Pedro by Pedro Martinez and Michael Silverman

Photo: the hardcover, from its Goodreads page

Better-written than usual for this type of book, Pedro nonetheless continues a string of multi-millionaires complaining of lack of respect and then throwing their teammates and colleagues under the bus. Mike Napoli, for example, may wake up one morning, read a page of this, and wonder WTF?

It is well-written and it has a better narrative flow than is usual for the genre. Michael Silverman has created a structure of Pedro's voice, narrative voice (certainly not Pedro's), author voice (same) and then enmeshes direct quotes from others, like you're reading a screenplay of a documentary. It doesn't sound like it works (and, sporadically, it doesn't), but overall it does work and you read on.

You get the childhood background, but without the grittiness that you think the self-proclaimed poverty would demand. It's smoothed over when maybe it shouldn't have been, but then this isn't really a documentary, it just sounds like one. You get the beginning, with the Dodgers, then the other teams: the Expos, the Red Sox, the Mets and the Phillies. (Did you remember that Pedro's last start was in the 2009 World Series against the Yanks? I did, but it seemed surreal, then and now.) You get the typical beef about the management: the Dodgers and Sox especially.

And this is the first of two things that made me rate this a three rather than a four: it's hypocritical about two things, so glaring you wonder they weren't amended. The first: Every Sox fan knows Pedro's last game was Game 4 of the 2004 World Series. Immediately he let it be known that he wanted a 3-4 year contract, and the Sox wanted to give him the shortest one possible, a year, or two, at most. That was known before the season ended and for as long as it took for him to get a guaranteed 3-4 year deal with the Mets. And it was also known that his shoulder and arm were frayed. More time on the DL; more injuries; more babying at the end...All of this was known. And it was just as well-known that the Sox were right: Pedro had one good year left for the Mets, and then the rest of that contract he mostly spent on the DL. If the Sox had given him a 3-4 year deal, they were going to eat 2-3 years of it. They said that out loud, and they were right. If you were Sox ownership, do you make that deal? The Mets did, as they candidly said, because they had a newer ballpark and the fan base was dwindling, and they had to bring in a name.

The hypocritical part is that this book whines about a lack of respect from the Sox about all this--and then shows in following chapters that they were right! He acknowledges he lasted just one more good season (a very good 2005) and then had one injury after another. The 2009 season with Philadelphia was a half-season for him--he was 5-1 and basically started in September. The rest of the year he was the same place as the previous three--on and off (mostly on) the DL. He narrates all this without saying the Sox were right, but clearly shows in his narration that the Sox were right. He calls it a lack of respect that the Sox weren't willing to give him a long guaranteed contract and then eat 75%-80% of it. But of course that's not what businesses do. And the casual fan could see his physical regression in 2003 and 2004. It was obvious. I wouldn't have given him that contract, either. (He's made hundreds of millions from baseball and endorsements, so don't feel bad for him.)

The other blatant example of hypocrisy is how he states all book long that he was misunderstood, that he was mislabeled, that he didn't throw at batters intentionally, that he wasn't a headhunter--and then, often in the same sentence or paragraph, admits that he hit someone on purpose, and that he often told the player he would do so, and then does it. He threatened players verbally with it all the time, then hit the player--and then says he's misunderstood, that he's not a headhunter. This is so obvious in the book that you shake your head.

But, again, that's what these books do, right? They complain about money, about disrespect, about how the media screws them, all that same stuff all the time. It makes you yearn for another Ball Four, and to truly appreciate how direct and honest it was. Say what you want about Bouton, but he was well aware of how not a God he was, about how lucky he was to do what he did and to make the money he did, and he had actual thoughts to say, and didn't complain too much about management or anything else. Yes, he was traded for Dooley Womack, but he never says he shouldn't have been.

Surrender, New York by Caleb Carr

Photo: Hardcover front, from its Wikipedia page

Alternately good, and bad, well-written, and lazy, erudite, and at times pedantic, this book has got to be the most Jekyll-and-Hyde I've ever read. It really almost defies explanation. Some of the writing almost approaches The Alienist, but this book overall is nowhere near that great book, frustrating because it's the same author, and it's obvious that it could go there, but...

The book opens well enough, I guess, but it takes awhile for the crime to show itself. When it does, it's well-written and atmospheric. You won't think of a mobile home quite the same way again. One Goodreads reviewer hated it, but it's well-done. All of the crime scenes are well-written and thoroughly imagined--one of them perhaps a little too much so, involving a baby, a toilet, and a guy who gets shot 46 times. There's overkill there, and it isn't with the 46 shots. The ending is satisfying; in fact, it works better than it has any right to, but it's a case of been there and done that for me, the main character and one of the cops.

So that's all well and good. What wasn't:

--Normally long books don't bother me. I'm okay with long, leisurely strolls of a book, when it's okay that it sometimes takes circuitous paths. Some Stephen King books are like that. Lots of books 1850-1950 were like that. The Alienist and its sequel are a little like that, though they're tight and well-written a helluva lot more often than they're not. But this one is bloated solely because Caleb Carr falls in love, lazily, with his main character, his sidekick, a young boy who joins them, and a cheetah. (Yes.)  Fact is, with a little editing, the locker-room jiving between Dr. Jones and Dr. Li could've been tolerable. But there's no editing, from the publisher, the writer, or from the characters themselves--and they become sophomoric, boring and an absolute trial. Carr was maybe trying for a bit of 48 Hours-like dialogue here, but Jones and Li aren't Nolte and Murphy, and it's an eye-rolling mess. You don't like them together. You don't like how they talk. You wish they'd shut up and grow up and for God's sake shut up again. Curb some of their painful banter that Carr clearly enjoys and you lop off a good 50, 75 maybe 100 pages. After page 475 or so, I began skipping over it and just looking for the plot points.

--You'd think I was a prude when I say that the sheer number of f-bombs (and similar words) defies belief. I mean, there are hundreds of them, perhaps more, in this almost 600 page book. I'm not kidding when I guess that there's at least, on average, one per page. I'm guessing there are about 750 such bombs, and they're said by two doctors and a young kid. There are so many of them that I kept imagining Annie Wilkes's diatribe against lazy swearing in writing. Her speech perfectly fits this book. There are that many, and by God she may have been right. And I was incredibly happy to see that literally every review I read--from Michael Connelly's very favorable review in the New York Times, to other appreciative reviews, to some scathing Goodreads reviews--they all mention the sheer unbelievable number of obscenities. And we all wondered, How could Caleb Carr not hear them? How could he not notice how many there are, and how bad it is?

--The love interest for the almost 40-year old main character is beautiful, blonde--and 20. (Yes.) Need I say more? Carr's descriptions of their interactions and budding romance simply aren't believable.

--Kudos to bringing to the nation's attention the existence of "throwaway children," which in my job I've seen more often than I'd care to remember. But the (bloated, overlong) plot device of a governor, an Assistent D.A. and various other relevant law enforcement and political figures covering it up because they're afraid it'll make them look bad? It's been a problem since the 80s, and it's already made every state look bad. Simply not believable.

--Long, windy novels work when the narration is folksy and believable, or the characters are very likable. Neither is the case here. So it's not a long, leisurely walk. It's a stumble. When you agree to read a long tome, which Carr clearly likes to write, and that's fine, then you're readily sacrificing the time and you're willing to go along with a narrator, wherever he takes you, which you're aware could be all over the place. But, again, the plot has to be agreeably labyrinthine, which this isn't. Or it has to be agreeably written and smooth and light as a feather, which this isn't. Or the main character and his world have to be very likable, or at least very relatable--and they're not. Frankly, all of the reviewers I read agreed that Dr. Jones isn't all that agreeable a guy. This is bad because a) it makes it even more unbelievable that a beautiful 20-year old would fall for him so quickly, and b) because it's obvious that Jones is a stand-in for Carr himself, so in essence we're not agreeably relating to the author as a person. Makes you feel bad.

