Author: mitchellsthoughtsphotosetc

Many of you may remember when Michael Jackson wore gloves and a mask. And when he moonwalked on your TV screen when you were about 14. We all tried it.

But one can bet when he was done with his mask and gloves they were thrown away.

During the last few weeks, we’ve watched dozens of people walking the streets in this garb.

Rubber gloves. Not the white sequined glove, Michael wore.

We’ve seen Nike and other companies producing masks. Soon we will see them on sale at Bloomingdales.

I suppose the Ralph Lauren masks will go for about $500. While the Versace gloves will retail for around $800. I want a Lacoste set.

That being said, what I do not want and what I hope my readers do not want are to see rubbers gloves and surgical masks on the street. Some supermarkets are requesting people wear their PPE upon entering. Fine. Wear them. And when you exit the market, wear it until you get home or find a trash receptacle.

In the last few days, when going to buy essentials — toothpaste, light bulbs and Twizzlers, I saw dozens upon dozens of these items in the street and stuffed into plant life. I’ve seen people walk out of the stores and drop them on the pavement.

Let’s have some consideration. While you think you’re protecting yourself. Think about everyone else. I remember after a scout camping trip when we were leaving our site we policed the area. We stood arms distance apart. Early social distancing and walked around the site and picked up any garbage. We always strived to leave our site better than we found it.

Let’s try to do that now.

Marc and Alana were chilling with some rigatoni with vodka sauce while sipping Shiloh Paisley Pear.  Anat was chowing down on fish tacos and drinking Coney Island Mermaid.

She had memories of her fight with Marc and Alana when she sabotaged the Morrissey show. That was sick.  Moz is the best. That was some of her best work. She felt no remorse.  That is who she was. These days, she doesn’t even know who she is.  She ‘s still trying to figure it out.  Many people are.

All of them were excited. Weird Wolves was doing an online show from Austin.  They all loved them. Singer Ava Lee Gore’s lyrics took her dad Martin’s deep lyrics to new heights.  They loved her vocals and dreamed of seeing her in NYC. She’s made for the city. Marc grew up on Depeche Mode.  Its music speaks to the world.  The song “Somebody” might be one of the best songs ever written. He was so excited when he discovered Martin’s daughter Ava. Alana loved her goth look. Neither are fans of being inked. But on Ava, it looks great.

Anat was excited about the concert, too. She loves Weird Wolves. She grew up on Depeche Mode, Bauhaus, Joy Division, the Cure and U2. Same as her nemesis’s.  Marc did have a thing for classic rock, too. And even loved the “Thriller” and “Purple Rain” albums. How could you not?   Speaking of Prince, he always thought Alana would look hot in a raspberry beret.

While Anat was waiting to log in to watch the Weird Wolves, she got her first grocery delivery assignment.  Tomorrow she would go to the grocer and pick up a few packages and bring it to an elderly couple a few blocks away. She hoped they ordered dried fruit.  She was changing. But still thrived on her raisins.

The time came.  Dozens of people logged in.  Ava did something not usually done with online shows.  She shared her screen and let all the fans interact with each other. She said she wanted it to be just like when she gets to Garden with all the fans together.

They did their first set.  Marc and Alana were glued to the screen. Anat was, too. She was dancing in black jeans and a sweater.  Her eyes locked with Marc and Alana. At first, they didn’t recognize her.

Then they both said, “Wow. She cleaned up. What’s going on? Did we knock some sense into her? Or is she still plotting?”

The band finished its set and the screen went black.

 

Marc and Alana spent the next day or so QT in Marc’s place. Marc cooked. Alana chilled out with Genesee Cream Ale. She finished Marc’s last can. He used to drink it in summer camp. He was too young to drink. But it was camp. The beer is not easy to find. Next summer if he can get to camp he will find it. He wanted to save that can for a special reason and down it himself.

But he knows Alana loves that brew. And he loves Alana. They were wondering about Anat. They knew she was breathing when they left her. They probably could have contacted her via social media. But why would they?

Anat has been clean for the last few days. She’s showered daily. And some of her new clothes arrived. She put on one of her new black Theory dresses. She just wore it around her apartment and smiled. She danced around to The Smiths and Depeche Mode. She was anxiously waiting for her new Timberlands to arrive. She paid for speedy shipping. But knew the COVID-19 was delaying everything. She didn’t even get angry.

She knew the butcher by her house was open. She decided to go out in her new dress and buy a steak and some veggies for dinner. She had plenty of wine and beer. She saw some signs posted on the door in the butcher shop requesting those that are healthy to text to “helpdeliver” to assist getting groceries to the elderly.

