Next week my son, Dustin, will be donating bone marrow. He signed up for the National Marrow Donor Program a while back and a match was found; he’ll be helping to save someone’s life. How friggin’ cool is that?
Magic City ... they could rename this one the 1959 T&A festival ... or the 1959 T&A&PH (ph = pubic hair) ... that’s about all this STARZ original series offers. The women are very beautiful and most often very naked ... the men are complete caricatures of what they’re supposed to be and in the end, a lot of great scenery (Art Deco) and a wonderful potential of American-Cuban history is bypassed for a dopey plot hidden by tits (lots of tits) and ass (lots of ass) ... and as I mentioned earlier, some pubic hair.
So who put up the $200K for Mr. Zimmerman? Inquiring minds want to know. He didn’t win it from a scratch off and there wasn’t a money wheel (as far as we know). Something tells me it’s a bunch of people in favor of the shoot first and ask questions later law a.k.a. Stand Your Ground and Kill some motherfuckers. Regardless, Mr. Z forgot to mention there was a nifty $200K tucked away during his bail hearing. I’m not sure what the legal implications of this happens to be, but one has to wonder why the court didn’t know about the money, whether Zimmerman was withholding the information or not.
I mean, it seems akin to the Stand Your Ground law, no? He attacked me so I shot him. I don’t have any money so please set my bail low.
Is this an assumption of innocence or an assumption that people potentially charged with murder won’t lie?
Obama’s Big Stick … Uncle Joe. Come on, yous gotta love it.
Go Rangers … I can’t remember watching hockey this much, except for during the Olympics. I am now, though ... and with much anticipation. I haven’t been a huge fan of the sport, but after watching the handshakes at the end of the first round of the playoffs, apparently hockey etiquette, I am now a fan.
Say what?
Well, let’s not get crazy. It isn’t the NFL and I won’t waste my time watching regular season games—what bother? Like the NBA, pretty much half the league makes it to the playoffs anyway—but the playoffs are another story. The best of seven series are a great tournament format for people like me who want to watch something else besides the grass grow (and/or MLB) while waiting for the NFL to get re-started.
And who isn’t dying in anticipation of this NFL season?
My beloved New York State Buffalo Bills open up in Moonachie against the Fatso Rex Ryan’s Y-E-T-S, Yets, Yets, Yets. We’ll be sporting a ferocious defensive line and the Yets will be in absolute and total turmoil (somebody say Tebow-Sanchez---and notice who got top billing here at TK).
As for the Knicks … well, maybe they weren’t the dumbest organization in all of sport (as TK suggested—that editorial genius has been fired, by the way) … but let’s face it, watching the NBA playoffs doesn’t require a start to finish, 2.5 hour investment. Just turn the game on with about five minutes left and enjoy the show. Can the Knicks knock off the Heat? I doubt it. I seriously doubt it. But wining a couple of games would be an accomplishment to build on next year (under coach Mike Woodson, a Tone Loc voice double). Not one game, amici. Two. At least two. And no matter how many games it takes the Heat to beat the Knicks, Steve (Novocain) Novak rocks.
In six weeks or so, the ugly one will depart for the campus of SNHU for the start of his third semester in the MFA program. Make no mistake, it’s a wonderful program I only wish was longer (and cheaper). I have nothing but sincere praise for the enjoyment I get from doing the work. And I don’t mind (so much) campus life ... but five days after I’m almost used to sleeping like a 19 year old again, we depart for the Isle of Shutter off the New Hampshire Coast (several miles off the NH coast).
There’s no sugar coating this joint, amici. It is a terrible place. I don’t need no special inspiration (a cup of coffee (real coffee) and a cigarette will do fine, thank you). I don’t need no stinkin’ deserted isle without enough electric to run a friggin’ air conditioner and/or heater ... I don’t need to pass wind an entire floor of rooms can hear ... and I WANT TO SHOWER EVERY FRIGGIN’ DAY ... I don’t need to climb up and down unlit trails sabotaged with slippery rocks and potholes ... or listen to a foghorn every thirty friggin’ seconds. WTF is that thing going off for anyway? Are they expecting friggin’ company? Trust me, it’s not coming.
I could start in on the coffee but I won’t. I know I sometimes whine like a little girl, but honestly, when you can see the bottom of your friggin’ cup of coffee, it AINT’ FRIGGIN’ COFFEE!
So, it’ll be six days on a campus with a bathroom that is somewhat private (there are four suits in each bathroom share) but at least the doors aren’t made of cardboard so there’s a chance you won’t have to listen to one another’s bodily functions. Five days on campus and five nights in hell.
So what’s a person to wear to such a sentence?
What’s that Joker quote again? “Wait’ll they get a’load of me.”
A Land More Kind Than Home, Wiley Cash. The death of a mute boy during a church service is the focal point of this intriguing read. The manipulation of religion, the unfairness of life juxtaposed against an all powerful God, the influence of parental relationships through the years and the role of justice in a world unfriendly to logic. Those are some of the themes prevalent in this novel that at times is as noir as The Night of the Hunter (one of the scariest novels AND movies I’d ever read/watched), as hardboiled as any Southern Gothic (think Flannery O’Connor), and as poignant as Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury.
The novel is told by three characters, an elderly religious woman (Adelaide), a young confused boy (Jess) and a Sheriff (Clem) with his own painful past. Each perspective is distinct. The two adults present powerful backstory against the confused innocence of the young boy. There are other characters essential to this tragic tale, but it is the preacher, Carson Chambliss, who takes center stage; the man each fears in their own way. It is Chambliss who reminded me of the preacher in The Night of the Hunter. Each scene with Chambliss, whether inside his church or out in his barn, is tension filled with relief nowhere in sight until the scene ends and the page is turned.
The elderly woman, Adelaide Lyle, was a follower of the church and Chambliss until she witnessed something told at the start of the book (no spoilers here). From that point on, she watched the children of the churchgoers at her home rather than let them attend services. The boy, Jess Hall, witnesses something along with his brother he doesn’t quite understand, except it is the event that will forever change his life. The sheriff, Clem Barefield, is the voice of reason left to sort out the evil mess that was practiced in a house of God.
Snake handling, fire and brimstone and Hallelujahs abound when the Pastor of the church uses the Bible to his own purpose.
And these signs shall follow them that believe: In my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues. They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover. (Mark 16:17-18)
A Land More Kind Than Home is a wonderful read, amici. It will grasp you very early on and it will not let you go. Each of the three characters telling this tale will pull you along page by page. You will not want to stop reading until you reach a tumultuous ending that will rock you. I defy anyone with a heart to hold back the tears of Adelaide’s summation. The power of absolution and redemption it brings is heartrending. A Land More Kind Than Home is a wonderful book.