And so you might be wondering why I rated it 3 out of 5, which means I liked it. I suppose I would've given it 2 1/2, if I could have, and maybe even 2, but overall the promise of it, and of Carr's potential, kept me going, until I couldn't take Jones and Li anymore and I started skimming. I have to admit that I just read the last 125 pages to see who done it, and to see what happens to Ambyr, to be honest with you. Lucas, too, I suppose, though he was too precocious for me. The last half feels like maybe it was mailed in, though the resolution is written much better than the 100 or so pages before it.

So don't be looking for Carr's earlier, better works, like The Alienist, because you won't find it here. Though this was light years better than the one previous to this, an incredibly long, convoluted, badly-written mess about a forgotten culture in the middle of the German forest, and really one of the more clear Did Not Finish I've ever had. That one wasn't a book to be put aside lightly--it was to be thrown with great force. (Apologies to Dorothy Parker.) Anyway, here's to hoping that Carr goes back to the beginning, and really analyzes why Lazlo's books worked, and his latest hasn't.

High Lonesome: 40 Years of Stories from Joyce Carol Oates

Photo: from books.google.com at this link

Better known for her Gothic stories, especially the heavily anthologized "Where Is Here?" and a few others, this is still an extremely readable and often striking collection of short stories spanning 40 years, from 1966 to 2006. As with all collections of this length, and shorter, you may find some swings and misses here, but there are far more hits than misses. At worst, a few stories were okay, unimpressive, but not bad, exactly. Some are stunning. Some are memorable, sometimes for the writing, sometimes for the things that happen. (In one, an unhappy woman in her early 20s allows herself to have a messy, unstopped period while she and her family spoke with a priest at a seminary, where her brother would've been kicked out but for that spectacle.) Other stories are memorable for what they don't show, or say. (In one, a young man kills himself in his car. In the glove compartment is found an object that may insinuate he also would've killed someone else, but for some reason didn't. The story ends with a character asking the other what that object had been for--and the story ends right there.) Anyway, there are 11 new stories here (as of 2006), one of them the title story. This one is also perhaps the best of the bunch--a nice comment to be able to make, considering Joyce Carol Oates has been writing now for over 50 years, and apparently hasn't lost a thing. If anything, she may be getting better. So these are all good, and highly recommended, though I prefer her Gothic stories, none of which are here.

A short bulleted commentary:

--"Spider Boy" is very good. Chilling and short, as usual about the unknown side of someone's personality.

--"The Cousins" is an award-winning story.

--"The Gathering Squall" has a nice metaphor, tying a painting in with the story's theme. I tried Googling the painting, couldn't find it. Possibly invented for the story.

--"The Lost Brother" is a good story about the hopelessness of having hope for a lost soul in your family. And perhaps why you shouldn't.

--"High Lonesome" motivated me to start my own story. The best part of the story--the old, desperate, lonely man getting pinched while only wanting conversation from a hooker who's not a hooker--isn't even the main part.

--"Upon the Sweeping Flood" is good and memorable, and has a recurring image of children suffering at the hands of insane adults.

--"At the Seminary" was referred to above. Not to be missed, if only for the scene I described.

--"Where Are You Going...?" is perhaps the most anthologized story here, one the author says she regrets having to include in this volume because it's so prevalent elsewhere. I have it in the tons of other sweeping anthologies downstairs. However, it continues to impress, even after a great many readings. Sly, slow, charming, disturbing, seductive (not in a sensual sense) evil has perhaps never been captured so well, not even by Hawthorne.

--The collection is broken down into the decades. Stories from "The 1970s" are all good, though representative (except for "Manslaughter") of John Updike. Maybe Cheever, too.

--"The Hair" was a very good, very John Cheever, expose of suburban couples and the illusion of social and marital perfection that one couple holds over the other, until the ending. Reminiscent of reality; been there, done that. Got away just in time.

--"Life After High School" was referred to above. Interesting. The woman in the story reminds me of someone I know.

--"Mark of Satan" was a story I was highly critical of on my blog, a long time ago, for reasons that now escape me. I'd read just the last few stories of the whole collection at the time, and responded in anger about this one. I think I mentioned I thought it was a rip-off, but it's not, and I can't even begin to tell you what the hell my problem was. Anyway, it's okay, not great and not bad.

The title, by the way, is a phrase that means "drunk" or "bender," but which sounds depressive to me as well. This all makes sense, because there's plenty of all three here. Most of the characters and stories inhabit upstate New York, Richard Russo's (Nobody's Fool and Empire) stomping grounds, or New York City, when the stories sound a bit like Updike and Cheever.

And I would love to know her writing schedule. She's so prolific, she makes Stephen King seem like J.D. Salinger or Harper Lee. 

No Second Chance by Harlan Coben

Photo: from its Goodreads page, here. And can someone write a Wikipedia article for this book, please? The one there now is offensively terrible. Thanks.

This one's got a thesis statement for an opening sentence: "When the first bullet hit my chest, I thought of my daughter." Every single word in the whole book revolves around this first sentence, and it's a doozy.

Very entertaining and occasionally thought-provoking mystery. A man is suddenly shot twice, almost dies, and wakes up in the hospital to hear that his wife also was shot to death and his three month-old daughter was kidnapped. His sister later dies, and his ex-girlfriend--the real love of his life--is heavily involved, as is his safety net best friend. His ex's almost ex-husband also was shot to death, and she's a former FBI agent, as was he, and they were both extremely depressed, and she still is, and there's a gorgeous, psychotic and rather cagey woman involved, and she's a former child star, and she has a man the size of Nevada helping her out, and the day is really saved by a rural yokel with a mullet and a gorgeous mail-order bride who wouldn't be able to enter this country as of today...yeah, in lesser hands, this could've been a God-awful mess, but it's all handled well, and all of these disparate odds and ends all come together, as is Coben's trademark by now. It's very compulsively readable, though you may wonder about the ability of the cops and agents who circle the action but who don't do much of anything. They reminded me of the cops and the agents Johnson ("No, the other one.") from Die Hard.

This is one of those books that makes you wonder how the genre can stand the way these mysteries have all these characters who somehow don't need to eat, sleep, change clothes or go to the bathroom, and yet handle incredible stress and pressure that would've given a coronary to a meditation guru, all while running around each other, driving around (and over) each other, and shooting each other around the state of New Jersey and the City of New York. They all end up at the beginning, literally, which instead of giving the book a bookending feeling, instead gives the reader the feeling that he's been reading in circles for almost 400 pages. But the mystery goes that way, and, what the hell, life pretty much feels that way, so it all somehow works.

It works overall a little less well than Coben's Bolitar series, because he can't infuse the supporting characters with enough life for us to care about them. They're all a little too sharply drawn, a little too extreme, a little too down or a little too out there. We care about the main character, though more for his mystery than for him, if you follow me. I mean, why was he shot, and his wife killed, and his daughter kidnapped? The answers aren't pretty, but then his life wasn't, either. Then again, none of the characters have a good time of it. For a living, he courageously battles the messes to the face that wars make upon its victims throughout the world; his wife (and his ex's almost-husband) are manic-depressives; his sister is a drug addict; his father has Alzheimer's; his wife's mother was in and out of institutions, and abused her; his artsy neighbor was sexually abused and she's a mess; his father-in-law is a rich asshole, and this man's son is his asswipe, and...yeah, it's a mess, and everyone's a mess. And that's kind of the whole idea: Helping each other through this messy life.