She whipped out her iPhone and texted her contact info. This was a first for her. But she thought of her grandmother. She would have done anything to help her. She would help in her memory.

She felt good as she walked into her apartment. She opened a bottle of Ramot Naftali Petit Verdot. She toyed around with opening Malbec. But had memories of a fun day with grandma in Old Sacramento where they sipped Petit Verdot. She let it breathe while she marinated her steak and prepped the vegetables.

The only disappointing thing was that the bakery was out of brownies. She wondered if it was due to crazy buying of them due to the virus. Everyone loves a brownie. Well after she waited a few hours after eating the steak and finished sipping, she’d have a lonely glass of milk.

Anat showered for nearly an hour. She made sure to wash her long black hair. She got out and put on a clean pair of sweats and a Stanford sweatshirt. She never had a mani or pedi. And knew the nail salons were closed. So she looked at videos on YouTube and went to Duane Reade and bought some nail polish. She did her best. she bought some inexpensive makeup, too. When Sephora reopens she will buy more.

She got home and put on some blush. She cranked the Cure. Her music tastes were just as dark as Alana’s. The two of them probably would have been friends if they met under different circumstances. Not that Anat ever had one friend. She never tried. She kept to her books and misery.

She looked at her ratty boots. She loves them so. But went to Timberlands’ website and ordered a brand new pair. Next was Bloomingdale’s website. She bought some new dresses. She was hoping she’d get to wear them soon. Eventually, her office would reopen. And rather than her usual telecommute she might sit at her old desk.

She felt better than she’s felt in years. She was considering volunteering to pick up groceries and deliver to the elderly.

She couldn’t wait to get outside. But one thing was still in her mind. Was she ready for a complete transformation? Or would people not even recognize her and would she be able to create more terror?

Marc and Alana probably shouldn’t have locked lips after defeating Anat in Flushing Meadows-Corona Park. They weren’t thinking. But they were two of the only three people in the park. And we know the third person was on the ground dying. Or was she?

Marc and Alana walked right home after the fight. They showered and watched the YES Network’s broadcast of Righetti’s no-hitter v. Boston on July 4, 1983. Billy Martin was managing the game, Yogi was coaching and the Scooter was in the booth. It was 94 degrees that day. Marc remembered watching the game at his grandma’s house. A few weeks later the famous George Brett Pine Tar game happened. Not so royal.

The two cranked the Ramones and dreamed of partying with Sheena at Rockaway Beach. They were mighty proud of their handiwork. But knew it likely wasn’t over. They fell asleep in each other’s arms while Joy Division’s “Love will tear us apart” was cranking.

The next morning Anat woke up on the pavement of the park. She was confused. She felt dizzy and was in pain. She took her almost dead iPhone and took a selfie of her face.She pulled up her shirt and saw bruises on her chest and abdomen. She nearly fainted when she saw her headshot.

Her eyes were black and blue and she had cuts on her pretty face. Yes, she does have a pretty face. If she washed up she’d be hot.  She tried to stand up. She fell right down. She put her hands on her head and broke out in a hysterical cry. She knew she did this to herself. Most of her misery had been self-inflicted. Okay, she could never change her parents’ lack of love and affection. But she did have her grandma’s love and she did well academically. She did better than most. She never did drugs. She didn’t drink that much. Once in a while, she would have a glass of wine or a beer. But she carried so much angst. She needed to drop it.

She finally got up in the desolate park. She walked out and got an Uber to take her back to her apartment in the city. The whole ride she kept her head down and cried.

She walked into her apartment. Surprisingly she kept it immaculate. She stripped out of her torn clothes and walked toward the shower.

Marc and Alana know even in these trying times, Anat is out wreaking havoc. She has no respect.

They know they need to end her madness. But how?

They read their old comics and saw what the Hulk, Sith, and Jedi would do. Marc grew up loving the Hulk, Emperor, Vader, and Yoda. But generally leaned dark.

They got out of their pajamas and put on hazmat suits and went out. They knew they had many places to investigate. Anat was known to stir trouble all over the city.

They started in Flushing Meadows-Corona Park. It is a beautiful but usually filthy park with no drainage. Alana and Anat have fought each other there.

They marched in and hiked toward the World’s Fair Globe. The park was deader than dead. They walked toward the zoo. They didn’t see her. Nor did they smell her.

They kept walking. They didn’t want to jump on the trains or ferry to head to Central Park, Wolfe’s Pond Park or her other haunts.

They kept their heads up and kept patrolling. They headed toward the building that houses the swimming pool. All of a sudden an apricot nailed Alana in the back of her head. She fell back. Marc grabbed her.

They looked everywhere and didn’t see their nemesis. They walked a few feet and more dried fruit was falling. Marc looked up at and saw her Anat at the top of a tree. She looked like something out of a B level horror flick.

