‘82), Gladiator (2000), Black Hawk Down (‘02), so it was with great anticipation that I popped Prometheus (2012) into my player. I really enjoyed it, although it borrowed elements from various sci-fi classics, including Alien. But its main story is completely original, and that is what makes it worthwhile and better than most films of the genre. The stunning cinematography (Dariusz Walski) is its main strength, and the gadgetry, sets and effects are terrific. The story is not easy to follow, but in the end I think I got it. The main body of the plot is set in 2093. There are several references to modern pop culture, which seem out of place, unlikely, but that is a quibble. Noomi Rapace, so brilliant as Lisabeth Salander in Stieg Larrsen’s Millenium trilogy, stars as an intrepid scientist searching for the origin and meaning of life. The beautiful and talented Charlize Theron is billed fourth in the opening credits! I was puzzled by her character's coldness until the latter stages. The film does not come to a satisfying conclusion, which probably hurt it at the box office, where it has yet to break even on its $130,000,000 budget, which must have been very disappointing to the film-makers, given that dreck like Transformers earned gazillions. Surprisingly, a sequel is planned. On a scale of five, I rate Prometheus three-and-a-half. It is rated 7.2 of ten at IMDb. I saw headlines of articles that blast the film as completely unoriginal and a rip-off. I disagree that it is completely unoriginal and I think it’s worth seeing. Intelligent sci-fi requires patience. Action scenes don’t come every few minutes. Rapace, 33, half Swedish, half Spanish, perfected her English by watching BBC series and CNN. Here are pictures of her, in character as Lisabeth, and glammed up for a night on the town:

In terms of snowfall, we were lucky in our end of Brooklyn. It was perhaps ten inches. The morning drive to my sister's was a little tough, but by the afternoon the sun was out and the streets were no longer icy. A meteorologist said on the radio that he'd never seen such disparity in accumulation. Some areas had two inches, and I just heard that a town in Connecticut had 40! It looks like the floating book shop will be out of business until Tuesday. My thanks to whomever purchased Killing on Kindle, my first web sale in at least a month.
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

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 2/8 - Nemo

The nor'easter has a name: Nemo. Right now it looks like the worst of it will be east of NYC, smacking eastern Long Island, Connecticut and Massachusetts very hard. I moved my car two blocks north, just in case the bay breaches again, although it looks like it won't. I can't take a chance on losing it, although I'd always be able to operate a limited floating book shop featuring only my works. So now the waiting. How deep will the snow be? Will I be able to drive to my sister's tomorrow and do my laundry and visit my friend Bags? I have a shovel in the car. The problem, if there's a lot of snow, will be parking. There will also be winds as high as 60 mph. If the forecast is right, the melting should begin immediately, as the next few days will be sunny and rain is possible for Monday. After last year's cakewalk, it's been a normal winter. When a caller complained about global morning on Mark Simone's radio show this morning, he pointed out something I'd never heard before. The temperatures on Venus and Mars have also risen and, as far as we know, it wasn't caused by any humans living there.

A French study of 60,000 women has found that drinking only one can of diet soda a day increased the risk of Type 2 diabetes by 33%. It does not surprise me. There are no shortcuts to good health. That stuff always tasted yucky to me, and I often felt crappy after having one. I'll stick to my one serving of high fructose syrup a day. I love soda, or pop, as my midwestern friends call it, and wish I could have it at every meal. I also wish I could have ice cream and candy every day. Well, I could if I ignored my well being entirely. As if getting older isn't hard enough.
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

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 2/7 - Errors

I recently earned a $35 gift card doing a survey. Since I haven't carried copies of Close to the Edge for about two years, I decided to order a couple, hoping to have all five of my books on display at the floating book shop once/if Exchanges makes it into print. Edge was self-published way back in 2000. I never regretted having done it that way, even though I lost about $500 on the deal, using the strictest calculations. Most of those copies were bought with money and gift certificates I earned on the web, not out of pocket. If I counted those costs as zero, the book would be profitable. Of course, the figures don't show the invaluable experience I gained in what to do with my other books. I have a chance to break even on Adjustments, and I've turned a slight profit on both A Hitch in Twilight and Killing. I managed to sell 348 copies of Edge, but I bought them in such dribs and drabs and often at full cost at Amazon or B&N that I made it virtually impossible to ever recoup my investment in terms of real and virtual dollars. The only way I would is if about 150 people bought it on the web, as it is not available in physical stores. The royalty is $3.59 per copy. The only way those of us at the bottom of the heap would achieve literary financial success would be to generate web sales. With at least eight million titles available, the competition is fierce. Anyway, getting back to my most recent order. The package seemed a little thin. I assumed they had mailed a copy that was on hand and would send the other later. Wrong! There was one copy of Edge and one of The Presbyterian Elder, a guide for those who aspire to that position. I just sent out a second email, explaining the situation. Will they believe me? I'm skeptical. AuthorHouse changed its name from 1st Books Library years ago, perhaps to avoid the stench of the bad ratings it received from disappointed writers. I never had a problem with them until they stopped paying royalties for copies bought with a gift certificate, as if they weren't receiving full value. In my case, they owe me about $25. Instead of getting into a long fight with them, I simply stopped ordering books. This time I should at least receive the seven dollars of royalty, which would make the total cost of the book 22 and change, a potential loss of twelve dollars. If I get the other copy and sell them at ten each, it would be a loss of only two. Either way, it will be such fun to have five of my own books on display, or even four if Exchanges doesn't see the light of day..

In order to secure a favorable parking spot to operate the floating book shop, I left the house an hour before the alternate side regulation expired. Alas, it did not help - no sales today, and it looks like I'll be sidelined at least the next two days. The local news departments are in a panic about the coming storm. This morning WOR-AM's John Gambling welcomed Congressman Peter King to discuss the drone controversy. King facetiously apologized for interrupting the biggest story of all time, the storm, drawing howls from the crew, all of whom could be heard laughing in the background. It was a great dig (pun intended) at the folly that is local news any time a weather event approaches.
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