Wednesday, November 27, 2013




  Once every 75,000 years Chanukah falls on the American holiday of Thanksgiving. Tomorrow is the day. Who cares? What happened to the rut? All that buck -chasing- doe excitement that I had under my stand in mid-October, has turned to distant memories. I haven't seen a legal shooter all gun season, let alone either of the two big ones I know are out there. There's no action. Day after drizzily, windy, freezing, fucking cold day, I hit the woods. I'm concentrating on two spots. If I want to get a home cooked meal and some rut activity of mine own, I add WSS. I promised not to shoot any of Shewho's lawn does, but Chuck can't resist leaving me a phone message: "I know you are busy, but there's a big buck under the apple tree. See you Thanksnukah."
    I love this time of year. Even without the rut, hunting every day is a gift (that I'll pay for later). I know I should be working. Or at least disappointed that I don't have a job or a a career. But I can't bring myself to even sweat it. I got enough money to make it through the holidays. Don't expect much under the tree this year. After that who knows. What I want to know is how that buck is getting up and down that mountain? I found a large splayed track in the snow on the back side of GNJohn's mountain and the cracked tree at Majestic was broken completely off sometime within the past week. Both these giants are still very much alive. Now all I have to do is put myself within 100 yards of either, without the scope fogging up, the wind shifting, my knees shaking, or any infinite numbers of things going wrong. In the meantime- I had a dream:

   The congregation is gathered in the parking lot at the shul. I hear a loud roar and turn to see a jetliner nose diving into Zucker's dried up pond, with a giant explosion. A door flies off and spins through the air. It says something that I can't remember. All I think of is to run into the shul to get my camera to photograph the door. But before i do I see a giant erector set structure, like a high tension wire tower, spin through the air towards us. I'm ready for it to land on us all, and shred us to bits, when it stops spinning and lands gently before us. Among the strange creatures to descend the gangplank, of this obviously alien spaceship, is a furry animal called a llony (a cross between a llama and a pony). He gets up on his back legs and asked to see my feet. I'm wearing 3 pairs of socks. When it finally spies my glistening toe nails, it announces "He's the one." The llony then hands me the most comfortable pair of socks i've ever known...... and a cribbage board. Then the alarm goes off. It snowed last night. Think I'll hunt the hut, on the edge of the bushy field.


Friday, November 22, 2013




  I apologize to my readers for going blank. It being the first week of gun season, I've been busy. Since it's pouring rain this morning, I slept in. Here's the update:

   The metal finally went on the shul roof on Saturday and was finished on Wed. What a relief. Call me a drama queen, but you try letting a roofer rip off half the shingles on an old roof, then not show up or call for days on end, and see how dramatic you become. No matter how badly a roof is leaking, it can always get worse. If it gets bad enough it can collapse. Having a good roofer on your team is invaluable. After calling my ex-roofer on his racist tendencies, he refused to work for me anymore. When the new guys left the tarp flapping in the breeze, with rain coming, and no word, I was more than willing to overlook a little racism. But some things you can't change. My advice: never talk race politics with any sub-contractors. But back to deer season.

   I'm hunting two big deer in two different areas, and haven't seen either. What I have seen is sign. Last year, near the end of the season, I noticed rubs (gouges and rips of tree bark by deer antlers) on GNJohn's mountain, so high on the tree they had to be made by a big deer. This year the rub line is back. The same deer, now a year older and bigger is running the same ridge. I moved my stand all the way up the mountain. Opening morning found me climbing that hill in the dark, trying to avoid tripping over branches and rocks. I stumbled around a black rock and it moved..... a porcupine. Phew! Wouldn't want to grab on that in the dark. Finally making it into the stand by 6:15 am, I settled in for the day.
   A doe bedded down in front of me, then moved right under my stand, to munch on hemlock branches I had trimmed by 7 am. Two more does and one big bodied deer, I couldn't make out, completed my 11 hour sit on a postage stamp- not much action for a long opening day. My ass was killing me. Opening day night dinner at Mupp and Ginger's saw us all gathered swapping stories. Among the hunters- Mupp, Savage, Waders and myself, nobody had the safety off.
   The rest of the week has been more of the same- high wind and low deer numbers. Milawyer showed up from West Virginia and the two of us have been hunting, eating and drinking hard all week. Neither of us have seen anything worth shooting. Then, as I got down from my stand at Majestic, I almost stepped in a giant pile of bear shit- more sign. Moving to "the bowl" I snuggled behind a deadfall and finished out the afternoon. It was here I saw something I hadn't seen in years. A green, two inch diameter sapling was scrapped raw, and snapped in half. The one other time I had witnessed this, I also saw the deer that did the damage, down at Mupp's. It was easily the biggest deer I'd ever seen in my life. My heart beat faster. I'd already had intelligence from Buddy Budde that a big deer was on the farm. Here was the proof. When I showed Buddy a pic of the big seven I shot in Oct., he reacted nonplussed. "That's the little one." he informed me in his classic whine. Two big deer and a bear are roaming my hunting grounds. I've seen the sign. Now all I need is a shot.  

