The Most Influential Books of My Life I - Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds

When I was in 10th Grade, I discovered the key to the universe at B. Dalton Bookseller at the Great Northern Mall. The Prophecies of Nostradamus: The Man Who Saw Tomorrow, by Erika Cheetham, outlined mankind's future history with a dire albeit vague certainty further corroborated and cemented as fact by the Orson Wells' narrated "documentary" of the same name. As a kid hellbent on unraveling life's mysteries before the age of 16, I devoured and digested both book and film with the hunger of a newly-converted True Believer. Of course, once I'd had a taste of the Great Seer, I needed more. Cheetham's magnum opus only whetted my appetite. What I required was a veritable smorgasbord of Nostradamus, and I knew exactly where to find it.

My favorite place in the universe at that time was the Cleveland Public Library downtown. From the age of 13, I'd been taking the 75 Bus down Lorain Road in North Olmsted to the Library on Superior. Back in those days, kids did stuff like this without much concern from their parents. Yes, Evil was out there; it just wasn't part of the 24-7 news cycle, mostly because there was no 24-7 news cycle. Anyway, armed with Cheetham's bibliography at the end of her book, I entered my fortress of solitude and immediately attacked the Library's mammoth card catalog located in the basement "tombs".

Back in those days, there was no internet nor any kind of computerized cataloging of information. Diligent researchers needed to wade through thousands of tiny typewritten notecards filed meticulously in huge wooden drawers with only a knowledge of the Dewey Decimal and Library of Congress catalog systems to guide them. If you were looking for a particular author or title, the process was fairly easy. For those investigating a particular subject, however, such as the prophecies of Nostradamus, the searches became a little trickier. The catalog included "Subject Cards," but these leads could often turn a paper chase into a wild goose chase deep into an intellectual thicket. Thus, in my quest for volumes regarding Nostradamus' Quatrains, I found myself jotting down the names of at least forty books that may or may not provide me with the answers I was looking for.

Chief among these titles was a book bearing a fascinating and thoroughly compelling title, Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds, by Charles Mackay. I mean what 10th grader wouldn't want to check out a book by that name? Scouring the stacks looking for my prize, I eagerly anticipated a tome dedicated to unraveling the predictions of Nostradamus in relation to huge waves of angry mobs, riots and other social tumult soon to unfold. When I finally secured the book and started reading, however, I discovered a completely different work.

Mackay's book studied charlatans and frauds. Certainly he can't consider Nostradamus a fraud! Starting at the table of contents, I frantically paged through the book searching for a section or even a citation lionizing my revered seer. What I discovered, however, shook the very foundations of my new faith. And I quote:

     ... the chief astrologer of that day, beyond all doubt, was the celebrated Nostradamus, physician to her husband, King Henry II. He was born in 1503 at the town of St. Remi, in Provence, where his father was a notary. He did not acquire much fame till he was past his fiftieth year, when his famous Centuries, a collection of verses, written in obscure and almost unintelligible language, began to excite attention. 

Of course the language is obscure. He was transcribing visions and had to encode his prophecies so as not to be accused of withccraft ... I read on:

They were so much spoken of in 1556, that Henry II. resolved to attach so skillful a man to his service,and appointed him his physician. In a biographical notice of him, prefixed to the edition of his Vraies Centuries, published at Amsterdam in 1668, we are informed that he often discoursed with his royal master on the secrets of futurity, and received many great presents as his reward, besides his usual allowance for medical attendance.

See? He was obviously no charlatan!

After the death of Henry he retired to his native place, where Charles IX. paid him a visit in 1564; and was so impressed with veneration for his wondrous knowledge of the things that were to be, not in France only, but in the whole world for hundreds of years to come, that he made him a counsellor of state and his own physician, besides treating him in other matters with a royal liberality.

So he was definitely the real deal ...

“In fine,” continues his biographer, “I should be too prolix were I to tell all the honors conferred upon him, and all the great nobles and learned men that arrived at his house from the very ends of the earth, to see and converse with him as if he had been an oracle. Many strangers, in fact, came to France for no other purpose than to consult him.”

After reading that sentence, I knew that Mackay's remaining words could only further venerate Michel de Nostradame as the real deal:

     The prophecies of Nostradamus consist of upwards of a thousand stanzas, each of four lines, and are to the full as obscure as the oracles of old. They take so great a latitude, both as to time and space, that they are almost sure to be fulfilled somewhere or other in the course of a few centuries ... He is to this day extremely popular in France and the Walloon country of Belgium, where old farmer-wives consult him with great confidence and assiduity.

