The Writer's Life 6/30 - Coney Allen

Now in his 80's, Woody Allen is still directing provocative films. Last night I watched Wonder Wheel (2017) courtesy of Netflix. Set in Coney Island in the 1950's, it is the story of a family in turmoil. As is typical of an Allen work, infidelity is at the core. Kate Winslet is fantastic as a once aspiring actress now waiting tables in a Boardwalk clam bar. Restless, she begins an affair with a lifeguard-wannabe-writer, played by Justin Timberlake. At first this pulls her from the doldrums. Naturally, complications arise. Timberlake's character becomes interested in the step-daughter, played by Juno Temple, who is on the run from her mob boss husband, pursued by characters played by Tony Sirico and Steve Schirippa. Jim Belushi is outstanding as the fourth part of the rectangle, the betrayed husband who operates amusement rides. Any fan of Allen is familiar with his recurring themes. One is the belief that humans are helpless in matters of the heart, likely to make terrible choices. This is not uncommon in real life, but is it as rife as Allen seems to believe? Maybe he is simply focusing on what's more interesting, and good relationships don't provide enough fodder for compelling drama. The only flaw here is that Allen has said all this before. Timberlake plays a role that likely would have been filled by the young Allen back in the day, with minor tweaks, of course. There are echoes of the characters Allen has portrayed in Timberlake's dialogue. Like Quentin Tarantino, Allen is locked into a life view. Both create their own screenplays. I would love to see them direct the scripts of others. Panned by most critics, Wonder Wheel did not fare well at the box office. Made on a budget of $25 million, it returned only $15 million worldwide. It got no love at Oscar time. The only universal praise it received was for Vittorio Storaro's cinematography, which is lush. I don't recall Coney Island being that beautiful and clean. There is an interesting subplot involving Winslet's character's son by a previous marriage, a budding pyromaniac in his early teens. I suppose it's symbolic. 13,000+ users at IMDb have rated Wonder Wheel, forging to a consensus of 6.2 on a scale of ten, too low in my opinion. I wonder if any were influenced by the accusations made against Allen by Ronan Farrow, which I don't believe are true. Such behavior usually spans a lifetime, and no one else has fingered the icon. Anyway, Wonder Wheel is in the top quarter of a canon any artist would love to claim. Here's a pic of the leads:

Day two of the heat wave seemed like it would be all toil and no reward until three of my faves showed up during the final half hour of the session. My thanks to Monsie, who purchased a CD of mood music, and to Ralph, who bought five works of non-fiction that included baseball trivia and the sayings of Confucius; and to Bad News Billy, who selected a Bible. The second quarter was a success. In terms of my own books, the deficit is down to $802, the lowest it's been since Adjustments, my second novel, was published in 2008. Five Cents has joined Killing, A Hitch in Twilight and Rising Star in the black. When the proceeds of the entire floating book shop are factored in, I'm thousands ahead. I'm lucky.

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The Writer's Life 6/29 - The Secret Self

Born in Vienna in 1888, Theodor Riek was a pupil of Sigmund Freud, a pioneer of psychoanalysis. He was a veteran of the trench warfare of WWI, and fled Austria when the Nazis overran it. He and his family emigrated to the USA in 1938. I'm privileged that a copy of The Secret Self, published in 1952, came my way via a donation to the floating book shop. 329 pages, it is comprised of 20 essays, many having to do with his speculation about the underlying thoughts behind the work of literary titans such as Shakespeare, Goethe and Ibsen. He proposes that it is unlikely that even these vast intellects were aware of the deeper meaning of parts of their work. He reveals his method, which involves thought bridges. A patient will make a comment that triggers something in the analyst's mind, sometimes a personal memory, often a literary reference. For instance, a man troubled with racing thoughts comments: "Our mind is an insult to our intelligence," and it sends Reik on a quest to find related clues that will shed light on the patient's woes. Even now, in my 68th year, I occasionally suffer negative mental jags, and the fact that they occur after all these years and life experience makes them more frustrating, as I should know better by this time. The author is not immune himself. Late in the book he writes: "I had behaved irrationally under the influence of an unconscious, obsessional anxiety which expects punishment for evil thoughts." Similar to a detective, he delves into his mind to find links, and encounters road blocks along the way, describing it beautifully as: "Our initial assumption that we had found the key to the secret chamber was not correct. We have only entered the antechamber, the preconscious, not the unconscious." Of course, the subject often is sex. One instance had me laughing aloud. He recalls I'm Gonna Wash That Man Right Out of My Hair from the musical South Pacific and suggests that the great Oscar Hammerstein, probably unbeknownst to himself, was not talking about the hair on the character's head but the region just below the equator. Whether one believes that is bunk or not, no one can refute it definitively, not even the songwriter, and it is a fascinating and hilarious interpretation. In my literary infancy, a co-worker found hidden meaning in one of my short stories. I didn't buy it. To this day, I'm not sure there is anything hidden in any of my work. Although The Secret Self is a tad overwritten and by no means an easy read, the prose is solid and accessible. There are only rare injections of obscure words. One would never guess that English was not Reik's first language. Reik passed away in 1969. He wrote several other works of non-fiction. It looks like mine will be the first review of The Secret Self at Amazon. More than 60 years after its publication, it is still valuable - and entertaining. 

RIP Harlan Ellison, 84, prolific author of speculative fiction, mind on fire. According to his profile at Wiki, he wrote approximately 1700 pieces across a wide spectrum: short stories, novellas, screenplays, comics, teleplays, essays and criticism. He also edited two speculative magazines. His most famous work is The City on the Edge of Forever from the first season of the original Star Trek, the Joan Collins episode. The script was revised by Gene Roddenberry and company, to the chagrin of Ellison, who sulked despite the fact that it won him awards. He argued constantly with editors and publishers. Here's a telling quote that Stephen King requested of him for Danse Macabre, the horror master's non-fiction work on writing: "My work is foursquare for chaos. I spend my life personally, and my work professionally, keeping the soup boiling. Gadfly is what they call you when you are no longer dangerous; I much prefer troublemaker, malcontent, desperado. I see myself as a combination of Zorro and Jiminy Cricket. My stories go out from here and raise hell. From time to time some denigrater or critic with umbrage will say of my work, 'He only wrote that to shock.' I smile and nod. Precisely." He was married five times, which is not surprising. Although he doesn't seem a person one would want to associate with, there's no denying his success in his field. Kudos.

My thanks to the kind folks who bought and donated books on day one of the heat wave.

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The Writer's Life 6/28 - Lighting

It's been a fantastic week for the right. The Supreme Court provided two thunderbolts, upholding the President's travel ban and ruling in favor of union members who have been forced to pay dues, much of which goes to political candidates they don't support. And with the moderate justice Kennedy retiring, the court figures to remain solidly right for a long time. And Dems keep showing signs of moving further left. And to think I was certain America would finally tilt to socialism upon Hillary's certain election. Although I believe socialism is inevitable, I'm glad I may not see it in my lifetime.

The mainstream media has a new darling in 28-year-old socialist Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, who is making the rounds on talk shows. Wouldn't it be fun if she challenged Chuck Schumer for his long-held senate seat? Oh, to see that sleazeball squirm!

From Yahoo's Odd News: The driver of this van is apparently an heir of Jed Clampett. Massachusetts cops have ticketed him twice this week. I wonder if his mom said: "You're gonna poke somebody's eye out!"

From Fox News, in my own words: A Lone Pine, California ghost town, in the shadow of Mount Whitney, is up for sale. During its heyday in the 1860's and '70's it was the state's largest producer of silver and lead. Closed in 1938, it is believed to have netted $17 million in profits. There were 4800 inhabitants during its height of production. There was an average of one murder per week. There are 22 structures on its 300 acres. The asking price is $925,000. 80 years later, the owners believe now is "the right time" to sell. Here's a pic:

It was pouring at times during my morning walk. I chastised myself for my concern about the lightning and thunder, reminding myself how minute the odds of being struck are - yet it has happened to the unlucky - frequently. Later, Shelley, who's about 70, stopped to chat and related how frightened she was during last night's storm. Her bed has a metal headboard, which prompted her to put rubber disks under its posts. And moments ago I watched video of a Florida policeman, preparing his car for the day, startled by nearby lightning, which caused a fire. Sometimes there's no defense against Mother Nature. She was kind to the floating book shop, providing a long rainless window on a day I expected to be a washout. My thanks to the young woman who bought an abridged version of Cervantes' masterpiece Don Quixote - in Spanish; and to Ira, who purchased bios of Christina Onassis and Oprah; and to the middle age woman who selected a cook book; and to the other who chose a thriller in Russian.

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The Writer's Life 6/27 - Two Heads, Four Lips

According to an article in today's NY Post, there's encouraging news on the medical front. Researchers at Duke University have been injecting a modified version of the polio vaccine into brain tumors. Of those with aggressive cancers, 21% were still alive six years later, as opposed to the 4% who'd undergone chemo.

Here's a perfect example of why politicians have such a low approval rating. A Post blurb cites the driving record of NY State Senator Marty Golden: 14 speed-cam tickets since 2014; three since 1/1/'18; 42 total violations since 2013. No wonder he wants the cams replaced by stop signs and traffic lights. Would anyone be surprised if he violated those as well? The arrogance and sense of entitlement of the political class never ceases to amaze. Although I have yet to be bagged by a speed cam, I hate them. Unfortunately, Golden is the last person I'd want advocating for their abolishment. Still, he is not the poster boy for political arrogance in NYC. That is Michael Grimm, convicted felon who resigned from his congressional seat in 2015 and who tried to oust the current holder, Dan Donovan, in yesterday's primary. The voters saved the GOP from yet another black eye. Meanwhile, ten-term incumbent Joe Crowley of Queens was upset by an avowed socialist, neophyte Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, who, like President Trump, spent one tenth of the money her opponent did. Crowley's a socialist who would never admit he was one, as are most, if not all NYC pols. The real upset would be a Republican winning that seat in November.

The right is thrilled and the left is outraged that the Supreme Court upheld President Trump's travel ban regarding Muslim countries. The vote was 5-4. This shows the importance of the national election. Had Hillary won, the court's makeup would have made approval impossible. Then again, the ban would have never even been proposed. How sweet it is! And now justice Anthony Kennedy has announced his resignation, which will make the midterm elections even more important. If the Republicans lose control of Congress, the court will likely return to a liberal bias.

I'm reading a book by a psychologist who was born in Europe. Of course, the subject often turns to sex. I've been dog-earring pages that contain thoughts I'll blog about when I finish. Here's one that won't make the cut but is too funny not to mention at all, a riddle the author heard as a boy in Vienna: "Why do men think so much and women talk so much? Because men have two heads and a women has four lips."

My thanks to Steve, the poet laureate of Sheepshead Bay, who bought a pictorial of the work of photographer Edward Weston, who passed away in 1958 at 71; and to the gentleman who bought CDs compilations of Gershwin and a DVD of four action movies that probably went straight to video; and to the woman who selected a thriller by Fern Michaels; and to the gentleman who donated about 15 books spanning a broad range of fiction and non. Only three were of questionable marketability: a book on astrology that seems dated, a science textbook, and a collection of plays for children. I left them in the lobby of our co-op.

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The Writer's Life 6/26 - Accentuating the Positive

As the late great Johnny Mercer so famously wrote and sang: "You've got to accentuate the positive/ Eliminate the negative/ And latch on to the affirmative/ Don't mess with Mister In-Between..." With so many of our fellow citizens going negative, here are uplifting quotes:
“We can complain because rose bushes have thorns, or rejoice because thorns have roses.” – Alphonse Karr
“You can, you should, and if you’re brave enough to start, you will.” – Stephen King
“Don’t be pushed around by the fears in your mind. Be led by the dreams in your heart.” – Roy T. Bennett
“The only place where your dreams become impossible is in your own thinking,”– Robert H. Shuller
“Fall seven times and stand up eight.” – Anonymous
“It’s a funny thing about life, once you begin to take note of the things you are grateful for, you begin to lose sight of the things that you lack.” – Germany Kent
“Impossible is just an opinion, don’t buy it.” – Robin Sharma
 "Virtually nothing is impossible in this world if you just put your mind to it and maintain a positive attitude." - Lou Holtz
“People inspire you or they drain you – pick them wisely.” – Hans Hasen
“The most important thing you will ever wear is your attitude.” – Jeff Moore
“Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see a shadow.” — Helen Keller
"Once you replace negative thoughts with positive ones, you'll start having positive results." — Willie Nelson
 “Yesterday is not ours to recover, but tomorrow is ours to win or lose.” — Lyndon B. Johnson
"Positive thinking will let you do everything better than negative thinking will.” — Zig Ziglar
“I'm a very positive thinker, and I think that is what helps me the most in difficult moments.” — Roger Federer
"Perpetual optimism is a force multiplier." — Colin Powell

RIP legendary NYC Top 40 DJ Dan Ingram, 83. With wonderful style and wit, he made the plethora of ads less irksome. For more than 20 years he hosted the afternoon slot at WABC. In 2005 he received the New York Achievement In Radio Lifetime Achievement Award. In 2007 he was inducted into the National Radio Hall of Fame. He was as good a disc jockey as there will ever be. Well done, Kemosabe. Thank you.

There were positive results today at the floating book shop. My thanks to the woman who bought two Sandra Brown novels and a Bibi Netanyahu bio in Hebrew; to Ira, who purchased a dictionary of film and a bio of Marlene Dietrich; to Cabbie, who made a four-for-three sway of paperbacks; and to the young man who spotted Irwin Shaw's The Young Lions as I was packing up.

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The Writer's Life 6/25 - Laugh or Cry?

Here's a scary thought: what will the left do if both the Mueller investigation goes nowhere and the blue wave doesn't occur? That's enough politics for the day. Here's an excerpt from my latest novel, Present and Past. It takes place in a hotel in Chicago. While it isn't explicit, some may find it offensive:

As soon as he was dressed a knock came at the door. He hurried to answer it, keeping an eye on Tony, who froze upon the entrance of the women, who were wearing furs and glistening jewels. Tony was speechless, at a loss for words for what seemed minutes.
"What's the matter, hot-shot?" Freddie teased. "Don't think you can handle it?"
"It's like I died and went to heaven," said Tony, subdued, eyes softly aglow.
The girls chuckled.
"Knowin' you, I never thought the surprise'd be hookers."
The women stood smiling as they sized up the men.
"The moolinyon's better lookin' than that Miss America who got caught with 'er pants down. And the chink's better than the ones you see on the calendars in the take-out joints."
Rather than take offense, the women laughed and threw their coats aside. They certainly gave the appearance of being high class or, at least, high-priced, which was enough for Tony, Freddie knew. He was appalled that they stooped to prostitution. He was sure they would find work modeling were they willing to make the effort. They seemed a bit old to be making their way through college. He felt his resolve ebbing. It'd been difficult enough for him to make the call. He wanted to send them away, although he knew it'd be to the arms - the wallets of other men. And if he dismissed them he would have to take Tony with him, and he couldn't have that. Suddenly he realized he'd had his own convenience, not his friend's pleasure, in mind when the idea had struck him. He seized his jacket.
"Where you goin'?" said Tony, an arm around the Asian woman, who was leaning against him lasciviously.
"Crack the champagne, handsome," said the black goddess, look¬ing Freddie in the eye. "Don't be shy. We won't hurt you - unless you want us to."
The women laughed.
"Don't you hate it when a guy's prettier than we are?" said the Asian to her companion. “Got any coke?"
"We don't do drugs," said Tony, "but don't worry, this party won't be boring. Put your jacket down, Fred. It ain't like you¬'re payin' for it."
"I made plans."
He was anxious to get away from the women, whom he feared had been forced into prostitution to support an addiction to cocaine, as Joanne had been to pay her gambling debt, as Debbie had been to... 
Tony eyed him knowingly. "That degenerate at the store?"
Freddie nodded. "I'm in for a live demonstration of her stuff. If I'm not back by midnight, send the cavalry for me."
"Snake."
"Enjoy yourself - live, as you say." He backed away.
"You know you ain't gotta worry about that."
He seized a fistful of firm flesh in each hand. The women laughed and closed in on him.

It was a perfect day for selling wares on the street. My thanks to the woman who bought pictorials on Dante, Columbus and Peter the Great; to the gentleman who purchased The Prometheus Deception by Robert Ludlum, and The Brethren and An Innocent Man, each by John Grisham; and to Boris, who was delighted when I showed him How They Lived: The Everyday Lives of Hungarian Jews, 1867-1940 by Andras Koerner.

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The Writer's Life 6/24 - Census & Sensibility

Here's someone who makes socialism work. According to a blurb in Michael Goodwin's column in today's NY Post, Bernie Sanders earned a million bucks in 2017, the second straight year he has done so.

Another Post blurb reports Census Bureau findings. In 2017 there were 86,248 Americans above the age of 100. 68,354 were women. I wonder if the men were bachelors.

From Yahoo Sports, in my own words: Kansas City Chiefs offensive lineman Laurent Duvernay-Tardif is unique in uncommon ways besides being a pro athlete. Born in Quebec, he played college ball at McGill University, located in his home town. Drafted in the sixth round in 2014, he has started 31 games. The past few years he took medical school classes in the off-season. Now that he has graduated, he requested that M.D. be added to his name on his jersey. League officials said no, shocking given all that players get away with these days during games.

My thanks to the gentleman who bought six books in Russian despite his huffing that there was too much fantasy in the inventory; and to the young man who bought two DVDs and a huge dictionary; and to Neil, one of the brains behind Dellapeppo Village, broadcast on a Cablevision public access channel, who pounced on a Fellini bio. I hope it will give him ideas for the show, which he creates with his brother. Each day they engage in verbal duels on Facebook, Neil pro-Trump, Rocco anti. It gets as vicious as what others post there. Special thanks to Bill Brown, author of Words and Guitar: A History of Lou Reed's Music, and other works of non-fiction. He showed up as I was breaking down the display and helped me get the stuff into the old Hyundai as the rain gradually increased in intensity. Gazing at the sky, I'd decided to finish early. I attended to my own books first, of course. We jammed the rest into the trunk and back seat willy-nilly. I'll worry about it tomorrow. Fortunately, I scored the most favorable parking spot at my regular nook, so the shop's good to go until after Thursday's session.

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The Writer's Life 6/23 - Lucky

Harry Dean Stanton was one of the greatest "character" actors of all-time. He found a perfect role in his penultimate big screen appearance. Lucky (2017) is a portrait of a 90ish non-believer who, although in good health, is acutely aware of his finite existence and the possibility of the void that follows life. "I'm afraid," he says at one point. His daily routine is shown: at home, at a diner, in a store, at a bar, along the streets of his small southwestern town. It is slices of life that gradually reveal his character, mostly kind and civil, occasionally ornery. Two scenes stood out. He has a conversation with a fellow WWII vet, a stranger, who divulges images of the bloodbath that was Tarawa still vivid in his memory, as are Lucky's of his Navy service in the Pacific. At the birthday party of a ten-year-old, he surprises everyone by breaking into song a cappella - Vicente Fernandez's Volver, which, according to quora.com, is about the longing for the return of a lost love. He does it entirely in Spanish. Perhaps the only gringo present, the others eventually sing along. Lucky is a film by and full of "character" actors. The ubiquitous John Carroll Lynch directed, impressive in his first stint at the helm. Legendary director David Lynch has a role as quirky as those he has filmed. Tom Skerritt is outstanding as the ex-Marine. Ed Begley Jr., Ron Livingston, the prolific Beth Grant (220 titles listed at IMDb), Barry Shabaka Henley, and James Darren, dapper as ever in his first appearance since 2001, bring their considerable talents to the narrative. The screenplay was written by Logan Spark and Drago Sumanja. 8500+ users at IMDb have rated Lucky, forging to a consensus of 7.4 on a scale of ten. It is slow-moving, geared to those who appreciate a character study. There will be one last film featuring Stanton. It is currently in post-production. I look forward to it. I say it again - it's a crime that he was never nominated for an Oscar.

From Yahoo Sports, edited by yours truly: Peter Moylan, 39, was the losing pitcher in Atlanta’s 10-7 loss to Baltimore last night. Coming into the game, he'd logged 208 MLB appearances spanning eight seasons since taking a loss. He gave up three runs in the 15th inning. Only Trevor Miller, a journeyman left-hander who appeared in 694 career games, had a longer streak, 240 from 2006 to 2009. Kudos.

I blew it today in terms of the floating book shop. Anticipating rain, I eschewed my Saturday nook in the old neighborhood and, after completing chores, returned to Sheepshead Bay hoping to take advantage of the shelter provided by the scaffold at my regular nook. Unfortunately, there weren't any parking spots available. I waited a half hour and gave up. It has not rained as of 5:18 PM. I have a feeling of lost opportunity that won't go away until tomorrow's session, for which I will be well-rested. My thanks to Ipsos surveys, which sent me a ten buck Amazon gift certificate via email. I have $290 stored there, which I will use to purchase copies of my next novel, due in January.

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The Writer's Life 6/22 - Charles Krauthammer & Co.

RIP Charles Krauthammer, 68, a voice of reason among TV and print pundits. Recently, he had published a moving farewell in which he stated he'd lost his battle against cancer. While in Harvard med school he suffered an accident diving into a pool. It severed his spine, leaving him a quadriplegic. Despite this setback, he finished medical school, an inspirational example of fortitude for the entire human race. While serving his residency, a professor of his was appointed to an agency created by President Carter. Krauthammer went to work in the administration and eventually became a speech-writer for VP Walter Mondale. Soon he took a turn to the right, which years later he explained in his 2013 book, Things That Matter: "As I became convinced of the practical and theoretical defects of the social-democratic tendencies of my youth, it was but a short distance to a philosophy of restrained, free-market governance." He went to work for the Washington Post. His columns often appeared in the NY Post. In 1987 he won a Pulitzer for his commentary. Despite being a conservative, he was against capital punishment and for stem cell research, and he criticized President Trump severely. He was as unbiased as is humanly possible, an example rarely followed by his colleagues these days. Thank you, sir.

And from the very sad to the comically ridiculous, here's a gem from the Weird But True column in today's Post, in my own words: A beauty blogger claims to have found a wonderful elixir - her dog's fresh urine. She said: "Until I first drank my dog's pee, I was depressed, I was sad, and I had bad acne." She also believes it cures cancer. I guess Frank Zappa was wrong when he wrote and sang: "Watch out where the huskies go, and don't you eat that yellow snow."

Here's a headline from Yahoo Sports: "MLB bans all transactions with corrupt Mexican League." So far, the media hasn't blamed Trump.

Also from YS, in my own words: Basketball dad LaVar Ball has had a wrench thrown into his master plan to have all three of his sons play for the Lakers. In last night's NBA draft, number two son LiAngelo was not selected and it has been reported that the Lakers are not even inviting him to join their summer league team. Right now there seems to be zero interest in him at the highest level. As Robert Burns said in To a Mouse... "The best laid schemes of mice and men/ Go often askew..."

It was an unusually cool day in Brooklyn, perfect for hawking books on the street. I sold the largest and smallest in the inventory. My thanks to the gentleman who bought the massive pictorial on Far East art, and to the young mom who purchased the tiny book on ABC's; and to Arlene, who selected novels by Joan Collins and Barbara Michaels; and to the woman who chose a romance in Russian; and to the woman who showed while I was packing up and pounced on two works of
non-fiction: Isabella: The Warrior Queen by Kirstin Downey and The Tudors by Richard Rex.

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The Writer's Life 6/21 - Sloganeering

Here's a word I don't recall having come across previously - "paralipomena." It is defined as: things omitted from a work and added as a supplement. It's in the book I'm currently reading, which was written by a shrink. I'll be surprised if I ever encounter it again.

With business very slow at the floating book shop, I entertained myself by cataloging the slogans emblazoned on T-shirts and bags:
"My coffee needs coffee." Java-mania is one of the most popular subject of the posts of my Facebook friends.
"We make people better." This was worn by Mr. Morty, 84, a retired salesman who believes he will soon get a cancer diagnosis.
A Brooklyn Cyclones T-shirt that had an inscription in Hebrew on it, worn by Alan, who usually sports a St. Louis Cardinals cap.
"Diamonds, por favor." Great warning for males of the species.
"Me? Perfect? Always?" Ditto.
What looked like a softball T-shirt had the number 13 and the name "Witch" above it. Double ditto.
"Will not work for anything." This was worn by Gonzo, 60, who has said he has never worked a day in his life. I'm afraid to ask.
"If you go home with somebody and they don't have books, don't f--- them." I would like it if the profanity were replaced. It was worn by a young woman who has bought non-fiction from me, youthful indiscretion, not an indication of her true nature, I'm sure. Today she settled half her two-buck tab. My thanks, and also to the woman who donated four hardcovers, three of them in Russian. It was one of those sessions where the toil dwarfed the return.

Here's clever use of Paul Simon's The Sound of Silence:

The Writer's Life 6/20 - Big & Little Bucks

Here's something I've wondered about, gleaned from learn.org, edited by yours truly: As of May 2015, the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics reported a median annual income of $60,250 for writers and authors. Those in the 90th percentile earned $114,530 or more, while the 10th percentile earned $29,230 or less per year. I must be in the last percentile. Here are 2017's world's highest-paid authors, according to forbes.com:
1. J.K. Rowling ($95 million) I have not read any of her books. Judging from the sales of the Harry Potter series at my floating book shop (fbs), she is not a flash in the pan. It seems her popularity will span generations.
2. James Patterson ($87 million) I read only one of "his" novels, a co-write, and didn't like it. I don't recall the title but it had a number in it. I suppose I should try one from early in his career, but I hesitate because I'm almost always disappointed by the mystery genre. His books go quickly at the fbs.
3. Jeff Kinney ($21 million) His Diary of a Wimpy Kid series sell fast at the fbs. I don't read children's books, so I have no opinion on the series.
4. Dan Brown ($20 million) I haven't read any of his work. I fell asleep watching the 2006 adaptation of The Da Vinci Code on DVD.
5. Stephen King ($15 million) I've read only Thinner, which he wrote under the pseudonym Richard Bachman. I enjoyed it, although it was no more than light reading.
6. John Grisham ($14 million) & Nora Roberts. I read one each of their novels and didn't like either. The titles escape me.
8. Paula Hawkins ($13 million) I didn't read The Girl on the Train, but I enjoyed the 2016 movie.
9. E.L. James ($11.5 million) I've been tempted to sample her work, but the books are so long. If someone tells me they have actual substance, I might try one.
10. Danielle Steel ($11 million, tie) & Rick Riordan of the Percy Jackson series. I read one of Steel's long ago, a Hollywood saga, and was lukewarm about it. She, Rowling, Patterson, Roberts and Grisham are the best-selling living authors at fbs. Sidney Sheldon is by far the most popular of the deceased. I haven't read any of Riordan's work. A while ago a dad bought the entire box set for his son, who beamed.

In case you're wondering, here are the top ten best selling authors of all-time:
1. Agatha Christie - estimated between two and four billion copies sold.
2. Shakespeare - also between two and four billion.
3. Barbara Cartland (romance) - between 500 million and one billion.
4. Danielle Steel - 500 to 800 million.
5. Harold Robbins - 750 million.
6. Georges Simenon (French, chiefly Inspector Maigret mysteries) - 500 to 700 million.
7. Sidney Sheldon -370 to 600 million.
8. Enid Blyton (Children's) - 300 to 600 million.
9. J. K. Rowling - 450 to 500 million. (I'd bet she moves up to number three within a decade.)
10. Dr. Seuss - 100 to 500 million.

From Yahoo's Odd News, in my own words: What are the odds? While in a gas station's store recently, a waitress had her purse stolen from her car. A few days later a man she served tried to pay with a credit card - hers! She called the cops, who found her Social Security card and driver's license on the slimeball, who was arrested on the spot.

All the action came in the final half hour of operation today. My thanks to the gentleman who bought the huge pictorial on Native-American art; to Michael, who purchased two Catherine Coulter romances; to the woman who selected a large paperback on vitamins; to Matt, who chose The Spinoza of Market Street by Isaac Bashevis Singer, one of my favorite authors; and to Andy F-Bomb, who donated The Diary of an Ugly Stepsister by Gregory Maguire.
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The Writer's Life 6/19 - Rant

Man, I hate blogging about the infuriating cesspool that is politics. President Trump's approval rating inched up recently, and stands the same as where Obama's was at this time in each's presidency, 45% approve, 50% disapprove. Since the Stormy Daniels scandal has proven a flop, the left and its media acolytes are now ignoring her. They have moved on to the immigration issue, accusing Trump of separating children from parents. Where were they when the same was being done during the previous administration, which built the cages? Some of the pictures being used to damn Trump are from 2014 when you-know-who was in the White House. Factor in what several top FBI administrations did to impede Trump's candidacy and then to disrupt his presidency, and it will make anyone despair but those wearing blinders and the hardcore leftists who believe they are on the side of the angels and thus allowed harsh means to a just, as they see it, end. The actions revealed go even further than politics as usual, or maybe it just seems that way because its current. After all, there have been lots of scandals, Watergate the ugliest. There have always been rumors that the 1960 election was stolen by the doings in Illinois, but nothing ever materialized in the matter. And maybe that was right, as it would have undermined confidence in the government. As much as I want to see the sanctimonious miscreants exposed, especially that harridan the Democrats' higher echelon conspired to nominate, I want the scandal to end, to go away. Let's have firings and immediate pardons. Why waste time and money prosecuting hacks? Let's move on. As for Mueller's investigation - put up or shut down. Given all that went down behind the scenes, it is a miracle that Trump was elected and remains in office. Kudos to all who voted for him.

There was a refreshing breeze blowing along Avenue Z today, creating ideal conditions for the floating book shop. My thanks to the gentleman in the mechanized wheelchair who bought a bio of Mookie Wilson and Michael Woolf's anti-Trump rant, Fire and Fury; and to Barry, who overpaid for a Mel Torme bio; and to the woman who swapped four hardcovers in Russian for a Mary Higgins Clark mystery; and to Ludmilla, who purchased a huge pictorial on the ancient arts; and to the gentleman who gobbled up seven books in Russian. Not only was the weather ideal - no one talked politics.

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The Writer's Life 6/18 - Slivers

The late Ira Levin had a highly successful literary career. A native New Yorker, winner of two Edgar Allan Poe awards, he began by writing for radio and TV. He wrote seven novels, nine plays, a musical, and eleven screenplay adaptations, including of his own books. His most popular work was Rosemary's Baby. Almost as popular were The Stepford Wives, which has been adapted to the big screen twice, and Deathtrap, which had a long Broadway run and was adapted to the screen in 1982. A Kiss Before Dying, his first novel, has also been adapted twice. Several days ago I finished Sliver, a thriller published in 1991. It is the story of a 39-year-old female book editor just off a failed romance, who moves into a building that has been open only a few years. It is one of those oddities seen in NYC, built on a site where two brownstones had stood, rising 21 stories, referred to in the book's title. There have been several deaths at the place and the press has dubbed it "Horror High-Rise." Was there foul play? That will be obvious to just about any reader. Although only 261 pages, the pace is at first slow, despite a slew of truncated sentences. Levin takes the reader through the minutiae of daily life. It gets interesting about halfway through when the protagonist falls for the secretive owner of the building, who has installed state of the art surveillance that allows him access to every apartment. The climax is predictable and over the top. I was as disappointed as I've been with almost every thriller I've ever read. An intriguing idea was fleshed out only minimally. Those who've rated the book at Amazon disagree. 26 readers have forged to a consensus of 4.2 on a scale of five. I've added the 1993 film adaptation to my Netflix list, despite the fact that it was blasted by critics. I'm always curious as to what filmmakers do with a literary work. Levin passed away in 2007 at 78. Here's a 15-story example of a Manhattan sliver:

Hail Brooks Koepka, who won his second straight U. S. Open. He finished plus-one. No one in the field broke par, which has happened several times in the history of the championship. Reigning Masters champion Patrick Reed made an interesting comment in a TV interview. He cited two of Saturday's pin placements as unfair and responsible for most of the carnage. Probably so, but it was the same for the entire field. The ones who had an advantage had the benefit of the luck of the draw - an early tee time before the winds kicked up.

Lack of parking near my usual book nook led me to an alternate site. I have no idea what the temperature was, but it seemed nowhere near the record that had been predicted. Standing under a tree, I enjoyed the breeze blowing along Bay Parkway. My thanks to the middle age woman who bought two Sandra Brown thrillers and Lilac Girls by Martha Hall Kelly; and to the other who selected a book on picking winning stocks; and the other who arrived as I was packing up and purchased two huge pictorials, a book on etiquette, The Elements of Style by William Strunk Jr. and E. B. White, and a philosophy primer. I had a visit from Bad News Billy, who's been under the weather. He spent two weeks in the hospital, suffering congestive heart failure he believes was incited by his years as a roofer. He will soon be fitted with a pacemaker. He is also struggling with sleep apnea. Get well, sir. Mr. Conspiracy also spent time in a hospital - eight days - and doctors could not pinpoint what was wrong with him. He had lost weight, and seemed a ghost two weeks ago. I assumed his drinking had caught up to him. He seems to be recovering, although his voice is still thin. He asked for books on diabetes and pancreas issues. Unfortunately, I don't have any right now. Billy is my age, 68. Mr. C's a few years younger. I'm reminded how lucky I am - knock wood.
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The Writer's Life 6/17 - Man Made

In an op-ed piece in today's NY Post, George Walsh defends President Trump's foreign policy. He includes a quote from a former British PM, Lord Palmerston: "Nations have no permanent friends or allies, they only have permanent interests." Even a politician will say something intelligent once in a blue moon.

In the USA, gifted athletes are pampered from a very young age. An article in the Post by Brian Lewis profiles a young foreigner who traveled a tough road that would probably have led to the imprisonment of his parents on charges of child abuse had they lived in America. Dzanan Musa, from a small town in Bosnia, demonstrated an affinity for basketball. When he was eleven his mom and dad rented an apartment for him in Sarajevo - five hours away, where he lived on his own. They also paid for food vouchers at a local college. Understandably, he often cried himself to sleep and considered returning home. At 16 he began playing professionally in the EuroLeague. Now six-nine, he is waiting to see which NBA team selects him in the upcoming draft. Brooklyn, which picks 29th, is interested, but he is expected to be taken by then. Good luck, sir.

No one under par through three rounds of the U.S. Open - I love it! Phil Mickelson was so frustrated he putted a ball that was still moving, which is a two-shot penalty. He is plus 15. Now 48, the Open Championship has again eluded him. It is the only significant title missing from his fantastic career.

Last night the Svengoolie program, channel 33 on Cablevision in NYC, ran Man Made Monster (1941), starring Lon Chaney Jr. as the titular character electrified by mad scientist Lionel Atwill. Running only 59 minutes, it's fun in terms of nostalgia, of interest chiefly to fans of the old Universal horror movies. In researching the cast, I came upon a new leader in my unofficial tally of screen appearances. Frank O'Connor has 650 titles under his name at IMDb. Most are listed as "uncredited," where he was probably merely a background extra. What makes the total even more astounding is that it is comprised of single shots except for nine he did on Perry Mason and two on Dragnet. His career spanned 1915-1959, when he passed away at 78 . He also directed 23 films and wrote seven screenplays. All those titles are unfamiliar to me, no doubt B films. The previous leader had been Jack Mower with 620 appearances. Those two are alone in the 600 Club - at least so far. Here's a pic of O'Connor in character:

My thanks to the two young women who approached as I was setting up shop and purchased a huge pictorial published by the Audobon Society, F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby, and Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass; and to the young mom who bought two books for her kids; and to the elderly woman who selected a large hardcover on great religious leaders and Stephen Hawking's A Brief History of Time; and to the gentleman who chose Mickey and Willie: Mantle and Mays, the Parallel Lives of Baseball's Golden Age by Allen Barra; and to the elderly woman who donated four biographies of a Time/Life series and insisted on paying for Sacred and Profane: A Decker/Lazarus Novel by Faye Kellerman. 

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The Writer's Life 6/16 - Out of the Mainstream

I will watch any film in which Jennifer Lawrence appears, so I added Mother! (2017) to my Netflix list. It was written and directed by Darren Aronofsky, a Brooklyn guy who takes chances. He has now done seven full length features. His breakout film, Pi (1998), went over my head. I enjoyed The Wrestler (2008), and was disappointed by the box office smash Black Swan (2010). I passed on his others. Mother! is obviously allegorical. What's it about below its chaotic surface? I thought it was a condemnation of the selfish artist whose loving wife has given him everything. That interpretation is addressed and refuted at indiewire.com. Here's an excerpt from the piece, edited by yours truly: "According to the Bible, before God created Man, there was Paradise. JLAW is Gaia, or Mother Earth, defending the living, breathing organism she has built into a perfect home. She can’t handle or fully understand why people are so disrespectful. Her husband is God, Who out of boredom creates Adam (Ed Harris) and Eve (Michelle Pfeiffer); they invade her pristine world and the artist’s study (the Garden of Eden), which holds God’s perfect crystal (the apple). Their dueling children are Cain and Abel. And they bring in worshipers who feed God’s need for adulation. Those who sit on Mother’s unsupported sink eventually cause the pipes to burst into the Great Flood. God impregnates Mother, who gives birth to the Messiah, who is followed by an increasingly chaotic communion and Revelations..." This makes perfect sense. Kudos. 102,000+ folks at IMDb have rated Mother!, forging to a consensus of 6.4 on a scale of ten. It had mediocre results at the box office, returning $44 million worldwide on a budget of $33, which is understandable, since its appeal is limited to the most sophisticated movie-goers. Add DVD sales and rentals and streaming to the mix and the financial results aren't bad. Credit Aronfsky for having the nerve to fly way out of the mainstream, even when he creates something so abstract most people won't get it. I don't agree with the darkness of the message, at least not entirely. I think Man has done much that would impress the creator. His pluses significantly outnumber his minuses, even when it comes to the extraction of earth's resources. Here's a pic of the director and stars, minus Ed Harris:

Tiger Woods, Jordan Spieth, Jason Day and Rory McIlroy failed to make the grade at this year's U.S. Open. The cut line was plus-eight - LOL! The world's number one ranked player, Dustin Johnson, seems on the brink of a runaway victory. Will the Shinnecock gods lay traps for him? 

I've just begun a book by a shrink, written in 1952. The prose is eminently accessible, although two words and a German phrase within the first three pages were foreign to me.
Lithopedion: a fetus calcified in the body of the mother.
Epigonous: abhorrent, causing or deserving strong dislike or hatred (at least as far as I can figure out from merriam-webster.com)
Am schlafe der welt geruhrt: Stirred in the sleep of the world (Huh?)

My thanks to the young moms who bought books for their kids, to the elderly woman who purchased two Debbie Macomber romances, and to the woman who selected two paperbacks in Russian. Here's what was inside one of the recent donations. At first I assumed it was a book marker. Note the price. These days the average cost for a balcony seat to the most popular musicals is $65. I guess the buyer missed the show.

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The Writer's Life 6/15 - Heavy

Conservative pundit Jonathan Podhoretz has lamented the Trump presidency since election night, which is ironic given that Trump has so far governed more conservatively than anyone since Ronald Reagan. Anyway, in his op-ed piece in today's NY Post, he used the term "Deep State" to describe the actions of certain execs at the FBI, particularly focusing on Peter Strzok. If he'd used the term previously, he'd done it with skepticism. He now considers what went down as world changing. I'll believe that when I see it. The swamp will circle the wagons to protect itself.

The first round of the U.S. Open is in the books and the winner is Long Island's Shinnecock golf course. Players struggled in the stiff wind that has been so refreshing in Brooklyn. Only four broke par. Many big names are in jeopardy of missing the cut. I love it when the course is merciless. It should be different from other tournaments were scores are well below par. This is for the national championship.

From Yahoo's Odd News, in my own words: A family heirloom has gone missing in Massachusetts. New tenants of an apartment assumed the frame of an old brass bed had been left as trash and put it curbside. The owner freaked and plastered the neighborhood with signs asking for its return, saying: "My mother will kill me." His mom explained the bed was one of the few items her grandmother had to leave to her 17 grandchildren.

I dreamed I had the measles and that it made me too weak to work. In actuality, I had it when I was in fifth grade, during the last two weeks of the school year. The teacher, Mrs. Sarno, felt so sorry for me she inflated my grades. It was the best report card I ever had. Meanwhile, I didn't feel at all sick. I was so restless I was jumping up and down on the mattress as if it were a trampoline - to the consternation of my poor mom. What triggered the dream? I'd guess it's the worry that I've taken on more books at my sidewalk shop than a 68-year-old guy should be handling. Fortunately, the car is in an ideal position and the weather has been cool. I barely broke a sweat this week. Most of the weight comes from art pictorials, which I placed in a large box I took out to the old Hyundai just before I went on my morning walk. It's heavy. I'm going to have to be very careful not to injure my back.

As I expected, the pictorials attracted attention. My thanks to the woman who bought six, and to Ira, who purchased who purchased one on Fabergé products and bios of Charles Laughton, Red Skelton and George Burns, and a collection of pieces on Hollywood by Garson Kanin; and to Gary, who selected a pictorial published by the Uffizi gallery in Italy, and a bio of Lilian Gish; and to the young woman who snapped up a pictorial on Picasso; and to the elderly woman who donated two works each of fiction and non. Despite all the sales of the pictorials, the box is still heavy.

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The Writer's Life 6/14 - Yul & Co.

Coming appropriately on Flag Day, the IG report is out. Let the left-right spin begin. Prediction: the five FBI execs in trouble will get a slap on the wrist and Hillary will skate as she always has. It will be interesting to see if congress has the balls to subpoena the rank and file agents who threatened to revolt because of the behavior of the upper echelon. That's the only thing that would take the matter to a level beyond politics as usual.

Here's some fun literary stuff gleaned from thoughtco.com: “True terror is to wake up one morning and discover that your high school class is running the country.” – Kurt Vonnegut. Although I wouldn't describe my reaction as "terror," I remember how happy a dear friend was when Bill Clinton - "one of our generation" - was elected president. Although I was happy when the second Bush - another of our generation - was elected, he was a colossal disappointment. As for Vonnegut, he incorporated push-ups and sit-ups into his writing routine and, calling it quits around 5:30 each afternoon, unwound with a glass of Scotch.
“Apparently there is nothing that cannot happen today,” said Mark Twain and, given each day's news, he was so right.
E.B. White, author of beloved children’s classics Stuart Little and Charlotte’s Web never listened to music, which is unimaginable. Music is one of the things that keeps me sane or, at least, approaching sanity.
Leo Tolstoy's immortal character Anna Karenina was inspired by the daughter of one of Russia’s greatest poets, Alexander Pushkin.
What elevates genre writers above their peers? Here's a few lines from Raymond Chandler's Farewell, My Lovely, the second novel to feature Private Eye Phillip Marlowe: “I needed a drink, I needed a lot of life insurance, I needed a vacation, I needed a home in the country. What I had was a coat, a hat and a gun.” 
The first novel written and published by an African-American is William Wells Brown's Clotel; or, The President’s Daughter, which was published in England in 1853 and offers a fictional account of Thomas Jefferson’s slave daughters. And we all thought that wasn't known until fairly recently.

Also on the literary front: I was in the middle of my morning walk when I had a revelation concerning what will be my last book, which I plan to self-publish in January 2020. It's influenced by James Joyce's Ulysses, which I've read twice and understood five-ten percent of it, and that may be a generous assumption. I had nearly as much trouble with Virginia Woolf's works. They employ stream of conscious. I so love the idea of being inside a main character's head that I longed to create such a novel most folks would understand. Maybe that means mine is likely to be shallow. One of the titles I considered is Ulysses for Dummies, which, though amusing, seems a put down of the content. At one time I considered Ulysses of Brooklyn, which lacks smoothness. I was going to go with American Ulysses, although I wondered if people would think I was putting it on the same plane as Joyce's work. I also wanted to name the protagonist Ulysses, but there has probably never been an Italian-American with that moniker. That problem was solved this AM. His nickname will be Yul, short for Ulysses, dubbed so at at time when he sported a full beard and a friend had just seen a film based on the Greek hero of mythology. During lunch, the title occurred to me - Yulysses.

It was insanity today at the floating book shop. Rob, a local porter, came along with a shopping cart filled with books. Nearly every one is valuable. I rejected only those that were damaged. Whoever gave them up was a fan of the arts. There are beautiful pictorials of the works of many great painters, bios of Hollywood stars, books on Jazz, and a bunch of literary fiction. They took quite a while to sort. I stayed an extra hour, hoping the load would be reduced. My thanks to Barry, Boris and Steven, who bought five between them, and to the Frenchman, who'd selected eight earlier. My thanks to the other kind folks who made purchases, and to the gentleman who dropped off about 15 Debbie Macomber novels. Help!

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The Writer's Life 6/13 - Yankee Ingenuity

While the summit yielded encouraging results, it is silly to draw any conclusions at this stage. This will be an ongoing process. Even if it gets to a finalization point, the consequences are not likely to be apparent for years. The event is a microcosm of Trump's presidency so far - filled with hope for those of us who approve of his policies. He still shows no signs of becoming a politician, and I believe that was what we wanted.

A blurb in today's NY Post reports that there was an all-time record on charitable giving in the USA in 2017. It was up 5.2% from the previous year, topping the $400 billion mark for the first time, coming in at $410 billion. With so much money flowing around, let's hope it's another positive sign for the economy.

Guess what this is:

It's a paper plane made by folks in Fitchburg, Mass., who are trying to get the Guinness Book of World Records to recognize it in a new category. 5000 people throughout New England worked on it. It weighs a ton and has not been flown. An 800-pounder created by a 12-year-old in 2012 was hoisted by a helicopter and released, and it flew for ten seconds. Here's another. The guy attached a motor to it and it flew beautifully.

And here's a two-minute video of it:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KUuTvERSpWA

The scaffold saved the day once again, keeping out the light rain, allowing the floating book shop to operate. My thanks to the woman who purchased a Mary Higgins Clark thriller, and to the gentleman who bought White Protestant Nation: The Rise of the American Conservative Movement by Allan J. Lichtman; and to the one who donated three outstanding, pristine hardcover titles on baseball; and to the other who donated several books in Russian and pictorials on rare coins, Fabergé and Picasso.

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The Writer's Life 6/12 - Tweener

Ever wonder if you were adopted and never told? Sometimes I think I can't be Italian-American. After all, I don't drink coffee or vino. I prefer Coke or Pepsi, each of which at least end in a vowel. I don't like eggplant. I have no compelling desire to visit Sicily or any other part of Italy. I would never vote for someone simply because he/she is a goombah. I can't sit through more a few minutes of Saturday Night Fever (1977). I don't like the Rocky movies. On the plus side, I love pizza, pasta, formaggio, and the Godfather trilogy, which a handful of Italian-Americans find insulting. Since I now hear the language so infrequently, I enjoy hearing it spoken, even - especially - the bastardized version employed in the five boroughs of NYC, and I miss the absence of it on 86th Street. I love the phrases that make their way into literature. I guess I'm a tweener, although I'm sure all my relatives born in the old country would dub me 'Merigahn. And I'm fine with that. I love America, just as Buonosera the undertaker professes in the opening line of The Godfather (1972). Actually, he says: "I believe in America..." Me too, despite the elitists, especially the Italian-Americans among them. Here are heroic Italian-Americans: Christopher Columbus; Sgt. John Basilone - USMC, Medal of Honor recipient of World War II; Corporal Anthony Casamento - USMC, Medal of Honor recipient of World War II; Col. Luigi Palma di Cesnola - Civil War Union Cavalry officer and Medal of Honor recipient; Joseph D. Pistone - FBI agent who went undercover as Donnie Brasco and infiltrated the Bonanno crime family; all Italian-American soldiers and police officers killed or wounded in the line of duty; all the doctors, scientists and inventors who have made life better; all those in the arts, who are not heroes but whose works have enriched our lives - even the jerks among them. Even if I was adopted, I'm proud to be an Italian-American. Minutes ago I heard a radio report about a 40th anniversary celebration of John Travolta's breakout film. Even though I don't like it, I realize and accept that it's iconic and means a lot to people. Here's a pic someone snapped a little while ago:

