Who Killled The Kennedys?

The night Barack Obama was elected president, people were dancing in the streets of New York. Our man had won against the GOP. I looked into the eyes of a man my age and we started crying, not out of joy, but because of the sadness of the lost years since 1968. He was one of us. He took office two months later. The presidential limousine drove his from the inauguration stage to a series of parties. Thousands of supporters gladhanded their president and at the end of the festivities Barack Obama found himself in the White House.

The Oval Office. The Red Phone to Moscow. The Briefcase. They were his along with two wars and a shattered economy. He must have looked at his wife and said, "What now?"

If I was Michelle, I would have said, "What about the Kennedys?"

Then again I'm from Boston.

Still the President must have access to deep, dark secrets buried by various agency; Roswell, Martin Luther King, Pearl Harbor. Some many questions, yet nothing new has come to light during the first years of his administration and considering the body count for asking the wrong questions, so I can appreciate his patience.

It takes time to unbury the truth.

Maybe the truth will be set free on 11/22/2012.

Unless the world ends as predicted by Hollywood.

Sleeping Khmer

Tiger Woods' Girl

Back in 1979 I was working at Hurrah's, Manhattan's only punk disco. My girlfriend, a blonde B Model from Buffalo, was rightfully jealous of my late hours. We had met at the Romantics' concert. Lisa was so beautiful that I abandoned by live-in girlfriend for her. She was wrong to suspect my doing the same to her. I was faithful throughout our yearlong affair. Women don't like being wrong and one night as I was leaving for work she smacked the back of my head with the new frying pan that my mother had brought as a Christmas gift. I dropped to my knees, thankfully my mother had bought steel instead of cast iron.

"Don't hit me again."

"You're not leaving this apartment." Lisa swung for the fences at my head.

I ducked the blow and disarmed Lisa. My income from Hurrah was split two ways. I chucked the frying pan in the corner and stormed from the apartment. Lisa never said she was sorry, giving me the unwanted insight into the murderous temper coursing in a woman's veins and the famed golfer Tiger Woods might have have experienced a close encounter of a very jealous woman the other night.

Police report his leaving his Florida house in the early morning. 2am. I know that part of Florida. There is nowhere to go at that hour. His SUV hit a tree. The police came to the scene of the accident. His injuries were not those attributable to a car crash. Fingers point to a broken golf club wielded by his blonde wife. Police are investigating the matter, but Tiger should seriously consider sleeping away from his gated community for the next couple of weeks, because his wife probably has a better swing than my Lisa.

Motive for the attack.

Another woman.

Tiger was guilty whereas I was innocent.

Then again all men are guilty in the eyes of a jealous woman.

Why Thai Girls Sleep So Much?

The crowd at Donovan's Sports Bar was watching a golf match. I was drinking a vodka-tonic. At a break in the action an oil worker complained that his new girlfriend slept most of the day. His friends said that their girlfriends suffered from a similar somnalepsy. The oil worker hailed from Texas. He was overweight and bald. "And when she wakes up, she eats like an escapee from a concentration camp then watches Thai soap operas before sleeping into a coma."

"Same with me." His friends were dumbfounded by the malaise. Sleeping 20 hours a day has to be a disease. The golfers were glad it wasn't infectious. Donovan's owner had a 4-handicap. To the oil worker this skill was genius and he asked Steve, if he had any idea why their girlfriends slept like the dead.

"I don't have a girlfriend." Steve was the smartest man in the bar. His Thai waitresses understood more English than they let on and he changed the subject. "Think Tiger Woods will play the Hong Kong Open?"
The golfers bailed after another drink. Their tee-off at Khao Kheo Golf Course was scheduled for 9. I paid my bill. Steve forestalled my departure with an offer of another vodka-tonic. My finances were suffering from the skinnies ie brokedom and I accepted his buy-back with gracious humility. Steve and I discussed Manning's Scramble in the Super Bowl.

"In the regular season he would have been whistled dead."
"Caught in the grass." I am a Patriots fan.

We clinked glasses and he said, "I don't have a girlfriend, because I hear too many stories from my customers about theirs."

"I won't ever tell you about winning the Worst Girlfriend of the Year in 2001."

"Thanks, my head filled with enough unhappy endings to write a soap opera, but I have a question. Why you think Thai girls sleep so much?"

His question echoed off an unspoken affair whose mysteries defied his rational mind. I speak Thai. I know bar girls on a platonic level. They tell stories about 'customers'. Some of them might be true.

"The most obvious answer is the one no one wants to believe."

"Which is?"

"They're tired. You try spending a night with a drunken farang sucking down beers and tequila like the Taliban were at the city gates. I promise you that you would be a little slow to get out of bed."

"But that's not the real answer, is it?" Steve wasn't accepting the easy way out.

"No, their sleeping sickness is either pretend or a reaction to having to spend so much time with a farang. Faking sleep keeps you off them. Not many people have a fantasy about sex with a sleeping woman. The second option is that they are so freaked by being with a farang that they wrap sleep around them like a blanket. You have to think of it like astronaut in suspended animation for inter-planetary travel only Thai girls sleep after they've landed on Mars. They have no interest in the Martians.

"You mean us?"

"We are the farangs. Did you ever see BOB CAROL TED AND ALICE. Ann Margret sleeps throughout her affair with Jack Nicholson. Why? Because she didn't want to be there."

"So what do you do when your girlfriend sleeps?'"

"I certainly don't wake her." The peace during their slumber was priceless.

"Let sleeping dogs lie."

"As long you're in bed for when they wake up."

We clinked glasses again and I ordered another drink. It was pushing my budget. What the heck. My wife was out of town and my mia noi was already asleep. I was safe. If only for tonight.

Never No Ugly

There is nothing ugly; I never saw an ugly thing in my life: for let the form of an object be what it may, – light, shade, and perpective will always make it beautiful.

John Constable

Wakee Wakee

Tower of Babble

The global economy of the late-20th Century depended on unimpeded growth. Double-digit supports of production were extolled as paradigm's of capitalistic success and 3rd World economies shed their backwater status with the dawn on the new millennium.

Bigger, taller, larger, faster were the axioms for the new era of excess.

Pattaya joined the frenzy with the spread of condos and enclosed villages blotting the former farmlands and fishing villages along Thailand's Eastern Seaboard. Nothing and no one was allowed to stand in the path of progress and bolstered by that philosophy a real-estate developer announced the planned construction of Asia's highest residential tower in Nah-Jomtien.

Ocean One. 367 meters tall. The crowning jewel of Jomtien. 2005.

Developers promoted the site. Government officials cut ribbons. A new street was built for the 91-story tower. Buyers dropped million to gain access to heaven on earth.

2009.

No tower.

The project went bust and the investors are left owning air.

A victim of greed and unsustainable growth.

