Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/31 - Pep

I was rooting around with the remote control last night and landed at Della Peppo Village, which is broadcast on one of the Brooklyn access channels. It is a blend of comedy, music and dramatic segments, headed by Neil Pellone, who several years ago interviewed me on the street and included it in the program. Last night there were clips of his daughter’s ballet recital, an interview with legendary boxing referee Arthur Mercante, and a funny bit wherein Neil imitated Frank Sinatra doing unlikely songs such as The Witch Doctor (Ooh-eee-ooh-ahh-ahh) and Happiness Is a Warm Gun. I learned that his dad was a successful pro boxer. Born Ciro, he fought under the name Jimmy Pell and had an impressive record of 49-19-5, with eight knockouts. He had several bouts at Madison Square Garden refereed by Mercante. He passed away in ‘97. Kudos, goombah. I even learned Neil’s actual first name -- Aniello. Mercante worked from 1956-2001 -- until the age of 81! Those old guineas put we modern ones to shame. He officiated more than 140 fights, including Patterson-Johanssen, Ali-Frazier, and Frazier-Foreman. He passed away in 2010 at the age of 90. He is a member of the International Boxing Hall of Fame.

Bad News Billy has an idea he wants to patent -- a see-through roof. He asked if I knew anything about acquiring one. I just went to the .gov site. I think his best course of action would be to talk to attorney first. I wrote down the addresses and phone numbers of several located in Brooklyn. Since they were listed on the site, I assume they've been vetted. An acquaintance offered to help Billy and asked for $500. I told him not to do it. He's such a good-natured guy that he's frequently abused. Every time he buys books from me I feel guilty, as it seems he's always an iota from being broke. He visited the floating book shop twice today. I didn't want money the second time but he insisted. I hope his idea is a gold mine. Thanks, my friend, and to the other buyers. And fie to the lowlife enforcement agent who ticketed Chase bank for having a little debris on the sidewalk on what was a very windy day. It's more extortion from government and its minions.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: 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 Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/30 - Hypochondria

I’ve been ill once in the past eight years, a stomach virus that lasted two or three days. Last night I was awakened by tingling in my lower back. Since the heat is no longer coming up, I wondered if the apartment was cold and I was on the way to the chills, which used to happen now then in the days when I had the radiator turned off. I put an extra blanket on the bed. The sensation did not go away. I started to worry. Was it the advent of back pain, the first stages of the flu, West Nile, MERS? Or was it simply one of those weird, unexplainable things that occur with age? I thought of George Costanza‘s anguished cry: “Lupus -- is it Lupus?" Lately, I’ve been thinking about pneumonia, the contraction of which is such a mystery, and which a few acquaintances have suffered. I was sure I wouldn’t get back to sleep -- and it was only one-thirty. Although I felt wide awake, I must have dozed off a couple of times. I dreamed of the gold futures trading pit. Joey Flynn, who is in Exchanges and whose actual last name is something different, read aloud from a newspaper: “March 26th, 1910.” “Is that your birthday?” I quipped. “No, yours, you dumb guinea,” he replied. I awoke amused. That’s the sort of thing I miss about working at the Exchange. Later, I was in the pit and someone kept poking me from behind with a pen. It was Joey Fork Tongue, who’s not in the novel because the action takes place before I knew him. He was late for work, having attended the Rangers’ game and making the drive back to his home in Connecticut. “Nice haircut,” I said. His locks were long and flowing, as they were in the picture he'd posted of himself as a teen on Facebook for Throwback Thursday. Mark, also not in the book, was beside him. He’d spent the entire third period of the win, as he had for Game Seven of the teams’ Stanley Cup clincher in 1994, in a bathroom, unable to bear the pressure. “Smilin’ Jack,” I said, one of his pet terms.
I’m happy to say the tingling sensation has disappeared. What the heck was it?

In a recent interview, golf’s wayward son, John Daly, revealed he's lost 55 to 57 million gambling. He  called it stupid, but he's not regretful. "People are going to say I should regret it," he said. "But I did it, I've moved on from it and I had a lot of fun doing it." As Ralph Kramden would say: "A mere bag of shells."

I knew it would be a can't miss day for the floating book shop. The Time-Life pictorials were a big hit. I must have sold 25, as well as several other books. My thanks to the kind folks who bought and donated.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: 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 Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/29 - Metrics

I just read an article at Yahoo Sports about the incredible response to a free online course devoted to Sabermetrics, which breaks down baseball statistics in nontraditional ways. 13,464 people have enrolled. The class is the brainchild of Andy Andres, 54, a professor of Biology at Boston University. The ideas were first developed by Bill James, 64, the author of numerous books, who has been working in Red Sox front office since the early '80s. In 1977 his first Baseball Abstract was published. Somehow my buddy, Bags, got wind of it. He shared every issue with me year until its last in 1988. I was fascinated. The two major aspects that intrigued me most were the value of on-base percentage (hits plus walks), and historical comparison, wherein the stats of a modern player through, say, his first five years, were compared to one already retired who put up comparable numbers in that period. It was a good gauge of the modern man's future. In 2006 Time magazine named James one of the 100 most influential men in the world, not just sports. One proponent of the system is Billy Beane, whom Brad Pitt portrayed in Moneyball (2011). He has been the GM of the Oakland A's since 1997. Despite a paltry fan base by today's standards and one of the lowest payrolls in MLB, the team is frequently in contention, although it has not done very well in the post season. Sabermetrics is a good tool that execs should consider, but it is not the final word, which often boils down to the human and unknown x-factor that determine outcomes and make sports frequently fascinating. Baseball has often chosen former players to fill management roles. Now there will be competition from so-called nerds. Bill James created a monster, especially when the rotisserie phenomenon is considered.

It was a routine day at the floating book shop until about 15 minutes before closing, when a woman showed with a shopping cart filled with books. Among them were about 50 hardcover pictorials of the Time-Life variety, about 10 children's classics, and a mix of serious fiction and non-fiction, all in good to excellent condition. The biggest problem was how was to get it all in my car. Fortunately, a gentleman bought eight pictorials devoted to WWII. I was so appreciative I let him have them for five bucks. I got most of the stuff into the trunk. I put a tote bag's worth at the foot of the front passenger seat and took a shoe box of sci-fi back to the apartment. Thank you, madam, and also to Lev, who bought the remaining CDs Marie donated, and to the young man who bought two books in Russian, and to the woman who bought Anne Tyler's Noah's Compass.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: 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 Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/28 - Mud & Maya

Matthew McConaughey has been on a major roll lately. He has tackled parts in substantive films out of the Hollywood mainstream. One is the eponymous protagonist of Mud (2012), which I viewed last night courtesy of Netflix. This was writer-director Jeff Nichols’ third stint at the helm. While there are holes in the script, the main theme of the difficulty and pain of love is well-rendered. I’d forgotten his previous works: Shotgun Stories (2007) and Take Shelter (2011), both of which starred Michael Shannon, who has a minor role here. The performances are fantastic, genuine, especially those of the two teenagers, Tye Sheridan and Jacob Lofland. They give the scenario an authentic feel, so unlike most screen teens. And there is yeoman work from a great supporting cast: Reese Witherspoon, Joe Don Baker, Sam Shepard, Ray McKinnon, Sarah Paulson and Paul Sparks. The names of the latter three may be unfamiliar - they were to me - but their faces won’t be. They’ve been around. As far as a rating, I’ve been making an error in posting the consensus of the users at IMDb. I’ve been using the number of people who actually wrote reviews rather than those who simply rated a film. In this instance 82,000+ forge to a consensus of 7.5, which is right on the money in my view. The plot is simple: the two boys help the protagonist, a fugitive pursued not only by authorities but by the powerful family of the man he killed. That is resolved rather conventionally. What elevates the film is the realistic characters. It is refreshing to see humanity portrayed so effectively. I look forward the Nichols’ next work.