Whaaaat?! In three mere sentences, this pompous blowhard had glibly dispensed of my prophet as yet another charlatan to be derided and mocked. But how could this be? According to Cheetham and Orson Welles, Michel De Nostradame's powers of prognostication existed far beyond any kind of doubt - reasonable or unreasonable.

Furious, I decided to read Mackay's book and note every error and libel I could find. Turning back to the beginning, then, I slowly began meeting alchemists, fortune tellers, magnetizers and a whole host of madmen and mountebanks perpepetrating ill-advised and often illegal shenanigans: the Mississippi Scheme, the South Sea Bubble, Tulipmania. By the time I caught up to and reread Mackay's dismissal of Nostradamus, sober reflection had replaced fervent faith. Mackay had administered an intellectual bitch-slapping I still recall to this day.

Of course, I continued conducting further research into the prophecies of Nostradamus, just to see if there really was anything there. By time I read James Randi's The Mask of Nostradamus in the 90s, however, I'd pretty much come to the conclusion that Michel de Nostradame, like all other psychics and fortune tellers, are only as accurate as their proponents believe them to be. The "truth" of their powers is a matter of Faith, not Science. In the case of Nostradamus, "Hister" (or Ister) only means Hitler - and not the Latin name for the Danube River - if you choose to believe he foresaw Hitler. The same goes for Nay, Pau and Oloron, which is either an anagram for Napoleon or three French towns ( http://www.1st-for-french-property.co.uk/property/town/location.php?ss=Sud%20Barn%20:%20Pau,%20Oloron,%20Laruns,%20Pontacq,%20Nay&region=Aquitaine&dept=Pyrenees-Atlantiques ).

No, my little post here isn't meant as an attack on psychics and the paranormal. Far from it. My fascination with prophecies and accounts of the supernatural persists to this day. But as Charles Mackay pointed out to me 35 years ago, we must always keep our eyes peeled for charlatans and mountebanks and never, never, never believe the first person you hear. For those of you interested in checking out Mackay's complete work, it can be found on Scribd:  https://www.scribd.com/read/234160024/Extraordinary-Popular-Delusions-and-the-Madness-of-Crowds and also Google Books :: http://books.google.com/books?id=Ff7QH7bF3zgC&printsec=frontcover&source=gbs_ge_summary_r&cad=0

Work Song

Before we get into the subject of work, watch this video:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_AnjhQ6WH2k

Honestly, Mr. Darin pretty much says it all for me. Yes, I know my 9-5 ring-around-the-collar job pushing tin around the globe for International Widgets doesn't exactly qualify as working on a chain gang. But lawdy, that's exactly how I feel every bleeping minute I'm manacled to my desk dying one email at a time. That's why I 'm always flabbergasted when I hear someone talk about how bored he gets sitting around on vacation or when she delivers a sentiment like: "If I won the lottery, I'd still keep my job because, you know, what else would I do with all my time ..?"

Really?! You've watched every great film? Read every great book? Listened to every great piece of music? Seen every great work of art? Traveled to every corner of the globe and visited every landmark and shrine? Mastered every art & science known to man? Written every novel, short story, poem, play, screenplay, essay and/or memoir locked inside you? Who are you? Mr. Terrific? http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mister_Terrific_(Terry_Sloane)

Now before you get the wrong idea, this little missive isn't going to be some rant about how I hate my job. Or how I wish I had a career doing X, Y or Z. What I'm talking about here is my utter detestation and loathing for the actual concept of work itself. Or rather, the crushing reality that in order to survive and take care of my familial, domestic and financial obligations I must be gainfully employed.

But maybe you just haven't found the right job ..? Look, let me tell you a story about a guy I met whilst living in NYC in the early 90s. Ira (his middle name) had the dream job - at least what a single guy in his mid-late twenties considered a dream job. Ira produced and starred in porno movies. In fact, if I gave you his stage name, any porn fan would recognize it immediately. (And NO, he's NOT Ron Jeremy!) Ira was a true giant in the industry; in fact, he served as the inspiration for a Hollywood film character that netted his portrayer an Oscar nomination and a Golden Globe. I met Ira while working at Shakespeare and Company Bookstore on the upper West Side. He was a frequent customer, and we shared the same eclectic literary tastes. He also knew one of my coworkers, Ian, and that gave me several occasions to break bread and share few pints with him. Anyone who thinks people in porn are stupid needs to meet a guy like Ira. He was smarter and more erudite than most PhDs I've met. And NO ONE could spin a story like him.

