Carlo
I'm meeting Carlo near the Academia, the museum where David hangs out in all his homo-erotic glory. Even though I'm a good fifteen minutes early, he's already sprawled over a table at the cafe/bar when I walk up.
"Ciao," I say.
"Yeah. don't order a beer, for christsakes. I don't want people thinking I hang out with touristi."
"I don't look like a tourist?"
He squints. "If you keep your mouth shut, you might get by. Order a cafe. No, let me."
Actually, I want water. It's about 90 degrees out and I'm sweating buckets.
"Better than beer, I guess." He launches into a tirade about how Florence is being overrun by tourists. Like I couldn't see that coming.
Carlo talks like a Florence native, but he's actually an American. He's lived in Europe since the late '70s or '80s. He claims to have been in advertising, but all his stories have to do with late Cold War spying. They also generally involve an "f-in commie scum," though every so often he'll sprinkle in an "honorable Rusky." Maybe he really was in advertising; most ex-spies don't disparage their old opponents quite so badly.
He's retired, though he's not sixty yet. At least I think he's retired; ask too many personal questions and all you get is a deeper scowl in reply.
"The Ukranians are the worst," he says, continuing his anti-tourist tirade. "Throwing all their black market money away. Money they probably stole from the Russian -- "
Carlo stops mid-sentence. I follow his eyes to a pair of slim young women standing near the door, looking for a table. They're wearing silk dresses that stop about mid-thigh and look painted on.
"Tourists?" I ask.
"Ukranians." Carlo gets up. "Scusi."
He walks over to them, says something in Italian, then switches to another language - I'm guessing Ukranian. They laugh, and walk over to our table.
"We're going to the Acadamia," he says. "Interested?"
It's not the museum he's asking about. I beg off. Which is just fine with Carlo. He winks.
Later, he sends me a text.
"Touristi. Gotta love them."
I'm meeting Carlo near the Academia, the museum where David hangs out in all his homo-erotic glory. Even though I'm a good fifteen minutes early, he's already sprawled over a table at the cafe/bar when I walk up.
"Ciao," I say.
"Yeah. don't order a beer, for christsakes. I don't want people thinking I hang out with touristi."
"I don't look like a tourist?"
He squints. "If you keep your mouth shut, you might get by. Order a cafe. No, let me."
Actually, I want water. It's about 90 degrees out and I'm sweating buckets.
"Better than beer, I guess." He launches into a tirade about how Florence is being overrun by tourists. Like I couldn't see that coming.
Carlo talks like a Florence native, but he's actually an American. He's lived in Europe since the late '70s or '80s. He claims to have been in advertising, but all his stories have to do with late Cold War spying. They also generally involve an "f-in commie scum," though every so often he'll sprinkle in an "honorable Rusky." Maybe he really was in advertising; most ex-spies don't disparage their old opponents quite so badly.
He's retired, though he's not sixty yet. At least I think he's retired; ask too many personal questions and all you get is a deeper scowl in reply.
"The Ukranians are the worst," he says, continuing his anti-tourist tirade. "Throwing all their black market money away. Money they probably stole from the Russian -- "
Carlo stops mid-sentence. I follow his eyes to a pair of slim young women standing near the door, looking for a table. They're wearing silk dresses that stop about mid-thigh and look painted on.
"Tourists?" I ask.
"Ukranians." Carlo gets up. "Scusi."
He walks over to them, says something in Italian, then switches to another language - I'm guessing Ukranian. They laugh, and walk over to our table.
"We're going to the Acadamia," he says. "Interested?"
It's not the museum he's asking about. I beg off. Which is just fine with Carlo. He winks.
Later, he sends me a text.
"Touristi. Gotta love them."
Come si dice?
Contrary to popular opinion, my Italian is actually not that bad; I can understand what people say to me most of the time. The problem, usually, is making them understand me - my New York accent apparently confuses the linguine out of people.
Plus, I have the vocabulary of a five-year-old.
Well, maybe a three-year-old. But a bright three-year-old.
Contrary to popular opinion, my Italian is actually not that bad; I can understand what people say to me most of the time. The problem, usually, is making them understand me - my New York accent apparently confuses the linguine out of people.
Plus, I have the vocabulary of a five-year-old.
Well, maybe a three-year-old. But a bright three-year-old.
On the road
So we're driving back to the villa, going through one of the round-abouts . . . and just as I'm thinking they're a hell of a lot easier to negotiate here than in England, being that you're on the right side of the road, I see a girl take a spill off a scooter. I pull off and run over. Her boyfriend tells me in German-accented English that she's fine, never felt better, but that ankle looks pretty broken to me. Her cuts aren't too pretty either, though she's not bleeding badly.
How do you say ankle in Italian?
As I'm pulling out the cellphone someone else stops. He speaks Italian, but no German and not, I don't think, English. He convinces the boyfriend to let him call for an ambulance.
My bet is that relationship won't survive the cast . . .
So we're driving back to the villa, going through one of the round-abouts . . . and just as I'm thinking they're a hell of a lot easier to negotiate here than in England, being that you're on the right side of the road, I see a girl take a spill off a scooter. I pull off and run over. Her boyfriend tells me in German-accented English that she's fine, never felt better, but that ankle looks pretty broken to me. Her cuts aren't too pretty either, though she's not bleeding badly.
How do you say ankle in Italian?
As I'm pulling out the cellphone someone else stops. He speaks Italian, but no German and not, I don't think, English. He convinces the boyfriend to let him call for an ambulance.
My bet is that relationship won't survive the cast . . .
Sienna's cathedral. Next time I bring the good camera...
Sienna
Throughout most of its history, Sienna competed with Florence, almost always coming out second best. It's smaller, not as well situated, and historically a bit cranky about it. Today, those are actually all assets . . . It's a nice city, not completely overrun by tourists, and if you can find a parking space, a great place to wander around.
Assuming you can ignore the exchange rate. The dollar is running about 60 Euro cents, before the ATM and credit card fees. Which makes a 2.5 Euro espresso in center city a very expensive spit of caffeine.
Mario's a Sienna truck driver, pushing his little white van around the alleys of the city from, well roughly ten to maybe three, but who's keeping track? From what I understand, he likes the challenge of squirting through the narrow streets. Kind of like playing Doom on wheels.
'A sport,' he says, gulping espressos at my expense a few blocks from the town square. '
Soccer, without a goalie.'
Later he shows me his truck. Two years old, it has more scrapes and dents than the farm tractor abandoned in the woods behind my house.
'Someday, I go to America,' he tells me as me say goodbye. 'If I can find a job.'
'You could be a taxi driver in New York.'
His face goes white. 'I hear NY drivers are crazy.'
'Dude, you're way overqualified,' I say as a Fiat blows through the alley at forty klicks, missing me by half an inch.
San Gimignano
San Gimignano is a little town in the Tuscan hills that's like a lot of little towns in Tuscany - surrounded by vineyards, olive groves, and sunflowers; filled with tourists - except for its towers. At some point during the middle ages the local swells decided to show off by adding towers to their homes. (No worry about Freud then, obviously.) Several dozen were built; fourteen survive.
According to the guidebooks, that is; I was too lazy to count. The towers aren't open to the public, but they get the town into the guidebooks, and along with its location on one of the main meandering sub-highways in central Tuscany that's enough to bring a steady flow of travelers.
Lenny's a photographer who splits his time between San Gimignano and Newhaven in southern England, though having been to Newhaven I'm baffled as to why.
'Sunflowers.' He says the word as if it's a prayer. 'Sunflowers.'
Not every photo he takes here is of sunflowers; just ninety-five percent. Of course, they're just for "art"; you can't buy them in the local shop. (Though there are plenty of other sunflower and landscape shots there.)
'Come back tomorrow and I'll make your photo,' he tells me.
I beg off. 'I don't want to break your camera.'
Lenny nods knowingly. 'Too true. Too true.'
San Gimignano is a little town in the Tuscan hills that's like a lot of little towns in Tuscany - surrounded by vineyards, olive groves, and sunflowers; filled with tourists - except for its towers. At some point during the middle ages the local swells decided to show off by adding towers to their homes. (No worry about Freud then, obviously.) Several dozen were built; fourteen survive.