Friday, November 15, 2013



Maybe it started years ago when the Grand Dragon of the KKK moved to town. Or it could've been when those flying saucers were spotted just over the tree tops. Was it in the flouride in the water? Or has it always been part of the fabric of these rural towns scattered throughout our entire country? In any case I wasn't too surprised when I read in the paper that the school system in Pine Bush was in deep shit over incidents of anti-semitism involving students and staff. What was surprising was that a day after a NYTimes article exposing this behavior was published, NY Gov. Cuomo and the Feds instituted investigations in Pine Bush. Back on the mountain, the roofers had finally showed up at the shul, so I had my afternoon free. I jumped in the car and headed for Pine Bush.

   You can blame racist spacemen or KKK dragons, but from where I sit this probably all started with Bloomingburg. Bloomingburg is a hardscrabble little place, about the equivalent of Walden in Orange County. The people are beaten down, working poor, old farmers, hillbillies and struggling business people. It's a town you drive through, on the way to somewhere else. A few years ago a well-heeled Hasidic developer hired a local to act as a front man for a housing development he was planning. This is not uncommon in these parts. This guy put before the board a proposal for an upscale little community of swimming pools, golf course and limited units. Glad that anyone  would want to build here, the town board passed the plans. Did I say anybody? Well that's not entirely true.
    As it turned out the proposed (and now passed) development was a 300 plus unit Hasidic enclave, complete with girl's school. When this all came to light, the local shit hit the fan. And, surprise, Bloomingburg is in the Pine Bush school district. What followed was a ground swell of disapproval. And as any Jew in town will tell you "It's not anti-semitism. I'm Jewish!" And they would be right. What it is is anti-Hasidism. Like fat people, you can still ridicule Hasidim, without anyone saying boo. The problem being is that when mom and dad are home ragging on the "Jews" for ruining their "lifestyle", they don't always make a distinction between the many sects. Kids are nothing more than imitating monkeys. Before you knew it swastikas are carved in desks and some poor chubby kid is being punched in his stomach.

I pulled the car into the school parking lot just as I remembered I had my 12 ga. turkey gun in the trunk. Hopefully there would be no incident that would cause anyone to pop my trunk and throw me in jail. I pressed the button and an elderly woman's voice asked me for ID. I told her I had none. Then I realized she was not talking about school ID. I showed my driver's license and was buzzed in. The woman at the folding table informed me that I would have to talk to someone at the administration building. Lucky for me it was right across the parking lot.
   The kids eyeballed me as I crossed between the big yellow buses. I could read their minds. Was he a reporter, a cop, a JEW? I got buzzed in by another nice old lady. As she explained to me that the superintendent was in a meeting, a woman came out from behind a closed door. "There she is." the nice woman said. I turned and introduced myself to the Pine Bush school system super. "I'm a local Jewish writer." I told her, extending my hand "I'd like to get your side of this story." She looked me up and down. "Funny, you don't look like a writer." I had no idea what that meant. Then she apologized that she had her hands full and could not talk to me. "If you go to our website, it's all there." And then she went back into the noisy room. Will the Feds and Stateys get to the bottom of this? I doubt it. It runs too deep. Time to get back in the woods. Opening day is tomorrow. Hope everyone is ready.    

