Bowling For Prosperity

Back in the 1980s no one other than Rockets Red Glare was fat and these days he might pass for husky.

We loved he nightlife.

New York was the capitol of the world.

Every place else on Earth was second-rate, except for Paris and Pattaya.

Both those cities knew sin.

However New York could mix bowling with sex, drugs, and rock n roll at the University Lanes in the Village run by Alan Platt.

The girls were beautiful.

We knew their names.

Especially Wendy.

We will always have the University Lanes and Paris.

Forever, although we never bowled in the City of Light.

ps my best game was a 187 and I was beaten by John Conti who scored a 199.

Oatar World Cup Boycott

The Qatar peninsula has been populated for thousands of years. In the 1800s the peninsula provided pearls to the Ottoman Empire and later became a British Protectorate. The sleepy Gulf city gained importance with the discovery of oil and natural gas. Its economy swelled with the worldwide demand for fossil fuels and enriched the ruling Thani family with billions of petrol dollars, enabling the small peninsula to win in 2011 the rights the the 2022 FIFA World Cup.

Hundreds of thousands of migrant workers from Bangladesh, India, and Nepal were hired by employment agencies demanding exorbitant fees to guarantee a working visa. All these men were seeking to support their impoverished families, however they were cheated of their wages and thousands have died under the desert sun without any criticism from FIFA the governing body for the World Cup.

Money overruled any and all abuses.

The 2014 Word Cup in Brazil cost $13 billion.

The 2018 World Cup in Russia topped $15 billion.

That was nothing.

The bill for the 2022 Qatar World has been estimated at $370 billion from oil price manipulations or the combined GDP of the fifty poorest countries on Earth.

Human rights were trampled by the Qatar Sharia law.

FIFA backed their choice to the hilt.

I've watched most of this century's World Cup, but I am boycotting Qatar 100%.

The horrible living conditions of the migrant workers, the uncounted death, the cheating them of wages, and FIFA's corruption has destroyed one of the greatest sporting events in the world.

Fuck Qatar. Fuck FIFA. Fuck the World Cup.

BOYCOTT.

It's not too late.

Bad Mouthing the Eagle

Benjamin Franklin proposed the turkey for the national bird. The turkey of his era was nothing like the domesticated bird slaughtered for Thanksgiving. The wild turkey was a cunning wood creature living in large communes of fellow avians. Huge flocks of brightly plumed turkeys would cloud the skies andBenjamin Franklin vehemently opposed the choice of the eagle as the national bird.

“I wish that the bald eagle had not been chosen as the representative of our country, he is a bird of bad moral character, he does not get his living honestly, you may have seen him perched on some dead tree, where, too lazy to fish for himself, he watches the labor of the fishing-hawk, and when that diligent bird has at length taken a fish, and is bearing it to its nest for the support of his mate and young ones, the bald eagle pursues him and takes it from him…. Besides he is a rank coward; the little kingbird, not bigger than a sparrow attacks him boldly and drives him out of the district. He is therefore by no means a proper emblem for the brave and honest. . . of America.. . . For a truth, the turkey is in comparison a much more respectable bird, and withal a true original native of America . . . a bird of courage, and would not hesitate to attack a grenadier of the British guards, who should presume to invade his farmyard with a red coat on.” Wonder what Eagle would taste like for Thanksgiving.

LProbably like crow.

Big Bird Day

Last year I walked through Grand Central Terminal. Thousands of passengers sought to catch a train home for Thanksgiving. My sister had invited her family feast outside of Boston. I have to work on Friday and opted out on the holiday exodus to spend a quiet day at the Fort Greene Observatory.

I made myself eggs and toast for breakfast.

My options for a turkey dinner are limited to the buffet at Mikie Ds.

It's only a few blocks from my house.

That afternoon millions of mothers were putting on the final touches for the big dinner.

As a youth my Thanksgiving mornings were consumed by peeling apples, potatoes, turnips, carrots for our eight family members and another 5-10 guests.

My older brother called it ‘KP Day’.

After the turkey was done, my mother would extract the the crispy-skinned carcass out of the oven and order me to carry the big bird out the garage. Why was never explained to us.

One Thanksgiving I obeyed her command.

The garage door was open.

The air was cold.

It wouldn't take long for the bird to be ready for dinner.

My next-door neighbor came over to the driveway with a football. We had spent the morning at the football game between my hometown and their arch-rivals. The two of us went into the backyard to emulate the day’s heroes. After bobbling a long pass Chuckie pointed to the front lawn.

"What's with DJ?"

DJ was a neighborhood dog. I was in love with his owner, Kyla. The German Shepard had his entire head was masked by turkey and I heard my mother scream, “The turkey.”

I picked up a stick from the ground and charged to save our holiday meal. The big black dog fled from our yard with a slobbering snarl, leaving behind a mauled meal. My mother cried, “Where are we going to find a turkey now?”

My father looked at me. This was my fault. I didn’t even bother to explain my side of the story.

When you’re wrong as a child, proving you’re right is a waste of breath.

My older brother and younger siblings thanked me for ruining Thanksgiving.

DJ’s owners paid for our meal at a nearby hotel. The food was good and my mother didn’t have to wash any dishes.

The next day Kyla kissed me on the cheek for not beating her dog.

So even bad Thanksgivings can turn out okay, when life is good and it's always good to the last slice of pie on Turkey Day.

ERICA'S REVENGE fotos by Ellen Von Unwerth

Erica had a lot to learn from Alice. Raising your eyes was a sin. Erica knew better. Alice was about to learn what was best.