And, in these times of Walls and immigrant bans, there's a nice message about helping out our fellow man, and about being there for each other, especially our families and our kids. If any of those folks would care to read anything, this one's got dozens of alternate titles and alternate editions in foreign countries to satisfy those who need alternate facts...

Meryl Streep, With Class, Smokes Trump

Photo: From secondnexus.com, at this address. I know it's two different pics, but doesn't it look like he's shouting at her, and she's laughing at him?

Rather than take the moment for herself, and talk about herself, and congratulate herself, like the subject of her comments would have, Meryl Streep took a moment to remind the Foreign Press to make sure that they behave like the press, to call the powerful to account for any outlandish behavior our new and childish leader may exhibit. They're gonna be busy.

Here's the clip, in case you missed it, from msn.com, at the Golden Globes. Just click this link.

After her classy, understated, honest and stirring comments, I said to my better half: "How long until he calls her a terrible actress, or that she's overrated"--a common Trump tweet word--"or that her movies suck?"

Answer: Not long at all. He took to Twitter faster than you can say "he took to Twitter," and quickly thumb-typed that Streep was “one of the most over-rated actresses in Hollywood.”

Overrated is, of course, one word. Obama would've known that. Then again, classy statesmen--and stateswomen--say things verbally, without hiding behind texted social media. They know how to say things, to state things with class and authority. They could type and write things correctly, too, but the point is they don't have to. They don't jump on social media like a miffed adolescent. Though I understand that to compare Trump to an offended adolescent is an insult to offended adolescents everywhere.

The reaction to his reaction was severe and swift. Note to Trump: You will not win a fight by denigrating Streep's acting ability. Hollywood not just loves her; it respects her. This is a fight you will lose. And it wasn't cool to compare yourself to Jesus over the holiday break, either, by the way.

SNL's former alumni, Rachel Dratch, said: “Anyone who calls #Meryl ‘overrated’ is unfit to serve."

Judd Apatow said, “She is over rated as an actress like Michael Jordan is over rated as a basketball player or Sully as a pilot or Ted Williams at baseball."

Star Trek's Mr. Sulu, George Takei, imitating a typical Trump tweet (which will be a common alliteration these next four years, just watch), wrote: “What a small, small man. SAD!"

J.K. Rowling, Ellen Degeneres and many others chimed in.

The best part of Streep's rather short remarks (considering how long-winded she could've been, and as you-know-who would've been) is that she was hurt by the exact same one thing that I have said stung me the most. Out of all the outlandish (and illegal, and stalking, and abusive, and...) things he has said and done over the years, still the most unbelievable, jaw-dropping, soul-sucking thing to me was when he mocked, mimicked and bullied that mentally and physically disabled New York Times reporter. More than the assaults on women--which would be bad enough, normally, of course--and more than the xenophobia, more than the outright lies (You didn't really believe Mexico was going to pay for a wall that costs billions, did you?) and more than anything else, when he verbally mimicked and physically emulated a disabled person on worldwide television, I was so flabbergasted, hurt, offended, and even now I just cannot effing believe I saw what I saw and heard what I heard, and I cannot believe so many people would not mind their President behaving this way--a way that would cause any teacher at any level to throw him out of their classroom and I know this is a terrible run-on sentence but I still can't get over it...How can someone vote for a butthole who behaves like this?

Well, Streep referenced it a lot better than I just did, with a lot more class than I ever could, because I'm so angry--and because it's possible that I just don't have as much class and poise as she does. Streep, as usual, said it with class and poise. Trump, as usual, did not respond with class and poise. She correctly compared his antics to a performance, one that successfully entertained its target audience, people who were ready to "bare their teeth" and connect to that kind of immature mindset and misbehavior.

What's going to happen when a leader of a country like China or Korea says something bad about him? Is it possible he could start World War III with a f---ing tweet?!?

You know, I think it is.

I Almost Voted for Hodor

My vote today won't be a surprise to you if you've been reading this blog for the last month or so. Though I felt like I was choosing lounge chairs on the Titanic, I voted for Clinton. I wish there was a way I could affix an asterisk next to the oval I filled in, so that beneath it I could write * with extreme reservations. But you can't do that, so I filled in my ovals and moved on. I took a 20-question poll afterward, which took a lot longer than did the voting itself. I live in a rather small community, so the vote took maybe 5 minutes, max, starting with me approaching the women at the table who had the books of eligible voters. (One of them yelled my name aloud, which may have woken an astronaut on the moon. Can someone tell me in a comment why they have to do that?)

Someone asked me recently why I would vote for Clinton. Even if that person has read my blog (he hasn't), it's a fair question. You may have noticed that I wrote a lot of blogs about why I won't vote for Trump, but not one blog about why I'd vote for Clinton. In essence, that's my answer: I'm more voting against Trump than I am voting for Clinton. I almost wouldn't mind voting for one of the other candidates (as a friend of mine did, who voted for Jill Stein), except a) that would take a vote away from Clinton, which essentially is a vote for Trump, which helps him win--and I simply cannot do that; and b) the other candidates seem a little screwy, at best. They are not awesome alternatives.

So that's my answer, really. I'm voting against Trump, not for Clinton. I suspect that a very large percentage of people voting for her would say the same. That leaves a bad taste, but nobody promised me a rose garden, and I'm a little too long in the tooth to think that everything needs to be fair in this world. To emphasize this point, I almost voted for a write-in candidate: Hodor. Because I wanted to make a bumper sticker that said: Don't blame me. I voted for Hodor! But I chickened out.

Photo: If anyone wants to start a Vote Hodor! campaign, count me in

Despite the dozens (or perhaps, literally, hundreds) of offensive, stupid, arrogant, ignorant, harmful, disrespectful, biased, xenophobic, and misogynist things Trump has said and done, he lost me a long time ago when he physically and verbally mocked a disabled New York Times reporter, imitating both his slurred speech and his uncontrollable movements. My President simply doesn't do that. Chances are, if my high school teachers wouldn't tolerate that behavior in the classroom, I'm not going to tolerate that behavior in my President. Mine will not mock and make fun of the disabled. It is that simple. My President also will not hate women, physically abuse women, say hateful things to and about women, and cut corners on taxes for 18 years if he's a billionaire (You don't think Bill Gates and Oprah also know those loopholes? But they've given millions to charities--and they pay taxes).

My President will not hate. And that's what this man does--or, at least, is what he wants us to think he does. He hates. He's shockingly bitter and angry for a very rich, very privileged white man. I don't know why such a pampered rich guy is so hateful, but he is. I suspect a personality disorder, such as narcissism, is to blame. Maybe a sociopathic issue. Or maybe he's just a butthole. Nobody's got the right to be a d--chebag anymore. I'm betting that with him, it's just that simple: he's just an a--hole.

And so that's it. I'm looking forward to the end of this fiasco, by far the worst of my lifetime. I suspect that elections with the likes of John C. Calhoun and others around Lincoln's time were far worse than this. I remember that a vice-president (Alexander Hamilton) was killed in a duel, after all. And then they made a musical out of him. I'm guessing there will not be a Trump musical.

Even if you disagree, please go out and vote. People all over the world are dying in their battle to get this right. You can't complain about the winner, or anything at all about politics, if you don't vote.

And for a hilarious send-up of Trump, called Darth Trump, using famous Star Wars scenes, go to https://youtu.be/KU_Jdts5rL0

All (as of 10/16) of Trump's Bullying and Biased Quotes in One Place and with Links 2

Photo: from a Wall Street Journal article about what a "sane Donald Trump" would be like. But, it says, when it comes to Trump ignoring a tally on November 8th that says he lost, "...Does he know he's playing with fire? No. Because he's a nut."

Just like the title says. You can find #1 through #5 at my last blog entry--just click here.