RIP Maya Angelou, 86, author of a seven volume autobiographical series. The first, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, which details her life until age 17, launched her to literary superstardom. She also wrote poetry and screenplays, and acted. Her successful acting career included roles in numerous plays, films and television programs, including an appearance in the television mini-series Roots (1977). Her screenplay, Georgia, Georgia (1972), was the first original script by a black woman to be produced, and she was the first African American woman to direct a major motion picture, Down in the Delta (1998). Kudos.

The floating book shop had great luck today. The take was modest but, given the raw weather and the fact that the Russian books I had on display were, as one of my regulars described, "Sovietica," I'm grateful to have earned more than enough for a chicken plate at Waj's gyro stand. Thanks, folks.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: 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 Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/27 - Give & Take

Born in 1937, Lois Lowry has found great success writing in the Young Adult category, which covers children from twelve to 18. According to Wiki, 55% of such books are purchased by people older than that. I just finished The Giver, first published in 1993. It is the story of a country practicing a sort of benign totalitarianism infinitely removed from that depicted in George Orwell’s 1984. It is described late in the narrative: “The life where nothing was ever unexpected. Or inconvenient. Or unusual. The life without color.” How this society came about is never revealed. Citizens have sacrificed all that makes life fascinating for comfort. It works -- without the brute force, the oppression one would expect would be needed. Suspension of belief is required. I had a hard to time accepting that love could be quashed on such a grand scale. There are elements of sci-fi that seem more impossible than usual, such as there being no colors whatsoever. Only one person retains the memory of the previous life, now centuries removed. His counsel is sought when problems arise. Aging, he now trains his successor, a twelve-year old to whom he imparts memories, as they were to him and others before him. The youth rebels. The prose and dialogue are unpretentious and clear. The 180 pages read more like 125. I liked the characters, particularly the little sister and school mates. I just couldn’t buy that such a society would ever evolve without the tactics the Soviets, Chinese and now the North Koreans have made infamous. On a scale of five, I rate The Giver 2.5. This is in stark contrast to the 3729 reviewers at Amazon, who forge to a consensus of 4.3. This is a wildly popular novel. 20 years after it first appeared it’s ranking this morning at Amazon was #71 -- remarkable. And Lowry has been bestowed many awards, so take my word with a grain of salt. Kudos, madam.

In an op-ed piece in today’s NY Post, George Will waxed about the traits of his ideal candidate. One had me chuckling: “Don’t speak unless you can improve the silence.” Slight variations on it have been around for a long time. Apparently, it is filed under Anonymous. It applies to almost every modern politician.

My thanks to the kind folks who bought items today, especially the gentleman who purchased the nine books of adventure translated into Russian, despite the fact that 4, 5 and six of the original twelve were missing. Thanks also to Marie, who donated eight CDs, including one by the Irish band The Chieftains, which Kofi bought. What are the odds of a black man making such a purchase? It's not unprecedented. Last year he bought Jethro Tull's Benefit. I suspect he does it more to contribute to the cause than because of keen interest. It is appreciated, sir.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: 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 Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/26 - Freedom

 Freedom Is Not Free

I watched the flag pass by one day.
It fluttered in the breeze.
A young Marine saluted it,
and then he stood at ease.
I looked at him in uniform
So young, so tall, so proud,
He'd stand out in any crowd.
I thought how many men like him
Had fallen through the years.
How many died on foreign soil?
How many mothers' tears?
How many pilots' planes shot down?
How many died at sea?
How many foxholes were soldiers' graves?
No, freedom isn't free.

I heard the sound of TAPS one night,
When everything was still
I listened to the bugler play
And felt a sudden chill.
I wondered just how many times
That TAPS had meant "Amen,"
When a flag had draped a coffin
Of a brother or a friend.
I thought of all the children,
Of the mothers and the wives,
Of fathers, sons and husbands
With interrupted lives.
I thought about a graveyard
At the bottom of the sea
Of unmarked graves in Arlington.
No, freedom isn't free.

Kelly Strong

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/25 - Home

I just looked up the pace of the average reader. It's 250 words per minute. The following excerpt is 1700+. It's the entire sixth chapter of Killing, whose protagonist is a Vietnam vet. His father is a WWII vet, and his son a Desert Storm vet. They all live under the same roof in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. The link to the book will be below. The Kindle version is only a buck.

