The nature of evil has been much debated. Is it innate or acquired? I don't think it really matters, although I believe a tiny percentage of the human race has a genetic disposition to it. Whatever the case, the evil must be stopped. In today's NY Post, Andrea Peyser's column focuses on the life of ease some murderers have behind bars. The article cited one miscreant in particular, Danny Robbie Hembree Jr., 50, who is on death row in North Carolina for the murder of a 17-year-old girl. He has admitted to killing two others. He recently wrote a letter to a local paper. Here are some excerpts:

"Is the public aware that I am a gentleman of leisure, watching color TV in the a/c, reading, taking naps at will, eating three well-balanced meals a day?"

RIP Nora Ephron, 71, a prolific writer who also had great success as a film director. She was eulogized in an op-ed piece by Jonathan Podhoretz in today's NY Post. Ephron wrote several screenplays, including Silkwood (1983) and When Harry Met Sally (1989), which featured the memorable fake orgasm scene so wonderfully rendered by Meg Ryan, and the great follow up line spoken by director Rob Reiner's mom, Estelle: "I'll have what she's having." She also wrote the best-selling comic novel Heartburn, which was based on her marriage to her second husband, philandering Watergate journalist Carl Bernstein. She wrote and directed the smash hit Sleepless in Seattle (1993), the most successful film ever by a woman at the time. She also issued several collections of essays. In her mid 40's she found marital happiness with her third husband, Nicholas Pileggi, who wrote Wise Guy, the book on which the film Goodfellas (1990) is based. She contributed a six-word biography to Larry Smith's collection: Not Quite What I Was Planning - "Secret to Life, Marry an Italian." Well done, madam.

Last night I watched another of the music tapes I made in '90's. It had its usual eclectic variety: pop, rock, swing, jazz, classical. Of the 30 or so performances, I enjoyed all but one: Smashing Pumpkins doing Bullet with Butterfly Wings on SNL. It seemed artless. White Zombie made two appearances, both from Letterman. They were so much fun. Springsteen did a riveting solo acoustic version of Angel Eyes at a Sinatra tribute. Alanis Morrisette let it all hang out on her breakout hit You Oughtta Know, which is so well-written I overlook the twisted logic of the line of her being more worthy of a guy's love because she went down on him in a theater. Then again, who among us hasn't been made crazy by love? The song raises rant to the level of art. Joan Osbourne did her big hit What If God Was One of Us? which is irresistible despite its likening the Almighty to a "slob like one of us," another in the long line of leftist rationales for bad behavior. Bon Jovi made two appearances from ABC's In Concert series: Hey, God and Wanted Dead or Alive. It came down to two choices in terms of which performance I would highlight: a breezy instrumental, L.A. Underground, featuring stellar guitar work by Larry Carlton and Lee Ritenhour or a rockin' rendition of Bach's Fugue in D Minor by Vanessa Mae on the Tonight Show. Mae is just to damn beautiful to pass up. She was only 17 at the time. Enjoy:

Sara Paretsky has written 17 novels. 15 feature intrepid female private eye V.I. Warshawski. I just finished the fifth in the series, Blood Shot (1988). I enjoyed it. The mystery was engaging from the start and the characters were well drawn, particularly the protagonist. While not as hard-boiled and cynical as Dashiell Hammett's Sam Spade or Raymond Chandler's Phillip Marlowe, V.I. is close. She is well-educated, an opera buff. I enjoyed the literary references sprinkled throughout the narrative. The writing was not as polished as I prefer, but that may have been intentional, as the story is a first person account in the words of someone who is not a writer. It may also have been due to my own carelessness. I read much faster than I should. Paretsky's work has been translated into 30 languages. On a scale of five, three-and-a-half. The character was brought to the silver screen in 1991 with Kathleen Turner in the title role, seemingly a great choice, but the film was not popular with critics or the public. I will add it to my Netflix list at the recommendation of an online reviewer who believes it is under-rated. Tami Hoag's A Thin Dark Line remains the best of the mysteries I've sampled. Daniel Silva and Joy Fielding impressed me the most in terms of polish.