Again, the following quotes come from a recent Washington Post article that outlines its closing statement about the Presidency. Well, as of 10/16, anyway. Each point has its own link back to the article and the appropriate YouTube video, for your reading and viewing convenience. To finish up:

6. "Written by a nice reporter. Now the poor guy. You ought to see this guy." November 24, 2015.

This is Trump mocking and mimicking a physically disabled New York Times reporter. You have to see this to fully appreciate how horrible it was. Click on this link to go to the article, then scroll down to #6 to see the video.

I never thought I would see a candidate for President of the United States mimicking a handicapped person. I'm talking arms flailing, body twisting, stuttering--everything. Again, this is bullying, plain and simple. And it's behavior that, frankly, a President should not have. We're above this, aren't we? By the way, this reporter's crime? He wrote an article negative about Trump. Is this what a grown man does in response to such a thing, mimic and mock another man's physical disability? A teacher wouldn't tolerate this behavior in a classroom, but we'd tolerate this behavior in the President?

This is also unforgivable. We do not mock and mimic those less fortunate than ourselves. And we learn to control our adolescent behavior, especially when we're running for President and speaking to the world. If he can't do that in a press conference for his own campaign, how is he going to be appropriate during a meeting with a leader from the Middle East, or from Russia, that's not going well?

7. "Putin's running his country and at least he's a leader." December 18, 2015.

Putin is also guilty of more civil rights violations than any other Russian leader in recent memory. His critics have a bad habit of mysteriously and permanently disappearing. He is undoubtedly behind the hacking of the Democratic (and probably Republican) Party's computers--and Trump openly suggested that he hack into them again. I can't recall the last time I heard an American politician openly asking a foreign (and possibly antagonistic) leader for aid in bringing down his political opponent--to the point that such an attack would be espionage and a major attack on our government.

This is careless beyond belief. And his cozying up to Putin is gut-churning and worrisome. If Trump is as much of a puppet to Putin as he is to his two (thuggish) sons and to Steve Bannon, then there's something very, very wrong. Even as a candidate, an alliance with Putin is treason, as Trump is right now privy to our nation's secrets and plans. Think about that last sentence for a moment.

8. "I'm going to open up our libel laws." February 26, 2016. AND "This judge is of Mexican heritage. I'm building a wall." June 3, 2016

Besides the obvious racism and bigotry (and isolationism, always a bad thing) of the second statement, what we have here is a classic case of Trump not knowing what he's saying. He would fail a middle school history class. The fact is, he can't, even as President, change any laws or build any walls--especially one that would cost billions and strain an already strained relationship with a neighboring country. Now, understand, he doesn't even mean these things. But even if he did, he has to get both of those policies through Congress, and that's not going to happen. The point is, he doesn't know that. He thinks the Presidency is a tyranny, and he'd be the King. But our democracy is purposely designed so that's not the case. No one person can declare War, or spend billions of federal dollars, or suddenly and drastically change judiciary laws. Congress does the first thing, and the Supreme Court does the last. And there's 9 judges there, and he only gets to place one right now.

Many of his supporters don't know this. Many racist people will vote for Trump because of this wall that he cannot possibly ever put up, and they're as ignorant of that as they are of anything racial.

But we're not. America needs to show it's not racist, and that it's not ignorant of how its own government works. We need to show that a politician cannot use fear, hatred and racism (the three always go together) to win the Presidency.

9. "Look at my African-American over here." June 3, 2016. See above. Need I say more?

10. "I alone can fix it." July 21, 2016.

This is how Fascism can come to America. I used to wonder how a country like Germany, a country that had the most brilliant universities, scientists, philosophers and writers of its time, all in one place, could ignore its intelligence and put someone like Hitler in power.

Now I know. Now I get it. We're one step away from doing that ourselves. I just said that. Out loud.

But so has The Washington Post, The New York Times, USA Today, and even Dubya Bush, for God's sake. (This is the first and last time we'll agree on anything.) Millions, thank God, have spoken out.

But this is how it's done. An egomaniac, a hater, a bully, a tyrant, a Democratic old-lady stage-stalker convinces enough like-minded folks to put him in power and then he does all those crazy things. He says that he is the only one who can fix everything. Him. That's it. The only one. The demi-god. The God-in-his-own-mind. This is what Hitler did. He took a very angry nation, simmering in rage about its defeat in World War One, and he told it that he alone can make everything right again. He gave them someone to fear and hate (Jews) like Trump has (Mexicans and women). Like other tyrants, Trump said that everyone who disagreed with him (political figures, newspapers, television reporters, and even parents of fallen soldiers) were in secret conspiracy against him. And that's why there's no proof, because they're all in secret conspiracy. (Many of his supporters have to believe in secret conspiracies.) According to the latest poll, 40% of the country is like this. (This is scary in of itself.) He riles them all up, appeals to their base emotions and then he bullies everyone else into submission. Those who don't submit--like his political opponents--he threatens to throw in jail, or he threatens violence against them. Sound familiar? Trump has done both against Clinton. That's what other countries do, not us. That's what America has always prided itself in--we don't act like the tyrants of other countries, especially after Election Day. This is the sole reason Ford pardoned Nixon. If elected, with all that power, is it so unreasonable to suggest that Trump would go one small step further and actually do those things he's threatened? His supporters, of course, want this. They want a tyrant.

America and Britain let Hitler do this, even though they knew the danger. I don't see powerful countries sitting by this time and watching that happen. Britain has already banned Trump, and NATO and the United Nations have already passed policies in advance of our election--just in case.

The rest of the world is looking on in horror. Trump would shrug that off, and say that the rest of the world doesn't matter. But it does. Look at history. Look at what happened to countries that elected a tyrant and then isolated itself. Didn't turn out well, either for that country or for the world in general.

I'm not normally like this, especially politically. (I'm not normally that political in general.) I don't normally think the sky is falling. I don't live my life in fear.

But it has come to that. Again, I'm not the only one saying so. And I'm not some moralist, a guy who judges everybody, or someone who thinks you have to be a saint to be President. I voted for Bill Clinton, after all, though I wouldn't want any daughter of mine to date someone like him. But Clinton, for all of his (many) faults [the largest of which was to ignore the Cole attack, by the way], was not a world-wide danger. Countries didn't ban him. He wasn't racist, or bigoted, or a bully. I didn't worry that he knew where our nukes were because I didn't think he'd want to use them. Trump, for Heaven's sake, would use them on Mexico, or perhaps on the next national NOW meeting. (I'm kind of exaggerating there--I hope.)

And that's the problem. I'm not sure I'm kidding. Seriously. The comparisons are too obvious and real to ignore. The examples are too frequent and too crystal clear. He is that much of a hater, a bigot, a racist and a tyrant. The U.S. and the world can probably survive him, but are we totally sure? Do we want to put the world at risk to find out?

Why You Shouldn't Vote for Trump 2

This is a continuation of a series of blogs that list reasons you shouldn't vote for Trump. The first of the series is here--just click on these words.

Now, following by far the worst performance I've ever seen in a debate, are a few more:

Photo: You don't have to have seen the movie Airplane to appreciate this, but it's a good point.

--He hasn't released his tax returns, the first political hopeful in over four decades to not do so. He said in the debate that the IRS suggests he not release them until their audit of him is done--long after the IRS had made it very clear that he can release his tax returns before they finish. During the debate, he said they've audited him for the past fifteen years--so it's clear that he thinks they'll be auditing him for eternity, and therefore he never has to release them. Why isn't he releasing them? He also said that his lawyers have told him not to release them--without ever saying why this is. If that's true--which I doubt--then why are they telling him not to release his tax returns? Why is his campaign manager telling him not to release his tax returns when she knows it's a major critical point, and that everyone else in recent memory has done so? Why does everyone who knows about his tax returns tell him not to release them? Why? Why? Why? Are there illegal things in there, such as how he's handled his 6 bankruptcies? How he's shipped many jobs overseas? How Trump University is a Ponzi scheme? Or has he not paid any taxes in recent years? (My guess: many, if not all, of these.)