The Gentiles rejoiced upon receiving a letter from Junior. He was safe, unharmed, and would soon be home on leave. The Christmas lights were illumined each evening. The interior was decorated in streamers and ribbons as well, although the exact date of his arrival was unknown. Now Dante's sole concern was the effect combat had had on his son. He prayed it was marginal. In light of the overwhelming success of the operation, this seemed entirely possible. The war had lasted but 43 days, the ground action a mere 100 hours. As of the moment, it was reported that only 115 Americans had been killed. He hoped there hadn't been time for the true horror of war to reveal itself.
Seated in his easy chair, engrossed in a baseball game, he frowned as the doorbell rang. The caller refused to respond verbally, choosing instead to ring repeatedly, to stand out of the line of the peephole. Sensing a practical joke by his next door neighbor's mischievous son, hoping to nab the kid in the act, Dante pulled the door open quickly. He stood stunned as a young man in uniform, duffel bag in hand, sprang before him, smiling.
"Merry Christmas," said the soldier.
Father and son leapt into an embrace and pounded each other's back. Junior noted the glaze in his father's eyes and backed off, making a face.
"Why you cryin'?"
Embarrassed, Dante turned away, wiping his eyes with his fingers.
"Wow," said Junior, noting the decorations. "Where is everybody? What kind'a party's this?" He tapped at a balloon, sending it toward the ceiling.
"You shoulda called."
"I wanted to surprise you. I wanted to see the dumb look on your face." He imitated it. "It was worth it. Where's my stupit sister?"
"Out wit' 'er boyfrien'."
"In the middle of the week? You are gettin' soft."
Dante shrugged, flushing. "He's a good kid. I like 'im. Listen, call your mother. The number's in the book there. I'll run up an' get gran'ma an' gran'pa."
Buoyed by elation, thanking God, he bounded into the driveway, entered a door at the side of the house, and ran up the stairs. When he returned he found Junior seated on the couch, shoes off, feet propped on the coffee table.
"You talk to your mother?"
"No answer. They musta closed up. She's prob'bly on 'er way."
Dante noted the time. If she were returning directly, she would arrive in less than an hour.
"She bug you when the bombs started fallin’?" said Junior, tone suddenly serious.
Dante pursed his lips and shook his head. "She let me off easy."
"I bet. At least now she'll go back to bein' 'erself."
Dante chased the dread that threatened to spoil the joyous occasion. "Gran'ma an' Gran'pa'll be right down. They were getting’ ready for bed."
"I coulda saw 'em tomorrow."
"You kiddin' me? Gran'ma woulda never lemme hear the end of it. She's been tellin' me every day: 'Lemme know the minute he gets home.'" He imitated his mother's voice. "'I don't care what time it is.'"
Beaming, he gazed directly into his son's eyes, which seemed lively and happy, no different than the day he'd left. Apparently, nothing had been taken from them. Dante was ecstatic. He sat at the edge of the couch beside him.
"So, d'you see any action?" he said softly, nervously, almost regretfully, as if he hadn't the right, as if it were an invasion of a precious privacy. He was irked at his inability to curb his morbid curiosity.
"Not much. They didn' put up much of a fight."
"You disappointed?"
Junior nodded. "Yeah. Our C.O. ragged us the whole way, tellin' us we didn' even get our cherries broke. I hardly used my weapon. Now I'll never know what it's really like."
Dante wondered if he would have been disappointed himself had a truce been declared shortly after his arrival in Vietnam. Then again, in his first few days on the line he saw enough to fill a lifetime. He quietly cried himself to sleep, certain he would never see Brooklyn again. From the looks of it, his son hadn't experienced that, and suddenly he wondered if that were unfortunate. He was baffled. He'd always thought of himself as simple, yet lately he was finding himself more and more confused about the fundamentals of life.
The elder Gentiles entered, Grandma bearing gifts.
"Merry Christmas, doll," she said, kissing Junior's cheek, her own wet with tears.
"That's right!" said Dante, springing to his feet. "I forgot. We saved all your presents. I kept the tree up as long as I could, but it got too dried out. I hadda take it down."
As Junior was unwrapping his gifts, Jo Jo entered and raced to his arms.
"Hi, Bozo," said Junior. "Stop cryin', you wuss."
"Where's the champagne?" said Grandma.
"Let's wait 'til Dee gets home," said Dante, glancing at the clock.
Nearly an hour had elapsed. Why was timing important? He was already convinced Deanna was having an affair. Apparently, he was trying to prove himself wrong, hoping to avoid the inevitable confrontation. He fought despair.
"We can have coffee an' cake, though."
"I'll get it," said Jo Jo. "Help me, Gran'ma."
The men, alone now, fell silent. Grandpa lit a cigarette.
"I hope you didn' take up smokin' over there," said Dante to his son.
"Nah."
"Thank God. I know what it’s like. When you ain't fightin' or on the move, there's nothin' to do. You feel so jumpy you gotta do somethin'. An’ you don't worry about it killin' you 'cause you know you might get it anyway."
Suddenly there was tension amongst them.
"So?" said Grandpa.
"C'mon, Pa," said Dante, pained. "It ain't right. I never asked you.""You weren't even born then - how could you ask?"
"You know what I mean."
"I don't mind," said Junior, "not like you, Da."
"What's he got to talk about?" said Grandpa peevishly. "They got their asses kicked."
Dante flushed with anger and shame yet remained silent. There was no refuting the popular consensus. Junior, pained for his father, lowered his gaze.
"So?" Grandpa demanded.
"There ain't much to tell. The flyboys an' artillery did mosta the work. Just about all we did was take pris'ners. They were pretty shook up. They were kissin' our feet an' beggin'. What a sorry excuse for an army. Nothin' really went on up close where we were. We didn' lose one guy."
"Great," said Dante.
"I wish they woulda let us chase down the Republican Guard."
"That was a stupit mistake," said Grandpa.
"They couldn't," said Dante. "It woulda been against the U.N. rule."
My third novel, fourth book, Killing, is the story of a Vietnam vet, whose father is a WWII, and son is off fighting in Desert Storm. Here is the entire Chapter 6, 1700+ words, about a ten-minute read, less by the average standard, which I just looked up and which is 250 words per. The book is available at Amazon. link below. The Kindle version is only a buck.
"They’re just as gutless as you. Mark my words, this camel jockey'll be back causin' trouble."
Although Dante also feared it'd been a mistake not to perform a thorough mop up, he was glad it hadn't been undertaken. Junior might still be in the desert, fighting, perhaps killed. He was ashamed of himself, realizing he wanted the sons of other fathers to take up the mantle.
"The hardest thing for me was the noise'a the bombs," said Junior. "That was scarier than anything they threw at us. I got use' to it, though. They got their brains beat out. There were bodies everywhere, hands stickin' up through the sand. They lost a lotta men. I bet there's thousands of ‘em buried in collapsed bunkers. They...."
He ceased speaking as the women returned. The cake was distributed. Dante gazed repeatedly at the clock, each tick a pinprick. Time dragged, despite the joyousness of the occasion. Conversation paused periodically as attention was focused on the game. Grandpa ridiculed the modern ballplayer, citing the names DiMaggio, Rizzuto, Furillo, Snyder.
"Whats'a matta, Danny?" said Mrs. Gentile to her son, noting his despondency.
He waved off her concern. "Nothin', Ma. I'm jus' beat. I been on edge for mont’s. Now that the pressure's off I might sleep for a week."
He coiled with dread at the thought that Jo Jo might mention the dream, of which his father and son knew nothing, which was as he preferred.
"Where's Ma?" said Junior suddenly. "She shoulda been home a long time ago."
"She's been workin' late every night," said Jo Jo.
"Relax," said Dante. "Sometimes the cab comp'ny's all tied up an' she hasta wait a long time to get one. I want 'er to use the vouchers. I don't want 'er on the subway this late."
It seemed he'd convinced everyone but his mother. Her glance suggested she sensed all. He was filled with shame and excused himself. No one but his mother had noted his distress.
Now that his son was safe, he no longer had an excuse to avoid confronting his wife. The prospect, however, had his knees buckling. He was afraid of what he might do to her, afraid of the effect it would have on his children. He would not, however, stand back and wait until the affair had run its course. He could never be like his mother in this regard. It'd been eating at him at lot more than he'd realized, than he'd been willing to admit to himself. In his mind, it would be unmanly, dishonorable to allow the affair to continue.
Deanna was in Junior's arms, weeping, as he reentered the living room. The sight brought a lump to his throat. He signaled his daughter to fetch the champagne.
"I called your office," said Junior. "There was no answer."
"We work out of the computer room at night," she said, wiping away tears. "It's on another floor. Then there was an accident in the tunnel. Traffic was all backed up. It was a nightmare."
Dante stole a peek at his mother, who had smirked at the comments. She knew lies when she heard them. His father had used every one in the book even long after she'd ceased to care.
Jo Jo backed through the kitchen door holding a tray upon which a bottle of champagne stood surrounded by elegant glasses.
"Dom Perignon?" said Junior, eyes alive with excitement.
"Only the best for those who serve."
"An' win," Grandpa added.
"Salute!" said Grandma, endeavoring to chase the tension her husband had aroused.
"Cent'anni," the others, except Grandpa, responded in unison.
The glasses came together at the center, then were drawn back and lifted to lips.
"God bless America," said Grandma.

My thanks to the kind folks who bought books today on Bay Parkway.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: 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 Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/24 - Krapp's Philosophy

Last night I had one of those vivid dreams I’ve been experiencing the past few years. It’s as if my subconscious is making up for decades of unremembered ones. In this one I was complaining about a college grade, a B, which is absurd, as I was a fake as a student. If my entire 16 year academic career were averaged out it would come to a C, smack dab in the middle of the world population. I know exactly what triggered the dream. I’ve been self-evaluating a bit more than usual these days, and I’ve come to the grudging conclusion that my life has been a C -- cognitively, athletically, behaviorally, financially, artistically and probably in a lot of other categories that escape me at the moment. I can think of only two that are an A: perseverance and memory. The former is often a nuisance, especially regarding the futile quest for literary success. While my memory is no longer stellar, it still hums. As I woke at 5 AM and lay pondering the dream, I recalled moments that are dear to me. I was a sophomore in the fall of 1968. That school year I enrolled in Arts & Ideas, a required course, my favorite of my college career. The instructor, Mrs. David, who was about 40, was like sunshine. Her husband was some sort of big shot. She didn't have to work. “If I didn‘t I‘d be home eating Bob-Bons all day,” she once said. This was an era of accelerated change in America. One class was devoted to a “Happening,” wherein all students were free to do as they pleased. Like many ideas of the time, it was silly, although it may have been quite telling regarding me. We had recently viewed Krapp’s Last Tape, a short work by Samuel Beckett, whose Theater of the Absurd play, Waiting for Godot, is on the bucket list of most serious actors. I was at the height of my sexuality. It would not be much of an exaggeration to say I thought of sex 24/7. I approached the blackboard and wrote: “Krapp’s philosophy: Every girl is a possible lay.” Fortunately, the only fallout was a cold shoulder from a co-ed who I saw regularly in the dorm cafeteria. In another instance, we had an exam in which we were to write an essay. I cited Picasso’s Les Demoiselles d'Avignon, a painting of prostitutes, of course. When the exam was returned, there was a note in the margin: “I’m impressed.” Mrs. David was surprised I’d nailed the spelling. Decades later, on a museum kick, I visited MOMA and was stunned to see the painting, which was much larger than I’d imagined, hanging on a wall. My eyes swelled with tears to an embarrassing degree. The work had rich meaning for me. Such is the power of memory. The loss of it may be my biggest fear. Here's a pic of the painting:

Several versions of Krapp's Last Tape are available at youtube. The running length of the full version is about 45 minutes.