Anyway, the first time that Ian and I met him for dinner, we were all talking about our jobs and lives, and then - to my shock - he started bitching that he had to go to a shoot later that evening. I thought he was pulling my leg at first. I mean what guy complains about having to leave dinner with two schlubs so he can go have hours of no-holds-barred sex with not one, two but three pornstars. When I asked him this, he looked at me, sighed, and then told me exactly what awaited him at his job. After hearing him describe every unsavory sight, sound and smell accompanying a porn shoot, I learned a valuable life lesson. No matter what the job may be, for some of us unfortunate souls work always always always sucks. I guess maybe some of us are just hardwired differently.

Since my earliest memories, I've always looked upon work as captivity. Punishment. Something I'm forced to do because I'm not rich enough to avoid it or indolent enough to simply ignore it. When I have a job to do, I tap into my bottomless black hole of rage and ATTACK it, striving with every fiber of my being to finish the tribulation as accurately and quickly as possible. Not because I care about the work. Rather for the simple reason that I hate work and want to extirpate every last molecule of it from my existence. I've had coworkers observe my ferocity and tenacity, and then tell me I'm a workaholic. They have absolutely no idea what the F*** they're talking about.

I'm breaking rocks on the chain gang and serving my time. That's it! And I'll keep working .. working .. 'cause I got me so terrible long to go.

Happy F---ing Birthday to Me or Adventures at the Ohio BMV

Okay, grab a cup of joe and pay attention because this latest Kozakian mishap has more twists and turns than a Nelson Demille novel, It all started back in September/October when I bought my new/used 2009 Kia Sedona and scrapped the 2005 Sedona (RIP). I gave the tow truck guy the junker and the title, and then I took the license plate & new title memorandum to the BMV to see if I could get the old Sedona plate on the new Sedona. Following me so far? Good. Because the BMV clerk never even got close.

It seems she didn't transfer the license plate I physically handed her. Noooo ... For some reason known only to God and the clandestine cabal that has been plaguing me since my birth, she went into her database and transferred the license on my 2004 Kia RIO to my new Sedona before pressing a button, launching a cyber Photon torpedo and literally expunging all record of the Kia Rio from the BMV database. She then handed me back the memorandum, took my money and sent me on my merry way completely clueless as to the egregious a**-r*ping that just transpired.

So, for the last three months Jen has been driving around the 2004 Rio, which now doesn't exist according to the BMV, and I'm driving around my 2009 Sedona with the "wrong" plates. Meanwhile, the BMV thinks the 2005 Sedona is still chugging merrily along Ohio's highways and byways. Fast forward to yesterday, three days before my tags expire.

I stroll into the BMV, get the same clerk who "helped" me in October, and the whole tangled skein slowly and tortuously begins to unravel. Of course, I have all my documents in my car, right where I left them in October. As we start reviewing them, it all starts making sense. Net result, I have clear, unequivocal WRITTEN and NOTARIZED proof that SHE bunged up the whole mess. Her reaction? Utter bald-faced DENIAL. Then she uses those great people skills possessed by all BMV employees and quips, "Well, I may have made an error, but you just have too many Kias .." hahahaha.

Needless to say, Mark was NOT laughing. Why? Because after she resurrected my 2004 Kia Rio in the BMV system she discovered that the e-check records can't be re-instated. So I now need to get an E-Check on the 2004 Rio. That wouldn't be a big deal except for the fact that the Check Engine light is on. I know what the problem is. It's a $1,000 O2 sensor. Since the Rio is a 2004, I didn't need to have an e-check this year, which gave me a year to make the repair or buy a new car. That is until Madame Curie at the BMV "helped" me in October.

If anyone has read through this entire yarn and understood it, then you're doing better than me. My head is still spinning, and I feel another wave of PTSD-induced nausea coursing through my weary, beaten body. Happy F---ing Birthday to me!