Why hasn't he released his tax returns?!?

Photo: from the New York Times article, linked below.

--He doesn't know what he's talking about. This is true with every non-offensive word that comes out of his mouth, but is especially true when you look at his first 30 minutes or so of the debate. In what was considered the better part of a pathetic performance, he said absolutely nothing accurate at all--a big problem for him, since his core message is that he's a businessman who can fix the country's bad business. But don't take my word for it. Look at this piece at Vox.com.

I've said recently that the country's job market wasn't that bad. Someone screaming something at you relentlessly doesn't make that thing correct, just loud. (And never let someone control you with fear. Beware of those who try to win you over with your own worst fears.) The bottom line is: jobs have grown for 78 straight months, the longest streak in history. The job market is growing here--for now.

--He acts like a child. There are so many examples of this, I won't insult your intelligence by belaboring it. Do you want this guy representing you to the rest of the world? Don't you cringe every time he opens his mouth? Look at the cartoon above. This is but one of hundreds of examples.

--He has absolutely no political experience whatsoever, in any way. Not even in a city council, or a school committee, or anything. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zero.

--Whenever he hints at Bill Clinton's infidelity, he seems to be forgetting his own. Or don't you remember the divorce from Ivana, when he fooled around with Marla Maples? How can you forget a name like Marla Maples?!?

--He's a liar. About a great many things, but to such an extent that even The New York Times, which goes out of its way to be fair, had this to say about why it officially calls him a liar.

--He mentions such irrelevant people as Rosie O'Donnell in a debate that the entire world is watching. Again, that's a bit immature, isn't it? Rosie O'Donnell has as much to do with the Presidency as Bill Maher did when Christine O'Donnell defended herself against his accusation that she was a witch. Just not somebody who should be holding an important political office.

--He's orange, and he acts like a buffoon. And he didn't answer a single question Lester Holt asked.

2016 Academy Awards Part 1

Photo: Chris Rock, presenting at the 2016 Academy Awards, from Patrick Fallon for the New York Times.

A lot of quick things to say about the 2016 Oscars--so much, it may take a few posts.

--Not to be lost in the controversy is that Chris Rock unequivocally said that Hollywood IS racist.

--The scroll of names the winners want to thank is not working for me. At all.

--The pop-up info about the presenters works for me only if I'm interested in the presenter.

--The producers and directors of this telecast are clearly working hard to improve the ratings. The ticker of names, the pop-ups, the displays, the pictures of the nominees behind the presenters, and the tricky camera angles centering those pictures as the presenter describes that person's performance...lots of changes. Many of them aren't bad, but the presenters aren't enjoying the moving camera in front of them. They just want to read the teleprompter and get the hell offstage.

--Nominated Best Picture films I've seen this year: The Revenant; The Martain; Bridge of Spies; Mad Max: Fury Road. I really wanted to see Spotlight, and I wouldn't have minded seeing The Big Short.

--Ten films can be nominated for Best Picture, but only eight were. Two of the many overlooked: Sicario and Star Wars: The Force Awakens. Those two, and The Revenant, were the best ones I saw.

--Anyone see Andrew McCarthy in the many ads for his new TV show, The Family? It's been a long time since Weekend at Bernie's and Pretty in Pink, I guess.

--Lots of good cinematography this year, more than usual, from my movie-going experience. Emmanuel Lubezki's third consecutive win for Best Cinematography is unheard of. Probably the first time ever, in Oscar history. But his work in Gravity, The Birdman, and now The Revenant makes him worthy.

--By the way, Mr. Trump, the past three Best Director Oscar winners--all Mexican. Just sayin'.

--It's been long-predicted that Mad Max: Fury Road would sweep the technical awards. Well-deserved.

--I like the music the Academy chose to play to shut down the winner's over-long speech: The Ride of the Valkyries.

--I also like seeing celebrities taking selfies with their celebrity fans.

--I blogged about Mark Rylance's performance in (the otherwise underwhelming) Bridge of Spies earlier this year, and I've said he deserves the Award for Best Supporting Actor. (Full disclosure: I have not seen Creed.) Rylance had not received a single award from the other places (Screen Actors Guild; New York Film Critics, etc.) and I didn't expect him to get this one. Neither did anyone else--except for all the Academy's actors who didn't vote for Sylvester Stallone here. I thought this award, the Best Actor to Leonardo DiCaprio and the Best Actress to Brie Larson were all locks tonight.

--DiCaprio and Larson are still locks, though.

--And Stallone won't have another chance to win another Oscar.

To be continued...

Quick Jots 2.8.2016

Hey, it's been almost three weeks between posts--a long time for me. So here's what's new this month, in no particular order:

--The Broncos may get the ring, but the real winner of the Super Bowl was Lady Gaga. The other acts fizzled, the ads were bleh, and the game was boring and badly played.

--Speaking of Lady Gaga, she's been pretty good in this season's American Horror Story, too. I'm three episodes behind--the last three--so don't ruin anything for me.  Of course, having said that, I've been seeing a little too much of Lady Gaga lately. If you've seen the show, you know what I mean.

--I'm not sure halftime of the Super Bowl is the place to make political statements, even if they're valid. People watching the Super Bowl are not always going to be the most politically-conscious.

--Trump losing Iowa--and almost finishing in third place--re-establishes. But it's early, so don't let me down, people.

--I've already had a Republican president who didn't quite think things through before he said them. I don't need another one anytime soon.

--Trump blamed the media and Ted Cruz for his poor showing. He strikes me as one of those people who never takes responsibility for anything at all. His advisers need to tell him that he lost because Iowa is a religiously conservative state, and Trump is just conservative. He stumbles at religion questions, and doesn't say the word "God" enough to win there. And they may not be too excited about Big City rich guys from New York, either.

--Having said that, Rick Santorum won Iowa in 2012. The Iowa Caucus does not a president make.

--Local schools have been blitzed by fake bomb threats that have disrupted things greatly. Newport had three such hoaxes--in the same week. And then a snow day Friday and today.

--News reports today say RI police have traced the sources of the hoaxes to Russia. I could've told them that: According to Google Analytics, Russians read my blog more than Americans do. But I suspect there's just a bot or two coming from there and playing games with my numbers.

--Of course, if you're a solid Russian reader of this blog, I apologize...

Forever (Unfairly) Known As A Screw-Up

Photo: My Fred Merkle T206 Card


Have you ever noticed that some very nice people are known for the very one worst thing they ever did?

Even an action that in the great scheme of things--like a baseball game--are not that big a deal? 

Are you one of these people?

Fred Merkle was.  This one-second event would stay with him the rest of his life.  And it gave him his nickname, that even now you can see on his baseball-reference.com page: Bonehead.

The incident even has its own Wikipedia page, as does Merkle himself.  (And most of his page covers the play.)  The play is infamously called "Merkle's Boner."  (Before you giggle, I should note: The definition of the second word: "Mistake.")

From Merkle's Wikipedia page:

On September 23, 1908, while playing for the New York Giants in a game against the Chicago Cubs, while he was 19 years old (the youngest player in the National League), Merkle committed a baserunning error that became known as "Merkle's Boner" and earned him the nickname "Bonehead."

In the bottom of the 9th inning, Merkle came to bat with two outs, and the score tied 1–1. At the time, Moose McCormick was on first base. Merkle singled and McCormick advanced to third. Al Bridwell, the next batter, followed with a single of his own. McCormick trotted to home plate, apparently scoring the winning run. The fans in attendance, under the impression that the game was over, ran onto the field to celebrate.