Thursday, November 14, 2013




 Contrary to what you may have read in revisionist history, in the early 90's I worked the door at the recently closed bar Max. Fish and wrote a monthly column for trendy PAPER magazine. Typical of most who left the scene in those days- outta sight, outta mind. I've been gone so long, nobody remembers that I was even there. One of my last assignments at PAPER was to cover the spring fashion shows. Looking back, fashion was a rarefied, niche industry in those days. The big name designers of today like Isaac Mizrahi and Betsy Johnson held their shows in soho lofts and nightclubs, the scene not quite co-opted by Bryant Park pop culture. I counted myself "hip" enough to get in the door and rub elbows with Andre the Giant and Anna Vogue, not to mention Christy, Naomi and Veronica. Part of my job description at PAPER was "soothsayer". My prediction for pre-internet, late 20th century entertainment? Fashion....and all that comes with it. Gotta say, I was right.
    Now that fashion is old news, art seems to be taking its place in the newsfeed. Or rather art/money. The recent NY residency of Brit artist Banksy is a perfect example. This cat is able to work both the sides of the cultural fence. Unlike Samo who left street art to become a big player in the art world, as Jean Michel, Banksy plays with all of it. The work brings big bucks at auction, as well as providing an ongoing treasure hunt for the NY POST and those in the know. From Joe Blow, who was smart enough to truck off the sphinx, to the Hustler Club torch cutting their roll up gate, the talk is always- what is it worth?
   It's difficult to talk about any art without the annoyance of money. Warhol's "Silver Car Crash" just went at auction for $104 million, while a Bacon of Lucian Freud fetched $140 mil- both records for these dead artists. This is where art has always intersected pop culture. I may like Beuys (not Boys), but the world could give a shit. It's not about art really, but finance. Ruth K's recently authenticated, rather ugly Jackson Pollack could be worth $50 million. It took a CSI expect identifying a hair from Pollack's polar bear rug to clinch the deal. The cache of Nazi looted modernist masterpieces, found in a Munich apartment, could bring billions. There's no limit to the public's appetite for this kind of art news.
    This past weekend little brother Duke was in town to pick up a large collage I had traded him for some wood carving. Duke may be family, but he's also been a fan of my work for years. Like a few others, he appreciates the fact that I've kept working outside of any money making structure. He's built a nice little collection over years, from gifts and trades. So you can imagine my surprise and delight when he looked at a small drawing I had done recently and asked : "How much?" I was tongue tied. Did he actually want to buy something, or just jerk my chain? Turned out that Duke was serious. After some bargaining, we settled on a price. Call me a sell out, but damn it felt good. It won't make the newsfeed, but maybe it will prime the pump a little. As for me, I'm just adding zeros. Far as I'm concerned, it's all priceless.       

Tuesday, November 12, 2013




 First snow last night. We got about a half inch at WSSP and a slight dusting here at the shack. The roofers finally showed up at the shul yesterday afternoon and I'm keeping my fingers crossed they'll get it done before the next storm. Winter's fast approaching. In the meantime I've been stalking turkeys in the big meadow at WSS. The first time out I spotted a good flock high on the hill. The problem was they spotted me at the same time and although they didn't spook, they went on high alert. Back tracking, I was able to sneak within 200 yards, before hitting the crunchy leaves. They went up like a flock of crows. I never had a chance.
   Last night I saw that the field was empty, so set up on the high side and started calling. I wasn't there 5 mins. before I spotted something black coming out of the woods on the low side, 250 yards across the field. It was a jake on a dead run for me. At about 75 yards he stopped, staining his neck, and mimicking my call, looking for me. Then he turned and started to head away. I slowly scratched on the call. He turned and ran right down my gun barrel. The only problem was I had forgotten my glasses in the car. The shotgun sights were a blur. At 30 yards I tried to settle the sights on his neck, and fired.......

   Yesterday I talked to Savage. He told me our old friend Hkabann was not going to make it north for deer season. He wasn't doing too well fighting his cancer in Fla. I'd called Savage, bitching about my roofers. After he informed me about H, he followed it with a little wisdom- "Guess that puts your roof problems in perspective." He was right. I'd spent the past few years watching my parents die. Now friends were starting to go. On the weekend Sister NOYB had asked if I had any fresh blood for a friend of her's, that was in a bad way. He craved blood for some reason. It so happened that I had a jelly jar full of frozen deer blood in my freezer, that I used for drawing. As we sat having tea in my kitchen, I pulled out the jar and gave it to her. It sounded crackpot, but who was I to question the wishes of a sick man? A little blessing of the blood and she was on her way back to the city.

   I'm not big on praying, but last night after missing the shot on that turkey (yeah, I missed- twice) I laid down in those leaves, cradling the 12 ga. and laughed so hard I almost cried.  I wished the old man was alive to hear the story of that lonely jake running lickety-split across that field, only to have me miss. And this led me to prayer. I said a little prayer for H, too sick to hunt and even one for that guy, who I had never met, that was drinking the deer blood from the doe and buck I had killed with the bow. In the words of Savage- "That should put things in perspective."