The Crime Interviews: Volume Two, Len Wanner (forward by Ian Rankin)
And while we’re on the subject of books, how about Len Wanner coming through with his second book of interviews. Len has quickly become a name to associate with the best of interviewers anywhere. I remember his interviewing me and how close I had to keep Mr. Webster (madonna mia). Check out his latest.
THE CRIME INTERVIEWS: VOLUME TWO, once again Wanner's encyclopaedic knowledge of Scottish crime fiction is put to expert use in his enthralling and revealing conversations with another inspired line-up of stars of tartan noir. His latest interview subjects include William McIlvanney, Tony Black, Doug Johnstone, Helen FitzGerald, Quintin Jardine, Gordon Ferris, Craig Russell, Douglas Lindsay, Ray Banks and Denise Mina.
Len does more for crime fiction than just about anybody. Check out his now famous (and greatly appreciated) Facebook page for The Crime of It All
In my ever fumbling attempts to keep the opera selections somewhat relevant to the posts, here’s Placido Domingo in the title role of Pagliacci about to whack both his wife, Nedda, played by Teresa Stratas and her lover. Those crazy eye-talians ... don’t mess with their women ...
Or there’s a blues version, if you prefer ... from the Cream reunion in 2005, Outside Woman Blues ... originally recorded by Blind Joe Reynolds in 1929.
Temporary Knucksline is honored once again to be a host (one of 30+) in the 5-2 Crime Poem Blog Tour. It’s national poetry month (who said April is the cruelest month?) and we’ve done this before and will do it again. Aside from being a terrific writer himself, Gerald So is the master of ceremonies for all the terrific writers at the 5-2 and probably the best promoter of writers everywhere/anywhere. So good on Gerald and all those he sponsors … year after year after year.
My process (did I actually type that?) was to read all the poems on the 5-2 Contributor page and narrow down my favorite dozen to three. Then I waited to see which of three stuck in my mind; which one remained there. Here are the three I waited on until one was left:
“Some Like It Hot”By Charles Rammelkamp I was literally engaged with a co-worker about the trials and tribulations of the Monroe-Miller marriage and its aftermath and this poem hung around my noggin’ for a long time. The opening line was an eye-catcher for former altar boys like myself (can you believe it?). No matter how far we may have strayed, there’s no straying from MM.
“$25” by Keith Rawson My wife is now an RN; a late career change because of outsourcing and a love of teaching (what she hopes to do some day in the field). Her anti-capitalist husband found Keith’s poem way more genuine than it ever should be. The wife loved this one too and admitted it is an absolute fear of hers to have to search for a vein the way the nurse in the poem did. I say we should all fear tripping over each other to get in line for blood coin someday.
“Sweet-Talk Me On Valentine's Day” by Clarinda Harriss. In letting the three finalists sit awhile, I wondered if perhaps my ultimate choice (this one) provoked flashbacks of a particular email to my wife when I was first pursuing her; when we were nothing more than co-workers at a law firm in the middle of the night (me, still a half-assed word processor and knockaround guy, and she a good catholic girl). The email, much like what Ms. Harriss explained beneath the poem on the 5-2 website, was a shot I was taking; either the good catholic girl would run screaming (maybe to HR) or return the volley. As it happened, she (my not yet wife) was not yet desensitized enough by my particular brand of romance to respond and thus opted to not respond at all (probably from shock), except I saw her blush from across the room and the blush turned to a smile and that was good enough to go public, or as they say at sit-downs, handle it face to face.
In one of the pictures on her home page, Clarinda Harriss is reading in front of a sax and a beautiful colored drum kit (sans tom and ride cymbal). To my limited poetry-mindedness, it’s reminiscent of a beat generation reading; the fusion of jazz with words. I’ve been to readings where poetry was funny, exotic, sharp and edgy and I’ve listened/viewed quite a few on Youtube. Lately, thanks to Gerald, Jennifer Gresham (my writing mentor’s daughter-in-law, a published poet, Ph.D in Chemistry and former major in the U.S. Air Force), and some fellow students in the SNHU MFA program (Stephanie Milligan and Tyler Fish, published poets both), I occasionally read poetry for the best of reasons … because I want to.
Sweet-Talk Me On Valentine's Day is a sexy poem intended to be so (as the author explains). The Sweet Talk was daring and intimate, perhaps baiting the hook with an invitation of a misogynistic vernacular (if that’s where one needs or desires to go), but with the seducer transforming it to advantage.
Monster… Pond Scum … Whore… Bitch …
Ironic sweet talk or a crude passion while in the moment?
Or say, "Happy Day, my Ancient"; I'm your
whole history of mothers, and mothers work
like this: put something in, get something out.
In, out. In, out. Baby, I’m a sweet machine
The above lines were where my wife and I had different reads: She saw it as the eternal dance between men and women. My take was probably a typical male assumption/fantasy; the seduction of a younger partner (what he wants, needs or desires?)
Enough from me … let’s here from the author (who gives us a bonus poem in one of her responses) …
INTERVIEW WITH CLARINDA HARRISS
Question #1: In your confession on the 5-2 page where your poem appears, you state: “'I never write Occasional Verse.' That's what I used to say before realizing that somebody I once had a considerable crush on was going to be attending a reading where I was to be one of the featured poets. It was scheduled for Valentine's Day a year ago. I wrote this poem especially to titillate him. I am pretty sure it did not, and it had lasting consequences: Now I'm forced to utter the much weaker statement, 'I almost never write Occasional Verse.'"
Tell us more about “Occasional Verse”. Writers are usually grouped into one of two categories; the stone polishers (those who need to get it perfect from the get-go) and those who vomit it out and worry about the details (polish, etc.) later on. You’ve published several books of poetry. Your confession suggests you’re usually a stone polisher. Is that the case?
CH: I started to say Yes, you're right, I'm a stone polisher, mostly because I am often writing in traditional forms like the sonnet and villanelle and the sestina etc., though usually w/ variations; call me Devoid of Spontaneity, but I just don't think it's possible to write in the masonry of "form" w/o some polishing of the stones along the way. But then I realized that, in fact, I usually write whole poems--and often my short fiction as well--IN MY HEAD before ever setting anything down on paper or computer; so they do sort of shove themselves out willy-nilly, then get "polished."
