Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/4

Sad news out of the music world today. Brooklyn's own Adam Yauch, 47, founding member of the Beastie Boys, has succumbed to cancer. I'm not going to pretend to be hip about rap. In fact, I find a lot of what I hear from passing car stereos absolutely appalling. Years ago I did enjoy a couple of funny tracks and their accompanying videos, Will Smith's I Think I Can Beat Mike Tyson and Tone Loc's Funky Cold Medina, but I don't know enough about the genre to comment on its worth as art. The Beastie Boys were the first rap artists to reach number one on Billboard's charts (Licensed to Ill, 1987). They've won three Grammys and several other awards. I can only name four of their tracks: Sure Shot and Sabotage seem pure hip hop. If I were younger, they would probably be among my favorites. One of my favorite lines in rock 'n roll comes from You Gotta Fight for Your Right to Party, even though I hate tobacco products: "Your dad caught you smokin' and he said no way,/but that hypocrite smokes two packs a day." I am not fond of the fourth song: No Sleep 'til Brooklyn, despite the fact that it mentions my beloved home. Yauch, aka MCA, was too ill to attend the ceremony when the group was inducted into the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame. Sometimes life is not fair even to the famous. Rest in peace. Ya did good, kid.

It was a quiet day at the floating book shop, just a few small sales for the first two-and-a-half hours. Fortunately, late in the session, an old timer came along and bought six hard cover thrillers and a VHS of Schindler's List (1993), which I'd brought out for the first time today. Some items seem guaranteed to sell immediately, no matter the format. Tomorrow I will bring out ET (1982) and I'll be very surprised if it goes home with me. I wasn't crazy about either film, but millions disagree.
Thanks, folks.
As I was heading to Delmar for a couple of slices of pizza, I ran into a former co-worker, Joey Elvis. There were so many Joes on the trading floor that most had a distinguishing moniker: Fat Joe, Joey K, Joe Piss, Joe Bush, etc.. Anyway, I was happy to learn that Joe, who was let go in early '07, has finally landed a job, in a supervisory capacity in security. He certainly looks the part, fit as a fiddle. Good luck, Joey.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/3

30 manhole covers have gone missing in NYC. Authorities assume they are being sold as scrap metal. Some weigh as much as 300 pounds, which would yield $30. Given what some potholes will do to a car, imagine what driving over an open manhole will do. This is not a good trend.
According to a report on the Mother Nature Network, vegetarians have a 39% greater risk of colorectal cancer than meat eaters. This falls into the category of "It's always something." The overall cancer rate of vegetarians is lower, however. The report suggests people become Flexitarians, that is, eat meat occasionally. I pretty much fall into this category. I don't eat a lot of fresh fruit and vegetables. I prefer soup, pasta and cereal. I have pizza, two slices, once a week, ditto hot dog buns from the Chinese bakery. I had a yen for a small cup of ice cream this morning at the supermarket - and passed. The last time I had trail mix, a month ago, my hemorrhoids were howling. Getting older is not fun.
Mother Nature cooperated with the floating bookshop today. An older gentleman got me off to an immediate good start, purchasing four DVDs, a great deal. Amongst them were an Errol Flynn set of five that included Objective Burma (1945), and Reunion in France, released on Christmas Day in 1942, starring John Wayne and Joan Crawford, a film I did not know, rated 6.1 out of ten at IMDb. Even the 84-year-old veteran, a big movie fan, was unfamiliar with it. I offered him his pick of the films to repay him for his many books donations, and he selected a double feature of Mario Lanza. I also sold thrillers by Richard North Patterson, Jeffrey Deaver, John Grisham and Vince Flynn, the latter to a young woman who may give birth any minute. And just before I left, a young home attendant with a beautiful smile purchased Pierre Boulle's Planet of the Apes (1963) for her ten-year-old son, who recently said: "Mommy, did you know we come from apes?" Every time I hear that title I hearken back to a get together at the house of a family friend. The movie was being aired on TV and Giulio, may he rest in peace, said in his thick accent to one of his three sons, who was leaving the room: "Don't you want to watch Planet of the Ape-ez." I almost bust a gut restraining laughter so as not to insult that dear man. My sister pronounces it the same way.
Thanks, folks.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/2