Friday, November 8, 2013




   Last year, a few days after the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting, I posted on fb, an old picture of me in a LA hotel room, in a plushy white bathrobe and shades, holding my 9mm. This was the image I had used, not only as a fb profile pic, but as representative of a piece I had done- legally carrying my pistol from NY to Cali. Before Sandy Hook nobody said boo. In the hysterical wake surrounding the massacre in Newtown, Ct., people couldn't wait to tell me how much of an asshole I was. After the killing of a TSA agent at LAX last week, let me tell you this story again.

   Pull up a cracker barrel boys and girls. Warm your hands on that defective mac keyboard, and listen to this tale. Maybe you'll learn something.
    Way back in 1998 I had a job out in New Mexico. Realizing that turkey season would start while I was out west, I decided to see if I could fly with my shotgun. I made some calls, and found out it was surprisingly easy to take your gun on a  plane. I packed my 12 ga. and my .357 mag. handgun in a case and walked to the check in counter at Newark airport. Imagine the looks on the people in line, when this long haired, bearded man, pulled out his firearms to show the agent they were unloaded. "Are you military?" the agent asked. "No." "Law enforcement?" "No." She then smiled, as I packed up my guns, and told me to have a good trip. Easy peasey.

   Ten years later, in our brave new, post-911 world, I wanted to see if I could just as easily, carry my gun to LA. To my surprise, it was the same simple process. I checked my piece at the counter at Stewart Field and picked it up on the carousel at LAX. The story would end here, if it were not for the return trip.
    This was my first time flying out of LAX, so I was a bit confused which line I was supposed to be in. As I approached a tiny, black woman in a TSA uniform, I realized she had her hands full arguing with a elderly white couple, unhappy about something. I interrupted the stand off- "Excuse me 'mam. I'm carrying a firearm. Can you.....?" Before I could finish my sentence, asking her where I should go, she waved me forward, like I was head of security. "Right this way, sir." She said with a smile, glaring at the old couple, as if to infer if they didn't cooperate I was gonna arrest them. And here's where it gets even crazier. Once that TSA agent waved me through, it was like I was Brad Pitt at the Oscars. The seas parted. All I had to say was "firearm" and I kept going to the front of the line. Damn, they sure were friendly to gun owners in LA.

If it wasn't for a uniformed airport cop, finally questioning me as to who I was, I would've been sitting in the co-pilot's seat, gun on my lap. That one little mistake, by the distracted, albeit well meaning TSA agent on the sidewalk, allowed me full access to the airport, all the time declaring "I have a gun." When it was all straightened out, I went back outside and got in the proper line. My point in posting that pic on fb, was to draw attention to just how easy it is to bring a gun in the airport- any airport. It's a sad fact that gun laws will not protect anyone from some maniac intent on killing with a gun. At 9:15 am LA time this morning there will be a moment of silence for the murdered TSA agent. Sorry to say, he is most likely only the first.         

Thursday, November 7, 2013




   It didn't take long. As soon as I changed my stance on the change in NY's law on legalized gaming in the state, the lines lit up and the emails began pouring in. The excitement in the air was palpable. Coincidently, yesterday was a big day at the shul/casino. I'd hired roofers and the surveyor finally showed up to set the pins and move one step closer to closing on the property. Rain was forecast for last night, so I had my hands full overseeing getting the place buttoned up. Even though it had been leaking for could always get worse with improper treatment. By dark the tarps were flapping in the breeze and my fingers were crossed that they would not blow off in the storm. So, at mid-day when I received an email from Diamond Dave to attend a meet and greet with the Gov. I had to beg off and remain in town.
    It wasn't until after dark, when I got a call from DD, to come by for drinks, that I got the scoop on the shindig with the bigwigs. Predictably our fearless leader of NYS dropped into Bethel Woods, just like Jimi Hendrix close to 50 years ago, in a State police helicopter. All the players were there- Steve Esq. (of Steve and Edy), The Cheese Man, Mr. Big, RNB, Aileen G., the head of the Stateys, a bunch of bodyguards and of course DD. The parking lot was filled with shiny limos, Mercedes, BMWs and Diamond Dave's space ship Porsche. Using common sense DD wasn't packing. Helpful hint: When you meet the Gov. leave your pistol in the car.