I left the house for my morning walk at 6:15, in shorts and a T-shirt. I was shocked at how cool it was. When it came time for the floating bookshop I decided to bring a light jacket, just in case. I'm glad I did. The breeze was stiff and the sun was mostly obscured, most unusual for late June. A gentleman donated Alex Haley's Roots and Helen Keller's autobiography, which someone later bought. I also sold four novels in Russian. Thanks, folks.

It's time for the network news broadcasts to go into panic mode - a heat wave is on the way. Expect updates and tips every few minutes. It's hot in the summer - who knew?

I get a lot of political emails from friends. While I enjoy them, I don't pass most on. I made an exception with the following. If there is a good counter argument to this, I'm not aware of it. I'm not against illegal immigration, but I am against illegals getting government services:

I slummed on the golf course today. I would have had a good time if not for faulty chipping. I was so inept I needed at least eight extra chips during the round. It was a long day. There was an outing at our usual haunt, Forest Park, so we headed over to Kissena, which is in beautiful condition, especially its greens. It's a short course, par 64, but charming. A lot of the holes have bizarre lay-outs. Second shots are almost always a short iron. We waited at least an hour to play and were paired with a nice Asian couple, Willie and Shirley. Of course, goofballs that Cuz and I are we couldn't help but whisper Leslie Nielsen's immortal line from Airplane: "And don't call me Shirley." She was a good player, hitting it short and sweet a lot of the time, starting out at the same tee as her hubby. Willie had a stellar front nine, making a number of pars. He would have had a shot at breaking 80 but left after nine holes. Shirley stayed. Cuz had his first good round of the year, shooting 83, keeping mistakes to a minimum and sinking several stroke-saving mid-range putts. I shot 88. I've always contended that 80 is the target at Kissena, 85 at Forest. Only a few years ago I would have been totally depressed by such a poor performance. I recorded my stats religiously at playerlink.com. I now try to keep it fun. So far I haven't exhibited any of the idiocy I let my past frustrations engender. 

I hit rush hour traffic on the drive home. Fortunately, the Belt Parkway moved smoothly or I might still be out there. Cuz has met some interesting celebrities lately in his chauffeuring duties: Tony LaRussa, Nolan Ryan, Dan Rather and Debra Winger, who he said looked great. Surprisingly - at least to me, Rather was very nice, conversing the entire ride. I guess we shouldn't judge a person by his politics. 

Happy Father's Day to Dads everywhere. Here's an excerpt from the first short story I ever wrote, circa 1980. It's titled Rude Awakening:

Vito suddenly found himself wide awake. He was unable to recall having fallen asleep or dreaming or awakening. It seemed he'd just entered bed, yet a glance at the windows told him it was already the middle of the night.

Brett Easton Ellis burst onto the literary scene in 1985 at the tender age of 21 with his novel of immoral youths, Less Than Zero, which was adapted to film, starring Robert Downey Jr., two years later. In 1991 another novel, the violent American Psycho, caused a storm of controversy. It too was made into a film, starring Christian Bale. I did not read either of those books. I did see Less Than Zero, which I was unable to relate to, as the characters' lifestyle was so different from my own. Among a recent donation of books made by my friend Richie, who I coached at Lafayette H. S., was Ellis' Glamorama (1998). Not only did I not relate to any of the characters, I was puzzled by the mix of the surreal and real. I did not understand the meaning of the confetti and ice that was prevalent, nor the constant chill in indoor venues or the odor of feces. The novel must hold the all-time record for name-dropping and product placement. Some of the famous people mentioned, including Bale, have dialogue. The first part of the narrative details the life of a male model wannabe actor/restauranteur. It is not flattering. As I was reading, I kept hearing Marilyn Manson's rant The Beautiful People, which I've never heard in its entirety. Song lyrics are integral to the novel, oft quoted by the protagonist, whose goal is to be hip, cool, famous. About midway, the story evolves into one of ultra violence, and I had a hard time discerning what was real and surreal, part of a movie or documentary. Maybe I didn't read it carefully enough. The prose and dialogue were solid, bold. I especially admired the dearth of commas. Unfortunately, I found the work unsatisfying. Perhaps more intelligent readers will get it. Ellis did not use any footnotes crediting the artists whose lyrics were cited. I was under the impression that a writer had to get permission to do this, which I find infuriating, as it is free publicity. I wonder if Ellis knows all the artists whose works he mentioned, and was granted license. I have an unpublished novel, Rising Star, about a rock band on file in which each chapter begins with a lyric. What a relief it would be not to have to eliminate them all or have to get permission for their inclusion. They add a lot of color to the work. Anyway, since I didn't understand what Ellis was trying to say in Glamorama, I will forgo the usual one to five rating. 