Somehow no one in Dubai ever heard about its failure.

Sorry, but 'sum num nah'.

The Seven Pillars of Nothing

In SEVEN PILLARS OF WISDOM TE Lawrence wrote about a visit to a desert castle. His host led the British officer through a series of room, each whose walls were permeated with frankincense, myrrh, and other exotic fragrances. They finally arrive at a very simple room. One window. It's open to the desert.

"What do you smell?" asked the host.

"Nothing."

"No, that scent is the desert and we had the desert before the arrival of the English and we will have it after you go."

This story was meant to highlight the impermanence of Western Influence on the Arab world, however no one in Dubai seems to have shared that sentiment in view of the present financial crisis in that Gulf State.

$80 billion in debt.

The actual Emirati population is 17% of 2.3 million inhabitants.

Each one owing roughly $200,000 to the banks thanks to the unbridled development of the emirate. Giant skyscrapers, massive housing development, and a modern infrastructure cost money. More than Dubai could generate from its projects. The country's leaders are begging the banks for a six-month grace period to re-organize its debt. They will probably receive the same answer I got from my bank about a series of unexplained overcharges.

"Bank policy firms states...."

In other words Dubai is fucked and world financial markets reacted with a slight panic, for the international banks had deemed Dubai a safe bet. Once more capitalism was wrong and this debacle is sure to effect over economies around the globe.

It's a small world after all and to paraphrase Rick from CASABLANCA, "We'll always have the desert."

Pride of Man - Quicksilver Messenger Service / Song of the Day

"Of God Pride of Man broken in the dust again."

How apropos for these times.

This song was written by Hamilton Camp. Quicksilver Messenger Service recorded it for their 1st album in 1968. On LSD John Cippolina's guitar touched every cells in your soul with the chagrin of greatness.

They were bigger than the Grateful Dead too and still are in my mind.

More proof I'm just an old hippie.

To hear this song click on the following URL.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f3A6-1BNHio

Not So Fast

Facebook didn't not ban me. The problem was due to my cookie settings. And I thought my comment was important enough to merit censorship. I guess I'll have to go to the bad words. Seven according to George Carlin.

* Shit
* Piss
* Fuck
* Cunt
* Cocksucker
* Motherfucker
* Tits

Anything else is acceptable.

My pride is my shame.

Left or Right

My flight to Beijing left American airspace someplace over Plattsburg, NY. Several F-16s are permanently on call to protect the country from terrorist attacks. On 9/11 only twelve jets were available for interception of the final hijacked plane. Its target was supposedly the White House. It crashed in Pennsylvania. America has been riven into two camps by that day.

Left or right.

In truth the division dates back to the 50s and 60s.

To the right the left are commies and to the left the right are Nazis.

These accusations were best stated in the famous William F. Buckley - Gore Vidal debate during the 1968 Democratic Convention.

William Buckley had served the nation as the WWII honor guard for Harry Truman, whereas Gore Vidal was stationed in the Aleutian Islands, an infamous destination for suspect homosexuals. The two argued about the validity of the US involvement in Vietnam. Vidal told Buckley, "Shut up a minute."

Buckley accused the Yippie protesters of Nazism and Vidal responded by saying, "As far as I'm concerned, the only sort of pro-Crypto-Nazi I can think of is yourself."

Bill Buckley got hot.

"Now listen, you queer. Stop calling me a crypto-Nazi, or I'll sock you in the goddamn face and you'll stay plastered."

Classic confrontation TV.

To see this moment in history go to the following URL

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nYymnxoQnf8

THe Future of Mankind

Technology is advancing at a blinding speed in the 21st Century. Someone born in the last century would not recognize the modern world. Many of the changes have been technological; cellphones, computers, lasers, and GM crops. These innovations have led to drastic social upheavals as the peasant classes have descended on the cities to achieve fame and fortune. Most people never realize these goals and their lives are devoid of any human contact other than at the workplace.

Singapore and Hong Kong are renown as the most unsexy cities in Asia. Manhattan has become an enclave of aging singles. The population of Europe is shrinking thanks to the lack fo sex between adults. Pregnancy is a teenage phenomena. I have friends who ahven't had sex in years. I was one of them. My email inbox is crammed with offers for porno, viagra, penis growth, and baldness cures. The other day a new missive came from the business servicing older men without women.

Love robots from Japan.

Better than the real thing.

The price affordable.

And you never have to take them out on a date.

Oh the beauty of the modern world

Thai etiquette #1 (wai greeting)

When I was traveling through Tibet, herdswomen greeted strangers by sticking out their tongue. At first I thought it was a come-on, but my guide explained that Tibetans devils don’t have tongues, hence I stuck out my tongue before entering any encampment. If you didn’t respect this custom, then the villagers would stick out their tongues to show that they were not demons. They expected the same offering from strangers.

Everyone greets people differently.

Western traditions include Americans shaking hands, the French kissing cheeks and the English knocking you out with a head butt.

Thais rarely shake hands and if they do it’s a limp-wrist clasp like they fear you’ll snatch away their arm. Instead they prefer the traditional wai. The joined palms are held to the chest and the head is lowered in deference.

The higher the status of the person you are greeting, the higher you hold your hands and the deeper your bow. A revered monk blessing your house deserves the class A wai. Bringing your hands to the bridge of your nose. The over-the-head wai with floor prostration is reserved for the king.

I had a friend from Yala.

She was an elderly woman running a school. Her family was connected to the royals and when we traveled people would instantly drop to the ground. She said, “I like being with you, because it’s hard to talk to people like this.”

I wai authority figures ie doctors, lawyers, and my wife’s father. Never a cop looking for tea money, unless he’s angry. A wai is a perfect gesture for eating crow.

You do not have to wai beggars or girls in short time bars. Kids don’t get wai-ed either. People will think you an idiot if you do or rather more an idiot than they think most farangs are.

A simple nod or a tip will suffice

Exercising good manners can earn good results. I was staying on Tioman Island during the visit of a sultan. After finishing his address to the locals, his highness made his way back to his yacht. the backpackers gawked at his passing. I wai-ed him.

He came over and asked where I was from.

"New York.”

"New York.” he smiled and held my arm. “I went to Studio 54 there.”

"I worked at Studio.” I was doorman for its last month.

"Really. How would you like to have tea on my boat?”

"Love to.” The tea was sweet and the view from the deck sublime.

The reward for obeying etiquette.

Size of Penis

The Thai government will be issuing free paper tapes to measure a man's penis size according to width. The range will be 49-52-53-54-56 millimeters. The test is suggested to improve the use of condoms within the macho society. Those men with larger and smaller penises will be left out of the push to combat the rising number of those men infected with the AIDS virus.