My thanks to the young Asian male who purchased Machiavelli's The Prince, one of the most influential works of non-fiction in history, and the Russian gentleman who bought two books on George Bush and said: "I love him -- and Reagan." Special thanks to Natasha, who took a chance on A Hitch in Twilight.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: 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 Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx
   

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/23 - Competition

According to an article at Yahoo, there is great news in science for straight men 50 and above. Researchers have trained dogs to sniff out prostate cancer from urine samples. The hounds have had a 90% accuracy rate. Men may no longer face the dreaded probe of the gloved finger. Now that's what I call progress!

Italy has found a creative solution to its debt -- include prostitution and illegal drugs sales in its economic growth figures! European Union members are not supposed to let their annual deficits exceed 3% of GDP or accumulated debt exceed 60 % of GDP. Countries that fail to meet these figures face a fine, which seems asinine, given that the country is already in dire straits. Has the American left gotten wind of this ploy? Here is the solution to our economic woes. Our underground economy is vast. So what if that money isn't taxed by the feds or local governments? Let's inflate the GDP figure so we can all feel good about the sluggish economy. We need a jolt of the self esteem liberals are always peddling. Surely that will set things humming.

The local library, which is just around the corner from the floating book shop's usual nook, has begun selling books on Friday and Saturday. Finally, someone in the hierarchy has proposed a better solution than simply discarding works that have ceased to attract withdrawals. I wasn't concerned about the competition until one of my regulars, Herbie, passed with one he procured for a quarter -- Fifty Shades of Gray. It had me wondering if I should go elsewhere on Friday, and if readers were bypassing me knowing the cheaper wares were available. I also wondered if this was why Mrs. Eclectic hadn't stopped by the last two times she passed. Fortunately, the library's sale did not seem to affect business today. My thanks to the kind folks who bought and donated, especially to Lev, who phoned his wife and asked if she wanted the Jack London's translated into Russian. He purchased all eight volumes.

The highlight of the day occurred as I made my way to Delmar for a couples of slices. I ran into Mr. Morty, a retired salesman in his late 70's battling cancer. His doctors have given him a clean bill of health until next April. To his chagrin, his wife has given him an ultimatum: either move to the Mississippi gulf to be near their children and grandkids, or divorce. "I hate it down there, but what can you do," he said. What indeed? All the best, sir.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: 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 Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

 

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/22 - 3 Angry Men

The threat of rain was a constant for the floating book shop today. I set out only one-quarter of my wares, certain I'd have to make a quick getaway. I don't know if that put a damper on business or if folks just weren't interested in buying books. The eight volume set of Jack London, translated into Russian, is not seeing any love its first two days on the market. Fortunately I had three visitors that helped pass the time, and they were angry, my friends. Mountain Man, a retired postman, spewed his usual bile, directed at all politicians. He sees no good anywhere in anything. I don't know how anyone can live like that, but anger seems to be his comfort. I share his cynicism about most of those in office, especially in NYC, but I refuse to let them make me unhappy. I do a good enough job of that myself.
Joe, a Vietnam vet, retired from a dual career as a tax accountant and private eye, was about to cross East 13th when he was startled by a driver who came to an abrupt halt short of the crosswalk. He let a verbal barrage fly at the miscreant with both barrels. The young fool behind the wheel laughed at him. Fortunately, he had sense enough not to exit his car. Joe is fed up with Brooklyn and wants to move south. During our conversation, I found out what may have made him so short-tempered today. His lower left leg is swollen with water. It's twice the size of his right leg. He had just taken blood pressure bills. "Don't let him ruin your day," I said quietly. He wasn't much calmer on his return. "I may kill somebody if I don't get atta here," he told me. He said he was dying to pick a fight, that it had been so long since he'd had one. He had 14 knockouts as a Golden Glover. "I never got goin' until I tasted my own blood, then I went wild."
Finally, my most faithful customer, Marie, stopped by and related the chaos that occurred at her co-op meeting last night. Political Man was there, shouting at others, calling one woman "a Russian whore." Marie asked if I suspected he was bipolar, given his penchant to air his liberal views to strangers on the street. "He can't control himself," was all I said. I thought about it after Marie left and doubted it was clinical. It's just the way Political Man is.
I've never attended a meeting in my own complex. I consider myself lucky to have purchased my apartment. When I did I had no idea it would work out so well. I paid it off in 13 years and now feel as if I'm saving at least $500 every month on the rent I would have been paying. The only people in the city whose expenses are less than mine are those receiving massive public assistance. How could I complain? I'll adapt to whatever shenanigans the board proposes. Given all the work that has been done on the three buildings the past few years and the fact that many apartments remain rent-controlled, I fear it is a financial house of cards in jeopardy of collapse, even if all the old tenants died off tomorrow.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: 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 Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/21 - Z64

I caught up to World War Z (2013) last night, courtesy of Netflix. It features this neat quote, delivered by a young scientist, which is the crux of the film: “Mother Nature is a serial killer. No one's better. More creative. Like all serial killers, she can't help the urge to want to get caught. But what good are all those brilliant crimes if no one takes the credit? So she leaves crumbs…” Brad Pitt stars as a former U.N. investigator brought out of retirement to find the crumbs. I’ve been avoiding movies and TV shows on the mafia, serial killers, vampires and zombies the past few years. There are too many of them. WWZ had such good word of mouth and a few good reviews that I decided to give it a shot. I’m glad I did. It’s fast moving, exciting, chock full of great effects, a good, if familiar, story, and it comes in under two hours. Does it bring anything new to the genre? Not much, but it is wise in that it minimizes gore. It is more sci-fi than horror. Most of the cast was unfamiliar to me. David Morse appears briefly in the type of off-beat role he has come to master. Matthew Fox is also on hand, and I’m embarrassed to say I didn’t recognize him as a grimy soldier. The flick was produced on a budget of 190 million and earned 200 million in the U.S. alone. It was director Marc Foster’s eleventh work. His track record is impressive: Monster’s Ball (2001) and The Kite Runner (2007) are other highlights. He also did Quantum of Solace (2008), which I didn’t like and now wonder if I should revisit. On a scale of five, I rate World War Z, F for fun. If it has broader meaning, it escapes me. The 877 users who reviewed it at IMDb forge to a consensus of 7.1 of ten. The film is adapted from the novel by Max Brooks.

Here are appropriate words from Lennon/McCartney for me today: 
“Give me your answer, fill in a form
Mine for evermore
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four.”