How is a day with only one sale at the floating book shop a success? - when it is a copy of one of your own books. My thanks to Dennis, who purchased Killing. I also thank whoever (whomever?) bought it on Kindle. Since last Saturday I've had six street sales of my books and two at Amazon. How nice it would be if it was like this all the time. "Dream on," as Aerosmith would say.

I finally got around to viewing Hugo, courtesy of Netflix. Martin Scorsese abandoned his cynicism for this ode to creativity. In great part it is a tribute to film pioneer Georges Melies, who made the oft shown short highlighted by the shot of a rocket ship flying into the eye of the man on the moon. The film's chief attributes are its cinematography (Robert Richardson) and visual effects, both which won Oscars. It was awarded five in all. It is as beautiful-looking as any movie you will ever see. The story, based on a children's book by Brian Selznick, The Invention of Hugo Cabret, adapted for the screen by John Logan, is conventional, appealing but not engrossing. The great Ben Kingsley plays Melies. Christopher Lee, Ray Winstone and Jude Law bring their huge talents to small parts. Sacha Baron Cohen moves out of the realm of satire and into the role of the rigid security agent of a Paris train station. The focus is on an orphan living on his own, played by Asa Butterfield, whose blue eyes are laser-like. He is ably assisted by young old pro Chloe Grace Moretz. On a scale of five, three-and-a-half. The folks at IMDb rate it 7.8 out of ten.

With so many teams in Major League Baseball, the results are becoming more unpredictable than ever. There is a fantastic story in New York. R. A. Dickey, a knuckleballer, has had a brilliant first half. He is 10-1, with an ERA of 2.20, 90 K's in 90 innings and only 66 hits allowed. He is 37. After several years of mediocrity at the major league level, he began experimenting with the knuckler as a member of the Texas Rangers. His first outing was a disaster, as he allowed six home runs, a dubious record he shares with another knuckleballer, Bill Wakefield. He bounced around several teams before landing with the Mets in 2010. Although he pitched very well his first two seasons, his record did not reflect it, as the team was bad and he did not receive a lot of run support. That is not the case this season. This has to be the Mets most cost-effective acquisition ever, and it must rival that of any in MLB history. Dickey studied English Lit at the University of Tennessee. He has co-written a book with Wayne Coffey: Wherever I Wind Up, My Quest for Truth, Authenticity and the Perfect Knuckleball. In 2011, inspired by the Hemingway short story The Snows of Kilimanjaro, he climbed the mountain, despite management's threat to not pay him if he were injured. He tied the event to a charitable angle highlighting human trafficking and raised $100,000. Let's hear it for Mr. Dickey.

It's Flag Day. Three cheers for the red, white and blue, and all for which it stands. May American continue to be the world's beacon. "Freedom is not the natural state of mankind. It is a rare and wonderful achievement." - Milton Friedman. We are blessed to be living here.

The other day a gentleman purchased a Linda Ronstadt compilation, donated by a friend, from the floating bookshop. He asked if I had other music, particularly classic rock. I don't have much on my PC, as my taste had begun to change before I began acquiring digitally. I didn't see the guy today. Here's the CD I burned during yesterday's rain. 59 minutes of fun:

1. Ramble On - Led Zeppelin ("...The autumn moon lights my way...")

The floating bookshop was open only an hour before the rain arrived. Before then, a Russian gentleman who visits once a month stocked up on thrillers. Spasibo, sir.