From my Scribd Library - Unsolved: True Canadian Cold Cases by Robert J. Hoshowsky

Unsolved: True Canadian Cold Cases by Robert J. Hoshowsky

https://www.scribd.com/book/230100891/Unsolved-True-Canadian-Cold-Cases

Living in the USA, my fascination with contemporary cold cases - i.e. missing persons, unsolved murders and thefts - tends to be a tad provincial, revolving around mysteries encountered on television broadcasts and front pages devoted almost exclusively to "American" news. Opening the pages of Unsolved by Robert Hoshowsky, then, introduced me to a whole new world of who- and how- dunits. As I turned page after page, I couldn't help but ask myself "How the hell have I never heard of this case?"

Take eight-year-old Nicole Morin for example. On July 30th, 1985, shortly after 10:30AM, she left her family's apartment in Etobicoke, Ontario to go swimming with a friend. Before leaving the apartment, she said goodbye to her mother and also spoke via intercom with her friend waiting in the building's lobby. Then somehow, in the course of descending 20 floors, she simply vanished. After waiting about 15 minutes, Nicole's friend buzzed back to Nicole's apartment, got no answer, decided Nicole must be delayed and went off to the swimming pool without her. Only hours later, after Nicole failed to return home, did her family realize she'd gone missing. And that, as they say, is that.

Wow. How have I never heard this story before?

Unsolved is filled with cases like this: the stone-cold whodunit murder of entrepreneur, Frank Roberts; the appearance of seven severed feet washing up on the shores of British Columbia over the course several months (since solved: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2110052/Human-feet-washed-Pacific-coast-people-committed-suicide.html ). In some instances, Hoshowsky even presents some tantalizing theories to explain these untoward events, and this is where his study becomes most interesting. In most cases, however, he refrains from speculation out of sensitivity to the victims and survivors, Although I appreciate his discretion, as a reader and fellow cold case enthusiast I must confess my disappointment when his presentation simply concludes with the known facts.

These Canadian cases, like their counterparts worldwide, beg for hypotheses, theories and conjectures. In an upcoming blog, I will look at the Morin disappearance in more detail and try to provide some possible scenarios to explain her vanishing. For now, though, I can heartily recommend Hoshowsky's book as a fascinating introduction to unsolved mysteries that few, if any, Americans will know. For those wishing to further research Canadian missing persons and cold cases, these webpages may be a good starting point:

https://missingkids.ca/app/en/missing_children_database

http://listverse.com/2014/09/09/10-haunting-canadian-murders-that-no-one-can-solve/


For those interested in more cold cases and unsolved mysteries, check out my Crimes, Cons & Scams collection:

https://www.scribd.com/collections/11872131/Crime-Cons-Scams

From my Scribd Library - Badass by Ben Thompson

Badass by Ben Thompson

https://www.scribd.com/book/163580986/Badass


Kudos to Ben Thompson. I wish I would have come up with this concept first. Hard-boiled history written for guys who don't want analysis or political correctness. Just in-your-face action. Perfect fare if you're in the mood for bite-sized bios, ass-kicking anecdotes and rip-roaring yarns. Although his prose can be repetitive at times, Thompson serves up a bevvy of "awesome" one liners amid his over-the-top narrative and crude characterizations. And the history isn't that half-bad either, as long as you take it with a grain of salt and separate the comic hyperbole from fact. I liked Thompson's initial offering so much that I've added the rest of his canon to my library:

https://www.scribd.com/book/163649482/Badass-Ultimate-Deathmatch-Skull-Crushing-True-Stories-of-the-Most-Hardcore-Duels-Showdowns-Fistfights-Last-Stands-Suicide-Charges-and-Military

https://www.scribd.com/read/163612579/Badass-The-Birth-of-a-Legend-Spine-Crushing-Tales-of-the-Most-Merciless-Gods-Monsters-Heroes-Villains-and-Mythical-Creatures-Ever-Envisioned

For those interested in more unbuttoned history and ass-kicking heroes & superheroes, check out my History & Psuedo-History and Heroes & Superheroes collections:

https://www.scribd.com/collections/11872572/History-and-Pseudohistory

https://www.scribd.com/collections/11070342/Heroes-and-Superheroes

MK

The Big Lebowski, Best Movie EVER!

Okay, after my fiftieth viewing of The Big Lebowski, I stand even more firmly convinced that this Coen Brothers classic is simply - and without a doubt - the greatest movie .. EVER MADE. The Dude - his Dudeness, El Duderino - not only abides, he pretty much rules the entire cinematic universe. Okay, I can hear all you Citizen Kane, Godfather, Casablanca fans bleating from the balcony. The Lebowski? Really? So I guess it's just up to me to not only present the case for the Dude, but PROVE that no other film even comes close to one slacker's search for the ultimate Caucasian (aka a White Russian for all you uninitiated).