"Larger size condoms can slip off or deaden the pleasure during sex, while smaller ones will cause discomfort to wearers. These factors dissuade people from using condoms - which encourages the spread of HIV/Aids. Making good fitting condoms available will be useful in dealing with the reemerging HIV/Aids problem as well as promoting the widespread practice of safe sex in Thailand." Group organizer said about organ.

Free condoms will be distributed throughout cities and villages.

No one seems to consider the shame of a man finding out his penis is smaller than normal or that some men might wear the paper tape to boast of their girth. I expect a big spike in penis enlargement sales.

The best way to measure your penis is to stand and measure the penis parallel to the floor. Tape from the root on top to the tip. Do so on different days. Sometimes we are larger than other. Calculate the average size by adding the findings and then dividing by the tests.

My size is well-known.

Almost 6 inches.

Plenty for me, although for once I'd like to hear a woman say, "Not with that you don't."

Actually I have heard that, but they were more talking about me.

Brooklyn Tony ON MATH

Brooklyn Tony returns from school and says he got an F in
arithmetic..

"Why?" asks the father.

The teacher asked ' How much is 2 x 3,' I said "6,'" replies
TONY.

"But that's right!" says his dad.

"Yeah, but then she asked me ' How much is 3 x 2?'"

"What's the fucking difference ?" asks the father.

"That's what I said!"

Moose of the Road

Mrs Carolina 1995 and I were on a road trip. NYC-Maine. we stopped at Govonis Italian Restaurant, 521 Lost River Rd, North Woodstock, NH for a plate of veal and a couple of bottles of wine. it was biker weekend. A lot of leather. As we were fixing to leave, several of them warned, "Be careful about the moose."

"You want me to drive?" My driving scared Mrs. Carolina 1995.

"I been riding these roads since I was six." Most of them as a hitchhiker or backseat driver behind my father.

All the hotels were filled in Laconia. It was biker weekend. The only rooms were in Conway, 30 miles across the White Mountains. I drove along the Kankamangus Highway at 50. a safe speed on a full moon night. Nearing the pass I spotted movement in the underbrush.

Yeti?

No, moose. A whole tribe of them gamboled onto the road. I jammed on the brakes. They turned their heads with disdain, as they ambled across the road.

"Moose?" Mrs. Carolina 1995 eyed the passing herd.

"Moose." The biggest was a bull. 10 feet tall with 15-foot broad antlers. An accident with him would have been a fatality and the bikers back at Govonis could say, "He said he knew all about moose."

I drove away from the pass convinced that moose were the king of the road.

At least up north they own the road.

Dreams of Taylor

Dreams of Taylor

The term 'generation gap' was coined during the tumultuous years following World War 2 as the focus of the American media swung from the conquerors of the Axis Powers to their spawn, the Baby Boomers. Big Crosby gave way to Elvis and the King was deposed by the Beatles. Each succeeding wave of teenagers have attempted to assassinate the influence of the previous generation and I now find myself adrift in a sea of ignorance when it comes to popular culture.

My last landfall was Nirvana.

The year was 1991.

Almost twenty years ago so when my nephew called from U Penn this summer, his request to aid him in meeting Taylor Swift seemed as hopeless as a homo sapiens asking a Neanderthal to drive a Lexus.

"Huh?" It's the only Neanderthal word to survive their extinction.

"Uncle Bubba, don't tell me you have no idea who Taylor Swift is?" His voice was rimed with pity. He called me by that name, as all my nieces and nephews have since they were babies. It sounded so cute back then.

"Let me guess." She didn't sound like a go-go dancer or porno starlet. Those names are tattooed on memory like hieroglyphics on the pyramids. Taylor Swift formed a face and then a career. Her cherubic features had graced the cover of People at the 7/11 check-out counter. "She's pretty."

"Is there any way you can help me meet her?"

I had known Franka all his life. He was genuine. I was the uncle with the connections. There was only one answer.

"I'll see what I can do."

Throughout the hot season I called my contacts in the music industry. They were powerless or worse regarded my story as a thin veil to meet the skinny blonde country singer. My friends know my type. Franka was resigned to his fate.

"I'll never meet her."

I had felt the same about Francoise Hardy. Her PREMIERE BONNE DU JOUR remains a French classic along with LE TEMP D'AMOUR. We met at a dinner in the 13e arrondisement. At 40 she was ravisssant. Her husband, Jacques, smoked a cigar. He thought he was a genius. Selling a couple of million records can blow up your head.

A trip to Thailand and I forgot about Taylor Swift. My wife is my only vixen. Chicken bone thin. Mem is my ideal.

Back in New York I worked selling diamonds. Somedays success. Others complete failure.

My cell phone rang in late-October.

"Uncle Bubba." It was Franka. He had not forgotten my pledge. "You have a friend a Saturday Night Live."

"The art director." We went back to a softball victory over the Upper West Side's best team in 1987. He was ten years younger than me. His latest award was an Emmy. Franka was supposed to be study medicine. His interest in the country western singer would have been spooky in any other person, but my nephew was too cool to be a stalker.

"Can you get us tickets to next week's show? Taylor Swift is the host."

I'll see what I can do." The art director was a friend. One of us had driven in the winning run of that game two decades ago. Neither of us could remember who that was.

Getting tickets to the show was tough. Taylor Swift was in demand. Kanye West almost shouted her off the stage of the MTV awards. White outrage translated into sales. She was everyone's girl.

"You don't really want to watch the show." The art director realized I was happy to sit backstage.

"Only certain sections. Like the opening." It was the best part of the show. If it sucked, then the rest of the show sucked too.

His job granted me wandering rights to SNL. My nephew was happy with this option, since the odds of his meeting Taylor Swift were greater in the working area than the third seat on the farthest right.

"What should I say when I meet her?" Franka actually believed this was a star-crossed rendezvous.

"Just be natural." This was good advice. Not great. Only good.

I mentioned the show to my older brother. He was not too happy about Franka's coming to see me. It was parents’ weekend at Penn. Tuition was 30K.

"Franka should be studying."

I agreed with my older brother, but left the decision to see the show with Franka. His mother called to say 'don't disappoint my son'. She knew how much seeing Taylor Swift meant to Franka. I was beginning to feel the pressure.

The night of the show Franka took the bus up from Phillie. We met at my apartment in Fort Greene. I explained to him about being back stage. "Be there but don't be in anyone's way. Don't say nothing to anyone, unless they say something first."

We were waved through the barriers at 30 Rock. Our names were on a list. The art director's son was waited for us at the elevator. I introduced him to my nephew. Franka blurted out his desire. Austin understood the situation. He was 18. They were of the same generation. Nothing they said made any sense and I wondered if they had been abducted by aliens. I retreated inside the offices for the opening.

Franka needed this moment alone and I was giving it to him as long as he was with Austin. He found me backstage with a glass in my hand. Austin's father was familiar with my needs.

"How was it?"