Alana ran for the tree and scaled it like a reptile. She pulled her mask off and started shooting wine. Grapes were hitting her. She laughed. I’m being shot with what my wine is made of. She knew she had to fight harder.

From the ground, Marc launched pomegranates at Anat, who was still at the top of the tree.

Alana climbed higher and grabbed Anat by the neck. Anat started to wobble. She started to fall. In her flight to the ground, she grabbed Alana’s ankles. Alana kicked her ground and kicked Anat. She kept flying.

All of a sudden she landed on her stomach. She let out a scream like a dying animal. An animal she was. But she wasn’t dying. She was injured. But ready to fight. But she couldn’t move.

Marc stood over her and drowned her in honey. Alana jumped from the tree and landed with her feet into Anat’s face. Anat’s legs kicked up as Alana landed. Alana rolled to the ground and got up.

Anat was withering in pain. But trying her best to rise. Alana looked at Marc. Their lips locked.

 

Marc and his mom were supposed to go to the Holy Land. But instead, Marc and Alana have been locked in Alana’s shire for days cause of the Coronavirus.
The two strange lovebirds listened to Morrissey’s new album, “I’m not a dog on a chain” many times. They also listened to some blues and off course lots of Bauhaus. They discussed life. At least their view of it. Occasionally, they texted their families and friends.

Marc did services with his friend’s shul in Rockville, Md. But they would never go there on a bus…. A little R.E.M. for you.

They stayed off social media. It was made up of too many uneducated people who are now infectious disease experts. Most of the loudest mouths never even graduated accredited schools. The two of them read their Kindles and just stared at the walls.

Jen and Tzipora responded to their texts. They were just as bored. Then there was Anat. She was out and about. Naturally, she ignored the wash your hand’s edict. She was as gross as ever. But she was feeling happier. It was as if she was pleased with the world being torn apart. She figured people finally knew how she felt. She plastered shuttered businesses with dried fruit. Occasionally she shot one of the lone passersby with it.

She hit some stray animals and just laughed. Remember she’s a Stanford grad with a great job. But warped. Very warped. If she only cleaned up she’d be pretty and guys would go after her. But she refused.

NY 1 was out patrolling the empty streets of a once-bustling city and reported on Anat’s handiwork. They didn’t know who did it. Multiple reporters just said they noticed dried fruit stuck the windows and gates on many shuttered stores. And an awful odor in the streets.

Marc and Alana saw the report. They looked at each other. They knew they had to act.

Anat was feeling more depressed than usual. Certainly not for the lack of trying, she just can’t seem to give a final knock out to Marc and Alana. She spent the next few hours trying to come up with a plan.

She just had to wait for the right moment. She prayed with all of her might that it would come. She went running and hoped she’d run into her adversaries. She saw plenty of couples hanging out as she ran the Battery Park City Esplanade. Pissed her off. She knew she’d never been with anyone. She ran harder. She so wanted to pelt everyone with raisins. But she held back.

She was waiting for Marc and Alana.

And waited she did. Her neck twitched when she saw Jen pushing her kid’s stroller. Her mind raced. Her shoulders tensed. She was so upset. She wondered why Jen should have a husband and beautiful kid and she can’t.

She scrunched her face and starting wailing raisins and apricots at the wheels on the stroller. Jen lost control as they got caught in the wheels and she started crying and shaking. She raced after the stroller. Anat was still fighting hard.

All of a sudden someone grabbed the stroller and pulled it out of the way. Jen couldn’t see what happened as her eyes were blocked by raisins. She fell down. All of a sudden wine started showering Anat. Figs and apples hit her in the head. She just looked at Alana who was holding the stroller with her right hand and unleashing her weapons with the left. She turned away in despair.

Jen got up and saw Alana. She hugged her. Alana smiled and walked away.

I love spending time in parks. In 2015, I was fortunate enough to spend about two weeks in Iceland. All of its parks are magnificent. I hiked on the icy ground around glaciers, waterfalls and volcanoes. I got soaked. And loved every second of it. I’d go back in a heartbeat.

New York City has magnificent parks, too. Some are quite famous, i.e. Central and Prospect Parks. However, Iceland’s parks stand out over NYC’s and most other parks. What makes them stand out? No, it is not the beautiful location and the breathtaking mountains of ice. It is the cleanliness.

A few days after I returned from Iceland, I picnicked on the Great Lawn in Central Park. It should be called the “trash-filled great lawn.”   Now, I grew up in NYC and have been to dozens of our parks. The parks have ball fields and hoops to shoot. Some have pools or lakes. Unfortunately, all the parks have one thing in common, garbage everywhere. Way too much of it.