And here's a relevant confession about my Confession: note the sentence that goes "I wrote this poem. . .to titillate him": what I didn't say there was that I wrote it in about 5 minutes, DURING A CLASS in which the start-of-class warm-up exercise was for everybody to write a few lines toward a Valentine poem which Hallmark would never, never, never print. So yeah, I'm a polisher and a vomiter both.
Question #2: I like the idea of a start-of-class warm-up … even more so that it be something Hallmark would never, never, never print. I noticed some of your collection titles were as enticing as the 5-2 poem was to read. Hot Sonnets, Dirty Blue Voice. Are the main themes across your collective works something Hallmark would never, never, never print?
CH: HOT SONNETS is an anthology of 20th-21st c. erotic sonnets edited by me and Moira Egan. We both write some hot sonnets ourselves, but we are represented in this fantastic anthology only by 3 poems apiece. Many of my current sonnets are mini-narratives. One is about the miners who died in W. Virginia. One is about the Waverly Farmers' Market. One is about building construction (and a spot a pot). I think my earlier poems were sexier (I mean it literally) and also more self-consciously feminist. They seem pretty juvenile to me now. But, though I have several not-old poems occasioned by civil rights issues, I can't stand preachy poems and, lord willin', will never write them, even on subjects that I feel preachy about.
Questions #3 & 4: What do you look for in poetry? (i.e., what turns you on, literally and figuratively?) I did some Googling for this interview and found this for a Poetry-Writing workshop of yours: Session One: Make a Joyful Noise. There’s an explanation beneath it ending with “or ugly-sounding words; rhythms that tell the tale; echoes (rhyme, repetition).” Sweet-Talk Me On Valentine's Day certainly presents rhythms that tell a tale (Madonna mia, it does). I doubt the protocol is ever conscious (especially when writing something in 5 minutes), but was it an afterthought? Does some of your polishing, so to speak, ever entail adherence to the technical aspects of poetry?
CH: About "Making a [Joyful} Noise" workshop: w/ me, rhythm may start instinctually but is never something that just happens. To me it is the single most important thing to differentiate poetry from prose (though great prose also is very rhythm -driven). Rhythm runs neck and neck w/ arresting imagery as what I look for most intently in judging poetry--my own and others'. I guess conciseness is something I look for too. Poetry can't afford to waste words. I'm not talking about length here. PARADISE LOST is pretty concise.
Question #5: Your thoughts on crime poetry. Do you see it in the classroom from students? Is it encouraged or something best left to creativity (i.e., rather than ask for it)?
CH: Truthfully, I never thought of “crime poetry” as a genre until a month ago, when I submitted to the zine. As for students, though, and others I work with, who include prison inmates and former inmates, the subject area of crime, whether petty (pot possession, underage drinking, etc.) or as serious as felony murder, is voluntarily chosen so often I can’t imagine a need to “assign” it, so to speak. Since Baltimore, alas, has become famous via THE WIRE and HOMICIDE for its high crime rate, writers in this area seem particularly prone to writing about crime. Several of my own poems include crime in other aspects of the city they explore. My publishing company, BrickHouse Books, Inc., brought out a choreopoem modeled on Ntzoke Shange’s famous FOR COLORED GIRLS. . . . written from a male point of view by the members of the Maryland House of Correction for Men’s Writers’ Club. The whole book is a long, multi-part crime poem.
Question #6: Okay, what’s that like (working with incarcerated talent)? A dear friend of mine (and a great writer), spent 10+ years on the other side of the bars and used his time to gain both a BA and MFA from the Boston University prison program. Rick Marinick is his name and he wrote a masterful crime novel called, Boyos. Honest to God, a classic in the crime genre deserving of George V. Higgins-like praise. He now counsels those about to be released. You stated you’ve been doing this for decades. Obviously, you enjoy the work you do. What’s it like?
CH: It’s an amazing experience. If you’re ever feeling kind of undervalued as a teacher, you need to teach in a prison. (I always “went inside” as a volunteer, not as a hired teacher. I tend to do a lot of things that do not earn me any money!) Inmates want every ounce of your knowledge, your energy. And most do not want to be told,” OK, that’s good enough, that’s OK (for a prisoner).” They want to be told how to do it RIGHT! I am still in contact with some of the former residents of MHC—they are now solid citizens and community activists; for them as for many, writing was a way of learning and of “doing their own time.” BTW, a fairly recent BhB book is a collection of essays written by Walter Lomax, a MD man who served 39 years for a crime it was finally shown he could not have committed. He wrote the essays when he was editor of THE CONQUEROR, the residents’ monthly magazine. Note: you say Residents, not Inmates.
Question #7: Are there classical poems dealing with crime you can think of offhand? Is it something the world has ignored or mis-categorized?
CH: If you count attacks on women, murder of black people, Jews, other "minorities," prison atrocities both in the US and in gulags etc., much great poetry IS crime poetry. (I have worked w/ prison writers for decades, btw.) I’m not sure about “classical” in the Greco-Roman or Renaissance sense, except of course for ‘TO LUCASTA, FROM PRISON”; however, I think Margaret Atwood’s dramatic monolog spoken by a prison torturer is a classic in the iconic sense. I think I’d like to make a small poem simply by excising those paragraphs near the end of Camus’ “l’Etranger” in which the murderer about to be executed likens the guillotine to a piece of kitchen equipment.
Question #8: Name a few of your favorite poets (female and male) contemporary and/or otherwise …
CH: Chaucer, Shakespeare and Donne, of course. Once upon a time I determined be either a medievalist or a Renaissance/17th-C scholar. Oh, my answers are too obvious: Whitman, Dickinson, Yeats, Eliot, Pound (despite the latter two’s horrible politics and chauvinist piggery); Plath and Sexton; Hecht; Wilbur; Heaney, Larkin; fast forward to Henri Cole, Kate Ryan, Patricia Smith (not to be confused with Patti Smith, whom I also love); Harryet Mullen; Marilyh Hacker, Moira Egan, and indeed all the sonneteers represented in HOT SONNETS, just out from Entasis Press, edited by Moira and me (shameless plus). And so many more. OMG, Wanda Szymborska!
Question #9: Bukowski: Genius, crude or meh?
CH: All 3. The “meh” aspect stems largely from his tending to be Johnny One-Note and also to write WAY too much. And I guess I can’t quite forgive his attitude(s) toward women—just as I can’t forgive T. S. E.
Question #10: In my comments about your piece, I write: It’s a sexy poem intended to be so (as the author explains). The Sweet Talk was daring and intimate, perhaps baiting the hook with an invitation of a misogynistic vernacular (if that’s where one needs or desires to go), but with the seducer transforming it to advantage.