"It was awesome. You made my year. I might not have met her, but she walked a foot away from me." He grinned like a paparazzi finally capturing a photo of a reclusive celebrity. "She was so cool. She even smiled at me."

"Good." I had watched most of the show on a monitor. Taylor Swift smiled a lot. She had a pretty smile. Most 20 year-old beautiful country-western sensations are lucky that way. Austin's father proposed that we head over to the after-show party at Oceania, a restaurant not far from 30 Rock.

"Can we go?" Franka was enthused by the possibility of seeing his obsession another time. He also had a schoolmate in SNL. Jenny Slate. She had been funny that night.

It was past my bed hour. I had less than $20 in my pocket. There was only one answer.

"Sure."

The party was filled with show members, guests, and friends of the crew. I only knew Austin's father. He was speaking with the music director of MTV. I had nothing to add to their conversation and wandered out back to the table farthest from the action. A beer in my hand. Franka had one too. Austin wasn't drinking. We sat down and Franka recapped his evening to Austin. I was more than ready for bed, then saw the two boys' eyes light up like they were having an epiphany.

Taylor Swift was coming our way. She sat down at the table next to us. She was right next to me. She was speaking with Jenny Slate. The trial member of the cast waved to Franka. She remembered him from Milton Academy. Taylor was having trouble with her cell phone. This was his chance. I gave him the green light. So did Austin. Franka to the rescue. He fixed the problem and spoke with Taylor for two seconds. I heard him ask for a photo. I had my camera in my pocket. I took it out fast. Her security saw it in my hand. I had to act fast. The first shot was with fast. The second was perfect.

"I loved your show. Best wishes for your success." I told the star as her bodyguards assume their protective shield. She really was pretty. Her smile wasn't fake and I had liked her performance. Franka was in heaven. We went to find Austin's father. His conversation was over and he was ready to head back to Brooklyn.

Franka was good to go too.

He had accomplished his mission.

In the morning I made him breakfast.

"I don't know how I can go back to Penn and lead a normal life after last night."

"I don't know either, but you will find a way."

"Thanks, Uncle Bubba."

"No problem." I was only doing what men nicknamed Uncle Bubba are supposed to do.

Coming through with the impossible.

Lost in Burma

The power in Burma rests with the families of SLORC, the ruling junta. The generals' sons, daughters, and grandchildren have been blessed with the 'droit de seigneur' or the feudal rights of privilege over the masses of the oppressed, even those who are deemed valuable to the junta. Just last year the ultimate leader's grandson kidnapped a top fashion model to avenge a loss of face by his best friend. Her ransom was paid after three days. Rumor mills in the capitol say the price was taken in flesh. SLORC banned any mention of the abduction in the press or that the grandson likes Ecstasy.

“Sometimes, government intelligence services produce rumors as tactics of psychological warfare,” said a journalist in Rangoon who spoke on condition of anonymity. “Sometimes rumors come from rival groups among the ruling hierarchies.”

Interesting if true.

Then again no American newspapers commented on GW Bush snorting cocaine during his presidency.

Never touched the stuff.

Me neither.

But even old GW Bush was no kidnapper.

At least of women.

He was more into Arab men.

Ugly

Photos of War are ugly. It is not a video game or a Hollywood re-make of THE A-TEAM. The US Military shoots over a billion bullets a year in Iraq and Afghanistan. Many of them hit their targets. Many more hit anyone in their path. And the smart bombs aren't much better. After two soldiers drowned in a Hindu Kush River, a coalition fighter bombed friendly forces searching for the missing men. It's all ugly and it won't get pretty, until someone has the courage to call for a cease-fire.

It's not a question of 'yes, we can' anymore. It's 'yes, we will'.

End the war.

The above photos are from Kabul. The left is 1974 and the right 2000.

Click on the photo to enlarge.

The Enemy is US

"The face of Satan was here in Fallujah, and I'm absolutely convinced that that was true," said Lt. Col. Gareth Brandl, with the U.S. Marines fighting for control of the Iraqi city of Fallujah after discovering a torture pit in several houses. The year was 2004. The Marines had attacked the city after four KBR contractors had been ambushed on the Fallujah bridge and hung from the girders. They were protecting a convoy supplying an ESS catering operation servicing another KBR operation and no one has ever explained what KBR was doing in Fallujah.

Torture?

Child molestation?

Cleaning the water?

I have no fucking idea, but this organization is pure evil.

Still working for the USA.

“Torture is wrong, even when Americans do it.”
~ God , 2007-10-01

Oh Happy Days

"I don't see what the trouble is with making prisoners stand for a long time. I stand at my job all the time."

The Land of the Free (bad photos)

The US Defence Secretary has succeeded in stonewalling the release of American troops torturing terror suspects in the occupied territories of Afghanistan and Iraq. His request was backed by the Obama Administration on the grounds that the publication of such graphic photos could subject US soldiers to a greater risk than they already experience in those two countries. The ACLU has argued that that 21 of these images represent 'an important part of the historical record". In truth their release will shed more light on the widespread abuse of prisoners held by the US military without ever reveal the true extent of the CIA Rendition Program.

Murder, torture, blackmail ad nauseum.

"Say it ain't so."

GW Bush protested the drastic measures of the CIA, US Military, and their private contractors prevented acts of terror against America, especially through his Vice President Dick Cheney.

“In seeking to guard this nation against the threat of catastrophic violence, our administration gave intelligence officers the tools and lawful authority they needed to gain vital information.”

President Obama has supposedly closed the secret prison and detainee ships around the globe and said about the previous practices of the Bush Administration, “Our [former] government made decisions based upon fear rather than foresight and all too often trimmed facts and evidence to fit ideological predispositions. In other words, we went off course.”

Really far off course and Defense Secretary Robert Gates shows that off-course is someplace where the CIA and Pentagon feel really comfortable.

Win Lose or Draw.

The Location of X

My first major in college was Math. The field of study was chosen by mother. My 710 score in the Math SATs provided convincing proof that her second son was a future Einstein. She was not privy to the fact that I was smoking pot and dropping acid. Both opened my mind to the infinite, while reducing my ability to add and subtract. I survived the first two semesters. My grade for multi-variable calculus was a B-. Without the drugs it might have been a B.

I started an affair with a divorcee the summer between freshman and sophomore years.

Linda worked in the same office as my father. She wore lingerie. We had sex for hours twice a week in the back of my car. I moved into a small apartment near my college. Sex in a bed was better than in the back of a VW Bug. I drove taxi to pay the rent. My grades suffered, since my math class was at 8am. I missed most of them. My professor for linear algebra was Rene Marcuse. He could calculate missile trajectories in his head. My mid-term result was a D+. I showed up for the final two weeks of classes.

"Who are you?" He asked from the front of the class.

I told him my name.

