Post by Ray on Dec 25, 2019 11:10:13 GMT -5
Sometime in 2006 I was reading a book by one of my favorite authors of all time, Evan Hunter. You can read all about his remarkable life here if you're completely bored out of your mind. But a couple of highlights: He wrote the book "The Blackboard Jungle" (later made into a movie starring Glenn Ford.) He wrote the screenplay for Alfred Hitchcock's "The Birds." He was most famous under his pen name, "Ed McBain." McBain's "87th Precinct" series is the blueprint for police procedural novels. (First one published in 1956. Last one in 2005.)
My favorite book of all time is "Criminal Conversation," written by Hunter. It's the story of a woman, married to a NYC district attorney, who's having an affair with a mafia boss. Her DA husband's speciality is . . . putting away mafia bosses. She doesn't know her lover is a mafia boss. Husband's got surveillance cameras and sound recording equipment targeting the mafia guy.
During the course of the book, DA has to explain the details of the wiretapping warrant to the detectives who are listening in. Basically, they can't listen to what's called "privileged conversation," i.e., conversations between the target and his wife, his priest, his lawyer, etc. So if they detect that's who the mafia guy is talking to, they have to turn the recording equipment off. They can ONLY listen to "conversation of criminal activities," or criminal conversation.
But the hook to the title of the book is that "Criminal Conversation" is also a tort (which is a breech of promise / a broken agreement) arising from . . . adultery. From this Wikipedia article:
Interesting that the law is still on the books and being used in the United States.
If you want to read the book, I'm betting I could figure out some way to get an epub or mobi to you. Just sayin'.
Enough of the TLDR; stuff: In 2006 I'm in the bathtub, reading through an Evan Hunter / Ed McBain book. I put the book down, then pick it up a little bit later just to read the dust jacket. Throughout the verbiage of the dust jacket, it was written as, "McBain WAS this. He DID that. He WAS honored this way." All in the PAST tense. Long story short, the man had died in 2005 -- the previous year -- and I somehow had missed that.
An author who has to be in my top *3* favorites . . . and he died a year prior and I didn't know about it? As "connected" as *I* am?
Same thing happened when Andy Kaufman died. I found out about it on one of those "Year In Review" things. I wasn't a big Kaufman fan, but it was one of those, "How'd you miss that?"
And it happened again THIS year. I use Spotify quite a bit. At the end of each year, Spotify gives you a breakdown of the music you've listened to all year long. It fascinates me for some reason. I used to run it 24/7 and just let music fill the house all the time, but I've cut back in listening. For example, in 2016, 395,907 minutes of music. in 2017, 343,532. In 2018 it was 139,474. But in 2019, it was only 44,635.
The top song that I streamed more than any other in 2019 was by Earl Thomas Conley called "What I'd Say." (I do love those "cry in your beer songs." Ronnie Milsap has a song, "Nobody Likes Sad Songs," but I disagree. I love 'em.)
Back to Earl: Spotify reported the top ten songs I listened to in those 44,635 minutes. (That's 31 twenty-four hour days.) Nine of the top ten are Earl. (# 8 was Suzy Bogguss' "Someday Soon." LOVE it.) That ought to give you an inkling of just how much I loved Earl's music. (Was a trifle miffed that Earl didn't even warrant a mention in Ken Burns' documentary, "Country Music." Earl had *18* consecutive #1 country hits in the 80s, for crying out loud. Come on, Ken, quit giving Johnny Cash a handjob every episode. Other that that, Country Music is a great documentary, by the way. Even if you AREN'T a country fan. And *especially* if you're a Johnny Cash fan.)
During reviewing all of Earl's music while looking at Spotify's stats, I looked up Earl. I knew he was 77, had quit touring and recording decades ago, and I wanted to see how he was doing.
If you've read this far, you know how he was doing. Hell, Steven posted the damned thing here.
And. I. Missed. It.
He died back in April of this year.
And. I. Missed. It. Again, I say, as "connected" as *I* am?
But, being connected doesn't explain this: My best friend of all time was Doyle Uncel. Not only had he passed away without my knowing about it . . . I didn't know about it for FIVE YEARS.
Doyle passed away in 2007. I didn't find out about it until 2012.
I don't know how to square "Best Friend Of All Time," with "Man Was Dead Five Years And I Didn't Know." At the very least it says, "Ray, you SUCK donkey dicks at maintaining relationships." Which is absolutely true, I'll grant you. I tend to take a view that I lead a pretty boring life. There's not much to share. Everyone has their own lives to deal with, and they certainly don't need to bothered with "nothing of note happened in Ray's life today." That's been countered by several lovely friends who say, "I love you, dumb fuck, and I want to know you're ok." Yeah yeah. I hear you, but obviously I'm not going to change.