According to the guidebooks, that is; I was too lazy to count. The towers aren't open to the public, but they get the town into the guidebooks, and along with its location on one of the main meandering sub-highways in central Tuscany that's enough to bring a steady flow of travelers.
Lenny's a photographer who splits his time between San Gimignano and Newhaven in southern England, though having been to Newhaven I'm baffled as to why.
'Sunflowers.' He says the word as if it's a prayer. 'Sunflowers.'
Not every photo he takes here is of sunflowers; just ninety-five percent. Of course, they're just for "art"; you can't buy them in the local shop. (Though there are plenty of other sunflower and landscape shots there.)
'Come back tomorrow and I'll make your photo,' he tells me.
I beg off. 'I don't want to break your camera.'
Lenny nods knowingly. 'Too true. Too true.'
Gelato
Italy is known for its pasta, cheese, cured meats and especially its wine, but what's really good here is the gelato, which is basically a food group of its own.
Gelato is often called ice cream in the states, but it's really not the same. It's made with more milk than cream (the reverse of ice cream), and comes in a massive number of flavors . . . so far I've seen watermelon, lime, tiramisu, rose, and a couple of dozen I can't translate, let alone describe.
The posse has tentatively decided that fragola - strawberry - is the best. Clearly, they're a conservative bunch.
Gelato is usually kept in large trays just this side of frozen, which means you have to eat it fast before it drips all over the place. (You can get it in a cup, but where's the fun in that?) Prices vary - in a small town I've found it as cheap as 80 Euro cents for the small cone; in the cities, the same cone can be 2 or even 2.5. With the dollar bringing only .60 Euros (yow) and even a little less, that's a good hunk of change . . . but worth it, especially when you consider the high nutritional value.
Italy is known for its pasta, cheese, cured meats and especially its wine, but what's really good here is the gelato, which is basically a food group of its own.
Gelato is often called ice cream in the states, but it's really not the same. It's made with more milk than cream (the reverse of ice cream), and comes in a massive number of flavors . . . so far I've seen watermelon, lime, tiramisu, rose, and a couple of dozen I can't translate, let alone describe.
The posse has tentatively decided that fragola - strawberry - is the best. Clearly, they're a conservative bunch.
Gelato is usually kept in large trays just this side of frozen, which means you have to eat it fast before it drips all over the place. (You can get it in a cup, but where's the fun in that?) Prices vary - in a small town I've found it as cheap as 80 Euro cents for the small cone; in the cities, the same cone can be 2 or even 2.5. With the dollar bringing only .60 Euros (yow) and even a little less, that's a good hunk of change . . . but worth it, especially when you consider the high nutritional value.
Dolts
Parking at Yankee Stadium apparently wasn't a big enough pain in the ass, so the dimwits who control the lots there decided to make it even more fun by changing what was a simple though expensive system at the main parking garage into a complicated and expensive system. Instead of paying as you go in, they installed a system where you get a ticket, validate it (and pay), then have to insert the ticket to get the gate to go up when you leave. That system may work fine at the luxury hotel lots where these jackals have cocktails and the hired drivers deal with the snafus, but how's it going to work at the end of a nine inning 2-1 game against Boston?
A rhetorical question.
Last night it took me twenty minutes to get out - and I left in the sixth, after the Yankees were down by ten runs. And I knew the fastest way out.
According to all the lot attendants and the security people, it's exactly the nightmare that anyone who actually ever used a parking lot while attending a sporting event could have predicted. And that's with attendants standing at the gates making sure nothing goes wrong... it'll be all sorts of fun once they're gone, once the machines start crapping out, once Mr. Murphy takes an interest . . .
My only question is which will come first, a homicide, or a riot?
The real shame is there's no way to use the premise in a book . . . no one would ever believe anyone would be so stupid to set up such a system . . .
Parking at Yankee Stadium apparently wasn't a big enough pain in the ass, so the dimwits who control the lots there decided to make it even more fun by changing what was a simple though expensive system at the main parking garage into a complicated and expensive system. Instead of paying as you go in, they installed a system where you get a ticket, validate it (and pay), then have to insert the ticket to get the gate to go up when you leave. That system may work fine at the luxury hotel lots where these jackals have cocktails and the hired drivers deal with the snafus, but how's it going to work at the end of a nine inning 2-1 game against Boston?
A rhetorical question.
Last night it took me twenty minutes to get out - and I left in the sixth, after the Yankees were down by ten runs. And I knew the fastest way out.
According to all the lot attendants and the security people, it's exactly the nightmare that anyone who actually ever used a parking lot while attending a sporting event could have predicted. And that's with attendants standing at the gates making sure nothing goes wrong... it'll be all sorts of fun once they're gone, once the machines start crapping out, once Mr. Murphy takes an interest . . .
My only question is which will come first, a homicide, or a riot?
The real shame is there's no way to use the premise in a book . . . no one would ever believe anyone would be so stupid to set up such a system . . .
Race and presidential politics
Why is it that just about every mainstream media story allegedly analyzing the upcoming presidential election fails to mention the impact attitudes on race will have on the voting? It doesn't matter which side of the political spectrum or what the writer's (non-racial) prejudices and predilections seem to be, saying that a lot of people won't vote for Obama because he's black appears out of bounds. Nor can reporters bring themselves to admit directly that a smaller but still significant number of people will vote for him BECAUSE he's black.
The polls DO show this; it's just not being properly reported.
Of course, you have to know how to read them. We've made significant strides in attitude over the past several decades, so much so that it's now considered very bad taste to admit that you wouldn't vote for a black man - or a white man for that matter - simply because of his race. But pollsters have various ways of getting around the taboos, including indirect questions. One easy, and admittedly not foolproof way is to ask if they thought their friends might be too prejudiced. Here's a summary of a recent poll from Rasmussen that did just that:
I've seen reports on this poll which completely miss the point, and even the person who wrote for the pollsters tries to shape it into a positive thing, talking about how the country is making progress - nice, but kind of off-point. Imagine if the story said roughly 10 percent of the electorate wouldn't vote for McCain because he was a Navy guy.)
McCain faces a different (lesser) prejudice because of his age. Now he's a dynamic guy, full of energy, and it's likely that age isn't quite the factor for him that it could be. And it's also possible that his age may even help (slightly) more than it hurts - I think a lot of us expect a president to be an older man with a few gray (or white) hairs as proof of his experience. In any event, talking about McCain's age doesn't seem to be as off-limits as the impact of race. Maybe because talking about race has more to do with us than the candidate.
This isn't an argument that people should find another reason to vote for or against Obama (though undoubtedly they will); it's a measure of how truthful the media is willing to be about who we are. And ultimately, that's more a statement about us than the journalists.
Why is it that just about every mainstream media story allegedly analyzing the upcoming presidential election fails to mention the impact attitudes on race will have on the voting? It doesn't matter which side of the political spectrum or what the writer's (non-racial) prejudices and predilections seem to be, saying that a lot of people won't vote for Obama because he's black appears out of bounds. Nor can reporters bring themselves to admit directly that a smaller but still significant number of people will vote for him BECAUSE he's black.
The polls DO show this; it's just not being properly reported.
Of course, you have to know how to read them. We've made significant strides in attitude over the past several decades, so much so that it's now considered very bad taste to admit that you wouldn't vote for a black man - or a white man for that matter - simply because of his race. But pollsters have various ways of getting around the taboos, including indirect questions. One easy, and admittedly not foolproof way is to ask if they thought their friends might be too prejudiced. Here's a summary of a recent poll from Rasmussen that did just that:
While most voters are becoming more comfortable voting for a black president, they are not so sure about their family and friends. Sixty-four percent (64%) now say they believe their family, friends and co-workers would be willing to support a black candidate, up slightly from 61% in June.
Today, just 8% say they would not be willing to vote for an African-American President and 13% say their peers would not. In June, 11% said they would not vote for an African-American candidate, while 14% said that of their peers.