So it's time for Rain-Out Theater. Here's an excerpt from a short story titled Distinctions, which I wrote in the mid 80's after a raucous night on the town. It was my first full year in the bizarro world that was the commodities trading floor, my work place until November 2007:

In 1980 PBS broadcast Milton Friedman's landmark 10-part defense of capitalism, Free to Choose. Last night I caught a one-hour follow up, Free or Equal: A Personal View, examining the ideas to see if they are still relevant 30 years later. It was hosted by a Swede, Johan Norberg. It was great. Then again, it is reaffirmation of my beliefs. How wonderful that someone from a bastion of Socialism would create such a program. The original series can be viewed online. Run a search to see when the new one will air. The most compelling point was in reference to the cell phone, a product of the free market, which has done more to reduce global poverty than all the government programs in history combined.

Alfred Hitchcock said: "What is drama but life with the dull bits cut out." The works I appreciate most are those that get life right, the average Joe struggling to lead a good life in a world where temptation lurks at every turn. Most major American films are not interested in this. There are exceptions, of course. Win Win (2011) is one of them. I caught up to it last night courtesy of Netflix. It is the story of a small town lawyer who moonlights as a high school wrestling coach. His practice is suffering, his clients few. His family's bills are piling up. He does something unethical to make ends meet. No actor is more adept at capturing the average Joe than Paul Giamatti, and in this film he is supported by several TV, movie and Broadway stalwarts: Amy Ryan, Bobby Cannavalle, Jeffery Tambor and Burt Young. It does have one Hollywood-like aspect - a talented wrestler who falls into the coach's lap, but the script does not go the way of Rocky (1976) or The Karate Kid (1984). It is much more grounded and real. It was directed by Thomas McCarthy, who also wrote the screenplay. It was his third film. I did not enjoy his first, the critically acclaimed The Station Agent (2003). I liked his second, The Visitor (2007), although not nearly as much as I did Win Win. All three focus on human beings, not spectacular events, and for that he is to be applauded. On a scale of five, four. The folks at IMDb were a little less enthusiastic, rating it 7.3 out of ten.

Although sales have been rare on Bay Parkway on Sundays, as opposed to Saturdays for some bizarre reason, I returned today, box full of videotapes in tow, which I wanted to give Bad News Billy as thanks for taking a shot on Killing. He is one of the hold-outs still using VHS. He did not show, but others did. My thanks to Blanca and Joann, who each bought a copy of Killing, and to the other kind folks who bought books. And special thanks to Billy. If not for his kindness, I would have gone elsewhere today and missed out on those sales. "Karma, Kramer."

My luck was on automatic pilot today. It started early, when I finally got around to checking my mailbox. The last of the survey checks I'd been expecting had arrived, so it was time to hit the bank. I was in the money even if I didn't sell a thing at the floating bookshop. Then, when I got home from the supermarket and did my weekly check of online stats, I saw that someone had purchased a hard copy of Killing at Amazon. Thanks, whoever you are. It seemed like my luck had run out by mid day when I had to wait 40 minutes for a parking spot to open up, and then when it began sprinkling. I pulled the books under a tree and covered them in plastic, hoping the light rain would be brief. I saw blue in the distance. As I was waiting, Bad News Billy showed and asked if I had a copy of Killing with me, which he had me inscribe to his brother, an educator. Thanks, my friend, and also to the young white male who purchased all the religious books I displayed once the sun returned. Three of them were English/Spanish/Korean/Chinese versions of The New Testament.

Here's the first page-plus of an unpublished novel, Present and Past. At the time I was intrigued by how the past was always with us on a personal level. I also wanted to explore a character that believed in nothing but himself, and his contempt for goodness.