Meanwhile, Merkle ran to the Giants' clubhouse without touching second base. Cubs second baseman Johnny Evers noticed this, and after retrieving a ball and touching second base he appealed to umpire Hank O'Day, who would later manage the Cubs, to call Merkle out. Since Merkle had not touched the base, the umpire called him out on a force play, meaning that McCormick's run did not count.

The run was therefore nullified, the Giants' victory erased, and the score of the game remained tied. Unfortunately, the thousands of fans on the field (as well as the growing darkness in the days before large electric light rigs made night games possible) prevented resumption of the game, and the game was declared a tie. The Giants and the Cubs ended the season tied for first place and had a rematch at the Polo Grounds, on October 8. The Cubs won this makeup game, 4–2, and thus the National League pennant.

From the incident's Wikipedia page:

 The play was immediately controversial. Newspapers told different stories of who had gotten the ball to Evers and how. Christy Mathewson, however, who was coaching first base for the Giants, acknowledged in an affidavit that Merkle never made it to second.^[22] One newspaper claimed that Cub players physically restrained Merkle from advancing to second. Retelling the story in 1944, Evers insisted that after McGinnity (who was not playing in the game) had thrown the ball away, Cubs pitcher Rube Kroh (who also was not in the game) retrieved it from a fan and threw it to shortstop Tinker, who threw it to Evers. (By rule, after a fan or a player who was not in the game touched the ball, it should have been ruled dead.) A contemporary account from the Chicago Tribune supports this version.^[23] However, eight years prior to that, Evers claimed to have gotten the ball directly from Hofman. Five years after the play, Merkle admitted that he had left the field without touching second, but only after umpire Emslie assured them that they had won the game. In 1914 O'Day said that Evers' tag was irrelevant: he had called the third out after McGinnity interfered with the throw from center field.^[24] Future Hall of Fame umpire Bill Klem said Merkle's Boner was "the rottenest decision in the history of baseball"; Klem believed that the force rule was meant to apply to infield hits, not balls hit to the outfield.

(Me again.)

And so there you have it.  A man who played in five (!) World Series (that's a lot for 1900-1920, before Babe Ruth's Murderer's Row teams and the beginning of the Yankees dynasty; in fact, the Yankees--or the Highlanders, as they were also called--were often a last-place team in those years), who finished in the top-10 in the league in homers four times and in RBIs five times, will forever be known as the guy who didn't touch second base (as most baserunners didn't when the game-winning run scored) and cost his team the pennant.  Though, even if it's not said on Wikipedia, the truth is that his team lost to a rookie pitcher at least four times in the last two weeks.  (This I remember from The Glory of Their Times.)  A win in any one of those games--or in any other that they lost after this particular game--would've given them the pennant.

As Bill Buckner wasn't solely responsible for Boston's 1986 World Series collapse--sorry to bring it up, but the comparison's too obvious--so too was Merkle not solely responsible here.

And he was never known for anything else.

Not even for those five World Series appearances with a few different teams.

All five which he, of course, lost.

No one, it is said, is the best thing--or the worst thing--he's ever done.

Even if it is all he's remembered for.

Crazy '08

Photo: Book cover, from http://cardboardgods.net/2008/04/30/interview-with-cait-murphy-author-of-crazy-08/

I've been a little crazy myself, in the last year or so, amassing a collection of 1908-1911 T206s from various sources, and displaying them in my office.  'cuz I'm awesome and exciting like that.  From behind SGC- or PSA-graded cases peer the faces of Jack Pfeister, Hooks Wiltse, Red Ames, Dave Brain, Red Murray, Solly Hofman, Clark Griffith, Dots Miller, Fielder Jones, Chief Meyers, Laughin' Larry Doyle, Lee Tannehill, Harry Steinfeldt, Wild Bill Donovan, Nap Rucker, Doc Crandall, Wee Willie Keeler, Al Bridwell, Rube Marquard, Frank Smith, and Cy Seymour.  And Joe Tinker, from a 1911 T205.  All of them played baseball in the year wonderfully carzy baseball year of 1908.  They played for the teams most covered in this book: the Chicago White Sox; the New York Giants; the Detroit Tigers; the Chicago Cubs; the New York Highlanders (soon thereafter known exclusively as the Yankees) and the Pittsburgh Pirates. I've got their T206s, and they're all in this book. 

And it is captivating reading.  Like the cards themselves, the book is a time capsule of 1908.  Life.  Baseball.  People.  Living conditions.  It's all there.  The book is not just about baseball.  In it you see the personalities of all these guys, plus the more popular players I can't afford: Ty Cobb; Honus Wagner; Eddie Plank; Frank Chance; Christy Mathewson; Walter Johnson, and so many more.  You see a typical day and a typical life in 1908--equal parts gritty, harsh, hard, yet alluring.

Countless of these guys played baseball because otherwise they'd be digging and dying in the Pennsylvania mines.  They're spotted by scouts and managers playing for semi-pro or mine teams in the middle of nowhere, for teams of towns with populations less than 500.  They're typically given one chance, and one chance only, by a system in which the teams don't have to sell them to the major league team, and often didn't.  The manager--who was a manager, a general manager, a scout, and a bookkeeper, all in one--would take one look at a player, and say Yes or No based on a five-minute appraisal.  The players in this book (and in The Glory of their Times, which will be reviewed soon, too) all say that better players than they did not play major-league baseball not because they lacked the skill--but because they lacked the good fortune.

Honus Wagner politely declined to play baseball in 1908, he says, so he could go home to his farm and raise his chickens.  Turns out, this was a salary clash behind the scenes.  He played it quietly, like a gentleman, and he got the money he wanted.  A similar salary dispute--and not a disagreement about his likeness being sold with tobacco products--led to his insistence that his T206 baseball cards be destroyed.  They were.  Only about 50 supposedly survived the purge.  The one known to be in the best condition is worth, literally, millions of dollars.  I don't have that one, naturally.  So I instead got Honus Wagner's constant double-play partner, the second basemen to his shortstop: Dots Miller.

Ty Cobb was despised by his peers, his own teammates, the umpires, and the fans.  He was considered the second-best player in the majors, behind Wagner--who was the equal to Cobb as a hitter and as a baserunner, but who was a Gold Glove-caliber fielder at every position, and very well-liked to boot.

Christy Mathewson lost a lot of very important games towards the end of that season.

Fred Merkle's mental lapse wasn't the only reason the Giants missed the playoffs that year.  A rookie pitcher beat them three teams in the final ten days of the season.  Mathewson lost a lot of close games--but still won over 30.  The Giants were 10-6 in their last 16 games.  And so on.

A team could lose their chance to make the playoffs by half a game due to a rain-out.  And it happened in 1908.  The rule that all necessary, rained-out games must be played at the end of the year didn't go into effect until 1909.  Unbelievable.

Ballplayers played amidst terrible conditions, on the field, physically, and otherwise.  It was common for teams to play exhibition games during the season, on travel days between cities, in small towns.  They played 154 games that counted, minus rainouts, plus perhaps a dozen or more games that didn't count.  And the stars were expected to play in all of them.

Very good teams counted on their HOF starting pitchers to the extent that such pitchers pitched both games of a doubleheader, or for three or more consecutive days, or in relief--often all in the same week.  The end of 1908 saw Mathewson, Plank, and Three-Finger Mordecai Brown pitching all of the final dozen or so games.

Most games had just one umpire.  (!)  So players would do things like miss third base by fifteen feet as they were running home, and the lone umpire was looking elsewhere.  The league finally bent and put two umpires on each game.