There is, however, a significant generational issue. While 75% of senior citizens say they would vote for an African-American candidate, just 49% say their peers would do the same. Sixteen percent (16%) of seniors say their peers would not vote for an African-American and 34% are not sure. A person who is 65 today would have first been eligible to vote in 1964, the year when Lyndon Johnson was first elected. A major Voting Rights Act and other civil rights legislation passed in that year. For a thirty-year old voter today, those events were in the history books during pre-school days.
Men have become increasingly more comfortable voting for an African-American candidate. In February, 70% of men said they would be willing to support a black candidate, which jumped to 74% in June. This month, that number has jumped to 84%, just a point below the percentage of women who say they would be willing to vote for a black candidate.
(Link to the article on the Rasmussen Reports site here. I would suggest that the majority of those undecideds in the main poll are actually no votes too embarrassed to admit it. And by the way, this is all a well-known phenomenon that pollsters attempt to correct for when looking at polls involving minority candidates.)
I've seen reports on this poll which completely miss the point, and even the person who wrote for the pollsters tries to shape it into a positive thing, talking about how the country is making progress - nice, but kind of off-point. Imagine if the story said roughly 10 percent of the electorate wouldn't vote for McCain because he was a Navy guy.)
McCain faces a different (lesser) prejudice because of his age. Now he's a dynamic guy, full of energy, and it's likely that age isn't quite the factor for him that it could be. And it's also possible that his age may even help (slightly) more than it hurts - I think a lot of us expect a president to be an older man with a few gray (or white) hairs as proof of his experience. In any event, talking about McCain's age doesn't seem to be as off-limits as the impact of race. Maybe because talking about race has more to do with us than the candidate.
This isn't an argument that people should find another reason to vote for or against Obama (though undoubtedly they will); it's a measure of how truthful the media is willing to be about who we are. And ultimately, that's more a statement about us than the journalists.
Willie's bus . . .
So the Guru buttonholes me - in a nice way - and asks if I'd want to do this book signing charity thing he's putting together. Sure, I say, without waiting for the details, 'cause the Guru only has good causes, and, hell, he's the Guru.
"Oh, and by the way," he adds, "Willie Nelson may be there, too."
Which puts the request into a whole 'nother category, because Willie is The Man, and I should be begging to do this, not the other way around. I start thanking the Guru but all of a sudden he gets a worried look on his face.
"Now listen," he says, "this you have to promise me - if Willie invites you back on the bus. Don't go. Don't go. You got that? Don't. No."
I open my mouth to say something smart-ass, but I've never seen such a serious look on the Guru's face.
"If I thought you'd go on the bus," he says, "I wouldn't ask you to do this."
"No way, man," I tell him. "I'm good. I hate buses. I'm more a train guy."
"OK," says the Guru.
But as he walks away, I'm thinking if Willie invites you back to the bus, how can you say no? And what's on that bus, anyway . . .
So the Guru buttonholes me - in a nice way - and asks if I'd want to do this book signing charity thing he's putting together. Sure, I say, without waiting for the details, 'cause the Guru only has good causes, and, hell, he's the Guru.
"Oh, and by the way," he adds, "Willie Nelson may be there, too."
Which puts the request into a whole 'nother category, because Willie is The Man, and I should be begging to do this, not the other way around. I start thanking the Guru but all of a sudden he gets a worried look on his face.
"Now listen," he says, "this you have to promise me - if Willie invites you back on the bus. Don't go. Don't go. You got that? Don't. No."
I open my mouth to say something smart-ass, but I've never seen such a serious look on the Guru's face.
"If I thought you'd go on the bus," he says, "I wouldn't ask you to do this."
"No way, man," I tell him. "I'm good. I hate buses. I'm more a train guy."
"OK," says the Guru.
But as he walks away, I'm thinking if Willie invites you back to the bus, how can you say no? And what's on that bus, anyway . . .
Dick being Dick
People have been asking where they can hear (or read) more about Richard Marcinko, aka Rogue Warrior. The best source is always Dick, without the pr varnish and bs.
There's an interview on the Barnes and Noble website that apparently few people know about, but it's great because it's just Dick and readers talking, no journalists or mouthpieces to get in the way.
You can get there in two clicks. First click here.
Then click the features tab under the book cover.
The way it's set up I can't get a direct link. If the url doesn't work, paste this into the browser:
http://search.barnesandnoble.com/The-Dictators-Ransom/Richard-Marcinko/e/9780765317933/?itm=1
People have been asking where they can hear (or read) more about Richard Marcinko, aka Rogue Warrior. The best source is always Dick, without the pr varnish and bs.
There's an interview on the Barnes and Noble website that apparently few people know about, but it's great because it's just Dick and readers talking, no journalists or mouthpieces to get in the way.
You can get there in two clicks. First click here.
Then click the features tab under the book cover.
The way it's set up I can't get a direct link. If the url doesn't work, paste this into the browser:
http://search.barnesandnoble.com/The-Dictators-Ransom/Richard-Marcinko/e/9780765317933/?itm=1
Dirty pleasures
Techno guys aren't supposed to like cozies, but this one my friend(s) Sue wrote is a winner. ...
The Amazon link.
Techno guys aren't supposed to like cozies, but this one my friend(s) Sue wrote is a winner. ...
The Amazon link.
Dictator's Ransom
Should have linked, huh?
Here's the book on the B&N website...
Dictator's Ransom.
And the url if that doesn't work:
http://search.barnesandnoble.com/The-Dictators-Ransom/Richard-Marcinko/e/9780765317933/?itm=1
Should have linked, huh?
Here's the book on the B&N website...
Dictator's Ransom.
And the url if that doesn't work:
http://search.barnesandnoble.com/The-Dictators-Ransom/Richard-Marcinko/e/9780765317933/?itm=1
Another Rogue trailer
Here's another version of the Fact or Fiction book vid trailer for the new Rogue Warrior book coming this fall. The only real difference from the earlier version is that the music track starts at the top.
(There are some other technical differences, but they won't be visible in the playback. The vid is just a concept rough, not a finished product, if that matters.)
The vid probably isn't going to be used as a real promo piece because the lawyer suits thinks the script is too "controversial," whatever the hell that's supposed to mean. But I like it. Sets up the book pretty well.
Latest rumor (7/13) on Dictator's Ransom is that there's been a bigger pre-order response than expected and if demand continues to build they may release it to the stores or at least to people who have ordered it a few weeks early. Keep those cards and letters coming; we appreciate it.
Now watch me get in trouble for this, too...
Here's another version of the Fact or Fiction book vid trailer for the new Rogue Warrior book coming this fall. The only real difference from the earlier version is that the music track starts at the top.
(There are some other technical differences, but they won't be visible in the playback. The vid is just a concept rough, not a finished product, if that matters.)
The vid probably isn't going to be used as a real promo piece because the lawyer suits thinks the script is too "controversial," whatever the hell that's supposed to mean. But I like it. Sets up the book pretty well.
Latest rumor (7/13) on Dictator's Ransom is that there's been a bigger pre-order response than expected and if demand continues to build they may release it to the stores or at least to people who have ordered it a few weeks early. Keep those cards and letters coming; we appreciate it.
Now watch me get in trouble for this, too...
Well, at least it's not China . . .
Just when you thought things couldn't get worse...
No doubt they'll do for Bud what they did for Bass...
Just when you thought things couldn't get worse...
Anheuser-Busch Agrees
to Be Sold to InBev
Anheuser-Busch agreed on Sunday night to sell itself to the Belgian brewer InBev for about $52 billion, putting control of the nation’s largest beer maker and a fixture of American culture into a European rival’s hands.
No doubt they'll do for Bud what they did for Bass...
Thrillerfest
The International Thriller Writers Association held its annual dinner and group therapy session last night in New York. The Guru was there, of course, holding court in a corner of the Hyatt bar, a place where more books have been inspired and brain cells killed than any other place in Manhattan.
My only disappointment was that David Hagberg wasn't wearing a tux. On the other hand, he did have some clothes on, so I should count my blessings.
Prior to the real start of festivities downstairs, ITW gave out awards:
But Jim Rollins' recounting of the "best" Amazon reviews ever received by members was what stuck with me. A couple (paraphrasing):
"All your books really suck, but this latest one was by far the worst..."