Ray Bradbury, 91, lived a productive life. He was the author of more than 500 works - short stories, novels, plays, TV scripts and screenplays. His most popular are The Martian Chronicles, Something Wicked This Way Comes, The Illustrated Man and Fahrenheit 451, all of which were adapted to the small or large screen. At present the latter seems to be his most enduring. The title refers to the temperature at which paper will burn. The novel is a cautionary tale, a portrait of a society so dumbed down it begins burning books. Fortunately, that hasn't happened, although in an op-ed piece in today's NY Post Michael A. Walsh likened such a purge to the PC mentality of busy bodies who would gut literary classics of terms and passages deemed offensive. Although I think they're fools, I believe the digital world will save books and free speech from disappearing. The internet is a marvel whose pluses far outweigh its minuses. Even an imagination as fertile as Bradbury's had not foreseen it. He did not go to college, an inspiration to all who did not attend. He taught himself his craft by reading the work of masters in public libraries. Well done, sir. Thank you. Rest in peace.

Just whose side is he on? Bill Clinton claims we are in recession and called for an extension of the Bush tax cuts, heresy to most Democrats. This just hours after he appeared at several NYC fundraisers with the President. One pundit - I don't remember who - suggested Slick Willie, in appearing with Obama, was receiving payment in the forgiveness of Hilary's campaign debt. Heaven forbid the Clintons should dig into their own millions to pay a marker. They are consummate politicians - and that is not a compliment.

The results of the Wisconsin recall election have to be encouraging for those of us who wish to see the tide toward socialism reversed. By a margin of 53 to 46%, voters decided to retain Governor Scott Walker, whose reforms seem to be working. It's great to see that a majority of citizens refuse to let unions bankrupt them. The most satisfying aspect of the event is the thought of how the left must be eating their collective hearts out. Donations and volunteers from around the country poured into the Badger state. Unions burned through millions, but will no doubt steal and shake down the weak to refill the coffers for future battles. Since Wisconsinites no longer have dues automatically deducted from their checks, many have abandoned their brothers and sisters. Membership is down drastically. It's always about the money. How refreshing to see that adults are in charge, at least temporarily. One discouraging note: exit polls show voters prefer Obama to Romney by a margin of 53 to 42%. Socialism has a strong foothold in this country that will not easily be reversed.

Today is the anniversary of D-Day. In a cemetery near what was dubbed Omaha Beach, there are 9387 Americans buried, a lot of them kids thousands of miles from home who gave their lives to preserve the freedom vital to mankind's happiness and prosperity. Thank you.

I was rooting around with the remote last night and stumbled into yet another great music documentary on a PBS station. I didn't think there were any significant artists from the early rock era I didn't at least know by name. Charlie Gracie (Graci) was born in Philadelphia in 1936. His dad encouraged him to play guitar, and he began winning talent contests in his early teens. In 1956 he was the first artist to sign with the fledgling home town Cameo label. He played the Brooklyn Paramount as part of an Alan Freed show, and appeared on Ed Sullivan and in the 1957 film Jamboree, which also featured Chuck Berry. His song Butterfly hit #5 on the Billboard charts, selling three million copies, ensuring the label's financial health. His follow up, Fabulous, hit #16. Two others cracked the Top 100. Cameo went on to issue hit records by Chubby Checker, Bobby Rydell, the Dovells, the Orlons and Dee Dee Sharp. Gracie sued the company for unpaid royalties, which hurt his career, as powerful forces prevented his subsequent work from getting radio play. He was undaunted, playing small venues, which he does to this day. He is loved in England and is a member of the British Rock n Roll Hall of Fame. He was the second Yank to bring rock n roll to the UK. He toured with, among others, Eddie Cochran (Summertime Blues, Come on, Everybody), who became a great friend and who, tragically, was killed in an accident at the age of 21. In viewing the piece, I was taken by Gracie's positive attitude, which he attributes to his family. He does not appear to harbor any bitterness. He has been married to the same woman for almost 50 years. In 2011 Al Kooper produced a new Gracie CD, For the Love of Charlie, which features guest appearances by Graham Nash, Peter Noone and others. Unfortunately, there are no clips from the doc on youtube, but an enterprising chap did record Gracie in concert banging out Boogie Woogie on his Guild guitar, the same he has been using throughout his career. Here's the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DqqqLtaerl4&feature=related  And here's a pic of the artist as a young man:

Here's another money-making idea that will have most people wondering: Why didn't I think of that? Hoxton Street Monster Supplies, a cheeky store affiliated with the Ministry of Stories in the UK, has launched its newest product: salt made from human tears. According to the Monster Supplies website, the product "combines centuries-old craft with the freshest human tears, which are gently boiled, released into shallow crystallization tanks, then harvested by hand and finally rinsed in brine." The flavors/emotions include: Salt Made From Tears of Anger, Salt Made From Tears Shed While Chopping Onions, Salt Made From Tears Shed While Sneezing, Salt Made From Tears of Laughter, Salt Made From Tears of Sorrow. Expert tear harvester Halen Mon produced the salt with the help of Studio Weave. Is the product really made from actual tears? Know this - Halen Mon specializes in sea salt. The novelty salts are available for purchase online, but human tears don't come cheap. They range from $11 to $47. A portion of the sales supports the Ministry of Stories children's writing center. The satirical monster supply store, which makes fake products and sells them for charity, has many other options available beyond salt. I wonder if they can do anything with snot or phlegm.

This is a great day for alumni of Lafayette High School. Tonight in pre-game ceremonies at Citi Field, one of our own, John Franco, will be inducted into the New York Mets Hall of Fame. Johnny Boy spent 21 years in the big leagues, 14 with the Amazin's. He recorded 424 saves, the most ever by a lefty, 276 as a Met, the most by any pitcher wearing the orange and blue. He also had 90 wins. I do not know John well, although I coached several of his contemporaries at our alma mater, but I knew his reputation. Johnny could very well have excelled on the gridiron, but he wisely chose to focus on baseball. There was a neat symmetry between the Redmen football and baseball teams in 1977. Dave, our QB, was the centerfielder, Roger, our FB, was the catcher, and Danny, a DE/TE was the first baseman. It was a great group. We all hope that John will one day join our most famous alum, Sandy Koufax, in the MLB Hall of Fame. Way to go, Johnny Boy. You make us proud.

After 51 years, a span of 8019 games, the New York Mets finally have a no-hitter to their credit. Johan Santana, who had shoulder surgery more than a year ago, accomplished what no other pitcher wearing the orange, which honors the departed NY Giants, and blue, which honors the Brooklyn Dodgers, has been able to do, but many ex-Mets have. Nolan Ryan threw an astounding seven. Tom Seaver, who took three into the ninth as a Met, got his as a member of the Reds. David Cone and Dwight Gooden, the dirty dogs, did it with the Skanks. I’ll never forgive them. And just five weeks ago Phillip Humber pitched a perfect game for the White Sox. Of course, the Mets being the Mets, management and fans now wait with baited breath to see if Santana has been overtaxed and re-injured. He threw 134 pitches. I’d bet many fans, at least those who don’t fork over the cash for high-priced tickets, would be happy with the trade-off. After all, they don’t pay his enormous salary, and the lack of a no-hitter was a source of great frustration to many. Muy bien, Johan.
Here’s proof that A Hitch in Twilight is popular with a diverse audience:

My thanks to Marie and her sagacious feline Simba. Thanks also to the woman who purchased the huge Wolves of Calla, part of Stephen King’s Dark Tower series. I am thrilled not to have to carry it any more. She also overpaid for James Patterson’s Seventh Heaven, part of the Women’s Murder Club series, another of his co-writes with Maxine Paetro. Whenever a book has been co-authored, my suspicion is the more popular writer had little or nothing to do with it. I also thank my best customer, Jack, employee of Chase, who purchased two thrillers, including one at my recommendation, Tami Hoag’s A Thin Dark Line, which is the best mystery by far I’ve read, which probably means most fans wouldn’t like it. In adhering to its theme throughout the novel, it transcended the genre.
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