1) Jeff Bridges as the Dude. Rumor has it that Kurt Russell was also considered for this role. He would have been great. Love Kurt. But Jeff Bridges should have immediately been awarded the Lifetime Achievement Oscar the minute Lebowski wrapped. Every single f---ing scene with Bridges is a clinic. A CLINIC. Some actors need dialogue. Mr. Bridges delivers the finest scene in cinematic history without speaking a word: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fl7o1EB0sYI  .

2) John Goodman as Walter Sobchak. Okay, I understand that so-called film critics wax on and on about the "craft" of being a great supporting actor, but honestly John Goodman puts every other performer to shame. Proof? Just watch and listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8BdT5mFAk-Y . Watch Bridges just play off Goodman's genius. As for Steve Buscemi, the Academy needs to create a new award for him, Best Supporting Supporting Actor: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7AEMiz6rcxc . As for John Tuturro as The Jesus, Best Supporting Supporting Supporting Actor: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GZR58d77a4A .

3) The single funniest scene in cinematic history. The set up is simple. You've seen this scene a thousand times before in a thousand different detective movies. After some investigative work, The Dude and Walter track the stolen ransom money to a high school student who went joy riding in The Dude's car: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PztgWdMEJdg  Yes, that's Larry father in the background in an iron lung. AN IRON LUNG! They had to take me out of the movie theater and call an ambulance the first time I saw this I was laughing that hard.

So there you have it. I could go on and on and on and keep proving my point. But right now I feel like pouring myself a Caucasian and just chilling with my rug. BTW, I married my wife because she is the only woman I've ever known who loves this movie and totally gets it. I'm not saying that I wouldn't have married Jen anyway. But her appreciation of this masterpiece sealed the deal. To all bachelors out there, I recommend screening Lebowski with any prospective spouse just to see her reaction. If she can't just kick back and let the movie take her where its going, she may also have the same problem navigating the twists, turns and ludicrous non sequiturs of matrimony. But that's just .. like my opinion, man.

From my Scribd Library - The Cult of Personality Testing by Annie Murphy Paul

The Cult of Personality Testing by Annie Murphy Paul

https://www.scribd.com/book/225119370/The-Cult-of-Personality-Testing-How-Personality-Tests-Are-Leading-Us-to-Miseducate-Our-Children-Mismanage-Our-Companies-and-Misunderstand-Ourselves

I had the highest expectations for this book after seeing the title and reading the introduction. Confession - I DESPISE personality tests, neurolinguistic programming, lie detectors or any other "tool" that so-called experts believe can quantify and qualify our innermost thoughts, feelings and proclivities. In my opinion, people who place their faith in such pseudo/para scientific instruments stand the very real risk of harming themselves and others. Over the last 30+ years, I've known people who have lost jobs, reputations and families due to the misuse and abuse of psycho-babble snake oil. So I'll admit, I did bring a certain bias to my reading of The Cult of Personality Testing.  

As I started delving into the main body of the work, I found a plethora of good, solid information regarding personality testing presented crisply and cogently. If you're looking for a primary reference work on personality tests - their origins and originators - then this is your book. But ... (you felt the "but" coming, didn't you?) I'd be remiss if I didn't address the limitations of Ms. Paul's study. To my great disappointment, the book never delves deeply into the fallacies of these tests nor the irksome, oft-times irreparable harm they can cause. Judging by the title and introduction, I anticipated a thorough analysis and explication of each test exposing its content, structure, weaknesses and, frankly "how to beat it." I guess that's another book, though, which I'll continue looking for and may eventually research and write myself.