"This book is so bad I'd un-read it if I could . . ."
Amazing how mothers can turn on their children...
The International Thriller Writers Association held its annual dinner and group therapy session last night in New York. The Guru was there, of course, holding court in a corner of the Hyatt bar, a place where more books have been inspired and brain cells killed than any other place in Manhattan.
My only disappointment was that David Hagberg wasn't wearing a tux. On the other hand, he did have some clothes on, so I should count my blessings.
Prior to the real start of festivities downstairs, ITW gave out awards:
BEST NOVEL
The Ghost by Robert Harris (Simon & Schuster)
BEST FIRST NOVEL
Heart-Shaped Box by Joe Hill (William Morrow)
BEST PAPERBACK ORIGINAL
The Midnight Road byTom Piccirilli (Bantam)
2008 ThrillerMaster Award for recognition of her illustrious body of work and many contributions to the field was granted to Sandra Brown.
The Ghost by Robert Harris (Simon & Schuster)
BEST FIRST NOVEL
Heart-Shaped Box by Joe Hill (William Morrow)
BEST PAPERBACK ORIGINAL
The Midnight Road byTom Piccirilli (Bantam)
2008 ThrillerMaster Award for recognition of her illustrious body of work and many contributions to the field was granted to Sandra Brown.
But Jim Rollins' recounting of the "best" Amazon reviews ever received by members was what stuck with me. A couple (paraphrasing):
"All your books really suck, but this latest one was by far the worst..."
"This book is so bad I'd un-read it if I could . . ."
Amazing how mothers can turn on their children...
They say four, you say three, I say . . .
By now, everyone who cares has probably heard that the Iranian Revolutionary Guards tried photoshopping their way to intimidation by altering a shot of a screwup into a success, replacing a missile launch failure with a copy of a successful one. The shot on the left is the one they released first; the other is the (supposedly) real version:
A better view of the (supposedly) undoctored version:
I say 'supposedly' because everything in the image should be treated with suspicion; start with the varying trajectories and make yourself crazy from there...
I'm no analyst so we'll let the experts digest the tea leaves, but I would point out that the missile on the erector - and it would seem the others - isn't a Shahab-3, Iran's medium range ballistic missile* that's got everyone's panties in a twist. At best (worst?) that's a theater missile, with a much shorter range and smaller payload. And if that photo is real, it looks to have about as much chance of hitting its target as I have of nailing a muskrat with a headshot at half a mile with a .44 . . .
Still hurts if you get hit with with it, of course. And you might argue that Iran's ineptness only makes them more dangerous, not less . . .
* - Another weapon whose accuracy and specs remain to be proven, but we'll leave that for another day. There's no question that it is a potent missile, at least on paper, though.
By now, everyone who cares has probably heard that the Iranian Revolutionary Guards tried photoshopping their way to intimidation by altering a shot of a screwup into a success, replacing a missile launch failure with a copy of a successful one. The shot on the left is the one they released first; the other is the (supposedly) real version:
A better view of the (supposedly) undoctored version:
I say 'supposedly' because everything in the image should be treated with suspicion; start with the varying trajectories and make yourself crazy from there...
I'm no analyst so we'll let the experts digest the tea leaves, but I would point out that the missile on the erector - and it would seem the others - isn't a Shahab-3, Iran's medium range ballistic missile* that's got everyone's panties in a twist. At best (worst?) that's a theater missile, with a much shorter range and smaller payload. And if that photo is real, it looks to have about as much chance of hitting its target as I have of nailing a muskrat with a headshot at half a mile with a .44 . . .
Still hurts if you get hit with with it, of course. And you might argue that Iran's ineptness only makes them more dangerous, not less . . .
* - Another weapon whose accuracy and specs remain to be proven, but we'll leave that for another day. There's no question that it is a potent missile, at least on paper, though.
The lights come on . . .
Albeit slowly.... From the NY Times:
Well, maybe you won't. Get the story ... and a bit more...there anyway...
Albeit slowly.... From the NY Times:
You'll pardon the shameless plug:Militant Gains in Pakistan
Said to Draw Fighters
WASHINGTON — American military and intelligence officials say there has been an increase in recent months in the number of foreign fighters who have traveled to Pakistan’s tribal areas to join with militants there.The flow may reflect a change that is making Pakistan, not Iraq, the preferred destination for some Sunni extremists from the Middle East, North Africa and Central Asia who are seeking to take up arms against the West, these officials say.
The American officials say the influx, which could be in the dozens but could also be higher, shows a further strengthening of the position of the forces of Al Qaeda in the tribal areas, increasingly seen as an important base of support for the Taliban, whose forces in Afghanistan have become more aggressive in their campaign against American-led troops...
(For the whole story, click here.)
Well, maybe you won't. Get the story ... and a bit more...there anyway...
Closer . . .
It figures that a Romance publisher would get it:
Won't be long now until it all comes together.
It figures that a Romance publisher would get it:
Harlequin is the first publisher to release entirely enriched eBooks
TORONTO, July 9 /PRNewswire/ -- Harlequin Enterprises Limited (http://www.eharlequin.com/), the global leader in series romance and one of the world's leading publishers of women's fiction, announced today the launch of their Enriched Edition eBooks. With this launch, Harlequin becomes the first publisher to offer entire eBooks that are enriched with interactive buttons that hyperlink to Web sites with more information about the content.
Won't be long now until it all comes together.
Who you callin' a dilettante???
From the wires:
But really, Silvio as most controversial? In a country that gave us Nero and Mussolini? Just goes to show what a bella figura will do for a man...
From the wires:
They thought those were good things to say about him.White House apologizes for insulting Italian premier in press kit
The White House apologized today for a press kit that describes Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi as one of the "most controversial leaders in the history of a country known for government corruption and vice.""The often thick, paper-bound briefing book is issued to all members of the White House press corps who travel on international trips," ABC News reports. "The book usually includes maps, country statistics, transcripts of relevant speeches and interviews and biographies of the leaders President Bush will meet while traveling."
Here are some of the phrases it used to describe Berlusconi:
• "hated by many but respected by all at least for his bella figura (personal style) and the sheer force of his will." (via Reuters)
• "Primarily a businessman with massive holdings and influence in international media, he was regarded by many as a political dilettante who gained his high office only through use of his considerable influence on the national media until he was forced out of office in 2006." (via Bloomberg)The Associated Press says the offending passages came from Berlusconi's entry in the Encyclopedia of World Biography.
"The sentiments expressed in the biography do not represent the views of President Bush, the American government, or the American people," presidential spokesman Tony Fratto tells the wire service. "We apologize to Italy and to the prime minister for this very unfortunate mistake."
But really, Silvio as most controversial? In a country that gave us Nero and Mussolini? Just goes to show what a bella figura will do for a man...
Bean-town love...
And he seemed like such a nice fellow when he was screaming 'murder the Yankee bastards' at the Stadium the other night . . .
All right, I've seen one in the past three or four years.... things are a far cry from the days when anyone wearing a Boston cap into the stadium would leave with broken bones and little hair...
Have Yankee fans become more civilized? Older, wiser, a little less drunk? More drunk?
One thing I know - a whole bunch are paying off their car loans by selling their tickets to Boston fans looking for an easy thrill...
And he seemed like such a nice fellow when he was screaming 'murder the Yankee bastards' at the Stadium the other night . . .
New Yorker Beaten on Red Sox TurfIf you've been to a Yankees-Red Sox game at the Stadium in the past few years, you know that not only do Red Sox fans attend the games in large numbers, but they have absolutely no qualms about being as obnoxious as possible. A sizable portion attend primarily to antagonize Yankee fans. Yet no fights break out.
FALMOUTH, Mass. (July 7) - A man was ordered held without bail Monday for allegedly beating a New York man with a baseball bat because he thought the man was a Yankees fan.
As it turned out, the New Yorker allegedly beaten in the land of the Red Sox isn't even a big baseball fan... (William) Nestor said he's not a particularly big baseball fan and didn't know the Red Sox were playing the rival Yankees over the weekend. He was treated and released from Falmouth Hospital.