I had a nice birthday at the floating book shop, despite not selling one book in Russia for a change. The second best possibility occurred -- I sold a copy of Beautiful Experiment by my literary angel, Victoria/January Valentine. I hope it brightens her day. She is going through a brutal family medical issue. A young woman purchased three works by black authors and a Hebrew alphabet guide for kids. And Steve, the poet laureate of Sheepshead Bay, bought a 12 disc audio of Tony Blair's memoir. Thanks, folks. And also to Sue-Ellen, who provided some entertainment. I heard a female yelling at someone to "Move your car!" I took a gander and she looked at me as if to say: Do you believe this guy? I assume his English was faulty or he didn't believe she'd get her tiny Smart car into the space. It fit like a foot in a shoe. I later gave her a round of applause and she bowed. I doubt she yells at her students at Kingsborough CC like that.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: 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 Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/20 - 3 AM

Yesterday morning on his radio show on WOR-AM in NYC, Mark Simone asked listeners if they recalled one of the major themes of Hillary Clinton’s presidential primary campaign in 2008. It heralded her so-called experience compared to Barrack Obama’s complete lack thereof. Simone played a dire audio ad reminiscent of the one LBJ's staff used against supposed war monger Barry Goldwater way back in 1964. It asked who should be the preferred respondent to a three AM national emergency call. Simone then remarked that it must have covered all parts of the world except Benghazi. Right on, sir.

RIP Jerry Vale, an under-rated singer with a voice of great purity. I’m embarrassed to say I did not appreciate his talent until a few years ago when my buddy Bags put several tracks on a CD he burned for me. Born Gennaro Louis Vitaliano, Vale lacked flash, and that probably explains why he wasn’t more popular. Still, he recorded more than 30 albums and his singles frequently cracked the Adult Contemporary charts. Perhaps he was too decent a soul to elbow his way to the top. He was married to the same woman for more than 50 years. Hai fatto bene, goombah

I‘ve held stock in LSI for a long time, lured by the tech craze of the 90‘s, hoping for a big score. It languished for several years, rallied to lessen my loss, and now has been acquired buy Avago. It’s last trading price was $11.15. A cash  payout has been made. I lost less than $400. I’m not sure if I’d rather have had shares in Avago, which is trading at $68. That would have meant a one to six swap in the least, which would have left me 16 or so shares. Sometimes you lose, but what’s $400 over the course of at least 15 years?

Lucy Li, an 11-year-old from Redwood Shores, California, qualified for next month's U. S. Women's Open, becoming the youngest ever to do so. Li shot incredible rounds of 74-68 at Half Moon Bay in California on Monday, qualifying for the championship at Pinehurst, which will take place the week after the men play their U.S. Open on the same course. Kudos, kid. I hate you.


Everything worked out well today. My friend's doctor's visit was done by 10:20. By the time we had brunch at KFC and I helped her back to her apartment, there was plenty of time to run the book shop. I even got the most beneficial parking spot -- after a half-hour wait. And I sold all 12 of the Russian books I had on display to two gentlemen. Spasibo, and thanks also to Susan, who purchased a Sandra Cisneros short story collection, and to Al, who donated two works of historical fiction.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: 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 Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/19 - Apart

Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart appears on lists of the top novels of the 20th century. Despite its reputation and popularity, I resisted reading it, leery of political correctness or, worse, a lecture on race. I was pleased it didn’t offer either of those. In fact, its best aspect is the neutrality of the narrator, which allows the reader his/her own interpretation. Set in Nigeria, the author’s homeland, told in direct, unpretentious prose and dialogue, it details the inner workings of a clan, focusing largely on one of its most influential members. Whites have just begun to settle in the land. The inevitable clash of cultures ensues. The lives of the native population are changing, as some, particularly those considered outcasts, gravitate toward the more forgiving Christianity. In such a work the reader’s biases will come into play more than usual. Life, the world, continually evolves, sometimes devolves. There is always a measure of sadness when old ways perish, as the guilt of many Americans over treatment of Indians attests. Whether progress has been made or not is up to the opinion of the individual. Modernity always wins out in the western world and its spheres of influence. People must adapt or languish, even perish. This is this gist of this influential novel. Achebe was cited in the London Times as one of the “1000 makers of the 20th century for defining a modern African literature that was truly African” (from About the Author, Anchor Books Edition). The novel has been translated into 50 languages and has sold eight million copies. It was published in 1959. More than 50 years later, life in Nigeria has changed substantially. It is now a leading producer of crude oil, and it is suffering at the hands of Islamist terrorists, not Christian missionaries. I wonder if there is a novel by a current Nigerian author that details the fate of the clans. Do any still exist? How do the majority of Nigerians view themselves today? On a scale of five, I rate Things Fall Apart four. It is valuable more as a portrait of a changing society than as a traditional novel. Achebe wrote five others, and short stories, poetry, essays and children’s books. He won several literary awards. He was highly critical of two acclaimed works set in Africa: Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, which he said was racist, and Irishman Joyce Cary’s Mister Johnson, which he called culturally ignorant. He died in 2013. (Facts also culled from Wiki.)

My thanks to the elderly woman who purchased four paperback romances today in Park Slope.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: 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 Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/18 - Payback

Here’s an excerpt from one of my unpublished novels, Present and Past. It involves a twisted fantasy I used to have, one I'd never have the nerve to do in real life. There are at least two others in the book, one rather benign, the other high risk. The clip is less than 900 words, which should be about a ten-minute read:

Tony had dragged him out of bed at ten-thirty, telling him all was set. He hadn't even had time to shower. He'd cut himself shaving. The cold had retarded the bleeding of the nick in his neck. He was no longer enthusiastic about revenge. He felt com pelled to go through with, however, as Tony had gone to so much trouble to set the trap. The bait was parked across the street, an old car Tony had "found," to which he'd affixed a phony regis tration sticker and license plates. It stood alone, violating the alternate side regulation.
The street was quiet. There was a wide vacant lot at his back, a three-story apartment building at the corner to his left, a private house at the corner to his right. No one knew him here, although it was just blocks from his apartment. The entrance to the Fort Hamilton Army Base was approximately 200 yards away, at 101st Street, which was flanked by a small park. There was a dump truck idling down the street. In the background, rising majestically, stood the bridge, which spanned the narrows of Gravesend Bay and led to Staten Island.
He shook his head, chuckling, wondering how Tony had come up with the idea. He hoped residents wouldn't become wary of his loitering and summon the police. The neighborhood was peaceful, one of the best in the borough. He would miss it, even though he wasn't planning on being away long. He feared he would never see it again, that he would be involved in a fatal automobile accident somewhere in middle America. He shuddered at the thought. He was not ready to die. And when his time came he wanted to die in New York, preferably Brooklyn. He couldn't stand the thought of dy ing anywhere else. He wondered, should he meet success, if he would move to L.A. permanently. He couldn't imagine it. He would be bicoastal, a term at which he’d sneered. He smiled to himself, realizing he was fantasizing.
Soon a three-wheeled vehicle cruised down the street and stopped behind the car. It was one of the newer, sturdier models with the wide base. The older had been taller and narrower, seemingly vulnerable to a stiff wind. He didn't think he would be able to topple this one with a shove. He wouldn't even try. They would go to Plan Two. He wondered if the city had adopted the newer model in response to vandalism.
A young black woman exited the vehicle and positioned herself beside the front windshield of the car. She looked familiar but he wasn't sure it was his nemesis. He crossed the street preten ding to be looking into the distance. She was so intent on her task she didn't notice him, or perhaps pretended not to. The name tag read: "Roberts." He gave a thumbs up sign to the driver of the truck, who put the huge machine in motion.
"Hi, Winnie," he said, forcing a smile to his lips, wary lest she resort to violence. "It's pay back time. This's for all the money you've taken from the good people of this neighborhood, es pecially me. You better stand aside."
Wary, as if she feared being pummeled, her eyes narrowed. They widened suddenly at the approach of the truck, which had no ident ification markings. She fled from its path as it violated the oncoming lane. At the helm was Tony, laughing uproariously, boun cing in the seat to the rough ride, blowing the horn, filling the street with its blare. He swerved to get an angle on the traffic vehicle, then bore down on it, driving it against the curb, where its wheels wedged, holding it in place momentarily until it succumbed to the force of the larger machine and crumpled like an accordion. The truck climbed onto the sidewalk, toppling and crushing what remained of the battered vehicle with a chill ing crackling of metal and shattering of glass. Debris flew in all directions. Freddie was relieved there were no pedestrians about. The car, emergency brake left unengaged, rolled out of harm's way as it was struck by the truck's fender. Officer Roberts stood bewild ered. Suddenly Freddie felt sorry for her. She seemed conscien tious rather than heartless.
"It's only fair, Win'," he said, in no hurry, as she was clearly stunned, frozen in place. "You really should get a nicer job and stop stealing from your neighbors."
  He felt foolish in trying to justify himself. The act was excessive. He regretted it.
Tony sounded the horn, which beckoned like that of a ship sailing the narrows on a foggy night. People were at win dows and out on porches and stoops, observing. Some cheered. Traffic was backed up, yet there was no honking of horns. It was eerily placid.
Tony was laughing heartily as Freddie climbed into the cab. Officer Roberts recovered and pursued on foot as the truck moved away. Tony gave her the finger, howling as the truck barreled toward the intersection, where the light was green.
  "Bye," said Tony, waving, as Roberts came to a halt.
  "I think she got the plate number," said Freddie, shouting above the din.
"Yeah, that'll do 'er good. You think I'd be dumb enough to use a real one?"