Despite its shortcomings, The Cult of Personality Testing takes its rightful place in my Reference and Science & Para-Science libraries due to its impeccable research and scholarship.

https://www.scribd.com/collections/11873888/Reference

https://www.scribd.com/collections/11872188/Science-and-Parascience

The Nigerian Factor, the 4-1-1 on 4-1-9

My fascination with Nigeria started years ago, back in college when I discovered Chinua Achebe. For those who don't know Achebe, he's just as influential a literary voice in Africa as Faulkner, Woolf, Ellison, Hemingway or Frost on this side of the Atlantic. You can read about him on Wikipedia ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chinua_Achebe ) and check out his seminal works Things Fall Apart, No Longer At Ease or his monumental lecture An Image of Africa: Racism in Conrad's Heart of Darkness. Achebe impacted my burgeoning literary and political awareness as much as Dizzy Gillespie and Mozart shaped my musical awareness. Because of Achebe, I devoured everything I could get my hands on regarding Nigerian life and culture. And then, a few months later, I moved onto my next intellectual obsession. I was in college, what can I say.

Fast forward ahead ten years or so and my next encounter with Nigeria. Make that encounters with Nigeria. Hundreds of them really, with the legions of Nigerian ministers, government officials and lonely widows that began filling my email inbox with untold opportunities to make millions of dollars .. for free. According to Andrew George Balfour, Esq., (chief solicitor with A.G. Balfour Chambers and Associates), Ms. Annabel Okem (computer scientist with the Bank of Nigeria) and countless other well-meaning citizens of the Federal Republic of Nigeria, all I needed to do was provide my bank account and other personal information so they could "legitimize" various family fortunes and ill-gotten gains, and then toss me a few million sumolians for my time and trouble.

The first time I received one of these emails twenty years ago, I was flabbergasted. The horrible spelling, mangled grammar and transparent ruse induced gales of laughter. With each and every successive email, my curiosity and amusement sharpened. Anyone who knows me has been subjected - at one time or another - to a long discourse on confidence games, swindles, frauds and scams of every persuasion. My fascination with The Life began when I saw Paper Moon and The Sting as a kid, and since that first introduction to ropers, hustlers, shills and vics I've been obsessed with the Art. With that first email from Nigeria, I immediately recognized the con - an updated but rather amateurish variation of the old Spanish Prisoner or Detroit-Buffalo game. Basically, the mark is persuaded into funding an advance fee that will clear the way for a big score, some crumbs of which he'll given for his trouble. How could anyone actually fall for this? As the emails continued, I started saving the most hilarious come-ons in my library while paper chasing the origin and logistics of The Nigerian Prince.

I quickly learned that what I was calling The Nigerian Prince was officially known as The 419 Scam. 419 is the article in the Nigerian legal code dealing with fraud. The game started on fax machines in the late 80s and early 90s, but really took off with the advent of universal email in the mid-90s. After amassing quite a bit of research on 419, I discussed it during one of my Fringewatch 2000 presentations at Borders Books in Westlake during the mid-90s. As I joked my way through the explanation, I noted one audience member who seemed none too amused. Afterwards, I learned why. Her brother had been duped by one of my "Nigerian Princes" to the tune of $50K, and he was still on their hook, wiring final payment after final payment via Western Union to his "legal representative" in Lagos. A few days later, I met with her and her brother at the Borders Cafe, outlined the con as best I could for him, and then watched in utter stupefaction as he called me a fool and stormed out.

That's the day that I really started taking 419 seriously. Further research put me in contact with individuals committed to exposing the dangers of 419 and, in some cases, actually scamming the scammers themselves. Websites such as 419 Eater ( http://www.419eater.com/ ) & The 419 Coalition  ( http://home.rica.net/alphae/419coal/ ) actively pursue 419 perps, and 419 Eater publicly posts their numerous online encounters with 419ers for public consumption and edification. Through the years, then, I've followed the development and spread of 419 into other countries as well as American and Western popular culture. With all the novels, movies TV shows and news exposés addressing 419, you'd think every potential mark would be forewarned and forearmed. Yet, 419 is still a multi-million dollar criminal enterprise every year, and recent revelations regarding the Nigerian organization Boko Haram have added yet another layer to the twisted tale of 419 ( http://1389blog.com/2014/06/06/nigerian-email-scams-419-frauds-fund-boko-haram/ ) Not only is 419 robbing marks of their hard-earned money, but women and children in Nigeria are being robbed of their freedom, as well. Needless to say, Chinua Achebe must be doing somersaults and pirouettes in his grave.

