In my last post I prematurely promised to return this week with more post-mugging musings as well as some discussion about Lawrence Block and Paul Butterfield. But I now regret saying that since I’m not sure I even know why I promised that trio* of topics in the first place. The mugging stuff is obvious, but Block and Butterfield was an impulse that simply arose from the fact that I was reading Block and listening to Butterfield recently and so assumed I would be inclined to write about them. And now I’m not. So I’ll start with Post Muggery.

While in P.R. we got a call from our bank. Seems my assailant tried to pass a check from my account (I had one blank check in my wallet) for $6900.00 with a notation “ For Funeral”. Bank was wise enough to stop payment—but the fiction writer in me wants to know more. Did he mug me to raise dough for a funeral? Whose? An intimation of his own mortality? Why put the notation there? Is it a cover for him or someone else? In the mortuary business? You almost have all you need for a pretty good story here, with metaphysical implications no less, but I doubt I’ll be writing it.

Meantime, been calling the detective in charge of the “investigation” just about every day for a week trying to get him to follow up on his promise of returning the contents of my bag so I can use my favorite reading glasses , open my bike lock, listen to my iPod, continue reading V.S. Pritchett and practice my Tom Jobim songs. I finally took matters into my own hands and on the way to the train this morning dropped into the police station to see if I could catch him in. He was, and without apologizing for not returning my calls, allowed me to take most of what was left of my stuff. The iPod doesn’t work, and is badly dented. The reading glasses are ok (but the hard case is ruined), and the sunglasses are missing the lenses. What's with that? My wallet was in there, but no contents of value except my Stop and Shop discount card, and my dental plan card. The guy took my Health insurance I.D. Guess in his line of work you never know when you might end up in the emergency room. But the V.S. Pritchett is unscathed and bookmarked right where I left it. My mugger obviously prefers Thackeray.

The detective watched me as I went through the pile…and it suddenly occurred to me that I had one more thing in there that had slipped my mind. It was a mini plastic baggie with the equivalent of about 2 joints worth of pot and some rolling papers. I didn’t see them, and I didn’t bother to ask: “ What happened to my weed?” If the mugger was thorough, I can’t imagine he’d leave that behind, but he didn’t take the iPod…so maybe he wasn’t so thorough and there’s a Mamaroneck cop somewhere digging into a pint of chocolate Haagen Dazs as I speak.

Okay…a little Lawrence Block. He’s a solid, dependable, sharp and witty storyteller. And creating a hero (in the Bernie Rhodenbarr series) who is a used books seller by day and compulsive cat burglar by night provides almost limitless possibilities for provocative offbeat situations and action. And he’s got a fine flair for plotting, which is a rare quality these days. He doesn’t have Elmore Leonard’s genius for compressed dialogue, but he’s funny and easy-going and certainly prolific. I like writers who just let the narrative flow without too much fanfare, self-consciousness or pretensions to the "literary". I think its funny that there is such a category as The "Literary" novel--as if it's important to distinguish it from other genres. Isn't " Literary" just another genre? It's like "Serious" music. You mean Stevie Wonder and Prince aren't serious about what they do? Ah...whatever. Back to Block... as I read him, I imagine he’d be fun to have some beers with while shooting the breeze about everything and nothing in particular just for the fun of the banter. Some random quotes:

“People don't get to change things. Things change people once in a while, but people don't change things.”

“Man, I so sick of dinosaurs. They wasn't extinct, I'd go out an' kill 'em myself.”

“Serendipity. Look for something, find something else, and realize that what you've found is more suited to your needs than what you thought you were looking for. ”

“Take advantage of the ambiguity in the world. Look at something and think what else it might be.”

And as for Butterfield…well, I could go on at length, but won’t except that listening to his best stuff with his best bands is Blues heaven. My friend Jeremy turned me on to “Keep on Moving” back in the early 70’s and it blew me away. Still does. I know some people like the earlier stuff with Bloomfield and Elvin Bishop—but the band with Wilson, Feiten, Dinwiddie, Beckmeier, Sanborn and the rest of the horn section playing those killer charts…whew!


Speaking of hot bands…my son Will sent me this the other day. Told me he watched it about 10 times. Prince just knocks me out. All he can do is write, play, sing and dance. And how bout Sheila E !!! And there she was playing alongside Pharrell Williams in the band on the Oscars the other night. Probably the best thing about the show and all the viewer gets is about four bars before they go to commercial. Just like when I went to a Letterman taping years ago, and the best thing was the band playing during the breaks that the home viewer never hears. Among this clip’s other virtues, it reminds me of that old Butterfield Band—the thrill of watching and listening to skilled and soulful masters (hard) at work.





Life is Long

In youth
Dreams were so vivid
They overwhelmed
And crowded out the day to day
In a heavy mist
I witnessed the daily evaporation of
My father’s dreams
My mother’s dreams
As they did their mother’s and father’s dreams.
But in youth there were no dreams but my own.
My gaze turned ever upward to follow
not an evaporation
but a mysterious rising
of an all consuming Cumulus.
Years passed
And the day to day
(day by day)
Became the vivid
Yet on some days still
I look up and I see that same cloud
And tell myself that
now
it follows me.

* Just realized it was a quartet that included Louis L'amour. I read some short stories down in P.R. and was disappointed. Possibly stimulating for a 9 year old boy, but otherwise pretty lame. Zane Grey and he are often mentioned together as the great "Western" masters, but Grey deserves better than that.