It was a quiet day at the floating book shop. The most interesting moment came when I felt an itch on my right forearm. I saw what I thought was a slender frond from a plant -- then it started moving. I'd never seen a bug like it in NYC. It was less than an inch long, razor-thin and olive green. I wonder if it hitched a ride from some exotic local. I flicked it into the garden in front of the Chase bank, hoping it wasn't carrying disease. I wasn't bitten.
My thanks to the two kind folks who bought books in Russian, and to author Bill Brown, who donated four books on the Bush family.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: 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 Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/17 - Well-lived

Last night PBS in NYC ran a documentary on one of the 20th century’s most interesting literary figures, George Plimpton. He was most famous for his dalliances in professional sports. He sparred with boxing legend Archie Moore, who had a ten-year reign as light-heavyweight champion and holds the record for knockouts. There is a great still photo of the tall, scrawny Plimpton standing in the middle of the ring, dazed, blood pouring from his nose. The author once pitched to a lineup of all-stars in an exhibition baseball game. He got the first two men out, one of whom was Willie Mays, then was shelled. He performed two basic stunts on the trapeze, which was captured on film and was really cool. He spent time in the training camp of the Detroit Lions as a QB, and wrote a book about it, Paper Lion, which was a runaway best seller and adapted to film in 1968, Alan Alda in the lead. I remember being disappointed that it veered so far from the book. Plimpton did not participate in any games, only scrimmages, and fared miserably, too slow to execute even a simple hand-off. He did play in an NHL exhibition game as a goaltender for the Boston Bruins vs. the Philadelphia Flyers during the Broad Street Bullies era.  In one period he surrendered a single goal. Mike Milbury deliberately committed an offense so that Plimpton could experience a penalty shot. He faced one of the great scorers of that time, Reggie Leach, and stoned him! He was a personal friend of the Kennedys and campaigned with Bobby during the presidential primaries in 1968. He was only a few feet away when Sirhan Sirhan shot the candidate, and was one of the men who wrestled the assassin to the floor. He never wrote about it, which is both odd, given that he was a writer, and understandable, as it must have been an experience one would not want to relive. Perhaps his greatest accomplishment was his work as editor of the Paris Review, one of the foremost literary magazines in history. His interviews with such luminaries as Ernest Hemingway appeared in it regularly. For many years he financed it himself, despite the fact that it hemorrhaged money. He seemed a genial soul, frequently smiling. He hosted legendary parties. The footage from them is a who’s who of celebrities from all fields. The piece runs about 1:20. It is a breath of positive fresh air. Plimpton’s was life well-lived.

My thanks to the kind souls who bought books today, and to the gentleman who donated three.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: 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 Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/16 - On & Off

Yesterday a movie arrived from Netflix that had me scratching my head: How I Live Now (2013). I had no recollection of what prompted me to add it to my list. Based on a novel by Meg Rosoff, adapted by four screenwriters, it blends several familiar elements and evokes other films. The story is simple: a beautiful, sullen teenager is sent to live with her cousins in remote Scotland. At first it is a matter of angst, then segues to love, then takes an abrupt turn into a tale of survival. War breaks out. Nuclear bombs devastate at least one city. The parents are absent. The kids must fend for themselves. Details are sketchy, not only in terms of the conflict but the main character’s personal issues, and in possible telepathy. The viewer must read between the lines -- or read the book. Despite this, I enjoyed it. I did not hit the pause button once in the entire 1:50 running time. The chief asset is the performances of the young cast. Saorise Ronan seems to have a bright future. Her big blue eyes are haunting. Harley Bird is perfect as the little sister, as is George MacKay as the oldest brother, as are Tom Holland and Danny McEvoy as the middle brothers. There is not much new here, other than the stars. One powerful scene had the main character opening body bags, dreading finding her relatives. As usual, there is a variety of opinion at IMDb, where it is rated 6.5 of ten, which I think is about right. It’s too sketchy to rate higher than that. It was my first experience with the work of Kevin Macdonald, a Scot. I don’t really understand directing, so I never feel comfortable judging it. I know only that the best create a large body of work and few stinkers. How I Live Now is not a film to regret.

It was a weird day at the floating book shop. The forecast predicted rain. It was still dry when I left the apartment at a few minutes past eleven. I fought the sense of futility and opened for business. After all, sometimes the bulk of the sales occur in the first few minutes. A couple of people browsed the Russian translations of French classics I had on display, but neither bit. When it startled sprinkling just before 12:30, I figured the storm had arrived. I packed up, grabbed the recyclables from the back seat of my car and headed for Stop n Shop. The rain stopped. After completing the task, I returned to my nook, debating whether to re-open. Of course, I did. A few minutes later Susan came along. I've been holding Alison Mcghee's Shadow Baby for her. I liked it a lot more than the three or four prize winners I've read lately. Ten minutes later the rain arrived. Thanks, Sue.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: 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 Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/15 - Coup

Barry Spunt has been very generous to the floating book shop. He is an Associate Professor of Sociology at the John Jay College of Criminal Justice, City University of New York. I am pleased to announce that at the age of 66 he has scored a major literary coup. His book, Heroin and Music in New York City, has been published by Macmillan, which will get it into college libraries across America. Let the royalties begin! He's not sure if it will be available in public branches. It is also available online, but the price is steep: $95 at the Macmillan site, $76 at Amazon. Here's a blurb:
"Heroin abuse amongst musicians has never been limited to one genre, but the nature of the connection between heroin and music is not well understood at all. Narrative accounts from a sample of 69 New York City-based musicians and self-acknowledged heroin abusers will address the beginnings of their heroin addictions, it's prevalence amongst artists in certain music genres, and the impact -detrimental or otherwise- heroin has on musicians' playing, creativity, and careers."
Here's a link to the book at Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/Heroin-Music-New-York-City/dp/1137308567/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1400159258&sr=1-1&keywords=Heroin+and+Music+in+New+York+City

Best of luck, sir.