In May, a New Hampshire woman was charged with second-degree murder and drunken driving in a fatal crash following an argument over the Yankees and the Red Sox.
Ivonne Hernandez, 43, told police she was trying to scare off a group of people who were hitting her car and yelling after they spotted a Yankees sticker on her rear windshield.
Police said Hernandez drove away from the group, then turned around and headed directly toward them. Matthew Beaudoin, 29, of Nashua, was killed, and a woman suffered minor injuries...
All right, I've seen one in the past three or four years.... things are a far cry from the days when anyone wearing a Boston cap into the stadium would leave with broken bones and little hair...
Have Yankee fans become more civilized? Older, wiser, a little less drunk? More drunk?
One thing I know - a whole bunch are paying off their car loans by selling their tickets to Boston fans looking for an easy thrill...
Laugh or cry?
Seriously, no one knew this??? . . .
Supposedly, the Guantánamo interrogators took the methods without knowing where they'd come from... and by implication, whether they'd work or not.
I mean, duh, even I saw the parallel. Doesn't anyone study - or even read - history any more?
Come on. I'm thinking there's more to the story, but then I'm an optimist ...http://www.nytimes.com/2008/07/02/us/02detain.html?ex=1372737600&en=727ea9eaf9d71aa3&ei=5124&partner=permalink&exprod=permalink
Seriously, no one knew this??? . . .
China Inspired Interrogations at Guantánamo
The chart and article were from an analysis of Communist Chinese torture - um, interrogation methods - used during the Korean War to extract (false) confessions, which at least some of the commies apparently believed were truthful. (Well sure, because it's what they believed to begin with, the schmucks.)" . . . Some methods were used against a small number of prisoners at Guantánamo before 2005, when Congress banned the use of coercion by the military. The C.I.A. is still authorized by President Bush to use a number of secret “alternative” interrogation methods.
Several Guantánamo documents, including the chart outlining coercive methods, were made public at a Senate Armed Services Committee hearing June 17 that examined how such tactics came to be employed.
But committee investigators were not aware of the chart’s source in the half-century-old journal article, a connection pointed out to The New York Times by an independent expert on interrogation who spoke on condition of anonymity.
Supposedly, the Guantánamo interrogators took the methods without knowing where they'd come from... and by implication, whether they'd work or not.
I mean, duh, even I saw the parallel. Doesn't anyone study - or even read - history any more?
Come on. I'm thinking there's more to the story, but then I'm an optimist ...http://www.nytimes.com/2008/07/02/us/02detain.html?ex=1372737600&en=727ea9eaf9d71aa3&ei=5124&partner=permalink&exprod=permalink
Stealing Cars (5)
(started 6/13)
(started 6/13)
Jeff pulled up near the steps to the train platform.
“You got your ticket?” he asked Stephen.
“I don’t need no tickey. I’m driving back.”
“The hell you are. Even if you had a car – you’re drunk, dude.”
“So many cars here.” Stephen bent his head past Jeff to survey the lot. “There’s got to be one with the keys in the ignition. Or screw it, I’ll just jump it.”
“You don’t even know how.”
“Ha. Watch me.”
“You’re drunk. Go home to your wife.”
“My wife.” Stephen dipped his head, then turned and looked in the other direction. “I think it’ll be that Nissan Z over there. What do you say?”
“I say the train will be here any minute.”
Stephen grabbed the door handle, snapped it back and got out. Then he leaned back into the car, his breath heavy with booze.
“You comin’?” he asked.
“Where?
“Steal a car.”
“Screw you.”
Stephen laughed, then slammed the door shut. The window was still open.
“See ya,” he said. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Happy B-day.”
“Happy B-day. B-day.” Stephen leaned down against the door. “I am taking a car.”
"I never get caught,” he said, his voice firm. “That’s the shame of it.”
Driving over the bridge, Jeff heard the train’s horn in the distance and wondered if Stephen was getting on.
He would.
Probably.
Maybe not.
“Always was an asshole,” Jeff said aloud. Then he turned the radio on to drown out the train.
Notice the layered procedure to get clearance to fire?
The longer version gives a better feel for the mission...
http://www.liveleak.com/view?i=31d_1212789344
Of course, some of us just like the boom...
Stealing cars (4)
(to be continued . . .)
Started 6/13
“What we oughta do is steal a car,” said Stephen, pulling himself inside Jeff’s Honda. “For old time’s sake.”
“Old time’s sake? We never stole cars.”
“Why not?”
“Because we weren’t thieves.”
Jeff checked his watch. The last train out of Beacon left in twenty minutes – just enough time.
“I ain’t livin’ in the past, Jeffy. I’m movin’ forward,” said Stephen.
“The booze is what’s movin’,” said Jeff. He laughed uneasily, hoping he wasn't as drunk as his friend.
“We gotta steal a car tonight. That’s what we gotta do.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m serious.”
“You’re outa your fuckin’ mind. You work on Wall Street, for christsakes. You gotta big job.”
(to be continued . . .)
Who's on first . . .
Sometimes, being confused is the only sane response ...
More Abbott & Costello:
http://www.abbottandcostello.net/
Sometimes, being confused is the only sane response ...
More Abbott & Costello:
http://www.abbottandcostello.net/
Paola from Italy . . . isn't
So Dogboy calls me last night at like twelve or one or something, on my cell no less, all hot and bothered. I figured he was in jail, but no, it was a real crisis.
"Paola from Italy isn't," he said, his voice distraught.
"Isn't what?"
"From Italy. Or Paola. She's Bernice from Queens. From Queens."
"I was just talking to somebody about Queens the other day," I said. "About how it's not like a status thing or a tough-guy thing, more a self-put-down - "
"Are you listening to me? I got a personal crisis here, and you're going philosophical."
"Who's Paola anyway?"
"Bernice... Remember that web site I told you about? Remember how I was having a conversation - "
"Are you talking about a porn site?"
"You are really no help in a friggin' crisis."
The line went dead. I killed the cell and went to sleep.
So Dogboy calls me last night at like twelve or one or something, on my cell no less, all hot and bothered. I figured he was in jail, but no, it was a real crisis.
"Paola from Italy isn't," he said, his voice distraught.
"Isn't what?"
"From Italy. Or Paola. She's Bernice from Queens. From Queens."
"I was just talking to somebody about Queens the other day," I said. "About how it's not like a status thing or a tough-guy thing, more a self-put-down - "
"Are you listening to me? I got a personal crisis here, and you're going philosophical."
"Who's Paola anyway?"
"Bernice... Remember that web site I told you about? Remember how I was having a conversation - "
"Are you talking about a porn site?"
"You are really no help in a friggin' crisis."
The line went dead. I killed the cell and went to sleep.
Stealing cars (3)
“It’s a miracle we never got arrested, half the stuff we did.” Stephen picked up the shot glass and downed the vodka in a gulp. Then he pushed it across the bar for a refill. Skye was the best you could do here.
“We never did anything they would arrest us for,” said Jeff.
“Shit on that,” said Stephen. The bartender wasn’t responding, so Stephen took out his wallet and unfolded a hundred.
No, I’m paying,” said Jeff. “It’s your birthday.”
“Don’t sweat it, boy. I’m rich.” Stephen held his stare a second, then started to laugh.
“You ain’t rich,” said Jeff, serious, and a little offended.
Stephen laughed even harder. “Who cares?” he said, sticking the hill in the glass like a flag.
...to be continued
“It’s a miracle we never got arrested, half the stuff we did.” Stephen picked up the shot glass and downed the vodka in a gulp. Then he pushed it across the bar for a refill. Skye was the best you could do here.
“We never did anything they would arrest us for,” said Jeff.
“Shit on that,” said Stephen. The bartender wasn’t responding, so Stephen took out his wallet and unfolded a hundred.
No, I’m paying,” said Jeff. “It’s your birthday.”
“Don’t sweat it, boy. I’m rich.” Stephen held his stare a second, then started to laugh.
“You ain’t rich,” said Jeff, serious, and a little offended.