   Some may think my willingness to so readily accept casinos is a flip flopping character flaw. I'm nothing, if not a pragmatist. The way i see it I have two choices- dig in my heels and alienate all these heavyweights (which would be fun) or try to work with them in shaping our future, now that it's a done deal. I choose the later. And this is not going to be easy. I'm so comfortable as a thorn in the side of these cats, that it may take some doing to change my stripes. To pull out one more old chestnut- if you can't beat 'em.....use 'em.
   Right now Double Agent DD is our best weapon. He and Steve Esq. pressed the flesh with Gov. Andy and all the rest gathered at the old WOODSTOCK site. They talked with Aileen G.'s people about the CLGM and HWS. I knew the DEC read this blog, but was surprised to hear that Andy was a fan. Here's a shout out to the Gov. Poor Jimi was probably turning over in his grave. Who would've thought in 1969 that Yasgur's corn field would be such an ongoing historical hot spot. There must be some sort of convergence vortex in that field. Will this new law destroy the 'Skills or help it? We'll all just have to wait and see. In the meantime I hope the tarps haven't blown off my casino, NYSEG sets me a new meter, the surveyor gets the paper work to my lawyer and my new fan Andy doesn't allow fracking in NYS. Lets work together. Today's numbers: 15-67-43. Congrats to all you winners!        

Wednesday, November 6, 2013




  Blame Shewho. She did not register to vote. So now we have casinos. I think the scapegoat mantel can be passed from PGH to her shoulders without too much difficulty. Maybe that will allow George to settle down and make a better shot on a deer. Good luck buddy. You should feel lighter already.

    Now that legalized casino gaming is here, I for one, am wasting no time in setting up  a  little operation of my own. Let the big players wait for all the graft to trickle down into the pockets of government, before opening their doors in the Catskills. I'm getting a jump on things. And, not to disappoint the sociologists, I'm catering to problem gamblers with a drug, alcohol or sex addiction. My casino will be a full service operation. Luck not with you at the tables? Take a break in the back room with an umbrella drink, a line and a welcome release provided by one of our full service masseuses. Or get married in the little chapel of the pines. Homosexuals welcome.
   As far as I'm concerned, legal is legal. Why should the deep pocketed players have all the fun? Starting today I'm taking book, running numbers, setting up the poker tables and looking for used slot machines. Pigpen promises me he knows how to deal cards. So he will be hiring the croupiers. Mystery Girl will be in charge of the supermodel floor show. Long legs will be a prerequisite. This morning I tried to get some ostrich feathers from RNButch's birds for the costumes, with little success. Those damn birds sure can run. We've had legalized gaming here in the Catskills for less than 24 hours and time's a wasting.
    Until we get a roof on the casino it may be a little damp in the main room. But we have waterproof cards and umbrellas for rent.  I know initially I was against gaming. But let me tell you, I'm nothing if not flexible in these matters. I'm sewing little tuxedos for the cats and teaching them how to be greeters. "Welcome to the Casino of the LGM...." "meow." It may take a little time to get the cats on board. They all voted no. Cats may have nine lives but they hate taking chances. In the meantime I'm loading the dice, shaving the cards, and fixing whatever has to be fixed. Place yer bets ladies and gentlemen. Everyone's a winner.


Monday, November 4, 2013




History is a funny thing. Growing up in the post-war 50's, my youth was spent battling imaginary enemies in the fields and woodlots of upstate NY. Invading hordes of Indians, Japs and Nazis were kept at bay with cap guns, sling shots and dirt clods. Before you knew it, time had passed and you were carrying a real .22, stalking woodchucks and visualizing what it would be like to be trudging through the jungles of Vietnam, fighting our newest enemy- Charlie. Thankfully, by the time I was of draft age I'd left these childhood killer fantasies behind and got my II-S deferment, avoiding military service by staying in college until the draft ended in the early 70's. I haven't killed any Nazis in years. The War is over....if you want it to be.

    Over time I've met, and worked with, plenty of our past enemies- Japanese, Vietnamese, Germans, Koreans, Afghans, Indians and Iraqis. I like them all, but I have to say, I like the Germans the best. How was it possible that this society wrecked such havoc on humanity so recently in history? They all seem so civilized. Every time I meet a new German I'm surprised how much I like them. A case in point is the other night when, out of the blue, Mystery Girl called to say she was coming upstate with her boyfriend Horst's brother Jolly and his girlfriend Bessie. So happens Jolly is a famous movie director who was in NYC to premier his new movie on Princess Di. We all gathered at Shewho's for a great evening of eating and drinking. Like Horst, Jolly is smart, engaging and as charming a man as you'd ever want to meet. He now joins Hans, Stefan, TYZ, Udo, Bruno, Mooner and Horst, as a German friend.