Completely lacking confidence that government will protect them, Nigerian villagers have decided to form their own defense. Yesterday they ambushed two truckloads of Boko Haram gunmen, killing scores and capturing ten. Kudos.

I had an eye-opener when my bill from Cablevision arrived -- my internet fee has doubled from $30 to $60. I suspect this is a mistake. I sent in an email questioning the increase. CV promised a response within 30 minutes. It's now been more than 30 hours without reply. What I hope is that it was a system wide error that has them too busy to address anything else.

My thanks to the gentleman who purchased a compilation of Plato's works, and to the one who donated five paperback romances.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: 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 Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/14 - Troubles

Alec Baldwin is in trouble again. Yesterday he was arrested in Manhattan for riding his bike against the flow of traffic. Typically, he sent out several tweets. I found this one most interesting: “New York City is a mishandled carnival of stupidity that is desperate for revenue and anxious to criminalize behavior once thought benign.” This is excellently stated. I agree with it, but aren’t the liberal policies Baldwin supports the driving force behind the desperation for revenue? How delicious is a plate of irony.

Michael Goodwin made some good points in his op-ed piece in today’s NY Post. He is amused that Donald Sterling is having trouble finding a lawyer, as firms who have no qualms representing murderers, terrorists and ponzi-schemers think he is too toxic. He also cites the success of radicals who have road-blocked speakers at colleges: Condoleeza Rice at Rutgers; Christine Lagarde, the first female to head the International Monetary Fund, deemed a member of the patriarchy holding women back, who was to speak at Smith; and Ayaan Hirsi Ali, whose stand against Islam’s treatment of women has elicited death threats from Al Qaeda, has had an honorary degree rescinded by Brandeis. Meanwhile, Harvard is allowing students to conduct a black mass, although the hierarchy has found enough backbone to have it moved off-campus.   

Last night on the season finale of Marvels Agents of Shield, Samuel L. Jackson reprised his film role of Nick Fury. How refreshing that such an established movie star is humble enough to appear in a guest shot on a TV series. Kudos also to the ubiquitous Bill Paxton, who appeared in the last seven episodes. The show has been only so-so, the dialogue too clever, the lighting weird. Maybe the dark shades hearken to the comics somehow. I just don’t get it. If the show is not renewed for a second season, its most interesting storyline will not be resolved: the origins of Skye and the question of whether evil is innate or learned.

My thanks to the kind folks who bought books today.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: 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 Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/13 - Goombah

Most films and TV shows keep the party of fictional political figures vague. Last night on 24 there were rabid demonstrations against drone strikes, and the President, played by William Devane, quoted Churchill. He must be a Republican! Everyone knows drone strikes are acceptable only when a Democrat occupies the White House.

This morning, crooner Steve Tyrell was a guest of Mark Simone on WOR-AM. I was surprised and pleased to learn this successful soul, who has spent his entire adult life in the music business, is Italian-American, real name Bilao. He left his home in Texas at 18, ventured to New York, and began working immediately, producing the songs of Burt Bacharach and Hal David. He quipped that he attended the University of Bacharach. After years behind the scenes he decided to record himself, and he has become a highly successful artist. His seven albums of popular standards have all cracked the top five on Billboard's jazz charts. He plays frequently at the prestigious Cafe Carlyle in NYC, where Bobby Short held court for decades. His singing career got a major boost when his version of The Way You Look Tonight was featured in Steve Martin's touching remake of Father of the Bride (1991). I'm not a big fan of Tyrell's voice, as I am not of Rod Stewart, who has had an amazing run recording standards. With so many recordings of the works of the masters of pop available, I don't know why anyone would opt for the versions of those two. Regardless, they are loved. And it's always great to see a goombah make good. Here's a clip of Tyrell doing The Look of Love: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lviIKMhM6LQ And here's a pic of Tyrell/Bilao:

Occupy Jack visited the floating book shop today, brandishing a new poster he's made. It features the faces of about 20 political figures, east and west, all sporting a Hitler-like mustache. Billary are represented, as well as Obama, Biden, Kerry, McCain and, of course, Putin. Oddly, George Bush is absent. Jack sold a number of them the other day.
My thanks to the kind folks who bought and donated books today, especially to the Lady Eve, who said she downloaded the Kindle version of Killing. It isn't yet reflected in the ranking, but I have no reason to believe she would lie. If she did buy it, it would be the first time someone went Kindle on one of my works after discussing it on the street.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: 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 Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/12 - Drafted

Notes on the NFL draft: If I were GM of the Texans, I would have traded down to stockpile picks. I sense this year's talent pool is about quantity, not quality. It wouldn’t surprise me to see a lot of busts in the first round. The most interesting player is QB Johnny “Football” Manziel. If his skills translate to pro football, he is the perfect guy to resurrect the moribund Browns.
Locally, the selections were ho-hum, the only intriguing one being BC RB Andre Williams, taken in the fourth round by the Giants. In the 80’s Big Blue made one of their all-time best picks in the fourth round -- TE Mark Bavaro.
After going undrafted, former USC linebacker Morgan Breslin may collect between $750,000 to $1 million as the first collegiate player to receive a payout on a loss of value insurance policy. Breslin missed more than 75% of USC's games over the past two years. He has signed a free-agent deal with the 49ers. A potential first-day pick two seasons ago, he wisely took the policy in the summer of 2013. After missing all but five games last season, he underwent hip surgery and wasn't invited to the scouting combine in February.
The last player selected? FS Lonnie Ballentine of Memphis St. by the Texans. Go, Lonnie!
As for my alma mater, Western Michigan, none of its players were selected this year or last.
The Colts did something I’m surprised more teams don’t do. They signed college basketball player Erik Swope, out the University of Miami, and project him as a TE. He has never played football at any level. Basketball players are such fine athletes that it wouldn’t surprise me if he made it. Preston Pearson, a two-time member of a Super Bowl champion as a Cowboy, had a great career, although he didn’t play college football. I couldn’t find any information on it, but I’d guess he played high school football.
And fans need analyze no further about the recent slip of fortune for the University of Texas. For the first time since 1937, not a single Longhorn was selected in the draft.

When I rolled up to 9th Street between 6th & 7th Avenue in Park Slope today, it looked like a lost cause for the third week out of four. All the parking spaces were taken and two cars were idling, waiting for an opening. I was about to turn left at 7th when I spotted a small space across the intersection. My Hyundai fit in snugly and I was in business. As so often happens, a woman approached immediately. She gave me double what I asked for the two books she selected. For the next three hours, I sold only a children's book on ghost jokes. The kid's mom also gave me double. As I was thinking about how the trip had hardly been worth it, an angel in the form of an elderly Asian man appeared. "I want to learn," he said in a heavy accent, smiling, picking out a few books, asking for suggestions. "I have time -- and money," he told me. He bought 15, an eclectic mix. Thanks, sir, and also to the ladies.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: 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 Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/10 - Seamen

I’ve always enjoyed movies about survival, man against the elements, an arduous trek, long odds. On the other hand, I’ve never liked one-man shows, maybe because I spend so much time alone or because they remind me of sitting in school listening to a teacher. Anyway, All Is Lost (2013) combines these elements in a solid film. Robert Redford, looking his age, late 70’s, stars. The story begins with a voice-over that speaks vaguely of the character’s regrets. There is hardly any dialogue thereafter. The man awakens in the cabin of his yacht to find it taking on water. Is there an element of existentialism at play? I don’t think so. It was interesting to read the interpretive contributors’ comments at IMDb. One raised a fascinating religious point regarding the film’s final scene. I’m surprised no one suggested the character was in Purgatory. Anyway, the visuals and the effects are first rate. Redford is outstanding. This was J.C. Chandor’s third stint at the helm. He also wrote the screenplay, which I imagine did not take long. The hard part was the filming. Chandor also wrote and directed Margin Call (2011), which may be the best, fairest film ever about Wall Street. The 208 users who rated All Is Lost forge to a consensus of 6.9 of ten, which is about right, maybe a lit low. My dad was a fisherman during summer and went out daily on his little boat. When a bad storm occurred, my mom would burn palm leaves on the stove, an offering to God for my dad's protection. I loved the aroma. I bet dad would have loved this flick.