"I thought you had withdrawn from the class." He was short and bald. A little overweight, but his eyes sparkled with an intelligent designed for NASA and not a pot-smoking underclassman.

"No." I explained that I was working to pay for school.

"You know you're in danger of failing?"

"Yes." I hadn't realized that you could pull out of a class mid-term. This was December. Too late to withdraw and my ignorance committed me to taking the final.

My crash cram failed to pierce the intricacies of determinant and vector spaces. I showed up at the final with the book in my hand. I cheated without any fear. I paraphrase the text regardless of the question. Two hours were more than enough. At the end of time I handed in my test.

"How you think you did?" Professor Marcuse asked staring at my textbook.

"Aced it." I went out and smoked a joint and then went to work. I didn't get home until 3am. I made over $70. This was good money in 1972 and would have to be. I read my test score on the math department wall.

15.

"Aced it?" Professor Marcuse was standing behind me.

"Better than a zero." I was in danger of failing out of my college. My lottery number was 81. If i wasn't going to school, then I was headed for Viet-Nam. "But not good enough to keep me for of the Army."

"If you drop Math as a major. I'll give you a D-." Professor Marcuse was offering a lifeline and I took it. My mother was disappointed, but I sat out the war with Linda in my cold-water apartment and I thanked Rene Marcuse for keeping me a civilian.

Bad math would have determined another destiny.

2012 - Movie

The Model from Paris has been predicting the end of the world since our re-connection on Facebook. The hand at the wheel of our doom is divine, however in the newly-released film 2012 the cause of the apocalypse are those pesky sun rays. Without any Sunblock 1000 the earth's core melts the tectonic plates. California slips into the Pacific as predicted by crackpots throughout the 20th Century.

Spectacular even on the small screen of my computer.

Of course most of the main characters survive the cataclysm.

Those Hollywood actors die hard and even the extras are tough.

If only I should be so lucky to be an extra in the earth's final hour.

I know Bruce Willis would find a way to save me.

Knock-off Art in Bangkok

Keith Haring lived in the East Village. He hung around with my girlfriend, Ann M. I saw him at various art galleries around the world. His paintings on dog boys on their knees found a niche in the market. He made millions and left it all to his friends and foundation. Keith was a good guy and probably would appreciate Jirapat Tatsanasomboon's stealing his image for his recent paintings for a show in Bangkok.

Plagiarism is a great compliment, although Ferrari didn't think so when I was knocking off their shirts and jackets.

Jirapat has incorporated traditional Thai heroes for his versions of works by Haring, Warhol, Jeff Koons, Robert Indiana and other pop icons. None of their lawyers have contacted him yet, but I'm sure Andy Warhol's foundation will come knocking.

Art is just not a man's name.

To see Jirapat Tatsanasomboon's work click on this URL

http://www.thavibu.com/thailand/jirapat_tatsanasomboon/THA2200.htm

Millions for Andy Warhol

A reporter once asked Andy Warhol his opinion about art. The pop icon answered without hesitation. "It's a nice name for a man."

Warhol has been dead for years, yet his paintings have not lost their allure as evinced by the record prices his works achieved in the recent New York auction.

Millions upon millions for the estate of his friend Fred Hughes.

Also dead.

Proving that while you can't take it with you, just because you're dead doesn't mean you can't make money.

In Vino Madidus

Staying with Latin.

Sitting at home with a bottle of wine.

Non veritas

Solo madidus

In vino madidus

A paraphrase of Caesar's classic 'veni, vedi, vinci' or 'I came, I saw, I conquered'.

Adepto madidus means I came I drank I fell over.

We've all been Classical Latin at some time.

Koh Kong - The Last Refuge

I've been to Cambodia's Koh Kong more times than I've been to Berlin. My passport is dotted with entry and exit stamps to and from the border town on the Gulf of Siam or Gulf of Thailand as the body of water is labeled on the maps of the Lonely Planet Guidebook. It's a quiet coastal town with a few beer bars and brothels servicing the local male population and those westerners who have missed the boat to Sihanoukville. The provincial peace has been threatened by the designs of Thailand's deposed PM Thaksin Shinawatra, who has announced big plans for Koh Kong.

Hotels, golf courses, and casinos.

The benefits of the modern world with 7/11s on every corner.

All the money going to his selfless effort to regain power in Thailand via his loyal red-shirted supporters.

Sad to say as close as Koh Kong is to Thailand, it's not Thailand and if there's one thing I've learned from Thais over my long years in that country they love Thailand and nowhere else. Of course Koh Kong had been once been a Thai frontier post. Maybe an actress can claim the city for Siam like one did the ruins at Angkor Wat.

Until then Thaksin would be well advised to study the classic palindrome 'Able I was ere I saw Elba'.

The Power of Pussy

My old girlfriend's band BONGWATER recorded a great song THE POWER OF PUSSY in 1990. I couldn't find the lyrics online, but I bow to the beauty of a woman's honeypot. I never feel less like a man than when I'm within a woman to paraphrase a line from Wim Wender's KINGS OF THE ROAD. I worship pussy. Even more than beer, but I was surprised to hear that women in the UK are cosmetically altering their vagina to achieve a trim labia look.

The $5000 procedure is basically a female circumcision of what some women consider excess flesh or beef hangers in the parlance of British lager louts. The labioplasty is combined with a permanent defoliage of the pubic hair. The look of a Lolita for women of all ages. The operation hit over a 1000 in the UK. Numbers in the USA are unknown.

Some doctors aren't scared of promoting the operation.

"Essentially this is just about removing a bit of loose flesh, leaving behind an elegant-looking labia with minimum scarring. The procedure won't interfere with sexual function. Women want this for a number of reasons - some find it uncomfortable to ride a bike for instance, but for the majority it is aesthetic, that's true. Lads' mags are looked at by girlfriends, and make them think more about the way they look. We live in times where we are much more open about our bodies - and changing them - and labioplasty is simply a part of this."

I can only shake my head.

I had no choice about circumcision and have been seeking my foreskin from Boston's Beth Israel. it has to be there somewhere.

I Can't Believe it's Not Butter

Butter was supplanted by margarine in the 1960s. Ads extolled its taste and the supermarkets priced the corn-based spread cheaper than butter. I refused to eat the shit. My mother and father wouldn't buy butter, so I used the money from my paper route to buy butter. I wouldn't give any to my sisters or brothers unless they joined the boycott against margarine. My father joined the rebellion after I had him taste mashed potatoes with butter.

"It tastes better."

Because it was real.

Wisconsin was the only state in the Union to back my fight. Margarine was declared illegal by its legislature. Marlon Brando furthered the cause by spreading butter on his female co-star's buttocks for the infamous anal entry scene in LAST TANGO IN PARIS.

Butter was all-purpose.

It spreads better.

My brother-in-law feels the same way and sent this email missive today.