Spitballs were legal.  Pitchers openly spit and loaded up the ball.  Players were expected to use the very same one ball all game long.  Games were often stopped so a player could go into the stands and retrieve a foul ball.

And so on.  Not just baseball: the serial killer of the Chicago-area farms--a large, unattractive woman who lured men to their deaths through soliciting for romantic partners in the paper--gets its own chapter.  This situation, which I will make into a novel someday, has never been conclusively solved.  Some say the woman escaped capture.  Her name was Belle Gunness.  Look 'er up.

Vaudeville--very popular.  Popular New York players could make a second career--or a first--on vaudeville stages during the off-season.  Many of them did.  One of them, Mike Donlin, left baseball for the stage.  And then came back, of course.

The writing is crisp, and clear, and very authoritative--and with a slight bite and attitude.  It is very quick reading, though I cannot say that non-baseball fans will love it, too.  I think you have to be a fan to read it, but there's a lot of history and 1908 reality here, too.

And this, from George Will, reviewing the book for the New York Times:

"Murphy’s book is rich in trivia — not that anything associated with baseball is really trivial. Did you know, for example, that when the Yankees were still the Highlanders (they played at the highest point in Manhattan) they adopted their interlocking NY lettering “based on the Tiffany design for the Police Department’s Medal of Honor”?

Readers of “Crazy ’08” can almost smell the whiskey and taste the pigs’ knuckles. This rollicking tour of that season will entertain readers interested in social history, will fascinate students of baseball and will cause today’s Cub fans to experience an unaccustomed feeling — pride..."

It's Been Awhile--and More Quick Jots

So I've been away for much longer than usual.  Exhaustion, work, sinus infections and some serious insomnia (so bad that, despite a lifetime with the issue, I had to take a sick day for it for the first time), but I'm plugging along.  Here are a few quick considerations in the meantime:

--From the Sick World File, as per my last blog entry about this sick, crazy world, I offer you the story of three teens who beat to death a father of 12, grandfather of 23, while he was collecting cans in an alley for some money (which you would need with 12 children and 23 grandchildren).  As if that weren't horrible enough, it turns out that one of them filmed it on his cellphone, and then uploaded it to his Facebook page.  The reason?  Same as the one other teens gave when they shot a college ballplayer a few weeks ago: they were bored.

Filming a murder.  Laughing during the filming.  Posting a murder to Facebook.  Killing...for fun.

What the hell is going on?!?  Read it for yourself here.

--Speaking of which, the teens who beat to death the World War II vet in his 80s in Washington state recently pled not guilty today.  Although they, and the beating, were videotaped by security cameras.

--And one of them said the man was trying to cheat them in a crack deal.  I couldn't make that up.

--This past Sunday night, a neighbor and I met in the street while I put my barrels out.  We talked about the Patriots game, the Sox game, and the tennis match, that we coincidentally both watched.  Then I went back in and started yet another three-hour night of sleep.  He went to bed early, as usual.  And did not wake up.

--I'll miss meeting up with you at the mailbox and talking sports, my old friend.  Shine on.

--It can happen just that suddenly.

--And not just to my neighbor, who was in his 80s.  The guy murdered in Washington state was in his 80s, and the guy in the alley probably was, too.

--If I'd known that the Sox would make beards like those the Seven Dwarfs had the new big thing, I would have kept mine.  It wasn't in Mike Napoli's range, but it got very full and gnarly when I just didn't give a damn about shaving.

--The Patriots are a very ugly 2-0.  But as a co-worker said today, a win's a win.

--Putin isn't making Obama look bad.  That's a whole lot of nothin' right there.  Putin's the same guy who has recently sung bad songs to celebrities, who poses without his shirt, and who does many other things to increase his own visibility.  The surprising thing here is that he did a relatively restrained thing, like write a commentary for the New York Times.

--Though he's certainly not as popular and well-loved by the world as he was six years ago, Obama is still very well-liked and well-respected.  Nobody could have kept up his past level of world love.  But to say he's now unliked by the world is ridiculous.  You're talking about Obama's predecessor there.

--Up next: a blog entry about the evils of ebay.

The Conjuring--Movie Review

Photo: The house, tree, and noose from the movie, from the movie's Wikipedia page.  The real house in the village of Harrisville, in Burrillville, Rhode Island, looks nothing like this.

Very good, very creepy horror film, supposedly based on a real house in Burrillville (village: Harrisville), Rhode Island, just a minute or two from the MA border.  My visit to this house will be another blog entry for another day.  (I won't tell you--my RI readers) where this house is, because--as I found out myself--the real people living in the real house want their privacy, and they should get it.  I can tell you that there isn't much to see from the road, there's very little breakdown lane room to park for a quick look, and you'll get arrested if you go on the property, so don't even think about it.  It's easy to find the address online, but if you do, and if you go there, at least I can say that I didn't give you the address and lead you there.  Burrillville itself is a pleasant little town, and there's a cemetery nearby with a crypt that has a very creepy door--wide open.  I'll show pictures of that in the next blog entry about my trip up there.

Anyway, the film isn't overdone, and there's a lot of very creepy images and situations.  A few of these made me jump, which is no easy task, as I've seen and read most of the good (and bad) horror stuff out there.  I'm not often affected in movies in any way, so this was a winner.  The best thing I can say about it is that there's not a moment after the movie ended that you say, "Now that I think about it, that was kinda dumb."  The Ring struck me like this.  It was a very creepily effective movie, but when I thought about it, I realized--In a VHS tape?  How did a drowned girl's spirit somehow make it's way through a VHS tape?  What if the tv is one of those miniature ones that people use in their kitchens?  Or, now, on an I-Phone?  The sequel could be set up with the tape in a discount bin, with all of the other VHS tapes that nobody plays anymore.  See what I mean?  The suspension-of-disbelief holds you while you're watching, but the second it loses its grasp of you--you think, "Huh?"

This movie wasn't like that, although in this case, you are asked to buy the fact that the original bad person was a witch.  It's mentioned just once or twice, and the rapidity of the movie makes you accept it because you don't have time not to.  I caught this snare while watching it, and I didn't buy it, but I do buy that there are just some very bad and angry people out there, and I do believe that--if ghosts exist at all--than those very bad and angry people will become very bad and angry ghosts.  That's a lot of ifs, but it all makes sense to me.  (In a philosophical, If and Only If [IFF] kind of way, but whatever.)  The point is that it's all kind of plausible, if you think that way to begin with.  I walked in believing in a very solid Maybe that ghosts exist, and I wasn't swayed either way by watching this.  I'm going to guess that whatever it is you believe about the whole ghost / possession thing, you'll feel the exact same way afterwards.

There was a scene where a priest tells a guy he can perform an exorcism on his authority, once it's established that the okay from the Vatican would take too long to save the possessed person.  This of course a Catholic priest cannot do.  That has to come from the Vatican.  (This was a minor beef of mine with Season Two of American Horror Story, a blog entry to come.)  But, whatever.  At least the guy, or the priest, doesn't just perform the exorcism without even mentioning the Vatican or the process.  You expect these types of things in horror movies, and probably in movies in general.  You either go with it, or you don't.  I suspect that you will here.

There's a creepy tree, a creepy attic, a creepy basement, a creepy crawlspace, a creepy armoire / wardrobe piece of furniture, a creepy-looking thing in the daughters' room, and a very, very creepy doll, which thankfully is more of a symbol of evil than an actual participant or used object.  That's already been done well (Poltergeist) and badly (Chucky) and I just wasn't in the mood for it.  In real life, there was a very creepy-looking barn, where someone apparently hanged herself (or, as the movie frequently and annoyingly said, "hung herself," but, whatever, I'm over it).  This barn was not used in the movie.  I probably won't show it in the blog about my visit, as it isn't my property, and, like I said, there's apparently an old couple living there now, and they deserve their privacy--which they won't get, of course, but I don't have to play a part in that.