Afternoon masquerades were held in the garden. The crowd liked to take and not give. Erica was an expert at either.

Erica was back to being herself. She didn't question her role, She liked being a slave And so did everyone else. FOTOS BY ELLEN VON UNWERTH

Lookalike - Tanya of the SLA - May 1974

West of Omaha Sean pulled into a truck stop. Sunrose bleached the prairie. AK, Pam walked into the diner filled with sleepy truckers in desperate need of a lift stronger than coffee. None of the long-haulers commented about hippies. The drivers wore their hair long too. AK, Pam, and Sean sat at the counter and waited for the beleaguered waitress.

"Seems all this rednecks have eyes for Pam," commented AK.

"Yeah, they ain't seen anyone like you," Sean complimented the blonde nursing student, who resembled a runaway Lolita past her teen years.

AK read the menu, as if the pianist might chose a breakfast other than eggs over easy with bacon. Sean picked up a discarded Omaha World-Herald. Watergate dominated the headlines. The other big story was Patty Hearst on the run from the police. The SLA radical topped the FBI’s Most Wanted List.

Several truckers held the same newspapers in their hands, then studied her with an interest greater than sex.

Pam was nervous about the undivided attention.

“They stare at me, as if they haven’t ever seen a woman in their life.

“They might have another reason.” Sean tapped Patty Hearst photo.

“They think I look like her?”

“Yes.”

“I look nothing like her.”

“I agree, but Mr. Hearst has offered $50,000 for his daughter’s return.” The SLA had demanded $100, 000, but her father offered less. The SLA had the Oakland Black Panthers buy food to distribute to the People.

“If she’s Tanya, then they must think that we’re SLA." The heiress had betrayed her class. Tanya was a goddess of the revolution. You think any of these cowboys have a gun?”

“All of them.”

Two men glared, as if they had robbed the Hibernia Bank in California.

“Let’s get out of here,” Pam folded the menu.

“No, we stay or else some idiot will call the State Police for the reward.” Sean waved to the middle-aged waitress.

“What’s up?”

Her nametag said ‘Helen’.

“That’s my aunt’s name.”

“How nice. You ready to order?” She posed a pencil over her pad.

“Yes, Helen, but we have a small problem."

"I hope that it isn’t a vegetarian thing, because this diner serves bacon, ham, and steak with breakfasts.” She planted both hands on her ample hips.

“No, we love bacon.” AK reversed the newspaper. “But a few of your customers might think that our lady friend here is Patty Hearst.”

“Patty Hearst?” the waitress gasped, then her eyes flitted between the picture and Pam two times before chuckling, “These boys are as dumb as a cow tied to a post. You’re much prettier than that poor rich girl. Let me handle this.”

“Thanks.”

The waitress turned to her weary customers.

“You idiots keep your eyes on your food. This pretty girl ain’t no Patty Hearst. She’s plain people, so get back to your grits and eggs.”

“How can you be sure?” a fat man asked from the back of the diner.

“Jack, you want extra coffee or a check?”

“Extra coffee.” Jack lowered his head.

“That should take care of them. What will you kids have?” The waitress had enjoyed her tirade.

“Bacon, eggs over-easy, home-fries, toast and OJ.” Pam smiled with the delight in another woman’s power over men.

“Make it two.” Sean loved breakfast in America.

“Three.” AK added his order, which Helen gave to the short-order cook.

Thirty minutes later they exited from the diner. A young black attendant was filling the tank of a state trooper’s cruiser. The officer’s gaze tracked Pam to the station wagon, then tipped his hat. To him the blonde was just another beautiful hippie girl on the way to the coast.

The three of them stood by the station, basking in a warm dawn breeze.

“You smelled that?” Sean breathed the scent of a continent’s center.

“It’s almost the West.”

“By the end of the day we should see the Rockies.”

“The miles keep piling up.”

"Even faster if you let Tanya drive." Pam sat behind the wheel. Sean in the front and AK in the back. The station wagon had a high performance and powered out of the truck stop like revolutionaries on the lam and Pam drove fast as Tanya, because California and the revolution was only two days away.

Exceer[t froom my unpublsihed novel BACK AND FORTH

GOP Failure Election 2022

On Aug. 8, 1925 tens of thousands of white-robed KKK marched down Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington to exhobit their strength.

Almost a hundred years later on January 6, 2021 thousands of right-wing fascists heeded Trump's call to violently storm the Capitol Building and prevent Joe Biden's from becoming president and since that insurrection the Fascists have condemned the 2020 election as theft and the right-wing mainstream media predicted a landslide victory for the Orange Jesus. CNN and Fox News foresaw the GOP taking control of the Senate and the Congress, as Trump feuded with his upstart rival from Florida. They were just trying to sell air-time, because the Democrats retained control of the Senate and Congress only slipped out of the grasp of the Democrats, because of redistricting and vote suppression, but also because of the core issue of abortion and that fact that the nation is weary of the constant hatred promoted by Trump's fringe maniacs. Some people even imagined a holiday season where people aren't shouting at each other, because of politics, but long unaddressed family issues.

Like the film director Michael Moore I thought the election's results would un in our favor, despite the DNC's propensity to appease the rich instead of seeking help from the progressive wing of the party. Bernie Sanders was brought out of the closet to energize the young and next election progressives will demand more influence on a platform to change the way we live.

No more Old Guys.

Especially no Old White Guys.

Yeah.