Margarine was originally manufactured to fatten turkeys. When it killed the turkeys, the people who had put all the money into the research wanted a payback so they put their heads together to figure out what to do with this product to get their money back.

It was a white substance with no food appeal so they added the yellow coloring and sold it to people to use in place of butter. Both have the same amount of calories.
Butter is slightly higher in saturated fats at 8 grams; compared to 5 grams for margarine.

Eating margarine can increase heart disease in women by 53% over eating the same amount of butter, according to a recent Harvard Medical Study. Eating butter increases the absorption of many other nutrients in other foods.

Butter has many nutritional benefits where margarine has a few and
only because they are added! Butter tastes much better than margarine and it can enhance the flavours of other foods. Butter has been around for centuries where margarine has been around for less than 100 years .

Margarine on the other hand is very High in Trans fatty acids and triples risk of coronary heart disease, increases total cholesterol and LDL (this is the bad cholesterol) and lowers HDL cholesterol, (the good cholesterol), increases the risk of cancers up to five times, lowers quality of breast milk, decreases immune response, decreases insulin response, and here's the most disturbing fact.

Margarine is but ONE MOLECULE away from being PLASTIC and shares 27 ingredients with PAINT

The last test.

Purchase a tub of margarine and leave it open in your garage or shaded area. Within a couple of days you will notice a couple of things:

* no flies, not even those pesky fruit flies will go near it.

* It does not rot or smell differently because it has no nutritional value; nothing will grow on it. Even those teeny weeny microorganisms will not a find a home to grow. Why? Because it is nearly plastic. Would you melt your Tupperware and spread that on your toast?

And we are what we eat.

Margarine sucks

The End Almost

My work schedule from Thanksgiving to Christmas is seven days a week. I'm fine with those hours. More work. More money. Money I will spent next week when I fly from New York to Bangkok to see my families. The 9000-mile trip takes approximately 26 hours. Faster than my great-grand aunt Bert's journey by sea to Siam by about a half-year, but 25 hours longer than a 23-foot long asteroid's near-miss trajectory past Earth.

No one in charge of protecting the planet noticed its approach, yet astronomers said that the asteroid's impact on the surface wouldn't have been felt by 99.99999999% of the populace, since most of Object 2009 VA would have been vaporized in the atmosphere.

Saved again by our ignorance, then again everyone knows the world can't end until the Apocalypse.

The Bible says so and the Bible is the word of a bearded man in the sky.

Maybe Object 2009 VA was a warning shot across our bow.

HE is said to move in strange ways.

Pentagon Peace Pension

My older brother likes to tell a story at holiday dinners about my protesting against the Viet-Nam War. His version goes something like this.

“I was entering the commons and a group of anti-war demonstrators were lying on the ground pretending to be Vietnamese dead. I look down and there’s my brother. I said ‘hi’ as I stepped over him.”

I’ve been psychologically scarred each time my older brother tells this tale. Partially since I can’t recall the incident and somewhat hurt that he would not join me. Now my pain is nothing in comparison to the suffering of Agent Orange victims denied health care by the Pentagon or the parents of Vietnamese infants deformed by the Dow Chemical product. but the pain exists, especially as my efforts were not rewarded with true peace. Instead Le Doc Tho and Henry Kissinger negotiated a faux peace and the war continued to its inevitable end ie the fall of the corrupt Saigon government.

Undeterred by my defeat I have protested against every US incursion and war since my conversion to anti-violence in 1968. This pacific attitude was strictly relegated against the military-industrial complex, for I’ve always liked a good fight. even into my 50s.

Still my stance against the wars of this country has led to a campaign aimed at establishing a pension for long-time anti-war activist. My letters to the White House were ignored during the Bush years. Father and son. Clinton’s staff never returned an answer too. My petition was as popular with the Obama administration as a parole request from Leonard Peltier, the AIM activist sentenced to life for the cold-blooded murder of 2 FBI agents.

I’m not asking for much.

Just enough to allow my living in Thailand.

A mere $2000/month pension.

Peace Now.

Saying it a million times has to be worth something.

Xmas in Kabul

Millions of Americans voted for Barack Obama with the hope that the new president would withdraw our troops from Iraq and Afghanistan. This was far from an easy task. The USA likes the title of # 1. Any talk of downsizing the troop levels smacks of defeatism to the forward strategists of the Pentagon and resurrects images of the last helicopter leaving the US Embassy in Saigon.

Victory at any cost seems the only road open to Obama. His commander on the ground insists that a 'surge' will succeed in Afghanistan without acknowledging that tactic was wholly dependent on our bribing anti-Coalition forces to cut back on their attacks. Only this week the US Ambassador to Kabul expresses his concern about increasing troop strength without countering the corruption pandemic to the Karzai regime. He refused to comment on The Nation article accusing the USA of handing out hundreds of millions of dollars to Taliban factions to not cut US supply lines.

The British Empire suffered a rout in 1842 after refusing to pay an indemnity to a chieftain controlling the Khyber Pass. Only one soldier escaped that retreat. Over 16000 were not so lucky.

USSR Prime Minster Gorbachev announced that there is no way that the USA can win in Afghanistan and suggests that the Pentagon take advantage of the Kremlin's contacts in the Central Asian nation to effect a total withdrawal from Afghanistan.

"I think that what's needed is not additional forces. This is something that we discussed, too, years ago, and we decided not to do it. And I think our experience deserves attention."

The USSR fought a deadly war on its southern border.

13,000 dead.

No victory, but they were happy to get out of there.

I'm sure our troops would be too.

Bring them home.

Hello Socialism

The US House of Representatives passed the Democratic-sponsored Health Bill. The GOP criticized the reform plan as the end of capitalism in America. Far-right demagogues Glenn Beck and Russ Limbaugh asked their followers to protest this swing to the left. President Obama responded to their outcry by promoting the bill to the Senate, where his party has enough votes to enact the measure as long as Sen. Joe Lieberman remains true to his constituency.

If so then the USA will take a small step in dismantling an antiquated double-tier health program in which the insurance companies act as a buffer between patients and medical care. The GOP are marshaling their their forces in hopes of filibustering the Health Care Act, but judging from the shouts of 'Wall Street Sucks' from the hundreds of thousands of Yankee fans gathered to greet their World Series champs along Lower Broadway, they seem to have misjudge the country's love of capitalism.

Another job well-done

Happiness is Not Only a Warm Gun

It's not difficult to make a woman happy.

