Mrs. Wife and I had a proper night out last Saturday. We saw Daptone recording artists Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings. Ever hear of ’em? Fantastic. They’re funk/soul/rhythm and blues masters. The Dap-Kings are the band you hear backing Amy Winehouse on her stunning Back to Black album. We saw them, appropriately enough, at the beautifully refurbished Count Basie Theater.

It’s a big show with a dozen people on stage. It’s an old-style R&B review with a Master of Ceremonies, opening acts and members of the band given solo turns. But Sharon Jones is the real master. It’s been a long, long time since I’ve seen someone work a crowd the way she did. She told a great story about how she honed her skills in a wedding band. The band was a bunch of Italians and initially there was some push-back when the leader wanted to hire her. He told his band mates, “I can hire a white girl, but none of them can sing like SHE can.” That settled that.

If they come within shouting distance of your town, do yourself (and your soul) a huge favor and go see them. I guarantee you an unforgettable night. Here’s their tour schedule. Lucky Clevelanders can see them this Saturday night at the Beachland Ballroom. I have half a mind to drive out there and take in the show. And I’m not kidding. Here they are on a segment from Later with Jools Holland. By all means, turn it up, baby.

Last spring I assured The Daughters that they’d never see another winter like the one we just had. It was indescribably brutal. Mother Nature has, of course, made a complete liar out of me. Once again, we are being hammered with storm after storm. Today and tomorrow is a hellish mix of rain, sleet, freezing rain and snow. I feel the punishment but I can’t connect the sin.

The New York Times always finds interesting and elegant ways to describe the storm du jour. This last winter blast was described as “…a giant white smudge over the Northeast on radar maps.” Sheer poetry!

Here are some pics. These were taken in Soho where my offices are. I was particularly struck by the contrast of the white branches against the red brick.

Am I the only one who’s amazed that I can buy a banana—a tropical fruit—in the middle of Manhattan the day after a major blizzard? Ponder that for a moment. From a historical standpoint, it wasn’t that long ago that such a thing was unthinkable. The world has shrunk and we’re all better off for it, if you ask me.

Poor bicycle. Dead and buried. See you in June.

Bauman Rare Books is one of the premier rare book dealers in the U.S. I’ve always thought of them as the the dealer of choice for wealthy, lazy collectors. Granted, Bauman’s stock is top-shelf, but the prices they charge are so far above the market median that I can only think their clientele is people for whom money is no object. A little homework would turn up a comparable copy at a more reasonable price. But sometimes, they get a truly one-of-a-kind book and can charge whatever the hell they feel like. There IS no comparable!

Bauman occasionally buys a full-page ad in the New York Times Book Review. They’ll feature a dozen or so books. Most of them are show-off pieces. The type of posturing and preening you see at rare book fairs.

Currently, they have for sale, a Second Folio of Shakespeare plays (1632). It’s no exaggeration to say this book is a cornerstone of Western literature. There are fewer than 200 known copies and most of them are incomplete or somehow defective. This is a complete copy and is reported to be in excellent condition. Most of of the surviving copies are housed in institutions; there are very few in private hands.

So I would like this book. I’d like to keep it in my little hamlet in New Jersey. (Ha. See what I did there?) The asking price is $398K. That’s not so bad when you consider a First Folio would easily run in the millions. True, you can buy a house for $398K, but I’d really like this book.

Can you help me out, brothers and sisters?

This morning I had a spot of basal cell carcinoma removed from my forehead. It cost me a day of work and since I’m just a consultant, it will leave a hole in this month’s budget (not unlike the one in my head, as you will soon see). The doctor, who was a nice guy and had a good sense of humor, allowed me to take a few cell phone snapshots during the procedure. I am posting these as a cautionary tale. It should serve as a warning that there are consequences to be paid if you, like me, disdain sunscreen while walking on the beach. Sadly, my days as a bronzed God seem to be over. Will I ever turn a head again?

First, the numbing agent. It was a rather nasty looking needle and you bet your ass I felt it going in. After the initial injection (there were two) I had to sit for :10 minutes until it kicked in. The front quadrant of my entire head went numb. It still is.

He cut out a section of my forehead that was slightly larger than the affected area……and then bandaged me up.
The procedure is to take the extracted skin to a lab in the back room and examine it under a microscope to insure that all of the cancer cells were captured and none remain. The results took about :45 minutes. Well, guess what? He didn’t get it all! The doctor numbed my head again and extracted an even larger piece. I decided not to post a pic of that because it’s really horrifying.

The absolute worst part was getting stitched-up tight. My head was still numb but I could feel the thread running through my skin and the two open pieces of my forehead being pulled together. The doctor had to do some tugging to get it all to meet in the middle. I almost got sick. I felt him knotting the thread and heard it being clipped.

He got it all the second time around, thank God. I wasn’t about to let him hack any more of my head away. My friend D told me I should tape two bolts to my neck and chase children in the subway.

WEAR YOUR GODDAMN SUNSCREEN!