Incidentally, this information about the current owners came from a few people who had driven for almost three hours--from Schenectady, New York--only to have to leave fewer than five minutes after they stopped.  I hope it was worth it for them.

So, if you want to be creeped-out and chilled, if not a little jumpy afterwards, this movie is the one for you.  Critics have heavily praised it, and Rotten Tomatoes has given it a very high rating percentage.

I would, too.

If you've seen the movie, please tell me what you thought of it.

Stephen King's Blockade Billy / Morality: Barnes & Noble vs. Amazon

Photo: The book's hard cover, from bookdepository.com

The small hardcover of Stephen King’s Blockade Billy / Morality is handsome to hold and to look at, and it looks different than any of his other actual physical books.  The two stories inside are the same: very different than usual for him.  Not bad, exactly; just different.  But to compare them to his other works—and their quality—is like comparing apples to oranges.  There simply is no comparison.

"Blockade Billy" is about 80 pages long; "Morality" checks in at about 50.  They're both written in an oddly (for King) distant tone.  I wonder at that writing choice, especially for the second story, because it seems like he could have done more with them if he'd focused his lens a little more upon them.  "Morality," especially, could have gone places if he'd created actual scenes from the man's and woman's POV, rather than just tell the story in a detached, long distance way.  It's like he wanted to tell the stories without focusing on them too much.  The stories aren't bad, exactly, because of this; it's just that they could have been better.

The first story was published in a (very) limited edition previous to this.  The second story was previously published in Esquire, which seems right.  It's definitely an Esquire type of story--and a bit of a Playboy story, as well.  King's been published in The New Yorker and in Esquire recently.  He's always been mainstream, of course, though now he seems to be more of a mainstream writer for mainstream literary magazines, which is quite new for him.  You can add his column in Entertainment Weekly to this phase, too.  I don't know quite what to make of it, if anything.  I suppose the tremendous (and well-deserved) success of On Writing opened these doors for him.

Lastly, something needs to be said for the quality of stories that King gives to limited only editions.  All of his novels, of course, come in limited editions--signed, gold-plated, leather-bound with ornate boxes; you name it, he's got it going on--but some, such as this, come in editions that are only limited.  Even previously-published stories such as these are usually later published in mass-market hardcovers and paperbacks.  Stories of this length would be packaged with two others and sold in a book of four, like Different Seasons, or Four Past Midnight.  Why weren't these, and others like these?  (I'm thinking of the Hard Case paperbacks recently reviewed.)  I don't know, exactly, but I have to assume it's because he felt that they weren't worthy of such packaging and selling.  Are these two worthy?  I don't know that, either.  But I'm going to say No.  I think that because, as I mentioned, King himself seems to have just sort of let these go.  You have to sell what you write, of course, and they'll sell because King wrote them.  So you sell them to Esquire, or a (very) limited edition, and then you package them into a book.  But then why not mass market that book?  I come back to how he wrote them: tells more than shows; no exactly focused scenes in either story, exactly.  The first one is a dramatic monologue (a la Dolores Claiborne) told to Stephen King himself.  Huh?  This conceit is left completely unexplained.  I feel that he wrote them, and sort of shrugged, and didn't know what to do with them.  Then someone called him, some limited edition publisher, and asked him if he had anything.  He did.  Then Esquire called and asked the same thing.  And then, later, when the rights reverted back to him, he realized that they didn't go together with any other two longer short stories (fifty pages isn't quite a novella, in my opinion, though eighty pages is), and so he packaged them together for another limited edition publisher, since I feel he felt them sort of unworthy of mass market sales.  I mean, can you package a baseball meets In Cold Blood story with anything else?  How about an Indecent Proposal meets sadomasochistic behavior story?  Nope, not so much.

Well, whatever.  Stephen King fans will like these two stories.  Baseball fans will like the first one, as a certain 40s or 50s era game is brought back, though the players described seem more 1890s to 1910s to me.  Fans who've read his Esquire and New Yorker pieces will like the second one--and I read somewhere that it's won some awards somewhere.  This was the last of his (relatively normally published; not-so-limited) books that I didn't have, and I was annoyed because I remember seeing this at Barnes & Noble when it was released for (seemingly) a few days.  I didn't buy it because I was in some sort of mood; I remember thinking that a baseball story didn't belong in the same book as an S&M sort of story, and I remember thinking that some kid would buy it for the baseball story, and then be shocked out of his pants by the second story.  I was nuts at the time, of course.  I went back to the store, and they didn't have it anymore, of course.  But they could order it for me for $25.  Um, no.  So I went to my local used bookstore.  Nada.  So then, belatedly and with a sigh, I went to Amazon (which you should never do when buying a book because the author usually won't see a cut of it) and bought a brand new, never opened copy, delivered to my door, for a total of $11.  I hated to do it, but I can't afford to pay $14 more, not including tax and shipping, from the bookstore.

So I'll leave this rambling review with that.  I had to buy a limited edition book, from an even more limited edition run before it, from Amazon, because the bookstore charged way too much (it was a bit less on BN.com, but nowhere close to what Amazon had it for) and because the limited edition (limited, for whatever reason) didn't produce enough copies for a used bookstore to have a realistic chance to get it.  I know this is bad, and that I would hate it if people bought by books on Amazon for a penny, rather than from the bookstore for the real price, because I wouldn't see a cut of it at all, and it would be literally be taking money out of my pocket.  And that sucks, but in the same exact position, I'd have to do it again.

Would you?

The Angel of Darkness by Caleb Carr

Photo: Book's cover from its Wikipedia page

Almost as quick a read as its predecessor, this one is told from the point of view of Stevie, from his cigarette shop, as he looks back on his past.  The cast is all here, and a few more characters show up, including one of the all-time bad women you'll ever read about--who unfortunately reminded me of a few people I used to know, but that's a review for another day.

NYC in the late 1890s is brought to vivid life again, but with a bit more of a bittersweet tinge to the tale, as Stevie also writes about his love at the time, a drug addict / prostitute who never had a chance to go straight.  The very strong theme here is the role of females in that world, and, no doubt, in this one, and what, if any, males in a male-dominated era (then and now) may have helped cause some women to kill their children.  The socio-politics described are too complex to go into here, but they are not easily dismissed or ignored, and the reader may recognize some of what is described.  The villainess is almost as much of a victim as the actual victims--so much so that I looked up the real-life women mentioned by the author as topics of research in his acknowledgement section.  These real-life women all killed their own children, and many of their men, to such a degree that you'd have to wonder if anyone in the legal or medical communities were paying attention.  One woman brought one child to the hospital, dead.  Then another.  Then another...until all twelve were dead.  Another woman killed off her children, and literally dozens of men who came to her farm to win her favors--favors that were advertised in area newspapers.  This woman was often seen digging in the middle of the night in her hog pen--and she'd had dozens of heavy trunks delivered to her property.

At any rate, this one has more than a few things in common thematically with my own WIP, including how women are treated in a male-dominated society.  This novel also ends with a slow declining arc, more than a little bit after the main conflict has been resolved, just as mine does.

Anyway, great writing (except for an aboriginal hitman that didn't work for me), great historical detail, and some strong wistful nostalgia at the end that readers older than 30 should recognize, all coalesce in a novel that was quickly read and thoroughly appreciated.

Published in 1997, this has been the last in the series, and you have to wonder why.  Both were tremendous bestsellers, and this second one mentions frequently that the group was involved in many other cases, both all together and, for Sara Howard, by herself, so there's plenty of other potential material to write about...and yet Caleb Carr never has.  Here's to hoping he comes out with another one soon.