Stephen laughed even harder. “Who cares?” he said, sticking the hill in the glass like a flag.
...to be continued
The Rogue speaks (YouTube version)
The marketing suits asked Dick why he didn't feel the need to be politically correct. He gave a calm, reasoned answer... before clearing the room.
The book can be pre-ordered here:
http://search.barnesandnoble.com/The-Dictators-Ransom/Richard-Marcinko/e/9780765317933/?itm=1
among other places...
The marketing suits asked Dick why he didn't feel the need to be politically correct. He gave a calm, reasoned answer... before clearing the room.
The book can be pre-ordered here:
http://search.barnesandnoble.com/The-Dictators-Ransom/Richard-Marcinko/e/9780765317933/?itm=1
among other places...
Stealing cars (2)
“I can’t imagine doing that commute every day,” Stephen told Jeff when he saw him on the platform at Beacon. “Shit.”
“Shit yourself. How are you?”
Jeff gave him a bear hug and an arm punch, and they were on their way. Stephen was tense, more on edge than in the city a month ago when they’d hit the Stadium together and walked up the block for something to eat. But he shrugged when Jeff asked if something was up, and Jeff dropped it.
"Old place hasn’t changed, huh?” said Stephen as they drove to the river where the restaurant was.
Newburgh had changed a lot, Jeff thought, but he didn’t say it.
“Man, the things we used to do here, huh?” added Stephen.
“We had fun.”
“Newburgh – city of sin. But we made it out alive.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“Oh yeah. You’re still a prisoner.” Stephen turned to Jeff, suddenly animated. “Go down Dobbs and over to Johnson.”
"Bullshit on that. This ain’t the place to screw around.”
"Just do it.”
“No way. I value my life.”
“Why?” said Stephen, with an edge. But he let it drop.
(to be continued)
“I can’t imagine doing that commute every day,” Stephen told Jeff when he saw him on the platform at Beacon. “Shit.”
“Shit yourself. How are you?”
Jeff gave him a bear hug and an arm punch, and they were on their way. Stephen was tense, more on edge than in the city a month ago when they’d hit the Stadium together and walked up the block for something to eat. But he shrugged when Jeff asked if something was up, and Jeff dropped it.
"Old place hasn’t changed, huh?” said Stephen as they drove to the river where the restaurant was.
Newburgh had changed a lot, Jeff thought, but he didn’t say it.
“Man, the things we used to do here, huh?” added Stephen.
“We had fun.”
“Newburgh – city of sin. But we made it out alive.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“Oh yeah. You’re still a prisoner.” Stephen turned to Jeff, suddenly animated. “Go down Dobbs and over to Johnson.”
"Bullshit on that. This ain’t the place to screw around.”
"Just do it.”
“No way. I value my life.”
“Why?” said Stephen, with an edge. But he let it drop.
(to be continued)
Stealing Cars (1)
Stephen was turning 30 and Jeff decided to do something special, take him out like the old days when they were kids in Newburgh. For the past few years they’d been drifting apart – since Stephen got married mostly – but when they were kids they were tight, knew what the other was thinking by the way he squinted.
Stephen was in finance on Wall Street. He lived in the city but if he didn’t he’d have a house near the river, a big empty place where Jeff’s boss would tell him to add twenty bucks to the standard charge when he went on a maintenance call. Jeff was an AC tech for a local company, had his own truck, doing pretty good in his eyes and compared to most people he knew, except Stephen. Stephen was in a whole other class, able to score Ranger tickets where they brought the food to you and you felt the cold of the ice.
“You want to party?” Jeff asked when he sent the text. “Up here? B-Day????” It took nearly the whole day for Stephen to get back to him. “Ynot?”
(to be continued)
Stephen was turning 30 and Jeff decided to do something special, take him out like the old days when they were kids in Newburgh. For the past few years they’d been drifting apart – since Stephen got married mostly – but when they were kids they were tight, knew what the other was thinking by the way he squinted.
Stephen was in finance on Wall Street. He lived in the city but if he didn’t he’d have a house near the river, a big empty place where Jeff’s boss would tell him to add twenty bucks to the standard charge when he went on a maintenance call. Jeff was an AC tech for a local company, had his own truck, doing pretty good in his eyes and compared to most people he knew, except Stephen. Stephen was in a whole other class, able to score Ranger tickets where they brought the food to you and you felt the cold of the ice.
“You want to party?” Jeff asked when he sent the text. “Up here? B-Day????” It took nearly the whole day for Stephen to get back to him. “Ynot?”
(to be continued)
For all you plane buffs . . .
The folks at the Smithsonian put together a list of the top ten planes of all time for the July issue of their magazine. The list ...
http://www.airspacemag.com/history-of-flight/Aircraft_That_Changed_the_World.html?c=y&page=1
The folks at the Smithsonian put together a list of the top ten planes of all time for the July issue of their magazine. The list ...
- Wright 1905 – (Note that that's NOT the first plane.)
- Junkers F13 – Not the first airliner, but the first with a light metal skeleton. Eh...
- Boeing 314 – Pan Am's 314 Clipper - this is why they serve drinks aboard planes...
- B-29 Enola Gay – One of two specific aircraft on the list. Doesn't really fit, though they try to make a claim for the B-29 as "the first nuclear capable aircraft" and mention its pressurized cockpit.... More evolutionary than revolutionary, unlike the first swept-wing jet bomber (the almost forgotten B-47) and the first stealth bomber(the misnamed Stealth Fighter)...
- Mikoyan-Gurevich MiG 15 – Good jet fighter, but is it really more important than the Me-262? And its superiority over the F-86 is greatly exaggerated, even if it is usually done as a compliment to U.S. pilots.
- Sikorsky S-55 – Not the first helo used for air rescue, but it did make it routine during the Korean War.
- Cessna 172 –Got me. There are a hell of a lot of them, though.
- Learjet 23 – First commercially successful corporate jet. Hard to argue.
- Boeing 747 – The Clipper's grandson.
- General Atomics MQ-1 Predator – Not the first UAV, but certainly a successful one and one that is in the public (media's) mind. UAVs certainly are the way of the future (and the present, actually)
http://www.airspacemag.com/history-of-flight/Aircraft_That_Changed_the_World.html?c=y&page=1
My kind of book party
I would've waited until after dessert to throw the first punch, but that's a personal preference.The authors of Dinner Party Disasters: True Stories of Culinary Catastrophe, which Abrams published last month, saw their book’s thesis live in action at a recent dinner party, when fists flew over the presidential election just as guests were finishing their entrées.
Twenty-two movers and shakers of Litchfield, Conn., gathered last weekend at the home of a local couple for a dinner party to honor the book’s author, Annaliese Soros (first wife of financier George Soros), and her contributor, Abigail Stokes. Dinner Party Disasters promises to guide readers “through the faux pas that other hostesses have made so that you don’t make the same mistakes.” It contains instructions for putting together the “perfect mix of guests, food, décor, entertainment, and preparation, ensuring your next gathering will be a rousing success.” It is unclear whether or not the party’s hosts had read the book prior to the event.
As entrées were being enjoyed, a McCain supporter and an Obama supporter, having exhausted their verbal arguments, lunged at each other with fists flying. Eventually the kitchen staff came to the rescue and separated the two men, but not before some blood was shed and the well-heeled guests were shaken up. After a cooling down period, the rambunctious guests returned to the table (with revised seat assignments) and ate dessert.
“It’s funny now, but it wasn’t so funny then,” said coauthor Stokes. “The irony was that as the evening began we all kidded around about how someone should stage a disaster at one of these book parties—and lo and behold, it happened.”
A whole lot of 0's and 1's
From today's news :
How safe is your encryption?
Then again, maybe they're just going to use it to surf porn sites . . .
But no, all that stuff in Deep Black is made up....
From today's news :
An American military supercomputer, assembled from components originally designed for video game machines, has reached a long-sought-after computing milestone by processing more than 1.026 quadrillion calculations per second.
How safe is your encryption?
Then again, maybe they're just going to use it to surf porn sites . . .
But no, all that stuff in Deep Black is made up....