I have to know, how far off the mark might I be?
CH: Not a bit! Kudos!
Question #11: A follow-up to the above. The last lines (below) evoked dual responses from Ann Marie (my wife) and myself. She saw it as the eternal dance between men and women. My take was probably a typical male assumption/fantasy; the seduction of a younger partner (what he wants, needs or desires?)
Or say, "Happy Day, my Ancient"; I'm your
whole history of mothers, and mothers work
like this: put something in, get something out.
In, out. In, out. Baby, I’m a sweet machine
Again, how far off the mark might we both be?
CH: You’re both right. No, really, you are. (I speak as one whose 2nd husband was her junior by 25 years.) (That was a dumb idea, btw. Ask to see my funny little poem on a related subject). Never mind—here it is in all its 5-5-7-5 syllable glory:
A Cougar Regards Her Boy-Toy
Bless his sweet ass, but
Did he have a stroke?
He can’t remember a thing
From when I was young.
Final Question: After reading and listening to the poem, then reading your confession, one has to wonder: Okay, so was the guy deaf, dumb, blind, all three or what?
Some fun with the poetry of my youth ... and so on.
Herman ...
Speaking of Bukowski, my favorite Barfly scene ...
Mike Myers doing Jerry Lewis?
Something more serious ... it was years (30 or so) before I remembered the lines starting frisch weht der vindt was from a poem I’d had to read in college ... how I remembered it was hearing and reading the libretto from Wagner’s Tristan Und Isolde. After that, how do you not read the poem a few more dozen times?
The half-Irish/half eye-talian Principessa Ann Marie says if I like a movie, book, play or opera, it’s likely she’ll want to kill herself watching/reading the same thing. When I told her one of my reading assignments this month for the MFA program was Dubliners, she said, “Oh, Christ, you’ll probably love it.”
Bada-boom, bada-bing, she nailed it. I love it. So much so, I’m thinking of forging ahead to Ulysses.
No, not the Cream song, Tales of Brave Ulysses, the book by J.J. The stories that make up this bleak picture of Joyce’s Dublin are open-ended wonders and make me all the more anxious to visit the Emerald Isle some day. If you’re into dark, it’s a cheap enough adventure on Amazon (less than 4 fazools). Which was my favorite? The Dead ... go figure.
The Bad Girl ... author Mario Vargas Llosa does obsession like I’ve never read it before. Spanning several decades, Ricardo Somocurcio’s obsession with the bad girl brings on more heartache and emotional torture than any dozen men should endure. This is an across the globe (as well as time) obsession that includes South America, Paris, Cuba, Japan, back to Paris, Spain and back to Paris once again. Critics claim it is a retooling of Madame Bovary. So now I don’t have to read Madame Bovary? I’ll read it anyway, but this one was worth the two reads I gave it for class. Excellent.
This was a wonderfully (dark) surprise last week when I’d had my fill of the political nonsense forced down our throats daily on television. NetFlix has become my retreat and sometimes I’ll just follow an actor/actress/director, etc ... this time I followed Kate Dickie, a Scottish actress. It’s very suspenseful (because you won’t know why she’s doing what she does until near the end), but it’s well worth the trip. And, yeah, wife, it’s dark too ...
Oy vey ...
Kevin Harrison … I’ve posted about this singer before, but now it’s his Momma & Poppa doing the hawking, so here they are, Mrs. & Mr. Harrison, on their baby boyo ...
From Momma Harrison: Turns out my son, KEVIN HARRISON, is not going to be trying out for American Idol any time too soon, but ... he would love the opportunity to play at Bonnaroo (you know - the rock and roll festival down there in Tennessee), so we could surely use your help in .... “The Road to Roo”
If you’re on Facebook, please consider taking a moment to check out the following site below and cast your vote .. that you believe Kevin Harrison should be in the top ten ranking for an opportunity to play at Bonnaroo!
It’s not too painful a process (I’m not normally a Facebook fan - right Nadine?) and there is some really great music to listen to at the same time. Right under Kevin’s picture, click on the center blue play button. This is who and what you’re voting for Friends!
It’ll be so much fun you’ll want to Vote Every Day .. and you can through April 16th!
As always, thanks for your support,
Linda Harrison
one more thing please...spread the word... SPREAD IT!
From Poppa Harrison (this was my favorite): Hey all ... if you can take the time vote for this guy, then click share. Then tell all your friends to do the same. You can vote every day and for every vote there is a beer on me. (If you can find me) He appreciates the support and I appreciate him getting rich and famous so I can get off the damn UPS truck. Thanks all and pass it on. Happy Easter!
So last week I found out I have cervical arthritis and some arthritis about an inch above my right Achilles heel. So now it hurts to type in certain positions (how fucking convenient is that?) ... and I walk with a limp most of the day. Of course I blame my mother (her genetic makeup) and she blames my football, baseball, weightlifting days ... and, of course, my father.
For those of yous who missed last Monday with Momma Stella, here it is again:
MS: Don’t forget the sfogliatelle Easter Sunday.
Me: (animated) Oh, with the sfogliatelle already! How many times you gonna tell me?
MS: Make sure, you pain in the ass.
Me: Remind me again so I can blow my brains out.
MS: Just don’t forget. And get the other pastries, too. Like when we went to Aunt Fran’s for Thanksgiving.
Me: Forgetaboutit. That place was in Staten Island. I’d have to spend the night before on line.
MS: Well, don’t forget the sfogliatelle.
Me: Ma, you want sfogliatelle for Easter?
MS: (animated) What the hell did I just say?
Me: I forget. What?
MS: (very animated) Oh, Jesus Christ, this kid. Don’t forget the fucking sfogliatelle!
Me: What kind of sfogliatelle?
MS: Go home! Now! Go.
This Sunday I’ll be bringing her the Sfogliatelle, even though she gave me arthritis. How good a son am I?
Forgetaboutit ...
—Knucks
The band audition was put off because the bass player was sick ... so it’s rescheduled for the week after Easter ... time to get in the mood? Sure, why not ... because what drummer doesn’t like playing with his mallets?
I couldn’t embed from Youtube, but here’s the soundtrack.
Sometimes I live in a bubble, so it was a particularly difficult shock to my system when I learned of the Stand Your Ground laws that apparently 31 states have on their books (or something similar to it). Probably like many people wrapped up in their own survival, I had no idea of such a law until the uproar over the Trayvon Martin case in Florida. Apparently, if not for the uproar from activists (legitimate and otherwise), this particular tragedy might well have been swept under the rug (as so many unjustifiable homicides/manslaughter/reckless disregard for human life--take your pick) too often are.
