Off the Rails
An op-ed piece by Victor Davis Hansen at foxnews.com includes this observation: “Does anyone believe that contemporary Americans could build another transcontinental railroad in six years? Californians tried to build a high-speed rail line. But after more than a decade of government incompetence, lawsuits, cost overruns and constant bureaucratic squabbling, they have all but given up. The result is a half-built overpass over the skyline of Fresno — and not yet a foot of track laid.” He makes a similar comment regarding the San Francisco Bay Bridge, built in less than four years eight decades ago. When a quarter of it had to be replaced due to earthquake damage, it took eleven years at six times the cost of the entire structure, adjusted for inflation. Kudos, sir.
I’ve completed the first of three proofs of the novel I hope to self publish in January. I’m almost certain the title will be Vito’s Day, as that describes it best. I reduced the page count by four through sheer economy. It’s now 306. I don’t know if it will shrink more than an additional page or two, although there is a lot of repetition that can be trimmed. That is the major drawback of the book. There are many references I failed to cite. That will be tedious to list. I’ll jot them down while I’m proofing and add them when I’m done with phase two. Going back and forth during the proofing would be too annoying and time consuming. There were a few surprises along the way, instances I’d forgotten through the years. My favorite is a Spanish word with a naughty connotation a lovely co-worker introduced to me. I may end the narrative on it. I’ll go back to work about November 1st.
I love when a negative weather forecast is completely wrong. Well, it was right about being windy. My thanks to Marty, NYPD retired, who bought Exchanges, and to the guy with the little boy’s voice, who purchased another book on Kabbalah; and to Romania born artist Andu, who chose a graphic novel on vampires and a book on Sufism; and to the woman who selected The Seducer by Madeline Hunter and His Little Women by Judith Rossner; and to The Quiet Man, who walked away with Great Expectations by Charles Dickens, a two-in-one volume of Nero Wolfe mysteries, and Hans Brinker or The Silver Skates by Mary Mapes Dodge; and to the woman who opted for a Nero Wolfe mystery in Russian; and to Lynn, who left with The Essential Jesus by Tony Payne, although she is Jewish; and to Wolf, who donated about eight novels, half in Russian; and to Ira, who bought two pictorials after venting about his ordeal yesterday with lawyers, bankers and co-op officials. It cost him thousands just to have his ex-wife’s name removed from the deed and his current wife’s added. His bank account is zero until next week when he has a payment coming, and that will quickly disappear, as the creditors insisted he write them checks. Unless he hits the lottery, he’s never going to get out of his financial mess. He purchased at 59, unaware that the profession of tailor would evolve and shrink dramatically, leaving him out of work. His unit is now worth considerably less than the purchase price, so selling it wouldn’t help. Although his problems are of his own making, it’s sad to see a nice man suffer such indignity.
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