Prince's party
I was always under the impression that Dogboy could barely read, and that the closest he came to the book world was the display of porn behind the gas station where he buys his smokes and ammo. Then yesterday he calls up and says he was at the year's biggest literary bash - Prince's party out at BEA in LA Friday night... and Saturday, and Sunday . . .
Me: Why were you at Prince's?
Dogboy: He parties, bro. He was rockin'.
Me: Yeah, but how'd you get an invite?
Dogboy: P Diddy invited me.
Me: The rapper?
Dogboy: He's a lot more than a rapper, dude. Now he's a literary impresario.
Me: You're white trailer trash. Why was he hangin' with you?
Dogboy: Because he knows cool. And hey, Guru was looking for you.
Me: Guru? My editor? He was there?
Dogboy: No shit. He was like, where is DeFelice? Why the hell isn't he here? But I covered for you.
Me: How?
Dogboy: I told him you were too stuck up to be at a party like this. I mean, Vana White's old house? Come on.
Me: Thanks.
Dogboy: From now on I'll just say you're in jail. Better?
I was always under the impression that Dogboy could barely read, and that the closest he came to the book world was the display of porn behind the gas station where he buys his smokes and ammo. Then yesterday he calls up and says he was at the year's biggest literary bash - Prince's party out at BEA in LA Friday night... and Saturday, and Sunday . . .
Me: Why were you at Prince's?
Dogboy: He parties, bro. He was rockin'.
Me: Yeah, but how'd you get an invite?
Dogboy: P Diddy invited me.
Me: The rapper?
Dogboy: He's a lot more than a rapper, dude. Now he's a literary impresario.
Me: You're white trailer trash. Why was he hangin' with you?
Dogboy: Because he knows cool. And hey, Guru was looking for you.
Me: Guru? My editor? He was there?
Dogboy: No shit. He was like, where is DeFelice? Why the hell isn't he here? But I covered for you.
Me: How?
Dogboy: I told him you were too stuck up to be at a party like this. I mean, Vana White's old house? Come on.
Me: Thanks.
Dogboy: From now on I'll just say you're in jail. Better?
Pakistan today
From today's NY Times . . .
Here's a hint about how well Mehsud is doing - he's got a nicer truck than the army leader there . . . and he's not worrying about the price of gas.
Full story:
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/06/02/world/asia/02pstan.html?ex=1370145600&en=9c5f2e8207b51128&ei=5124&partner=permalink&exprod=permalink
From today's NY Times . . .
PESHAWAR, Pakistan — With great fanfare, the Pakistani Army flew journalists to a rugged corner of the nation’s lawless tribal areas in May to show how decisively it had destroyed the lairs of the Taliban, including a school for suicide bombers, in fighting early this year.
Then, just days later, the usually reclusive leader of the Pakistani Taliban, Baitullah Mehsud, held a news conference of his own, in the same region, to show just who was in charge.
Here's a hint about how well Mehsud is doing - he's got a nicer truck than the army leader there . . . and he's not worrying about the price of gas.
Full story:
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/06/02/world/asia/02pstan.html?ex=1370145600&en=9c5f2e8207b51128&ei=5124&partner=permalink&exprod=permalink
Just gimme the paper . . .
So Sunday morning at God's hour the local supermarket is having a grand reopening in celebration of having relocated the lettuce to an even less convenient place and added twenty-five more aisles of pseudo-organic food right next to the potato chip aisle. They also moved the front door three feet to the right, replacing the section where they used to sell books, except of course they didn't sell any because it was right behind the door.
The store manager come up and tried to give me a cup of supermarket coffee, a bag of popcorn and a balloon. I passed on all three. The bagpipes began to play and five guys ran up with 'Can I help you' T-shirts.
Not one of them knew where they'd moved the Sunday papers to.
Under the time cards, behind the courtesy desk. Would have been nice had they been put together. But doing it myself, I ended up with two classified sections... handy bathroom reading for the guests.
One of the bagpipers did look kind of cute.
So Sunday morning at God's hour the local supermarket is having a grand reopening in celebration of having relocated the lettuce to an even less convenient place and added twenty-five more aisles of pseudo-organic food right next to the potato chip aisle. They also moved the front door three feet to the right, replacing the section where they used to sell books, except of course they didn't sell any because it was right behind the door.
The store manager come up and tried to give me a cup of supermarket coffee, a bag of popcorn and a balloon. I passed on all three. The bagpipes began to play and five guys ran up with 'Can I help you' T-shirts.
Not one of them knew where they'd moved the Sunday papers to.
Under the time cards, behind the courtesy desk. Would have been nice had they been put together. But doing it myself, I ended up with two classified sections... handy bathroom reading for the guests.
One of the bagpipers did look kind of cute.
The difference between fact & fiction
So Fred calls and tells me his next book is featuring Jack Pilgrim, my character from Leopards Kill.
"You can't do that," I tell him.
"Why not?"
"For one thing, he's not your character."
"So?"
"And for another thing, you write non-fiction."
There's a pause in the conversation. Then he says, "Wanna talk about the Mets?"
So Fred calls and tells me his next book is featuring Jack Pilgrim, my character from Leopards Kill.
"You can't do that," I tell him.
"Why not?"
"For one thing, he's not your character."
"So?"
"And for another thing, you write non-fiction."
There's a pause in the conversation. Then he says, "Wanna talk about the Mets?"
Stephan did something for Naval Intelligence, though what it was exactly none of us were ever sure. He came out of the Navy as an officer, in need of a job and looking after. Somebody, I think it was Paulie, got him a job on the railroad. So for a million years now he’s been a conductor, working late runs.
I saw him the other night, late coming out of
He took my ticket and didn’t acknowledge me. It wasn’t like the train was full of people or anything, but that’s Stephan.
Twenty minutes later he came back and sat down next to me.
“Train hit a deer last night,” he said, without any prelude. “Took the head right off. Still by the tracks. If you look carefully just after Mahwah, you’ll see it.”
“How you been, Stephan?” I asked.
“Mmmm,” he said, and got up.
I looked, but never saw the deer.
Just call me, Mole Man . . .
Cold blooded and impervious to pain.
Cold blooded and impervious to pain.
From the AP . . .
As vulnerable as naked mole rats seem, researchers now find the hairless, bucktoothed rodents are invulnerable to the pain of acid and the sting of chili peppers. A better understanding of pain resistance in these sausage-like creatures could lead to new drugs for people with chronic pain, scientists added.
Naked mole rats live in cramped, oxygen-starved burrows some six feet underground in central East Africa. Unusually, they are cold-blooded — which, as far as anyone knows, is unique among mammals.
Horrible photos
So I needed a passport-type photo taken and went down to the local passport-photo taker, who stood me in front of a white wall and shot me in the worst possible light with a cracked lens and numbers across my chest.
Fantastic.
I always try for the worst possible photo in those sorts of situations. Because let's face it: the only time they're really going to be useful is if some poor schmo is ID'ing you in the morgue, and you're not going to look your best there anyway . . .
So I needed a passport-type photo taken and went down to the local passport-photo taker, who stood me in front of a white wall and shot me in the worst possible light with a cracked lens and numbers across my chest.
Fantastic.
I always try for the worst possible photo in those sorts of situations. Because let's face it: the only time they're really going to be useful is if some poor schmo is ID'ing you in the morgue, and you're not going to look your best there anyway . . .
Dogboy & bugs
Hadn't seen Dogboy in a while, so I went over the other day to help myself to some free beer.
"What's up?" I asked him between guzzles.
"Nutin'. Kinda slow around here lately."
"Mmmmm...."
We drank the next beer or two without saying anything. On the fourth or maybe fifth round, Dog came back to life.
"Swallowed a bug yesterday," he said.
"Really. Highlight of your day?"
"Hell yeah - got stuck in my throat and the only way I could get rid of it was to bend over and throw up."
"Uh . . ."
"Then I got thinking," continued Dogboy. "What if it was a bird? A big bird. A really big bird with scratchy feathers."
"You shouldn't think. It's hazardous to your health."
Hadn't seen Dogboy in a while, so I went over the other day to help myself to some free beer.