A man only needs to be

1. a friend
2. a companion
3. a lover
4. a brother
5. a father
6. a master
7. a chef
8. an electrician
9. a carpenter
10. a plumber
11. a mechanic
12. a decorator
13. a stylist
14. a sexologist
15. a gynaecologist
16. a psychologist
17. a pest exterminator
18. a psychiatrist
19. a healer
20. a good listener
21. an organizer
22. a good father
23. very clean
24. sympathetic
25. athletic
26. warm
27. attentive
28. gallant
29. intelligent
30. funny
31. creative
32. tender
33. strong
34. understanding
35. tolerant
36. prudent
37. ambitious
38. capable
39. courageous
40. determined
41. true
42. dependable
43. passionate
44. compassionate

WITHOUT FORGETTING TO:

45. give her compliments regularly
46. love shopping
47. be honest
48. be very rich
49. not stress her out
50. not look at other girls

AND AT THE SAME TIME, YOU MUST ALSO:

51. give her lots of attention, but expect little yourself
52. give her lots of time, especially time for herself
53. give her lots of space, never worrying about where she goes

IT IS VERY IMPORTANT:

54. Never to forget:
* birthdays
* anniversaries
* arrangements she makes

HOW TO MAKE A MAN HAPPY

1. Show up naked

2. Bring alcohol

This entry is thanks to Comrade Pollack.

The revolution will only be videotaped.

GOODBYE LENIN - Movie

Communism is dead, but the 2003 comedy GOODBYE LENIN brings back the good old days for a young man's mother, who has coming out of a coma after the fall of the Berlin Wall. She had been a loyal party member and the doctors fear that she couldn't handle the new reality, so her son recreates the old world for her.

A good fun film for anyone who can read subtitles.

Fun with Communism

In 1988 I had a series of dreams about nuclear annihilation. The first one was situated in New York. the sirens sounded the alarm and thousands of east Villagers headed to the subway for shelter. There wasn't room for all of us. Someone pointed to the sky and I could see a black missile falling earthward.

White flash.

The next was in Moscow. The populace filed into trains with calm order and got off at the next station to allow other passengers to continue their hopeless exodus.

White flash.

The third was at a Siberian airfield. I was making love with a Red Air Force female pilot. The sirens sounded once more. She excused herself from my embrace and ran to her bomber parked outside the dacha. I watched her take off moments before mushrooms clouds rose over the tundra.

White flash.

I liked the last dream best, but I always thought you weren't supposed to die in your dreams.

Guess I was wrong.

Party Hat by Slavoj Zizek

To read this great opinion piece about the collapse of communism go the following URL.

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/09/opinion/09zizek.html?pagewanted=2&_r=1&ref=global

No More Oak Beach Inn

Oak Beach was a small marshland community at the end of the Jones Beach Causeway. Access to the tidewater island was strictly by boat. The houses were constructed during the 30s and 40s. Electricity was an option.

Across the causeway was the Oak Beach Inn. A large clam shack serving the drunk drivers from everywhere but Oak Beach. On the weekends the parking lot was packed with fast cars and the inlet between Jones Beach and the outer shore barrier island was buzzing with even faster boats. Most of the boaters were drunk too.

There was great friction between the two groups, although none of it mattered to me, since I would only go there on my old 1907 Yamama XS 650. An ugly bike. Still it ran better than most and I loved riding the causeway to the Oak Beach Inn. I'd have a beer and watch the action on the water.

Near-misses were frequent. Boaters regularly ignored the inlet's speed limit. Most of the non-locals didn't realize the speed limit was to prevent boaters from running into shifting sand bars or hidden submersibles. I saw two boats slam into a sand bar within five minutes of each other. The second driver ignoring the first stranded boat. The best was the time a Scarab throttled into the inlet full power. Everyone on the deck expected him to execute a showy stop, but the boater kept coming. So fast it was too late for anything to happen other than a collision. People stepped away from the edge of the deck. Luckily the boater didn't miss a sunken deadhead and split the prow of his speedboat.

A good laugh for all, since no one was hurt.

The Oak Beach Inn is now closed.

The residents of Oak Beach are happy.

And maybe that's for the best, because boats are only faster now. And people are bigger assholes.

Open Borders

Despite the recent frost in Thai-Cambodian relations thanks to the former PM Thaksin being appointed economic adviser to the Cambodian government, the borders remain open to trade and travelers between the two countries. Soldiers at the checkpoints have explained to tourists that everything was normal. Locals say that isn't quite the case as the volume of trade has dwindled to a fraction of the usual frenetic flood of goods passing through the border towns, of course that could also have something to do with Monday being National day in Cambodia.

Mr. Thanksin had no comment on the situation from his multi-million condo in Dubai.

Bad Barbie

Barbie was a doll born of the 60s. Her original body scale if set to 5-9 would give her dimensions of a 36-inch chest, 18-inch waist and 33-inch hips. Her unearthly body was never questioned by the millions of girls who loved the Mattel creation and certainly not by their brothers who undressed Barbie whenever no one was home to recreate the act of sex between Barbie and her boyfriend. Few of us were imaginative enough to realize the possibility of a menage-a-trois.

She was the first women any of 60s boys ever loved and anyone who tells you different is a liar unless they were into Ken.

And a lot of my friends did love Ken.

He was so cool.

Especially when watching us with her.

Ken never squealed to my sisters.

He was a good guy and there was nothing wrong with playing with dolls. At least not my method.

Rubbing Ken and Barbie together like two sticks inflamed my pubescent mind.

Mea culpa Barbie.

Casas Belli a la Thaksin

According to Wikpedia Casus belli is a Latin expression meaning the justification for acts of war and the deposed Prime Minister of Thailand has waved the red flag to a good percentage of his countrymen by accepting an economic advisory position in neighboring Cambodia. Thailand responded to the appointment by pulling its ambassador from Phnom Penh. The relations between the two nations have been chilly ever since a Thai actress declared the ancient ruins of Angkor Wat to be part of Thailand. Her statement incited the mobs in the Khmer capitol to burn down the Thai embassy. The situation grew more tense with several frontier incursions at the mountaintop temple of Priah Vihar. The latest episode has been seen by the Thai government as a threat by Thaksin to regain power.

The ex-leader is tremendously popular in the northeast provinces bordering Cambodia. He has been twittering his followers from his Dubai refuge

"I'm asking permission from all Thai people to advise the Cambodian government ... until I have a chance to serve you again."

What really is at stake is not the freedom of the Thai people, but the unfreezing of his $2.5 billion fortune from the judiciary and an unconditional pardon from the right government after which he can take over his old job of leading Thailand into the future from the rival country.

Cambodia King's is pleased by the addition to the government and the longtime leader of Cambodia has offered Thaksin a place to live without fear of extradition to face corruption charges in his native land.

Once more the story never ends.

I don't think it will come to war, but if it does, then you can bet on a sneak attack on Thailand by the Burmese.

And who's pulling all the strings?

Only the nation which can gain from an unstable south.

Look north for the puppetmaster.

Communism is not dead.

The Price of Beauty

Thailand is well-known for the beauty of its ka-toeys or ladyboys. Every year the country hosts the Miss Tiffany International Beauty Contest awarding a million baht to the most beautiful TV in the world. The show is televised throughout the nation and everyone cheers on their favorites.