Oh, speaking of "being ok," YEARS ago I figured out the date that I would have lived longer than my dad. He passed away @ 61. I'm 61. On January 2, 2020, I will be the exact same age as my dad was when he died of a heart attack. Y'all should check in with me (if you're interested) on January 3.
My favorite book of all time is "Criminal Conversation," written by Hunter. It's the story of a woman, married to a NYC district attorney, who's having an affair with a mafia boss. Her DA husband's speciality is . . . putting away mafia bosses. She doesn't know her lover is a mafia boss. Husband's got surveillance cameras and sound recording equipment targeting the mafia guy.
During the course of the book, DA has to explain the details of the wiretapping warrant to the detectives who are listening in. Basically, they can't listen to what's called "privileged conversation," i.e., conversations between the target and his wife, his priest, his lawyer, etc. So if they detect that's who the mafia guy is talking to, they have to turn the recording equipment off. They can ONLY listen to "conversation of criminal activities," or criminal conversation.
But the hook to the title of the book is that "Criminal Conversation" is also a tort (which is a breech of promise / a broken agreement) arising from . . . adultery. From this Wikipedia article:
Prior to its abolition, a husband could sue any man who had intercourse with his wife, regardless of whether she consented – unless the couple was already separated, in which case the husband could only sue if the separation was caused by the person he was suing.
If you want to read the book, I'm betting I could figure out some way to get an epub or mobi to you. Just sayin'.
Enough of the TLDR; stuff: In 2006 I'm in the bathtub, reading through an Evan Hunter / Ed McBain book. I put the book down, then pick it up a little bit later just to read the dust jacket. Throughout the verbiage of the dust jacket, it was written as, "McBain WAS this. He DID that. He WAS honored this way." All in the PAST tense. Long story short, the man had died in 2005 -- the previous year -- and I somehow had missed that.
An author who has to be in my top *3* favorites . . . and he died a year prior and I didn't know about it? As "connected" as *I* am?
Same thing happened when Andy Kaufman died. I found out about it on one of those "Year In Review" things. I wasn't a big Kaufman fan, but it was one of those, "How'd you miss that?"
And it happened again THIS year. I use Spotify quite a bit. At the end of each year, Spotify gives you a breakdown of the music you've listened to all year long. It fascinates me for some reason. I used to run it 24/7 and just let music fill the house all the time, but I've cut back in listening. For example, in 2016, 395,907 minutes of music. in 2017, 343,532. In 2018 it was 139,474. But in 2019, it was only 44,635.
The top song that I streamed more than any other in 2019 was by Earl Thomas Conley called "What I'd Say." (I do love those "cry in your beer songs." Ronnie Milsap has a song, "Nobody Likes Sad Songs," but I disagree. I love 'em.)
Back to Earl: Spotify reported the top ten songs I listened to in those 44,635 minutes. (That's 31 twenty-four hour days.) Nine of the top ten are Earl. (# 8 was Suzy Bogguss' "Someday Soon." LOVE it.) That ought to give you an inkling of just how much I loved Earl's music. (Was a trifle miffed that Earl didn't even warrant a mention in Ken Burns' documentary, "Country Music." Earl had *18* consecutive #1 country hits in the 80s, for crying out loud. Come on, Ken, quit giving Johnny Cash a handjob every episode. Other that that, Country Music is a great documentary, by the way. Even if you AREN'T a country fan. And *especially* if you're a Johnny Cash fan.)
During reviewing all of Earl's music while looking at Spotify's stats, I looked up Earl. I knew he was 77, had quit touring and recording decades ago, and I wanted to see how he was doing.
If you've read this far, you know how he was doing. Hell, Steven posted the damned thing here.
And. I. Missed. It.
He died back in April of this year.
And. I. Missed. It. Again, I say, as "connected" as *I* am?
But, being connected doesn't explain this: My best friend of all time was Doyle Uncel. Not only had he passed away without my knowing about it . . . I didn't know about it for FIVE YEARS.
Doyle passed away in 2007. I didn't find out about it until 2012.
I don't know how to square "Best Friend Of All Time," with "Man Was Dead Five Years And I Didn't Know." At the very least it says, "Ray, you SUCK donkey dicks at maintaining relationships." Which is absolutely true, I'll grant you. I tend to take a view that I lead a pretty boring life. There's not much to share. Everyone has their own lives to deal with, and they certainly don't need to bothered with "nothing of note happened in Ray's life today." That's been countered by several lovely friends who say, "I love you, dumb fuck, and I want to know you're ok." Yeah yeah. I hear you, but obviously I'm not going to change.
Oh, speaking of "being ok," YEARS ago I figured out the date that I would have lived longer than my dad. He passed away @ 61. I'm 61. On January 2, 2020, I will be the exact same age as my dad was when he died of a heart attack. Y'all should check in with me (if you're interested) on January 3.