"What's up?" I asked him between guzzles.
"Nutin'. Kinda slow around here lately."
"Mmmmm...."
We drank the next beer or two without saying anything. On the fourth or maybe fifth round, Dog came back to life.
"Swallowed a bug yesterday," he said.
"Really. Highlight of your day?"
"Hell yeah - got stuck in my throat and the only way I could get rid of it was to bend over and throw up."
"Uh . . ."
"Then I got thinking," continued Dogboy. "What if it was a bird? A big bird. A really big bird with scratchy feathers."
"You shouldn't think. It's hazardous to your health."
Great sub book
And now, a shameless plug, but not for myself . . .
If you like submarine stories, nonfiction that reads like a Tom Clancy novel, or twisted tales of Cold War intrigue, this book's for you. Jerome's a friend of mine, but I'd recommend it anyway.
Here's an interview he did:
http://www.mpbn.net/radio/mainenews/080509preisler.htm
Among other things, the book reminds us all of how dangerous serving your country can be, even in a time of "peace."
And now, a shameless plug, but not for myself . . .
If you like submarine stories, nonfiction that reads like a Tom Clancy novel, or twisted tales of Cold War intrigue, this book's for you. Jerome's a friend of mine, but I'd recommend it anyway.
Here's an interview he did:
http://www.mpbn.net/radio/mainenews/080509preisler.htm
Among other things, the book reminds us all of how dangerous serving your country can be, even in a time of "peace."
Reviewers
This was in Publishers Marketplace today:
I'll kick in another fifty on the reviews of my books . . . maybe even more . . .
This was in Publishers Marketplace today:
PW Cuts Reviewers Pay
The price of gold has risen sharply in commodities market, but the "gold standard" for book reviewers is headed in the other direction. The NBCC blog posts this letter received by a member from the Publishers Weekly reviews editor:
"Dear Reviewer,
We are under constraints to reduce our expenses and must reduce the fee we pay to reviewers. Any reviews assigned after June 15 will be billed at $25 per review. However, you will be credited as a contributor in issues where your reviews appear. Please know that we value the work you do for us. Your astute reading and writing are what make our magazine so valuable in the industry and we regret this necessary action. All of us here are also experiencing change but we expect that we will continue to be the gold standard in book reviewing."
I'll kick in another fifty on the reviews of my books . . . maybe even more . . .
First Team: Soul of the Assassin
So how do you buy the book, Jim?
Here's a link to the Amazon sale site:
http://www.amazon.com/Larry-Bonds-First-Team-Assassin/dp/0765307146/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1210845616&sr=8-1
And Barnes & Noble:
http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Larry-Bonds-First-Team/Larry-Bond/e/9780765307149/?itm=1
And Merritt Books, my local bookstore . . .
http://www.booksite.com/texis/scripts/oop/click_ord/showdetail.html?sid=1967&isbn=0765307146&buyable=0
The 'real' Ferg, as if there were such a thing
One of the great things about Ferg – the real Ferg – was that he had a way of bending space entirely around him without making you mad at him.
Late one night he called me in Xxxxx, waking me up. The conversation went something like this:
Me: Ferg? WTF????
Ferg: Hey.
Me: Where are you?
Ferg: I’m in Yyyyy.
Me: You’re supposed to be in Zzzzz tomorrow.
Ferg: Yeah. Probably I won’t make it.
Me: Fug...
Ferg: I might be able to make it, if you picked me up at the train station in Aaaaa and drove me to Bbbbbb. I can catch a ride from there.
Me: What am I, your friggin’ taxi now?
Ferg: I was just saying . . .
I picked him up. The bottle he pulled from his coat only partly made up for it.
First Team, fiction & reality . . .
More on reality and fiction, and where you draw the line:
It’s kind of cool to look at real buildings and imagine your characters moving through them. That’s one of the things that makes books different for writers than readers. There’s a scene in one of the Deep Black books where Charlie and Lia are in an elevator talking. Or not talking, which is a problem for them. It’s an emotional scene, and I’m sure readers focus on what’s going on between them.
But for me, the scene is all about that elevator, which I rode up and down in for a week while researching the book.
Speaking Larry Bond . . .
I mentioned Larry Bond in my last post. Larry is the lead author on the First Team series, and a great, easy going guy, real easy to work with.
He once said something about collaboration – it’s the sort of art that succeeds when both people do eighty percent of the work.
I'm probably misquoting him, since he's more eloquent than that.
Anyway, I always say Larry does the eighty percent that's good . . . I put in everything else.
Real life/real fiction
Larry's right - better to think of it as all made up.
People sometimes ask how real the books are write are, meaning I guess whether the things that are described in them really happened. I usually have a lot of trouble answering because there are always many real things in the book, and it’s hard to explain exactly where the line is sometimes.
In the First Team books, for example, the lead character – Bob Ferguson – is based on a real person. Obviously, he finds himself in somewhat different situations, and this is a work of fiction, not reality. But when I’m working on the book, I see Ferg – the real Ferg – in my head.
My memory of the real Ferg pretty much guides what the character does. There are plot necessities and the like, but his attitude toward life and the rest are spot on.
Or at least I think they are.
I don’t know if that information is useful at all to the reader. Larry Bond and I once had a semi-long discussion on the relationship between real and not real characters. His take, if I’m remembering it right, was that he really didn’t want to know. He preferred to think it was all made up – it was almost as if that made the spell we fall under when we read a good yarn that much better.
And in a way, of course, the characters in novels are all made up, even Ferg. The real person is not the fictional character, no matter how close the resemblance. The novelist has to remain completely in control of the fiction, something that never happens in real life. (Especially where Ferg was concerned.) There are always differences, no matter how tightly drawn the character is, points where reality fades and fiction takes over.
The real Ferg, for example, didn’t have cancer. (That part of the character comes from someone else, actually.) And I don’t think the real Ferg could dance as well as the fictional character can, though I can't quite recall ever seeing him dance.
Same guy, though. Plop the real Ferg down in
Larry's right - better to think of it as all made up.
I told you not to play Feelings . . .
PORT CHESTER — A bride and groom arrested at their wedding reception after the bride trashed a set of conga drums in a spat with the band have pleaded guilty to disorderly conduct.
The bride, 41-year-old Fabiana Reyes, was also accused of breaking a speaker in a dispute over the music at the April 5 reception. She has been sentenced in Village Court to the six days she already spent in jail. She also paid the band $1,500 for the damage.
Her 42-year-old husband, Elmo Fernandez, and their 21-year-old daughter, Helen Fernandez, were accused of interfering with Reyes’ arrest. They pleaded guilty Thursday and promised to stay out of trouble for a year. Both were stun-gunned by police during the fracas.
The daughter said the couple was legally married in 1986 but delayed their church wedding until last month.
High class literary talk
So I went to the Edgars* last night and learned all sorts of important things, like how to survive a three-way.
Damn, these literary discussions get serious a half-hour before the bar closes.
*Edgars = the annual awards dinner of the Mystery Writers of America. Thanks to my friends at Tor for sneaking me in.
So I went to the Edgars* last night and learned all sorts of important things, like how to survive a three-way.
Damn, these literary discussions get serious a half-hour before the bar closes.
*Edgars = the annual awards dinner of the Mystery Writers of America. Thanks to my friends at Tor for sneaking me in.
Train talk
Overheard yesterday . . .
Guy 1: Yeah, he musta been there three or four days. Down in the basement, where he lived.
Guy2: Basement apartment?
G1: Yeah. With the dog.
G2: And it ate him?
G1: Just the soft parts, eyes, you know. Of course, three or four days like that, the body blows up a bit. Dog musta taken a few bites and said whoa. Kept on chewin' though. Hungry . . . Want another beer?
Overheard yesterday . . .
Guy 1: Yeah, he musta been there three or four days. Down in the basement, where he lived.
Guy2: Basement apartment?
G1: Yeah. With the dog.
G2: And it ate him?
G1: Just the soft parts, eyes, you know. Of course, three or four days like that, the body blows up a bit. Dog musta taken a few bites and said whoa. Kept on chewin' though. Hungry . . . Want another beer?
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