It appears to me the law is way too ambiguous; a person may use deadly force in self-defense when there is reasonable belief of a threat, without an obligation to retreat first. The problem, of course, is who gets to determine what is a “reasonable belief of a threat”? And how great should that “threat” be? We all know the case details as they’ve been presented thus far: George Zimmerman profiled a 17 year old black kid wearing a hoodie for no other reason than he was a black kid wearing a hoodie in a mostly white neighborhood. He made a 911 call and then ignored the advice of the operator to “not pursue” ... there was an altercation and he wound up killing the kid.
The police “investigation” is an entire other enchilada even more suspicious than the shooting itself, which may be the result of a wannabe with some serious racial issues and a gun. What the police did (and didn’t do) trends way beyond incompetence and reeks of cover-up.
Without getting into the character assassination attempts by some against the victim (and setting aside the shooter’s contention that his life was in danger), the fact the shooter has the opportunity to claim self-defense in a shooting he initiated (by ignoring the 911 operator) seems to me a bit absurd. Zimmerman keeps his distance and does what he’s told, there’s no shooting. At least not that night.
The fact 31 states have the same or similar laws is pretty frightening. Conservatives argue that the tripling of deaths where the new law was used in Florida may prove there were that many potential victims saved, but the fact the shooter in the Martin case used it suggests otherwise. There’s no way to know how many of the number of tripling deaths could be assigned one way or the other (it may well be that more potential victims were saved than unjustifiable deaths occurred), but in this case, at least one victim was killed for no other reason than being a black kid wearing a hoodie. That, it seems to me, is more than enough reason to rewrite (or do away with) the law itself.
For those who haven’t seen the video of the shooter after he was brought to the police department (allegedly 34 minutes after the shooting), that’s it above. Claims have been made he feared for his life and was pummeled by the 17 year old. The video shows no signs of anyone being pummeled; no broken nose, no bloody clothes, etc. It looks more like he did what he wasn’t supposed to do, wound up in a fight he couldn’t win with his hands and then shot the kid ... because he could ... because he had a gun on him and a potential defense as the law is written on the books. Unless there’s a witness (probably with a video camera) to prove otherwise, it’s the words of the shooter vs. the only other person who could’ve told his side of the story, except he’s dead.
It’s a bad, bad law ...
A Little Matter of Genocide ... Ward Churchill is an author and activist unjustly removed from his college position at the University of Colorado (for speaking his mind). He’s written numerous books and articles that focus on the treatment of Native Americans as well as genocide throughout the world and the effects of U.S. policy home and abroad. He also writes about the trials and tribulations of political dissenters within America (to include the Black Panthers, the American Indian movement and the American communist party); how they were (and are) targeted by the FBI.
In the book above, Churchill offers well documented essays on the issues of genocide throughout history and links, quite effectively, how Hitler’s use of Lebensraum (living space) could be linked to what happened here in the United States during our expansion west (at the cost of Native American life and culture). There’s an essay on the Columbus myth we were sold in our earliest years and how his genocidal imprint extended centuries forward as European imperialism spread to the Americas.
Churchill also takes on those who insist the Jewish holocaust during World War II was “unique”; the only genocide (or the most significant); that those who make such claims do as great an injustice to other people and cultures that have gone through much more enveloping genocides; that to make such a claim is as great a disservice to humanity as those who deny any genocide.
Dealing with the genocide of Native Americans, Churchill offers many counter arguments to the population numbers handed down from both defenders of the government (usually conservative) and scholars who would like us to believe the number of America’s indigenous population was miniscule (thus minimizing any potential genocidal guilt). There is very little in this book of essays anyone can deny as fact. While the numbers may (or may not be) disputed, I have to lean on the side of Churchill’s figures for the same reason so many in the Tea Party claim they are against big government -- because it (the government) can’t be trusted.
No shit.
You bet your ass it does, kid.
The fact this government, since its inception, hasn’t honored a single treaty with the native population might suggest they have something to hide. Try selling that to conservative blind faith thought (as I recently tried) and what you’ll get in response is EXACTLY what Churchill points to at the start of this intriguing read (what is often the response): “Quit your whining.”
No matter how FOX news and Bill O’Reilly treat Mr. Churchill and his reputation, the man is a scholar and a hell of a nice guy. We exchanged books (he’s written for more and far better books than I ever could) and I’m making the time to read as many as I can between my MFA requirements and other readings/projects.
For those of my Italian heritage who want to hang on to the celebration of the Columbus Day Parade, perhaps it’s time to read something other than what we’ve been sold growing up (as naive kids who have to take the word of government approved text books). Not to mention there remains quite a bit of doubt regarding Columbus’s true ethnicity, but for Native Americans (here I'll go one better than Mr. C), celebrating Columbus Day is akin to Jews celebrating Hitler’s birthday.
When It All Comes Down To Dust ... Barry Graham is a hidden treasure who writes with an openness that is refreshing. In this wonderful read, his protagonist (Laura Ponto) has a short fuse when it comes to bullies and the like (one of my favorite scenes is how she handles an asswipe who has just set a kitten on a barbecue). When a man (Frank del Rio) is released from the joint, she is exceptionally upset (he’s done bad things to kids, including her). Her job is to find mitigating evidence in death penalty cases, but her temper sometimes precludes her from acting within the law. Graham writes without hesitation; sex scenes aren’t abbreviated, violence isn’t whitewashed and his characters are recognizable (in each of us, the good and the bad). It’s another winner from the Dogo himself.
Drumming fool ... neck collar and all, I’ll be jamming with a new band (auditioning really) ... Sunday at 1:00 p.m. ... the playlist has some CREAM, STONES and CCR and a general jam ...
My beloved New York State Buffalo Bills mean business, baby ... “First, Mario Williams. Now, Mark Anderson. The Buffalo Bills weren't kidding when suggesting how much they wanted to improve the pass rush this offseason. The Bills on Wednesday signed Anderson, their second significant free-agent splash in less than a week.”
With Darius and Williams and Super Mario and Mark Anderson, where (oh, where) is the prime of Miss Tom Brady gonna hide now?
I almost went out and had my other arm tattooed! This is truly Change We Can Billlieve in!
Good on Goodell ... it’s a beautiful thing what Roger Goodell did to the Aints’ (even if it was just to offset the class action suit against the NFL by former players who suffered recurring concussions) ... it’s about time the league took their game serious. Yeah, it’s a violent game played by super humans (super fast and super strong) and that’s all the more reason cheap shots shouldn’t be tolerated. While we wait to see what Goodell does to the players involved, we sure hope Jonathan Vilma gets to join his coach on the sidelines (and effectively end his dirty career).
