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...
I'd first heard about Cowboys and Aliens (2011), months before its release, through a survey site, where I was asked to rate a two-minute trailer. At first I scoffed at the title. Then I thought: Why not? Who's to say when, where, if we've ever been visited? Why not the old west? The trailer looked great, as even those of the worst films frequently do. I was disappointed when critics panned and the U.S. public ignored the film. So it was with reservations that I added it to my Netflix list. I enjoyed the first hour, but smirked when what the aliens were seeking was revealed. Although the cast was solid, it was not required to do much. It was standard action fare, although I must say the fighting sequences were excellent. This was the first time I've experienced the work of Olivia Wilde, whose beauty frequently graces the pages of the NY Post. Her skills could not be assessed in such an undemanding, silly role. And I was too mesmerized by her bewitching eyes to pay attention to much else. As for old favorite Harrison Ford, there were a few instances where I thought this had to be his worst performance. Seasoned pros Clancy Brown and Keith Carradine lend able to support. Daniel Craig is in phenomenal shape, seemingly carrying as little body fat as humanly possible. He must work out like a madman. Overall, the flick was a better option than spinning around the remote for two hours, watching...
Every now and then in the letters to the editor in the NY Post there appears a gem. The New York airports, JFK and LaGuardia, attract a lot of birds. Occasionally, some will strike a plane, most famously the one Captain "Sully" so deftly landed in the Hudson. A few days ago another was struck on take-off. The passengers panicked, as the smell of smoke filled the cabin. The jet immediately returned to the airport, landing safely, no one injured. It seems politicians are waiting for a catastrophic crash before doing what needs to be done, that is, kill the birds before they're responsible for the death of hundreds.Today a creative soul out of Stamford, Connecticut came up with a wonderful solution that had me laughing out loud - windmills! This kills two birds with one stone, so to speak: first, it is a politically correct, clean energy solution even the most strident protestors would embrace; two, windmills kill birds by the thousands. Kudos, sir. Wit is a wonderful thing.
My thanks to Susan, who purchased a copy of Killing. She warned me that she does not usually like the work of male writers. I'd be very surprised if she liked the novel, which is extremely masculine. I assured her I wouldn't be offended. I suggested her husband, a World War II veteran, read it. Their tastes in literature are completely opposite. We got to talking about the subjective nature of art and I suddenly recalled a comment a woman left...
Jon has been visiting the floating bookshop since it became a daily occurrence at the end of 2007. He has been kind enough to purchase Close to the Edge and Killing. He is a retired English teacher who self-published two novels years ago through a printer. It was a disappointing and costly experience. He has picked my brain about doing books digitally. I suggested he try Kindle, which does not entail a fee. He wasn't satisfied with it, so he took his latest manuscript to Book Locker. He paid a considerable fee to have it put into print. I did not ask how much, but I would guess, including copies he purchased, it's in the range of $2000. That may seem like a lot, but spread out over time it's really a paltry sum, as it provides a sense of adventure - as long as the endeavor is kept in proper perspective. The chances of it, or any self-published book, breaking out are slim. There are eight million books available at Amazon. I hope he realizes this and doesn't let a lack of sales embitter him. The novel is off to a good start, as its ranking is 375,000th. It will be even higher, as I just ordered a copy, using gift certificate money I've amassed through survey sites. Best of luck, Jon, or should I say Ole Romer?. Can't wait to read it.
Here's the cover, done by his niece:
More info here: http://tinyurl.com/7rdlwxm
The floating bookshop went to Plan...
The ultimate nightmare occurred to the parents of six-year-old Etan Patz 33 years ago. He went missing. To this date, he has not been found, although there has been a prime suspect almost from day one. That beautiful little boy's smiling picture is back in the media this week, as the NYPD and FBI are excavating a basement very near his former Greenwich Village home. There have been several disappointments, dead ends, through the years. Perhaps there will finally be closure to this gut-wrenching case. I can only imagine what it must do to his family.
With rain in the forecast for the next 48 hours or so, I decided to forgo my weekly visit to my buddy Bags in order to get in as much time as possible today with the floating book shop. When I left the house at 10 AM, it looked like it was about to pour. By the time the chores and lunch was done at noon, the sun was shining. As I was setting up, someone called my name. Richie, one of my charges from my days coaching football, was double-parked in his SUV. He'd brought me a large box of popular books, both hard and soft cover. He had to hurry back to the liquor store he opened almost two years ago. His girlfriend works it during the week while he manages a car dealership. He holds down the fort on the weekend. He was always a hard worker and exemplary kid. I can't...
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