Words

Comic Con 2024 is underway in San Diego. I’m so out of touch with today’s characters that I don’t recognize any from the array below. Photo from Google Images:

Geez. Headline from nypost.com: “‘Deep concern’: Terrifying opioid 100 times stronger than fentanyl, deadly animal tranquilizer discovered in NYC drug supply.” Sadly, too many will try it.

From NYP out of Venezuela: “Experts sound alarm as trailing socialist prez warns of ‘bloodbath’ if he loses election.” Maduro, that is. The left rioting — when has that ever happened? In the same vein: “Rutgers professor under fire for online posts lamenting failed Trump assassination.” Equal time: “Three white supremacists — including 2 ex-Marines — sentenced for roles in racist plot to cripple Northwest power grid.” So many crazies out there.

From NYP: “Double trouble: NYC steakhouse forced to add disclaimer to famous crooner’s photo: ‘This is not Jeffrey Epstein’.” Perry Como, who my mom affectionately referred to as Peruccio. Photos from GI:

A book is never finished. An author can get to 99%, but there is always something left out, something that can use polish. I published By the Numbers as an ebook about a week ago. On my morning walk two excerpts from separate stories occurred to me. I added them to the manuscript file, approximately 50 words. If I ever have enough pages for a substantial print copy, I’ll make the additions to the ebook. For now, it will remain as is.

Fun trivia note culled from an MSN.com article by Jake Rossen, edited by yours truly: “Wilford Brimley was a bodyguard for Howard Hughes.” “‘He was a good guy,’ Brimley once said. Hughes reportedly preferred to employ Mormons, as he liked that they didn’t smoke or drink and they rarely talked.” Unfortunately, I was unable to find any shots of the eccentric billionaire and the beloved character actor together. Here’s one of the latter, who passed away in 2020, from GI:

Conditions weren’t bad today at the Anti-Inflation Book Shop, although the heat is returning. My thanks to the woman who bought the massive hardcover edition of A Game of Thrones by George R. R. Martin, and to Herbie, who purchased The Roswell Conspiracy by Boyd Morrison; and to the gentleman who chose American Gods by Neil Gaiman and The Greatest: Muhammad Ali (Scholastic Focus) by Walter Dean Myers; and to the young man who selected Fast Food Nation: The Dark Side of the All-American Meal by Eric Schlosser, and who later brought me a bottle of Poland Spring; and to Sam and Dave, not the singers, who stopped to schmooze. Dave, a chef in a Manhattan hotel, shocked me when he said the dishwashers earn $30 an hour. While we were conversing, two nasty arguments broke out across the street. The first involved a fender bender. A guy got out of the lead car and screamed at the driver behind him which, I assume, was a woman, as the B-word was used. Wisely, she remained in the vehicle, windows up all the way. The guy pounded on the hood. When he drove away I had a perfect view of the rear end and it seemed there was no damage. Maybe he was having a bad day, perhaps fresh off an argument with his better half, or inebriated. A moment later a young man crossing near the same point, where for some reason a special turn onto East 13th had been carved long ago, raged at a driver. There is a crosswalk at the beginning that only folks in the neighborhood recognize. There is no street sign to indicate it. Angry words are exchanged there quite often.

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