There are times when I wish I could start over again on the guitar. Although I’ve been playing on and off since 1975, I don’t really understand music, although I’ve learned tons of chords. Part of that may be simply not having the heart of a true musician, which drives one to put in hours a day on an instrument. If I were starting now, I might opt for a Gtar. I ran across an ad for it yesterday. The fret board lights up, guiding the user. Unfortunately, it must be used in conjunction with an Iphone and the cost is $399, phone not included. Here’s a pic of the black body. It also comes in white, which I prefer:

Learn more here: http://gtar.fm/


My thanks to Big Ralph and Bad News Billy, who continue to be generous to the floating book shop, and to the gentleman who purchased the compilation of American lit. I will not be blogging manana, as I will be taking my sister and two nieces to a Mother's Day celebration at my youngest niece's home in Jersey. Happy Mother's Day to moms everywhere. You are the foundation of civilization, despite what feminists think.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: 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 Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/9 - Questions

Whatever happened to Kathryn Stern? Among a recent batch of a donation to the floating book shop was an Advance Uncorrected Proof of Another Song About The King. Curious, I opened it and read that Elvis was part of the narrative. None of the other novels I had laying about seemed as interesting. Since Random House thought enough of it to publish, I figured it was worth a shot. If it were silly, I'd just put it aside. I was happy to find it is serious work, told from the perspective of a young woman whose mom dated E as a teenager. The main theme is the rivalry between the mother and daughter. Fortunately, it doesn't extend to the sexual realm, which would have made it sordid and common. The author deftly relates the psychology at play not only between the two but the entire family, including grandparents and aunts and uncles. It details past and present in alternating chapters The prose is exquisite, the dialogue solid. The story is told in an economical 276 pages. My only criticisms are quibbles. She uses commas more liberally than I, but their use, as I've said several times, is open to debate and has the potential to drive writers insane. The larger problem I encountered was an inability to grasp some of the thoughts. Here's a gem I understood thoroughly: "None of us knows a thing, I think. Not one thing. We aren't prepared for this life. This is all we are: people, in our dumb, cheerful sweaters, trying too hard, stumbling through." The book was published in 2000 and is the only one listed under Stern's name at Amazon. I was unable to find any information on her on the web. I hope she hasn't suffered the fate one of the characters does. It was a heck of a debut. Why hasn't there been anything else? Was she discouraged by paltry sales or tepid or harsh reviews? I checked her sales rank -- south of seven million. There is no Kindle version. The nine contributors who rated it all gave it five stars. Of course, that figure suggests only family and friends have reviewed it. On a scale of five, I rate it 3.6. Kudos, madam.

Ever hear of a film titled Under Suspicion (2000)? I hadn't until last night when I caught it on ThisTV, 111 on Cablevision in NYC. Starring Gene Hackman, Morgan Freeman and Monica Bellucci, it is a remake of a French mystery, Garde a Vue (1981). Hackman is suspected of two child murders, Freeman tries to break him. What impressed me most was that it all made sense, particularly the psychological aspects, which is rare in such fare. Up until the closing moments, I thought the twist would be that there is none. Is it a great film? No, but I enjoyed watching the two heavyweights going at it. It's rated 6.5 of ten at IMDb, a tad low, I think. There is virtually no action. The emphasis is on dialogue. It was adapted from Brainwash, a novel by John Wainwright. It was directed by Stephen Hopkins, who has 25 titles of checkered results under his belt, including Lost in Space (1998) and 36 episodes of 24.

My thanks to the kind folks who bought and donated books today, and to Mother Nature, who let go only the lightest sprinkles, enabling the shop to remain open.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: 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 Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/8 - Support

How about a coalition of Special Forces, U.S., UK, Israel, France to rescue the kidnapped Nigerian girls? The world cannot let the fanatics get away with this. It will be a hairy situation, as the monsters would not hesitate to kill them all if they got wind of a move.

And on a completely innocuous note, last night ThisTV, 111 on Cablevision in NYC, aired Support Your Local Sheriff (1969), starring James Garner, post Maverick, pre Rockford Files. I’m not a big fan of comedy, especially in westerns, but I got a kick out of the casting. The outlaw gang’s patriarch is Walter Brennan, his sons Bruce Dern, Gene Evans and Dick Peabody, who played Little John on the Combat TV series. The deputy? Jack Elam, of course. The mayor? Harry Morgan. There are several other faces familiar to film buffs: Willis Bouchey, Henry Jones, Walter Burke and Kathleen Freeman, who has 286 titles listed at IMDb. Joan Hackett is absolutely charming in the female lead. Tragically, she succumbed to cancer at 49. The 50 users who rated the movie forge to a consensus of 7.5 of ten. Contributors rave about it in the comments section. Despite some amusing lines, I rate it only 2.5 of five. It’s just not my type of flick. Here are pics of Hackett and Freeman, whose face if not name will be familiar:

It was a most disappointing day for the floating book shop. Since the forecast was for showers and the sky was completely overcast, I had to choose whether to risk setting up shop at my regular nook, where there is no shelter, or head to the viaduct two blocks down. With sprinkles in the air, I opted for the latter -- the wrong choice. In the three hours I stayed there, there were never more than stray drops. None of my regular customers passed. Only two gentlemen took more than a cursory glance at the wares. The highlight of the session was slapping skin with Miguel's toddler, who is three or four. It was neat to hear him call his dad "Popi." Miguel bakes pizzas at Delmar and lives in the Atlantic Towers co-op complex.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: 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 Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/7 - Undeterred

Here’s the last paragraph of a short story, What Is Life?, published years ago. At the time I was dealing with the constant sorrow of my mom’s Alzheimer's. I still don't have any answers, especially in light of the terrible things that happen in this world. The piece is very brief, about a one-minute read:

   Strolling along Sheepshead Bay one day, gazing into the water, he noticed a Blue Claw crab puttering at the surface, circling haphazardly. The futility of it forced laughter to his throat. Here was this creature, perhaps in search of prey itself, eagerly sought by men and women with nets. What was the purpose of its existence -- to serve as food to others? to keep the ocean from becoming overcrowded with the organisms upon which it fed? It seemed pointless. And it struck him -- life was essentially meaningless. And although this did not mean it could not be fun or worthwhile or fascinating, it told him that sadness would prevail, as futility was not something that could be embraced. Yet why, if life were meaningless, did he try his best to be civil and honest? Was it merely force of habit or a quirk of personality or genes, or did he, deep down, have faith? Or did he simply believe it imperative that people act as if life were meaningful? Otherwise joy would never be appreciated and, consequently, life would be intolerable, and chaos would reign. 



And on a brighter note, the floating book shop had a nice day, as the struggle against futility continues. It was topped off by a woman named Shelley who, referring to me, said: "Isn't he the best?" Shucks, ma'am. My thanks to the kind folks who bought, donated and offered nice words today. They were undeterred by the odor of the black mulch placed in the garden yesterday. Lovely Sue-Ellen says it permeates her apartment. I've grown accustomed to it. Thanks also to Valued Opinions surveys, where I earned a $20 gift certificate for Amazon. I also found out the title of the first book of one of my regular customers, Barry Spunt: Heroin and Music in New York City. It will be available in a week.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: 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 Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx