Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 6/30

No luck again today. I'm never sure how to interpret the slumps I hit. Thus far, they've seemed simply a matter of percentages, the absence of the right person at the right time. There have been two signs that this is different, that the recession is finally hitting the floating bookshop. Simone, who purchased a handful of books several weeks in a row, which she devoured, has only waved the past three weeks. And the Romance Lady, Yelena, who said she would stop by on her way back from a coffee run, took an alternate route to her building, which I spotted her entering. We'll see.
On the side of the bus shelter ten feet from where I set up, there is a large poster advertising this Saturday's heavyweight fight between Klitschko and Haye. It has attracted more attention than the previous one featuring a model and her jeans. This would be surprising if not for the fact that Sheepshead Bay is predominantly Russian. The pride is obvious. I haven't watched boxing since perhaps as far back as 1970, except for a couple of Mike Tyson's bouts. I just can't justify watching men beat each other to a pulp. Shouldn't we beyond such things in the 21st century? Still, I don't think it should be banned. These are adults who understand the consequences of their actions. And the object is a knockout, not killing, although a handful do die as a result of blows. I admire their skill and courage. I just don't want to watch it. Maybe I've gotten too soft. As for women's boxing, which I consider evidence of the end of civilization, I will never watch it. I wouldn't even watch the Academy Award winning movie Million Dollar Baby. But you watch football, friends might say. Yes, and it is often brutal, but the object is touchdowns and field goals, not a knockout, although some players do attempt to injure talented opponents. I cringe at some of the hits and wonder how I ever played and coached. But you watch wrestling, friends might say. True, but wrestling is a bizarre side show where the outcome is predetermined and injuries are accidental. One of the reasons I no longer watch is that it has lost its madcap humor. No one presently in the business entertains me the way Captain Lou Albano and Classie Freddie Blassie did. When I need a good laugh, I pop in best-of tapes I made in the 80's.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 6/29

Even though I didn't sell any books today for the first time in a long while, I was reminded how lucky I am. A half block away, at the juncture where Sheepshead Bay Road, Avenue Z and East 14th meet, two men were replacing a window on the third floor of the shiny triangular building that went up on the spot about ten years ago. A scaffold reached the second floor, a step ladder to the third. Atop it stood an intrepid soul - without a harness. His partner was on the scaffold, handing things up to him. I don't know why they couldn't do the job from inside the building. Imagine doing that every day for a living. I was reminded of how much I hated climbing the ladder in the alley at my old house and untangling the clothesline for my mom, which was nothing compared to what that guy did. One gust of wind, a misstep - wow. What big ones. I hope his kids appreciate what he does to bring food to the table. Kudos.
Later, I got another long visit from Esther, who opened up more of her life to me. She has gone through the legal formality of disinheriting her son, who no longer visits her or her husband, who is in a nursing home, a double amputee diabetic who suffers severe arthritis and near blindness. When she was ten, her mom died of cancer at 37. Her father, a baker who worked nights for Fink on Long Island, could not raise six children himself. All were put in foster homes. Esther was separated from her twin, Regina. She lived with her foster parents until she was 24, when she married in a civil ceremony at City Hall. Her two older brothers have succumbed to cancer. It is sad and amazing what some people suffer in this life. It reminds me how easy I've had it.
Rest in Peace, Danny, who used to play his guitar outside the Sheepshead Bay train station. He lost his long battle with drug addiction.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 6/28

My schedule was thrown off today, as I accompanied Arlynn on a trip to one of her many doctors. What a fiasco. The guy's partners have both retired, so he is there alone. Patients waited four hours to see him. For some reason, he lets Arlynn cut the line. She was there only two hours. By the time we returned, after a couple of more stops, I was not in the right frame of mind to set up shop. I took a nap, ate, then went out. Although I didn't sell many books, I did run into Bob Rubenstein, whose second novel, The White Bridge, I'm editing. 85 pages in, I've found it confusing and unfocused. And we have such different styles of prose. Mine is direct. His is verbose, florid. That makes me wonder if I simply don't get what he is trying to accomplish. I told him to ignore my revisions if he thought they were bunk. I really dreaded telling him what I thought, as he's been very kind, buying my books and recommending them to others. I know how precious a writer's work is to himself. Fortunately, he took it very well. I was so relieved. His first novel, Ghost Runners, on which he worked on and off for 25 years, is so much more focused. I believe The White Bridge is in its first draft. I suggested he slow down. I've made so many grammatical and prosaic changes I'm afraid he'll think I'm co-opting it. I do only five pages at a time. I want to help and hope I'm not hurting. I told him how hard it is for me to sit back and enjoy any book. As I'm reading, the writer in me emerges. I imagine how I would have said certain things, how I would have punctuated them. It can be very annoying. Fortunately, I don't view movies and TV shows the same way. I simply enjoy them.
Thanks to everyone who bought books the past two days, and to the kind Russian gentleman who offered me a peach yesterday. Unfortunately, I've noted that one of my regulars, Simone, has avoided me this week. I hope she isn't haven't financial problems.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 6/26

Bad News Billy stopped by the floating bookshop today. The poor soul has been through divorce, bypass, free-loading daughters, fraud and now a car accident. He was kind enough to buy two baseball related items: the VHS version of Eight Men Out, John Sayle's wonderful depiction of the 1919 Black Sox scandal, and slugging Hall of Famer Mike Schmidt's Clearing the Bases. Coincidentally, both were donated by actor-singer Johnny Feets, who visited today, walking to Bay Parkway from his new residence about three-quarters of a mile away. He and a friend, Rachel, participated in one of those events that is unique to the city. For a week or so, 88 pianos have been set up in the five boroughs, for anyone to play. John and Rachel went to 14th Street and 9th Avenue in Manhattan, where they did a standard popularized by Judy Garland - Just in Time, music by Jule Stein, lyrics by Adolph Comden and Betty Green, and got a round of applause from an old-timer. Rachel finds plenty of work playing in bars and on cruises. She once took Feets along as a guest on a two-week cruise. He gained five pounds chowing down on the free Creme Brulee and such. Thanks, Bill and Feets.
Last night I watched The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest (2009), the final part of the trilogy based on Stieg Laarsen's wildly popular novels. While not as riveting as the first two installments, it was still good. The entire plot of the arc was detailed, and not in a heavy handed way. I am just totally fascinated with Lisbeth Salander, the heroine, so expertly played by Noomi Rapace. The film also offered an interesting glimpse into a trial in Sweden, which I don't believe I'd ever seen before. And the country looks so clean, despite the ugly aspects of the story, as if it is scrubbed regularly, so unlike the dreary landscapes of the great Ingmar Bergman's work. Although Lisbeth, in full punk regalia, triumphs in the end, it is a Pyrrhic victory, a tragedy. This beautiful, highly intelligent young woman is so damaged it is doubtful she will ever be able to maintain a relationship or find more than fleeting happiness.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 6/25

There was a bit of excitement in the old neighborhood today. As I approached the block I grew up on, Bay 37th, in Bensonhurst, I saw smoke against the blue sky and heard sirens. What was formerly known as the Ultissima Beauty School - affectionately known as Ul-tits-ima to ruffians, yours truly excepted, of course - was burning. It is around the corner and up one street from my old house, and directly across the way from where I set up the floating bookshop most Saturdays, 24th Avenue. Scores of spectators lined the opposite side of 86th Street and gawked past the elevated tracks. The storefronts had been evacuated. Windows had been shattered by the firemen, many of whom had had to travel only 200 yards to fight the blaze. There were trucks from others companies as well. Apparently, authorities decided to err on the side of caution. The damage seemed minimal, although my oldest niece, Isabel, who had been there from the start, said flames had been rising from the roof. Perhaps someone had left a curling iron unattended. It is just as possible the fire had started in the little Mexican restaurant a few doors down. No one knew. I spotted Vinny, whose family for decades has owned the huge property on the next block that houses the Dolphin Gym, a dollar store and an Albanian restaurant. "Lookin' to expand?" I said quietly. He laughed. 
The area was still blocked off by the time I was ready to go to work, so I had to set up elsewhere. I headed to Bay Parkway, six blocks further, my Sunday spot. It proved to be lucky. I immediately sold a spelling book to a mom looking to help her son's reading. And then a tall young man approached, a box cradled to his chest. He said he was the son of a frequent donor, Joanne. He looked just like her. As soon as I'd set out the hard covers she'd surrendered, Jack, an employee of the Chase Bank directly in front of me, stepped out the main door. I thought he was going to say his boss had told him to tell me to take a hike. Not! He has an hour-and-a-half subway commute and goes through three books a week. He took eight. Thanks, folks.
On a sad note, Peter Falk, 83, has died. In the 70's, he created the wildly popular role of Columbo, a detective whose quirkiness and drab attire bamboozled murderers. He won four Emmys. He also did outstanding work in films, twice nominated for an Academy Award, as the deadly Abe Reles in Murder, Inc. (1960) and as a comic thug in A Pocketful of Miracles (1961). I wonder if he'll wear the raincoat in heaven. RIP.
And to cap off a fine day, I found Monica Brinkman's The Turn of the Karmic Wheel in my mailbox. I'd won a copy by answering a question correctly. Monica does yeoman work promoting the work of writers published by All Things That Matter Press, including web radio at http://www.blogtalkradio.com/monicabrinkmanandoana I look forward to reading her book.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 6/4

It was another gloomy day in Brooklyn, although again there has not been more than a mist that doesn't even wet the sidewalks and streets. Several people stopped by at the viaduct, but no one bought. Perhaps the selection was too limited. I'm able to carry only two-thirds of my wares to that location. The highlight of the session was seeing lovely young Mariana in her junior high cap and gown. Congratulations, young lady, and good luck in high school.
I was just listening to the Steve Malzberg Show while chowing down on a couple of slices from Delmar. He interviewed a woman who is the spokesperson for the Saint Nicholas Greek Orthodox Church at Ground Zero, which was destroyed when Tower Two collapsed. Fortunately, no one was in it at the time. All that was left were a few artifacts. The church was established in 1916 by shipping magnates. Although I never visited, I remember it well, as I frequently passed it during lunch from 1983-1997 when the Exchange was located at Four World Trade Center. There has been no effort on the part of politicians to have it rebuilt, which is an outrage, especially in light of how many are bending over backward to accommodate Muslims who wish to build a mosque one block from Ground Zero. There will be a rally tomorrow in downtown Manhattan to bring the issue to light.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 6/23

I feel like a bum. I didn't set up shop today, as the forecast was grim. While a lot of the tri-state area has been pummeled, Brooklyn hasn't seen more than sprinkles. I could very easily have set up shop under the shelter of the viaduct, but I chose to attend to chores instead. Of course, I'm wondering if the percentages would have come due and I would have sold one of my own books today. Maybe I missed that one in a thousand chance and the wheel has now moved back to zero. While I'm way behind last year's pace in terms of my own books, I'm way ahead on used books and miscellaneous income, thanks to Arlynn. I've also built my paypal account to over $300, courtesy of various survey sites. I have a nice sum to buy copies of my own books, when - if - I'll ever need them.
I made a trip to Target, forgetting about the traffic slowdown on the ever-crowded, ever-repair-mode Belt Parkway. It took a half hour instead of the ten minutes it should have required. And I forgot my cell phone. I had that annoying "This is the day I'll have an accident" feeling, which nags me occasionally even when I have the device. I've never had an accident - the percentages are due. We all have our neuroses, I guess.
I take my cell phone outside only when I intend to drive, otherwise treating it like a landline. It is amazing how vulnerable I feel not having it in the car. We did without them for decades. Fortunately, I didn't have an accident. I replaced my electric razor, which is so old Norelco doesn't make replacement blades for that model any more. I also bought a pair of sneakers. And I spent a lot of the day reading. And my hip got some rest. It's fallen back to 75%. I hope it comes back to the 90's. I dread the thought that it will get a lot worse before it gets better.
Now I will work on my friend Bob Rubenstein's second novel, The White Bridge. Maybe I won't feel like such a bum.
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