Last night I watched another of the music videotapes I made, this one from the mid '90's. What variety. Even Ed Sullivan might have been envious. Three of the songs were from a Gary Moore concert done in a small venue or studio. He does a great duet with BB King and, of course, the monumental Still Get the Blues For You, on which he reaches into the depths of his soul and delivers a passion that can only be matched, not surpassed. Every time I hear it I get misty and think: Wow, he really loved that girl. I wonder if she returned the feeling. Also on the tape were two disparate performances from Neil Young, creating mayhem with the young guys of Pearl Jam on Rockin' in the Free World, and doing haunting acoustic solo work on War of Man. He is a fascinating artist. I captured Blind Melon doing the wacky No Rain on SNL, on which lead guitarist Roger Stevens plays wonderfully. Vocalist Shannon Hood died of a cocaine overdose in 1995. That track was followed by Concrete Blonde doing the beautiful Mexican Moon on Letterman. It is tighter and even better than the album version, and the clip is available on youtube. Robert Plant, Bon Jovi, Pete Townsend, George Thoroughgood, Joe Cocker, Santana, Iggy Pop, Billy Joel, Elvis Costello, in a comeback attempt with his great back up band The Attractions, and Sonic Youth, whose abstract song seemed to baffle the Letterman audience, are also on the tape. Sade makes two appearances doing No Ordinary Love, the second take far superior to the first, which was also on SNL. She doesn't have much range, but she is so adept at mood and sensuality, and so easy on the eyes, a modern Aphrodite. I get a kick out of her guitar player's work. I'd swear his progressions at times are out of the Black Sabbath song book, toned down, of course. Here's a link to the second performance:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=82xhLFh0Ygg  Enjoy. I wouldn't be surprised if every track on the tape is on YT, although I was unable to find the SNL No Rain, which I thought was titled Not Sane, given the constant use of the phrase in the song. I later caught a snippet of a book show as I was scanning for something to watch. A gentleman commented that the personal computer may be the greatest invention of all time. He'll get no argument from me.

The light rain forced the floating bookshop to the exile of the viaduct at Avenue Z and East 15th, with predictable results - nada. The forecast is the same for tomorrow. Given the mild winter, which has allowed me to earn much more than at this point last year, I won't complain. It looks like I'll have to hit the ATM for the first time since 2/14.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/1

When an author titles a book A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius (2000) he'd better deliver. Dave Eggers did so. I just finished his critically acclaimed memoir depicting the tragedies he endured while in his mid 20's, and the responsibility they engendered. Most of the narrative takes place within his mind. The reader sees the good, bad and ugly. He captures the quiet desperation Thoreau so aptly described, although in Eggers' case it seems very loud. His brain is hyperactive. Although his experiences and tastes are so different than mine, I felt a kinship, although his worst thoughts are not nearly as base as mine have been, and his IQ is probably much higher than mine. He captures the tortured soul trying to make sense of life and death. At time it is a bit tedious, over-written, but it works itself back to points of interest that are poignant, justifying the title. And there is considerable humor to help the reader through the overall despair, just as there is in real life. Thoreau's full quote is: "Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them." Eggers will not be taking the song into the afterlife. He lets it all hang out. On a scale of five, I rate AHWOSG three-and-a-half.
I am leery of online banking, fearful of identity theft or the loss of my savings. In today's New York Post, financial columnist John Crudele wrote of a recent scary experience. While visiting his online account, a window popped up that appeared to be from his bank, asking that he verify himself using pin number, SSN, etc.. He became suspicious when asked for his driver's license essentials. He logged off immediately and made a phone call. His PC had been hacked, the Zeus Virus installed on it. He has no idea how. There is actually a site devoted to it: ZeusTracker.com, which reports that there are 676 known offenders sending it out. Only one-third of the trojans have been caught by anti-virus software. I don't see myself ever banking online.
The floating book shop had great luck today, despite the threat of rain. I sold a lot of books and had another donation from the 84-year-old veteran. The highlight was a purchase made by a guy I see every day, sort of an odd ball, short and stocky, a bit unkempt. Last summer he walked around a few days with a replica of a wrestling championship belt draped over his shoulder. He could pass for a pre-'90s whipping boy wrestler, a Captain Lou Albano or Frankie Williams. And he has good taste in music, buying a best of Linda Ronstadt CD.
Thanks, folks. Here are pics of the aforementioned:

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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 4/30

My reaction when I saw that another Planet of the Apes films had been issued was skepticism, derision. When I noted the positive reviews for Rise of the Planet of the Apes, I was still not convinced. I reluctantly added it to my Netflix list. I'm glad I did. Despite its outrageous storyline and the one-dimensional portrayal of many of the human characters, the film was riveting and exciting. It is not at all like its early predecessors in the series. I did not see the most recent remake of the original. The plot is fresh.The original was fun, but silly and unconvincing. Rise... is deadly serious, and the cast and crew really sell it. James Franco must be given credit for starring in a movie where he must have known he would play second banana to monkeys. John Lithgow and Brian Cox lend their usual solid support. But the real star is the remarkable Andy Serkis, the man behind the chimp, Caesar, whose stare, the smoldering rage behind it, is frightening. Serkis also portrayed Gollum in the Lord of the Rings trilogy and King Kong, and he made an uncredited appearance on my favorite TV show, MI5, during season three. The folks at IMDb rated Rise... 7.7 out of ten. On a scale of five, I rate it four. Kudos to director Rupert Wyatt in only his second stint at the helm, and screenwriters Rick Jaffa and Amanda Silver. The production crew constituted an army and did a wonderful job. The CGI stuff had such authenticity. Here are pictures of Serkis and Gollum:
 