The only thing left, in TK’s opinion, was to strip the super bowl title from the Aints for 2010 and leave it a blank (no winner), the same as they should officially do to those other Cheaterfaces, the New England Cheatriots for Spygate. For now we’ll all have to settle for every other team in the league NEVER acknowledging both teams super bowl “wins”.
Yets and Tebow ... well, the deal is done and all I can sing is:
Ground Control to Mark Sanchez;
Ground Control to Mark Sanchez,
Take your protein pills and put your earplugs in.
(ten) Ground Control (Nine) to Mark Sanchez (Eight)
(Seven, six) Commencing crash down (Five), engines off (Four)
(Three, two) Check your parachute (One) and may God’s (Uh-oh) love be with you.
This is ground control to Mark Sanchez, you really are screwed.
The papers want to know what t-shirts Tebow wears.
Now it’s time to leave the pocket if you dare.
This is Mark Sanchez to ground control, I’m running a QB draw
But nobody is blocking and I’m suddenly on the floor.
And the stars look very different today.
Here I am sitting on my cute ass, far, far from a first down.
Tebow’s in the game and there’s nothing I can do.
Though I’m the $40 million man, the crowd is calling for Tim;
I think my Jets are his!
Tell Rex I loved him very much, the fat bastard, you know.
Ground control to Mark Sanchez, you’re being pulled.
Can you hear them Mark Sanchez?
Can you hear them Mark Sanchez?
Can you hear them Mark Sanchez?
Here I am sitting on the sidelines;
Tebow’s in the game.
We’re 8-8 all over again;
The line wouldn’t block, they really hurt my head.
This is ground control to Mark Sanchez,
the Jets screwed you to the wall.
The crowd wants Tim and there’s nothing you can do.
Can you hear them Mark Sanchez?
Can you hear them Mark Sanchez?
Can you hear them Mark Sanchez?
And so on ...
It’ll be interesting to say the least ... I can just hear the Moonachie Green fans now ... Sanchez throws a pick-six and the crowed begins to rumble ... Te-bow! Te-bow! Te-bow!
Rex Ryan, et al, have proved they can’t control their team, they have big mouths they haven’t backed up (no rings, there’s nothing to talk about) ... they fell apart last season and now that they’ve brought Santonio (pain in the ass) Holmes back (great teammate, eh?), they’ll have their Moonachie Green fans screaming for Te-bow every time Captain Check-Down (my son Dustin’s name for Sanchez) throws a pick. Great team management there, Moonachie Green.
Even Joe Willie Namath was shocked ... “I don’t think they know what they’re doing over there.”
So, yes, it’s official, the Y-E-T-S, Yets, Yets, Yets are now the dumbest organization in all of sports.
Of course the really sucky thing now is we all have to sit through 162 pointless games so MLB can get to its yearly tournament of also-rans (the teams with the best records hardly ever play in the last round). Oy vey ... it’s like sitting through a coma.
Go Bills!
—Knucks
Check this video out, Bowie (which is close to Tebow) is wearing a Chia Pet on his head.
Bills sign Super Mario (a.k.a. Mario Williams) … how cool is that? Tom Brady, your days are numbered. The last time the Bills opted for a premier pass-rusher, they drafted the great Bruce Smith … the NFL has been put on alert, the Bills mean business ($50 million guaranteed worth). I almost feel sorry for the Cheatriots, Yets and Dolphinations. Almost ...
St. Patrick’s Day … oy vey, this means between Jim (“Doc”) Nyland and my wife, the Principessa Ann Marie, I’ll have to eat that stuff that takes all friggin’ day to cook and smells up the entire house. Us eye-talians take issue with this day mostly because of the chow we’re forced to eat (or starve, she tells me) … We have an ongoing joke war going on at casa Stella; the wife is half eye-talian/half Irish (so I make exceptions [name the movie that line is from and win a cookie). She points out that I’m half Sicilian, which is why my knuckles continue to drag on the floor.
So, here’s the chant I torture my much better half with hourly during this festive day: orin begorrin (my teasing of the green/my wife’s Irish side), Ryan Fitzpatrick (Bills QB who broadcasts each throw by winding up like a pitcher with no runners on base) and Ed Shaughnessy (great drummer featured on the old Johnny Carson show) … now can we order pizza?
Say it a few dozen times fast (especially if your spouse is half Irish). Orin Begorrin, Ryan Fitzpatrick, Ed Shaughnessy ... now can we order pizza?
The Goldman Muppets … excuse me for not being surprised over this one, but what did some of their clients think they were being called behind their backs? There’s a mob protocol that requires certain types of introductions, usually preceded with an exchange of cheek kisses (whether the two men greeting one another hate each other or not). Introducing a third party determines third party status. “Friend of mine, friend of ours”; the difference being, one means the third party is either a “somebody” (someone who’s taken the “oath”) or a “nobody” (someone outside the realm of a made guy). And behind each other’s backs there’s often as much respect as Rush Limbaugh has for Sandra Fluk and/or Bill Maher has for women in general (we’ll get to that one next). The point being, amici, if Goldman treats their million dollar customers like that, is it any wonder they pissed all over the public (demanding a no strings attached bailout from their lackeys in the government)? Not to mention the snarky way they dealt with their lackeys on capital hill during those Congressional “hearings”.
When the right is right … if what dopey Rush Limbaugh said about Sandra Fluk upset the Democratic party (not just women in general), one has to wonder why and/or how people like Bill Maher and Lewis CK (who was supposed to be the featured comedian at the white house media dinner) get a pass. Forget the $1,000,000 contribution Maher gets to make from his ivory tower (and Obama gets to keep while ignoring the misogynistic rhetoric).
While driving home at night I have a few options. Listen to Mike Francesa on WFAN or Mark Levin on WABC … both get on my nerves, but sometimes Mark Levin (a lunatic of the far right, make no mistake) has a point and he drives it home as well as MSNBC (or, as he labels them, MSLSD) … last week he played two clips on different nights. One of Lewis CK spouting some nasty dialogue (rivaling the characters from my novels) about Sarah Palin. Another night he featured a young Al Sharpton spouting anti-white rhetoric (although he did point out that the right reverend has apologized for his comments over time). Needless to say, he mentioned Bill Maher’s calling Palin the dreaded C-word and that nobody in the white house seemed to have a problem with it; the defense being he’s a comedian first, political analyst/contributor second (even if programs like CNN and MSNBC/LSD continue to seek his opinions on pretty much everything except, notably, the Limbaugh controversy).