Usually a Thai ka-toey wins, since Thai women of both kinds crave the caress of the mirror.

"Mirror mirror on the wall. who's the fairest of them all."

Thailand boasts the best sex-change clinics in the world, however not all of them are licensed with the same stringency of the West. The Bangkok Post regularly featured an ad for Pratunam Polyclinic headed by 'famous' Thai cosmetic surgeon. In fact the doctor has only attended a two-month beauty seminar and his Chinatown clinic is quite substandard in sterility in accordance with its low low price for all medical procedures. A vaginoplasty cost about US$1600, about one-tenth of the US price.

The doctor is undaunted by criticism and explains, “The most common complaint is that the cavity is not big enough. In this case we can perform a colon vaginoplasty six months later using skin from the colon to extend the vagina.”

Nip and tuck for a penis.

I think I'll keep mine where it is.

Even if the Miss Tiffany offers 2 million baht.

But for 10 million who knows?

Mai Sa Bai for Phuket's Ka-Toeys

The US Navy has shore leave rights to several cities in Thailand. Pattaya on the Gulf of Siam and Phuket on the Indian Ocean. Thousands of sailors and marines embark from their warships to enjoy a holiday of booze and broads. All good harmless fun unless the religious right in America receive news that our fighting men and women are endanger of losing their immortal souls thanks to the free-wheeling fun of these two Babylons and nothing threatens eternal bliss in heaven than a night with a ladyboy, the transsexual epitome of wickedness.

Fearing that the swabbies and jarheads can tell and really done care whether their companions for this shore leave are female or very attractive 'ka-toeys' or she-males, the Pentagon has requested that the governor of Phuket call for a wave of repression against the Asian nation's exotic women of a second kind.

The famed porn star Moo was caught up in this do-good dragnet. The police shorn the redhead of her long locks. Her soulmate Wawa was luckier and the two have hit Phuket with revenge in their evil minds.

The CIA are investigating the pair for links to terrorists, but each agent sent to catch them has come back smelling of ladyboy. Even the women.

Moo and Wawa.

WMD extraordinaire.

ps having sex with a ladyboy is like driving a Vespa. It's a lot of fun until one of your friends see you.

The Biggest Little City in the World

Gambling doesn't run in my family although my great-grandfather supposedly disappeared from the State of Georgia without a forwarding address. His departure forced my great-grandmother and her two daughters to take refuge up north with her uncle in Augusta Maine. This flight from misfortune probably occurred around 1895. No one in my family ever explained the causes of this misfortune.

Another woman versus gambling.

I always chose gambling, since no one in my family gambles on anything.

Not horses. Not football. Not cards.

At least not until late-May 1973, when I crossed the Nevada state line in a drive-away car headed west on I-90. My two companions on this cross-country trip were my good friend Andy Kornfeld and a blonde co-ed from California. She did little of the driving. More from male superiority than choice and she didn't protest our first stop at Oasis. It was dawn and we were hungry. After a quick breakfast I entered the small casino and sat at the blackjack table. I had never played the game of chance, but won over $150 in thirty minutes. I would have stayed longer, except both Andy and the blonde ( I remember her name as 'Carol') were glaring at me. They wanted to be in San Francisco, not a dusty town in the high plains.

"That was easy." I boasted counting my take in the front seat.

"Beginner's luck." Carol commented from the rear. She was pretty, but neither Andy nor I had come close to touching her. My luck was strictly at cards and not getting speeding tickets.

"That and it being my birthday." 22 years old. legal to do anything in the USA that was legal for adults.

Two hours later I tested my luck further at a cowboy gambling hall in Elko. My streak continued unabated and we rode out of town with my winnings of $250. This was double the cash in my pocket and I started thinking about flying back to Boston rather than hitchhiking. The fantasy of first-class seats for both Andy and me flourished with another triumphant sit-down at the cool green tables in Winnemucca. $1000 in total. Easily enough for a car.

We reached Reno at sunset. My friends suggested that we continue onto California. The border was up the old trail along the Truckee River. I wanted to see the Sierras in the light of the sunrise. Andy and Carol acquiesced to my request.

"One last time at the tables." I was dreaming of $2000. Double or nothing. The casino in Reno was bigger than any of those along I-90. Slots, roulette, poker, blackjack. The staff was in uniform. I sat at the nearest table. The dealer was a buxom blonde. I played my cards right and soon was approaching my goal. I pulled over Andy and handed him $1000.

"Don't give this to me. No matter what I say." I was smart enough to realize that once the bug bit the victim stayed bit, having read Fyodor Dostoevsky's short novel THE GAMBLER. I refused to fall into that trap, but the casinos don't make money by letting first-timers win big and the floor boss sent over a skinny brunette in a band-aid mini-skirt.

"Would you care for a drink?" Her smile gleamed in the eternal neon day.

"A Jack and Coke."

I don't remember much after that. I drank more and more. The cards ran against my river of luck. There was a a brief argument with Andy and then blank.

I woke up with a raging hang-over. The Truckee River was only ten feet away from me. The cascades rushing over worn boulders drown out the traffic on I-90. Two silhouettes stood over me.

Andy and Carol.

"Did I lose it all?"

"Yes." Carol shook her head and walked away to the station wagon.

"And you gave me back the $1000?"

"You threatened to punch me out." Andy walked away too and I sat up to check my pockets. They weren't kidding. I had blown all my winnings and some of my stash for the trip. This was a disaster and I stood with some difficulty, wondering how many Jack and Coke's I might have drank. The razors inside my skull said more than ten and I shambled over to the car with the pain of having learned the ageless lesson that alcohol and gambling don't mix.

It was a lesson I only had to learn once.

At least only once as far as i can remember.

Hanging Sneakers

The BBC News broadcasted a report on the 'Mystery of NYC's Hanging Sneakers'. The sight of laced Adidas sneakers draped over telephone wires befuddled the British and their research came up with several reasons for the phenomena thanks to their interviewees. One social worker attributed the occurrence to a sign of gangs. If you were not of the gang then the members would beat up the intruder to their neighborhood and throw his sneakers over the telephone wires as a sign of disrespect. A Harlem resident commented that kids hung the sneakers to commemorate a dead friend, while another pointed out that the sneakers were a sign that drugs were sold in that neighborhood. Another person said it was a sign of respect to their sneakers and i agree with this explanation for I have thrown several pairs of Adidas over the traffic lights at the intersection of East 10th Street and Avenue A.

Right across from the basketball courts.

I only chucked them up there once they were worn to the threads.

Every time I saw them, I thought about playing in them.

An honor to sneakers.

And it ain't easy getting them to get up there.

The police certainly don't like it, thne again they don't like nothing.