From Yahoo's Odd News, edited by yours truly: An 18th century Chinese vase found in a shoebox in an attic sold for 16.2 million euros ($19 million) at auction in Paris, the highest price ever for single item at Sotheby's in France. Anyone who watches Antiques Roadshow knows that wares made in China have skyrocketed in value and are in great demand since the economy of that huge country began to boom. The buyer was Asian but the firm did not reveal the name or nationality. Here's a pic:

It was a second straight day of ideal, invigorating weather. My thanks to the young man who purchased the sci-fi short story collection Viewpoints Critical by L.E. Modesitt Jr., and to Jimmy, who bought 12 works of non-fiction, including huge tomes on etiquette and a beautiful pictorial on Italian shrines; and to Al the Mensch, who selected a Barry Goldwater autobio. Who else would buy such a book? Al's 71st birthday is tomorrow. Struggling with several health issues, he believes God has so far granted him at least a one-year reprieve. Enjoy your day, sir. Special thanks to Gene, who asked for a short story collection and was convinced immediately to buy A Hitch in Twilight.
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The Writer's Life 6/11 - Batty

The term "bats in the belfry" is familiar to most folks. Here's a novel idea reported today in the NY Post's Weird But True column, in my own words: Two historical libraries in Portugal use bats to help kill insects that threaten valuable books. The blurb didn't elaborate, but I guess the critters go to work once the lights are out, since they're nocturnal. I don't imagine they're flying around during visiting hours. Or are they? Here's a wonderful illustration from a children's book published in 2008. Pipistrelli are the specific type of bats:

President Trump's critics have accused him of being unprepared for the summit with Kim Jong-un. Is there more to it than "If we give you what you want, will you get rid of your nukes, and will you allow us complete inspection access?" Of course, Robert DeNiro disagrees - and he knows all.

Matt, a Vietnam vet just turned 70, is a private school administrator. He frequently stops by the floating book shop to chat. He had me laughing out loud today. His dad, who's nearing the century mark and living in a home, placed a $100 bet on Justify in the Belmont Stakes. The overwhelming favorite returned just six bucks on that amount. Matt asked his dad if he got excited watching the race, and his dad complained that the winner was apparent very early... Also in sports - when there are 30 teams playing 162 games each, a lot of batty stuff happens during the course of the season. Last night the betting lock of the year seemed to be the Yankees and their ace Luis Severino slaughtering the Mets, completing a three-game sweep. On the mound for the Amazin's was journeyman Seth Lugo. Bettors must have taken a bath. Then again, the return on the investment was likely so paltry many - unlike Matt's dad - might have passed on the game, which the Mets won 2-0.

My thanks to the gentleman who purchased The Fall of the Dynasties: The Collapse of the Old Order: 1905-1922 by Edmond Taylor, and to the young man who bought the Bill Clinton bio My Life; and to the young woman who selected Edith Hamilton's Mythology and a book on spirituality. The weather was energizing. The best aspect of the session was that Political Man didn't show up and let loose one of his batty anti-Trump rants. Today also marked the first time I ever voted for a Democrat. Ed, who lives in one of the three buildings, is running for the co-op's board. I gave him my proxy ballot. His chances are slim, but so were Trump's. Good luck, sir.

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The Writer's Life 6/10 - Journeys

Born in Dublin, the late Maeve Binchy had a terrific literary career. She began as a teacher, moved on to journalism, and finally to books. She wrote 16 novels, novellas, numerous short story collections, a play, and four works of non-fiction. Her work has been translated into 37 languages and sold more than 40 million copies. Three of her novels were adapted to the big screen. She wrote scripts for TV and radio plays. She was awarded for lifetime achievement by both Britain and Ireland. She passed away at 73 in 2012. I just finished one of her story collections, The Return Journey, published in the late '90's. The 14 pieces all have to do with travel. She focuses on relationships, not only mates but parents and children, and demonstrates insight into the psyche. I enjoyed two stories in particular. The Wrong Suitcase is about a man and a woman with the same initials who leave an airport with each other's bag. In order to make contact, they must go through the contents, and both are contemptuous of what they find. Yet when they make the exchange they are smiling and civil to each other, as many people would behave. In A Holiday with Your Father, a thirtyish divorcee laments not being able to get close to her dad, who is in all else exemplary. She tries to get him to accompany her on a week-long business trip to Paris in which she will have much free time, but he resists, so set in his ways is he. The frustration is palpable. My only quibble with the book is that I thought some pieces needed polishing. There are also the inevitable oddities that differentiate UK and American English. Still, The Return Journey goes miles beyond conventional romance, and Binchy never strays from decency. I don't recall a single cuss in the 200+ pages. 181 readers have rated the book at Amazon, forging to a consensus of 4.1 on a scale of five, a bit too high in my estimation. It has been reprinted and is still selling modestly, its ranking 750,000+ among the 13 million or so titles listed at Jeff Bezos' behemoth, one that no doubt makes living authors envious..

I know I'm not up to snuff on modern pop culture, but I'm feeling even more out of the loop after the suicide of chef Anthony Bourdain, who I knew nothing about other than his name. There were four page spreads on him in the NY Post the past two days. RIP, sir.

There are many yahoos in the sports press. Some, writers desperate to legitimize the NFL kneeling protesters, are linking Tim Tebow to them. If you think the protests are okay, just say so. Don't twist the truth. He was not protesting anything. He was praying. How I hope Tebow makes it to the major leagues just to hear his detractors' whine and rant. It once seemed he had zero chance to have a significant career in MLB. Now I'd say it's 5%. Of course, the way the Mets are going, he may get a September call up. That might be the only thing that would draw fans to the ballpark... Also in sports, certain writers are accusing NBA finals MVP Kevin Durant of having ruined the competitive balance of the league by signing with the already powerful Golden State Warriors a couple of years ago. In effect, they're taking shots at him for wanting to win. Get over yourselves.

My thanks to the Frenchman, who bought a pictorial on Cro Magnum man and Democracy in America by Alexis de Tocqueville; and to the young woman who purchased Emotional Intelligence: Why It Can Matter More Than IQ by Daniel Goleman; and to Ira, who selected Reader's Digest Scoundrels & Scalawags and another work of non-fiction on oddities; and to the young mom who treated her son to an entry in the The Bad Guys series by Aaron Blabey. The highlight of the session was getting to know more about Vitaly, a middle age immigrant from Russia, who grew up in northern Siberia, inside the Arctic Circle. He was the middle child. His two sisters are still there. His dad was a coal miner, his mom a nanny. He spent ten years in the Soviet army. I always enjoy speaking to him because he's trying so hard to learn English. Here's a pic of what it's like in winter in that part of the world - frozen eyebrows!

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