With all this in mind, I've found some readily accessible resources (see below) available to anyone wishing to further their understanding of this felonious phenomenon.

https://www.scribd.com/book/226429087/Email-Scams-From-Around-the-World-Well-Parts-of-Africa-Really

https://www.scribd.com/book/206606952/The-Nigerian-Fraud-Conspiracy-Finding-U-S-co-conspirators

https://www.scribd.com/book/233095619/A-Culture-of-Corruption-Everyday-Deception-and-Popular-Discontent-in-Nigeria

If anyone reading this post wishes to further discuss 419 or any other scams, please don't hesitate to contact me on this blog, or my email: chris.telamon65@gmail.com or m_e_kozak@yahoo.com .
Or on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/mark.e.kozak

From my Scribd Library - The Book of Bad: Stuff You Should Know Unless You're a Pussy by Christopher Lee Barish

The Book of Bad: Stuff You Should Know Unless You're a Pussy by Christopher Lee Barish

https://www.scribd.com/book/171535088/The-Book-of-Bad-Stuff-You-Should-Know-Unless-You-re-a-Pussy

I really wanted to love this book. I mean the concept is lock-stock-and-barrel in my wheelhouse. The cover and chapter headings promise oodles of taboo and forbidden knowledge, kind of like Bill Poundstone and/or Cecil Adams for the outlaw set. So I settled in and found an amusing, fast read. Which is exactly the problem.

The entries lack depth and insight. A book that advertises "inside information" should be packed with interviews or articles written by experts who have actually performed the disreputable and nefarious activities discussed. Alas, the author only feeds us some tantalizing tidbits and rollicking anecdotes.

I'm keeping TBoBS in my reference and crime library more as a nod to its high concept than its actual content. For anyone looking for similar reference titles involving "secret" information and basic outlawry, please consult my collections, Reference and Crimes, Cons & Scams, on Scribd:

https://www.scribd.com/collections/11873888/Reference

https://www.scribd.com/collections/11872131/Crime-Cons-Scams


MK

Work, Life, Mortality & Beethoven's Ninth Symphony

I've been wrong all these years about the last moments of my life. Based upon the countless anecdotes I've read regarding NDEs (near death experiences), I thought a million images would flicker simultaneously across the movie-screen in my mind before I saw the white light. This morning, however, I only saw white - inside my brain and outside the windshield.

I left the house in Avon Lake at 4:30AM to make it on time to my job in Solon, Ohio, fifty miles away. I was giving myself three whole hours to make the 60 minute commute. My gas tank was three-quarters full, and although I was hungry I decided to forego any food or drink until I was safely at my destination. Nothing worse than being stranded on the highway when Nature starts calling. After brushing off the Sedona, I cranked up Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, backed out of the drive, crunched through some un-plowed back streets, and then crept down Route 83 South towards the I90E entrance.

This is going to be a bad one. I already knew that, but I've been car-sledding along Cleveland's Highways To Hell for the last 30-odd years so I figured I'd be okay. Just take it slow. About 3 miles an hour should do it. At least I was the only one on the road. I mean how bad can it really get?

I found out a few miles later. Herbert von Karajan and the Berlin Philharmonic were already knocking out the final coda on Movement One, and I hadn't even reached the next exit yet at Crocker Road. Damn, this is going to take HOURS! And then it just happened, like when your satellite dish suddenly loses the TV signal. WHITE OUT. Not the kind of "this sucks" visibility where you can still navigate through the hazy screen of snowflakes. I mean WHITE OUT.

Just WHITE. All around and filling every window. So WHITE you suddenly wonder if you're actually still moving, that is until you feel the road beneath your new tires start spinning and your anti-lock brakes pulse like compression stockings. The snowflakes and Beethoven's fugato fill your eyes and ears with WHITE. No random images of Mount Rushmore, Buddy Rich live at the Agora, your wedding day or even The Big Lebowski. Just WHITE.

Then you stop moving. The van, the tires, the road. Everything stops. WHITE. And then Beethoven's second movement is suddenly alluding to the Ode To Joy theme from the Fourth Movement. I've noticed that a hundred times before, but it still surprises me every time. Not knowing what else to do, you exit your vehicle and walk around trying to get your bearings. Which way am I facing? Where's the road? For a moment, the whiteness abates, and you see the guard rail. Not even a foot from your passenger side door. You don't know why, but you get back in the mini-van, back up, point your front bumper east and forge ahead again. Beethoven's serene Third Movement has started, gracing your inner ears. The snow-blindness almost seems comforting now, like a blanket swaddled in a lullaby. Minutes roll and slide into more minutes.