Aside from the fact Maher’s HBO show features politicians and political analysts weekly, he gets to cling to comedian as an excuse for calling Palin the C-word.
And the white house has no problem with that as their defense.
It’s sort of how they treated public worker union members in Wisconsin last year. Ignoring them completely.
Which leads to the new NBA contracts for superstars. Last week it was reported that Dwight Howard of the Magic was basically offered the option of having both the coach and general manager fired if it would keep him in Orlando. From what I heard (and it could be wrong), Howard was decent about the option and said he wanted nothing to do with those decisions. Good for him/Bad for the NBA.
Less than a week later Camelo Anthony (no matter what his spin on it is) put coach Mike D'Antoni on the hook (and D'Antoni resigned forthwith). This is the new NBA contract for superstars … if a superstar isn’t happy, before he goes anywhere, the coaches are sent packing.
The End of Linsanity … now that Carmelo Anthony has had his way and Mike Woodson has replaced Mike D’Antoni on the bench, Jeremy Lin’s days of being the team’s offensive catalyst are a thing of the past.
I can’t wait to see how that goes over … thus far the Knicks have rebounded with 2 consecutive blow out wins (against two so-so teams). Personally, I think it’ll prove yet another disaster just as soon as the superstar doesn’t produce against the teams that count. And then the New York Knicks organization will rival the Philadelphia Eagles for the honor of being the dumbest organization in all of sport.
“This taut, compulsively readable tale of mob life in and around New York City, Stella’s first novel since 2012’s Rough Riders, has the smack of authenticity on every page … Stella serves up a tasty goombah stew with a splash of Guinness, and no one can make this recipe simmer better than he does.” —Publishers Weekly
As usual Stella’s ear for dialogue is amazingly authentic and accurate, which not only lends credibility to each of his characters but also adds to the headlong pace of the narrative. These themes and the way they influence almost every character elevates the novel from a simple story of murder and revenge. At the same time they demonstrate Stella’s familiarity with present-day criminals and cops, and his mastery at presenting tales that illustrate their world and inner emotions. For those who have yet to discover the joy of Stella’s work, TOMMY RED is a good a place start as any. —Alan Cranis (Bookgasm) “Holy crap. I've said it before and I'll say it again. Why the hell isn't Stella on every mystery lover's must-read list. . . . This taut, tightly presented story of misplaced loyalties and retribution is nicely tied up in a fast-paced tale that, once you get used to the rhythm of the dialogue, just begs you to turn the next page.” —MenReadingBooks
“Stella was often compared to George V. Higgins and Elmore Leonard at the beginning of his career, but now the world of East Coast gangster fiction is all his.” —Mysterious Bookshop
“Tommy Red by Charlie Stella. Mob hit man gets into a snafu. This novel is only 165 pages long. Since this is a Stella novel you can bet it's 165 pages of greatness.”—Lake Mills Library
“Tommy Red builds to an explosive climax that should satisfy readers looking for action, while at the same time offering complex characterisation and thematic complexity that is beyond the reach of most crime novels.” —Crime Fiction Lover
“Stella reminds the reader of some recent episodes that the police would probably like for us to forget, most prominently the Eric Garner incident. Even the mob guys think it makes the cops look bad. There's a lot going on in Tommy Red, and big props to Stella for wrapping it all up in about 150 trade paperback pages. Good stuff and highly recommended.” —Bill Crider
“There are few writers (except possibly Elmore Leonard and George V. Higgins), who can write mob dialogue as well as Charlie Stella … Charlie makes navigating my way though the plot fun. And funny. How can you not laugh at this line. It was a little after one o'clock in the morning when he was thinking he'd like to bite the ass of that Mother of Dragons broad about to take a bath. (Game of Thrones).”—Patti Abbott
“No one writes better dialog, nor allows it to carry the story more than Stella, nor pulls it off better. Tommy Red could deteriorate into a series of scenes of guys bullshitting, but every sentence is an insight into a character’s mind, and one never knows when a prime plot point will emerge from a discussion about the merits of hockey versus football … Tommy Red a riveting tale told in an engaging manner. You know, just as you’d expect from Charlie Stella.” —Dana King (One Bite at a Time)
Stella’s capers are populated with criminals who are more clever than smart and lawmen who get stymied by clever but eventually prevail with smarts. A delight.— Booklist (Wes Lukowsky)
Along the way the reader is treated to some of the finest characterization it’s humanly possible to capture on paper… Stella’s always dark, often violent, occasionally humorous Rough Riders more than stands on its own, and is more than worth your time. — Book Reviews By Elizabeth A. White Sort of like Goodfellas meets Fargo. Check out Eddie’s World and start right in on Rough Riders. You’ll love the ride … Then read everything else he’s done.—East Coast Don (Men Reading Books) Mr Stella makes his story supremely compelling and has certainly made me a believer. I very much look forward to reading his next book – in the meantime, chase this one down, it works like a beaut. —Tipping My Fedora
Let me say right here that I loved this book. Though complex, the plotlines are deftly managed and everything dovetails towards its satisfying conclusion. Stella has a great ear for dialogue, with the New Yorkers clearly speaking a different vernacular to the Dakotans. —Crime Fiction Lover
Stella writes about criminals and cops, killers and cons, as if he knows the territory. This is one of those books that you rip through, eager to see who'll be the last man standing, as you never know who'll get the next bullet. Big, grim, boisterous, funny, and frightening all at once. Check it out.— Bill Crider
Stella’s characters’ voices sound authentic: no macho posturing — just their brutal, hard world. This is one of the leaner crime novels currently out there. For those wanting a serious character piece where the payoffs deliver, reach for ROUGH RIDERS. —Bookasm, Bruce Grossman
Rough Riders has a plethora of characters, many of whom you won't want to like but just might. What seems like true dialogue spews from mouths, FBI and locals alike. I found it very hard to put this book down, even to eat a meal. Author Charlie Stella has a way with words that makes him a master at his craft. Don't miss this one. —Bookloons Reviews (Reviewed by Mary Ann Smyth)
This is a fast and furious thriller that brings back the antagonists in Eddie’s World in a good, the bad and the ugly storyline. Rotating between the northern Great Plains and the New York area, fans will enjoy this action-packed noir although the Feds are too scandalously uncaring about collateral damage or simply deadly avarice. –Genre Go Round Reviews (Harriett Klausner)
Johnn Porno Reviews ...