One morning in Iceland, I was walking to a convenience store to buy candy. There was a Coke can on the street nearby. Probably dropped by a tourist. I saw a man walk down his driveway and pick up the can and place it in a trash can. How often do you see that in the USA? Especially NYC. Rarely.

I’ve been stewing on this for a long time. But finally collected my thoughts and photos. Not so long ago, I was with my nephew and brother-in-law walking their miniature schnauzer, Zoe. We were in a Siedenberg Park, Great Kills. It had water, lovely trees, and trash. It was named for a firefighter that fell in 1994. We worked together in a teen job.

Then I went to Bryant Park. We all know the “lion library” is there. It has the giant field where we watch movies or Broadway performers and what else, trash. Too much trash. Flushing Meadows Corona, Yellowstone, and Gerald MacDonald Parks share the same story. Or any park in NYC. Coney Island’s boardwalk and beach where the famous polar bears swim is not any different than our parks. I know the Polar Bear Swim Club tries its hardest to keep its beach and medicinal waters clean.

The question is why is there a plate on the floor of the park only a few feet away from a garbage can? Or a poor turtle swimming in Meadow Lake surrounded by a paper cup, plastic, and aluminum foil. I doubt it is good for the turtle’s health.

I looked up at a tree and saw what I first thought was a kite stuck in it. I looked around for Charlie Brown. I took a photo. When I zoomed in on it in Photoshop, it was garbage that blew into the tree. I found a tire, bottles of spirits, and water. And holes dug by contractors loaded with you guessed it garbage. And of course, I found cigarettes. Lots of them. That awful habit is not even permitted in NYC’s parks. Some were still burning. The Eagle Scout in me stomped them out and also picked up some of the garbage and placed it in the receptacle.

So what should we do? I’ve done beach cleanings and park cleanings in the scouts and when I worked in politics. We did our good turn. We had fun and ate pizza while we worked. But why should we do this? Let’s keep our parks clean.

Marc has not seen his sister, Miriam in ages. He decided it was time. Now Marc is a decent religious guy. But he runs from it at times. But usually, he comes back.  Alana is in this boat, too.  On the other hand, his sister is hard-core orthodox.

Marc and Alana packed a valise and hopped on the train to Riverdale for Shabbos. They needed the rest and Miriam cooked really well. She was able to make the stuff Marc’s grandmother made.

They bought toys for her children. There are many.

Marc loved going to the Bronx. But everyone knows he prefers the Stadium.  The two got off the train and walked to his sister’s place. Marc and Miriam’s husband, Mordechai along with her older boys went to the synagogue.  The ladies lit candles.

Shabbos dinner was splendid. Great wine was poured. Alana was pleased.  Right now, she, Marc’s and Anat’s exploits have been kept quiet.  It happened and things moved on.  Miriam and Mordechai lived in their own religious cocoon. So even the small amount of news about their antics passed them by. They were solely devoted to Torah study and doing mitzvot.

Alana and Marc retired to separate bedrooms.  His sibling sort of knew about their relationship. But chose to ignore it.

Anat strongly recovered from her last incident with Marc and was waiting to make her move.

Everyone woke up and headed to pray.  Marc was hoping for an aliyah. He wanted the Haftorah.

Alana and Miriam walked over a little slower.  They’ve known each other forever.  Miriam was pushing the stroller holding Sarah, the youngest.  Miriam wasn’t always orthodox. She was observant but got more religious later in life.

The two ladies were enjoying each other’s company. The weather was perfect. The men were entering the temple.  As the ladies got closer apricots and raisins pelted the stroller and nailed Miriam, nearly knocking off her head covering.  She lost her grip on the stroller.  Alana grabbed it but tripped. She screamed for Marc at the top of her lungs. He raced away from the door and grabbed his niece. Alana jumped up and started drowning the area in wine. She didn’t want to give Anat a leg to stand on. Marc placed Sarah back in the stroller and helped his sister.  He got them into the building.

Marc watched Alana flood the area. But the problem was they had no idea where Anat was.  At least the wine was kosher.

Anat came flying down from the top of a tree.  Thankfully this was going on in a religious community and everyone was inside praying.  As she exited the last branch Marc belted her with a barrage of pomegranates.  She fell face down into a pool of wine. Her eyes blurred.  But she stumbled up and fired away dozens of raisins. She was met with figs and barley. Some honey was splattered at her, too.

Alana charged Anat with a solid punch in the face. That caught her nemesis by surprise.

Marc saw the two ladies go at it and walked into the temple and opened a prayer book.

At this point, Marc was still hoping for maftir. But was a little dirty to be called to the Torah.