Round Two of the golf season was rather unusual. Although my score improved by eight shots, 92, it was due to several lucky bounces and good putting. I hit twice as many bad shots as good, but when you drop in a couple of 30-footers and a chip shot it makes bad play look much better than it was. Somehow I made two birdies, but I triple-bogied two par threes, my iron-play pathetic.  As for my buddy Cuz, he was all over the place and did not crack 100. The floating book shop will re-open tomorrow, if the rain ends in the morning, as forecast.
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 4/29

My favorite part of the NFL draft is seeing which player is selected last, dubbed Mr. Irrelevant by the press. This year there were 253 picks, and the honor of last man standing went to Chandler Harnish, a QB out of Northern Illinois. He should not fret. Two recent Mr. I's have done well in pro ball. David Vobora has played four years for two different teams, mostly as a member of special teams, and Ryan Succop has been the Chiefs' field goal kicker, making an impressive 81% of his attempts. I guess I relate to them so well because I'm close to being the Mr. Irrelevant of writers.
I reached a milestone of sorts today. I've always been intrigued by stats. Each year I eagerly awaited for my buddy Bags to finish reading his copy of Bill James' late, lamented Baseball Abstract. I was and am still a believer in Sabermetrics, although it is not perfect, of course. I would record my personal softball statistics, although there were times I wished I hadn't, so embarrassing were they. I'd record those of the teams I managed too. I keep close track of book sales, both in overall dollar value and the number of copies sold of my own books. Carmine, a gregarious senior citizen, happened by the floating book shop for the first time in a while today. He was thrilled that I had a new book available, and bought Killing. It was the 600th copy of my four books that I've sold. Carmine recommended A Hitch in Twilight to two people who stopped to see what was what. Alas, they did not bite, but actor-singer extraordinaire Johnny Feets did. He has finally found a roommate to share his Bensonhurst apartment and again has some discretionary income to spend. He purchased Close to the Edge three, perhaps four years ago. Thanks, gentlemen, and also to the other kind folks who purchased books.
Here's how the tally breaks down: Close to the Edge - 348; A Hitch in Twilight - 116; Adjustments - 114; Killing - 23. This does not include the three recent web sales of Killing, for which I have yet to be paid. Crazy, I know. Maybe I am the Mr. Irrelevant of authors. Be that as it may - on to 700!
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Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 4/27

Mother Nature seems confused. We had May-like weather in March, and now March-like weather in April. Today's stiff breeze was a nuisance to the floating book shop. I hadn't felt as cold since February. Fortunately, a few people stopped to either chat or make a purchase. Jack came limping along on his arthritic knee. He was forgoing his Occupy Wall Street T-shirt business in deference to the wind, which is brutal in lower Manhattan. He had an eight-and-a-half by eleven yellow envelope with him, which he opened to reveal two drawings, one bearing his image. He made them on his computer. They were really nice. He plans to make 2x3 posters out of them to sell for ten bucks a pop. He was all smiles minutes later upon his return from the print shop across the street. The charge would be a $1.50 per, a profit of 85%. I teased him that he was, deep down, a capitalist, just as I've teased Bob Rubenstein, author of the anti-capitalist novel The White Bridge, who had the students of his course on racism buy each of his novels. Maybe they, like Hollywood leftists, believe that art is superior and therefore more worthy of the public's hard earned money than big businesses. Jack has been dubbed Mr. Glass-Steagall by his occupy comrades for his constant citing of the 1999 repeal of the depression era act, which he blames for the financial crisis. The law was put in place in 1933 to prevent banks from engaging in risky investments with depositors' funds. It's pros and cons have been debated for decades. I don't know what to make of it, although I always tilt toward deregulation. I believe in capitalism, not crony capitalism where certain firms are bailed out by government, but pure capitalism where those who are successful - and legal - stay in business, those who fail do not, and those who break the law are jailed or fined heavily.
Speaking of capitalists, one of the world's favorites is having a tough time in the sport in which he excelled as a player. Michael Jordan owns the Charlotte Bobcats, which finished with the worst record in NBA history, 7-59 (strike-shortened season, remember), a winning percentage of .106. The team lost its last 23 straight. Jordan won six championships as the driving force of the Chicago Bulls. All together now: "What goes around comes around." Life has a unique way of balancing the ledger. I've always loved that saying, maybe because I hope all the work I put in on my literary quest will one day pay off. It became popular at the same time as one I hate: "Not for nothin'."
Also on the money front: there is a website where the public can make donations to George Zimmerman's legal obligations. Although my instincts tell me he is guilty of nothing more than self defense, this adds another ugly layer to an issue that is going to end badly no matter the outcome. To date, $200,000 has been raised.
My thanks to the kind folks who braved the wind to buy books today, and to Marie, who said she was deeply affected by The Power of Prayer, a story in A Hitch in Twilight. It is the favorite of my niece Isabel, who said: "That one really got to me for some reason." Hearing things like that makes all the frustration worth it - at least for a few minutes.
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