“Mr. Stella is a natural. As soon as I finished Johnny Porno I gave the book to my son so we could both be wiser-guys. Now I’m going to find all his other novels. He’s a true master.”—Dow Mossman, The Stones of Summer
“... Elmore Leonard fans are going to love Stella’s entirely original contribution to the slice-of-criminal-life genre, down-and-dirty division ... This is the seventh novel from Stella (Mafiya, 2008), who has made the underside of the New York underworld his home.”—Elliott Swanson (Booklist)
“Set in New York City in 1973, Stella’s vibrant seventh crime novel catches the cadence and daily grind of organized crime grunts … Stella tosses an eclectic cast of characters into the mix … admirers of Elmore Leonard and George V. Higgins will be happy.”—Publishers Weekly
“Johnny Porno is in many ways a master’s class on how to write a novel ... The dialog flows so smooth you’d swear you were over hearing someone’s conversation... He drops you in the middle and lets the reveals of the narrative come naturally through the dialog... Bottom line is that Johnny Porno is one of the best books I’ve read so far this year.”>—Brian Lindenmuth (Spinetingler Magazine)
“Stella has fun with DEEP THROAT throughout the book, including the idea to sell fake autographed panties ... the book is so well-crafted and well-paced that it’s going to make more than a few best-of lists when the time comes. Stella never goes for the cheap outs, letting these characters develop over the course of his story ... Not only is it a throwback to the 1970s generation, but one that blows away most set in the present day.”—Bruce Grossman (Bookgasm)
“Based on my experience with Johnny Porno — I haven't read his other books but plan to remedy that soon (Charlie Opera is $2.00 on Smashwords) — I must say that Charlie Stella is one of the best writers the crime genre currently has to offer. He's a natural wordsmith, putting down the way people really talk in a way that still reads smoothly — not an easy task. The fact that Stark House Press, who previously focused on reprinting "lost" pulp novels, chose Stella as their first original author — after author Ed Gorman recommended him upon reading the manuscript — says a lot about his peers' respect for him.”— Craig Clarke (Somebody Dies)
“Psycho cops, bent cops, straight cops, Feds, wiseguys, good women, bad women,really bad women, guys on the make, gamblers, dumbasses, good guys, bad guys. This book's got 'em all (and more), and all so well-drawn that they seem like real people. There are also three or four plots going in, and they all converge in the final pages. I don't know how Stella managed to keep all the balls in the air, but he doesn't drop a one. Stark House's first original is a winner.”—Bill Crider, author of the Sheriff Dan Rhodess series and several other novels
“Stella is of the George V. Higgins school and tells the story through compelling dialogue ... Like Higgins, Stella isn’t afraid to let action occur offstage, to be described by the principals after the fact. In Stella’s hands, this adds to the suspense, as he understands every overt climax lessens tension at its conclusion, while covert climaxes continue to ratchet it up.”>—Dana King, (New Mystery Reader)
“Charlie Stella has a gift for nailing the colorful characters in this seedy little corner of New York. The dialog couldn’t be more authentic, and from page one I was transported to a hot, gritty landscape full of guys who say ‘yous’ and women who are used to being used ... I relished how the focus was on the guys at the bottom of the totem pole, and I got to see what happens to the drivers, runners, and climbers who associate with organized crime. It ain’t pretty.”> —Rebecca Baumann, (Dirty Sexy Books)
A plot whose pacing is as fast as a pack of greyhounds and at the same time, miraculously, as crazily and craftily constructed as a Marx Brothers movie or a Rube Goldberg machine. A hungry menagerie of good guys and bad guys at feeding time. A writing style that’s top-shelf. Some side-orders of Suspense. Romance. Black Humor. All seasoned liberally with Sex, Violence, Drugs, and Rock and Roll. What else will readers find in JOHNNY PORNO? A novel that shouldn’t be this much fun or pleasurable. That’s Charlie Stella’s real crime.—Lynn Kostoff, Author of Late Rain (Tyrus Books 2010), A Choice Of Nightmares (New Pulp Press 2010), The Long Fall (Carroll and Graf 2003)
“This is a hell of a novel. Epic, yet human scale... It s wonderfully fresh and alive.”—Craig McDonald, author of Head Games, Toros and Torsos and Print The Legend
Johnny Porno is a terrific Nixon Era crime caper reminiscent of Elmore Leonard. The story line is fast-paced, filled with action and violence, and stars a seemingly hapless chump struggling to survive in a cesspool. With the fun look at pop culture in circa 1973 enhancing the plot, readers, especially boomers, will enjoy Johnny Porno’s New York joy ride.—Harriet Klausner (The Mystery Gazette)
“... this has all the trappings of classic Stella – decent guys, wise guys of various standing in the mob, good/dirty cops, but most importantly, dialogue that makes you want to stand up and beg for more. Through Stella, you can practically smell the garlic on the breath of the wiseguys trying to intimidate, strain to hear cops jerking each other around through hot dog stuffed faces, wince at the lunacy of an ex-wife going off the deep end, and nod approvingly when someone does a decent thing for Johnny. Why Stella’s books aren’t flying off the main table at the front door of Barnes/Noble and Borders is, in itself, a crime.”—East Coast Don (Men Reading Books)
“Charlie Stella's JOHNNY PORNO: absolutely excellent. Guy does dialogue like no one else.”— Russel D. McLean, Author of The Good Son and The Lost Sister(From an Interview with CRIME SCENE NI (Northern Ireland))
“Johnny Porno is exactly that – a hard man chasing the tail that won’t pay for the tears. By first reminding us of William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet and then translating its rhetorical question into the vernacular of our romantically challenged times, Stella’s way with words does the near impossible; it finds a way from pornography to romance in the paradox of power and impotence peculiar to all of us: ‘Fuck’s in a name?’”— Len Wanner, University of Edinburgh.
Charlie delivered papers, unloaded watermelons, cooked at McDonalds, cleaned dishes at a catering hall, worked in a cardboard factory, rolled posters, worked in his father’s head shop, was a bouncer, worked security, buffed hallways, cleaned apartments, humped sheetrock, was a ten year union window cleaner atop Manhattan’s skyscrapers, was a word processing operator-supervisor-manager and director, coached football, has had novels published here, Russia, Italy, Poland, Mexico and the UK, and did that knockaround stuff for 18 years before meeting his wife, the woman who straightened him out (in a good way). He earned his MFA degree from Southern New Hampshire University at age 57. He continues to write crime novels and has expanded his horizons to include ghostwriting non-fiction—Dogfella: How an Abandoned Dog Named Bruno Turned This Mobster's Life Around--A Memoir will be published in May of 2015.
