Wednesday

It’s now recommended in NYC that people my age, 70, stay home. I will not for the time being, as I fear the depression that will ensue more than I do Corona. I will keep my distance from others as much as possible. Few will get within more than a few feet of me. I am now tempted to wear a mask full time while outdoors. I will not be attending any gatherings. Many remain stubborn, as these nypost.com headlines attest: “Cops bust massive Long Island mansion party with 400 people.” And this from Staten Island: “Sheriffs bust defiant NYC bar in COVID-19 hotspot.” I mentioned to the Lady Eve that folks our age are supposed to stay home and she laughed behind her mask. I still kept mine around my neck. The few people who approached were wearing one.

Here’s an interesting headline from foxnews.com: “Carjackings in Minneapolis up 537% last month.” The social workers assigned to the cases must be overwhelmed and demanding higher pay.

RIP pro wrestling legend Pat Patterson, 79. His career in the ring and behind the microphone spanned six decades. My favorite spot involving him occurred as he was interviewing the “Russian Bear,” fellow Canadian Ivan Koloff, who hauled off and slapped him and walked away. Patterson rose from the floor and barked into the mic: “You bald-headed bleep bleep.” His real name was Pierre Clermont. Koloff’s was Oreal Donald Perras. The latter passed away at 74 in 2017. Here’s the clip, which runs less than three minutes and includes the great Classie Freddie Blassie, the heel’s manager: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yYy689fm1Ic

I wasn’t expecting much action at the floating book shop on this dark, blustery day. I spent most of the session in the old Hyundai, out of the cold. My thanks to Wolf, who bought a Jesus bio, and to the Quiet Man, who purchased two Reader’s Digest publications whose focus is mysteries. The jackets have a neat feature. When stacked together, each has half a black figure that creates a whole. My thanks also to my constant benefactress, who showed up with two hardcovers, and to the gentleman who parked his SUV and brought out two plastic containers filled with mostly kids’ books. A few of the adult fare are outstanding. I took home two works of fiction with which I was completely unfamiliar. My thanks also to local porter Rob, who delivered about 30 of the Murder She Wrote series and one cook book. Whenever he passes he asks if I want anything from the store. The other day the devil in me emerged just so that I could here his boisterous, full-of-life laugh. “Bring me some cho-cha,” I said. It did the trick. It took about a half-hour to get everything into the car, as I had to figure out how to accommodate the new additions. I slowed myself down a few times, cautioning myself against a heart attack. Surprisingly, I was not anymore bushed than usual when I got home. I look forward to tomorrow’s round.

Here’s the aforementioned Reader’s Digest jackets — except that the background was blue:

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