The next WHITE OUT isn't a shock.  For a moment, you find yourself wondering if this isn't still the first WHITE OUT. You question whether you ever came to that first stop. This time the brakes only shudder slightly before you come to a gentle, rocking halt. You sit and listen as Beethoven wends through two more variations of theme one before the squall recedes. You put the Sedona in gear again and navigate the shoulder for a hundred yards before merging back onto I90 east. You drive another five minutes or so before the universe comes crashing back into your senses. F--- THIS! Not today. Not like this.

A minute later, the Fourth Movement has begun, and I'm calling and leaving a message for my boss. "Not today. Sorry." Then I call my wife, Jen, tell her I'm heading back home, and then lose myself in The Ode To Joy. Jen only has one question for me when I stagger into our back door an hour later. "Why did you even go out there in first place?" I mutter something about my job, my life and how I hate being one of the weak people who miss work because of the weather. She calls me an idiot and makes me a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee. I eat, watch the Today Show, think about God and Nature and Beethoven and Life and decide to take a nap. As I drift off to sleep, I hum the Ode To Joy and feel myself spinning and slipping, headlong and helpless in a universe of WHITE.

From my Scribd Library - I'm Perfect, You're Doomed: Tales from a Jehova's Witness Upbringing by Kyria Abrahams

I'm Perfect, You're Doomed: Tales from a Jehova's Witness Upbringing by Kyria Abrahams

https://www.scribd.com/book/224248349/I-m-Perfect-You-re-Doomed-Tales-from-a-Jehovah-s-Witness-Upbringing


To begin with, let me issue a disclaimer of sorts. I'm a sucker for books on cults & sects, be they scholarly investigations, true-believer screeds, polemic exposés or "I Used To Be In a Cult/Sect" memoirs. So when I cracked open I'm Perfect, my interest was already piqued. Over the first 50-60 pages, I discovered a well-written and laugh-out-loud narrative of growing up in a JW household. The author's career as a stand-up comedian is clearly apparent in a never-ending string of irreverent descriptions and absurd observations. By the book's halfway point, I was hooked and breezed through the rest of the book in a few hours. Unfortunately, I think Abrahams' prose and voice lose a lot of punch in the book's second half where her experiences as a JW devolve into an engaging but somewhat clichéd memoir of OCD and related issues. For anyone seeking a compelling memoir told from a unique perspective, I certainly recommended I'm Perfect, especially the first half of the book. For anyone looking for similar titles involving cults, sects, please consult my collection, Religion & Cults, on Scribd:

https://www.scribd.com/collections/11070316/Religion-Cults




MK

It's Been Awhile .. Is Anyone Still Out There?

Well, it's been awhile since I updated my writing career here. Like everyone else trying to indulge a creative passion while managing a "Real Life," annoying inconveniences like work, home & car repairs and family issues have a way of sapping creative output. Yes, I'm still working on White Picket Jungle (short stories from the Chris Telamon universe) and Stalking Mule, the follow-up novel to Cat & Cat. Unfortunately, real world obstructions have left me with a rather nagging case of creative constipation over the last 8-10 weeks. When I have time, I have no energy; when I have inspiration, I have no time.

In retrospect, I find myself wondering how the heck I ever finished Cat & Cat with the same schedule and relentless distractions. With the new year, I've set some new goals. I will finish my current projects and once again be more of a presence here, as well as Facebook, Linked-In & Pinterest. Now let's see how long that lasts.

I did receive some good news towards the end of the year regarding Cat & Cat. Several local libraries - Avon Lake, Porter Public, Lakewood, Oberlin & the Cuyahoga County system - are in the process of adding Cat & Cat to their e-book collections. They've all told me the same thing, however. "Get printed copies." I guess there's still a significant portion of our population that needs paper and ink. That in mind, I have the investment earmarked for this year, and I'm currently pricing printers. By this time next year, I fully expect to have hard copies of Cat in addition to the e-book.

Speaking of e-books, one of my best Xmas presents this year was a free 90-day trial to Scribd. If you're not familiar with Scrbd, it's kind of like a Netflix for e-books. My novel, Cat & Cat, is a featured title there:https://www.scribd.com/book/221640413/Cat-Cat  So, if you're on or into Scribd, please take a look at my novel, as well as my Library and Collections:https://www.scribd.com/mark1kozak/collections . I'd love suggestions for other material I might like. Just a quick perusal will give you a pretty good idea what I'm into.

That's all for now.

MK