This morning the news featured a story on the son of a Munich art dealer who had, in his filthy apartment, a stash of WWII era stolen "degenerate" art. Canvases by Picasso, Matisse, Chagall, Ensor and many others, worth over a billion euros, were "discovered" in the hoarder's pad. Most, if not all, of this art was stolen from Jewish collectors and  even though this all was known by authorities months, if not years ago, it only now has come to light in the media. Why have these not been returned to the rightful owners of the works? Answer: The Art Nazis.
   The art world (museums, dealers, collectors) are as secretive and nefarious a bunch as any golf outing of Gestapo high command. Suitcases of cash and Swiss wire transfers are the norm in this world. Canvases lifted off the wall of Jewish apartments, as the inhabitants were trucked off to the gas chambers, remain as witness. To even engage in a debate over what should be done with this art is disgusting. Many have firm provenance showing when, where and by whom these pieces were purloined. As a kid, I can remember the tattooed numbers on the arm of the woman serving me a hamburger in the local deli. This is what influenced my blood print work. Very soon there will be no more of those tattoos. Why do I like the Germans? I don't really know. Maybe the war isn't quite over. Wait.....who is that coming across the field? I hear the word "Art" and I reach for my gun.                

Saturday, November 2, 2013




The deer have been butchered and smoked. My prescription for antibiotics is done and the hole in my leg has healed. Halloween and Shewho's bday are over. Opening day of gun is over two weeks away and the rut is heating up. I've taken Smokey's double barrel "Jake" out for turkeys a couple of times and even called in about a dozen birds over at WSSP II. After shooting that little doe I didn't want to repeat killing a small animal, so I never took a shot at the two hens and 10 poults. No matter how tender, there just isn't enough meat to justify the kill. Most days I work in the shul and pray the roof doesn't collapse with every rain storm.
    I think election day is Tuesday. This is an important one. A 50 year battle to bring casino gambling to Sullivan County is finally being put before the people of NY state. Voting yes on Prop. 1 would allow two non-Indian casinos in Sullivan County. The answer to our prayers? Well, lets take a look.

    The history of Sullivan County is a rich one. The Eastern European Jews were the first large group of immigrants to join the local hillbilly trappers, lumberman, tanners, and bootleggers in developing the county. Any extra room in dairy and chicken farms, owned by the Jews, were rented out in the summers to city folk sweltering on the Lower East Side. This led to boarding houses, bungalow colonies and eventually big hotels like The Concord and Grossingers. When prohibition came in, the bootleggers, Italian and Jewish mob and the hotel owners joined forces to make the Catskills a hot spot for partying, drinking, gambling (as well as dumping bodies). This was what is now known as our "heyday".
   By the time WOODSTOCK happened in 1969 it was over. Air conditioning and cheap airfares were kisses of death for the tourist industry. By the 70's the hotels looked like seedy old age homes, empty except for the Jewish holidays. By the 1980's property values had plummeted and everyone wanted out. In stepped the Hassidics. This insular group of organized bargain hunters began buying up property and set the stage for the large scale development being proposed today. Child bearing being an integral part of the culture, they understandably need space. Up until now the Catskills has been a summer retreat for Hassidim. This will change. Year 'round residential enclaves are right around the corner.
   This brings me back to casinos. If casinos come in they will bring with them much development- some good.....most bad. All you have to do is look at Atlantic City and Vegas to see what our future may be. Between the min-vans, the buses filled with gamblers and everyone else trying to escape the city, traffic will be hell. And guess what? Gamblers hunt. The deer woods that Savage and I have had to ourselves for years, will be dotted with the "pumpkin army".  The threat of over development is very real. Hassidim, Casinos, Fracking, and even Williamsburg hipsters (I hear Mountaindale is going to be a latte-swilling hipster theme park.) are poised and ready to take over our paradise. How long can we keep these well-heeled forces at bay? Is the "heyday" returning? Only the future will tell. I, for one, find the Hassidics, even with their chain link fences, shoddy construction, Friday evening road rallies and pushy shopping cart practices, the least of the evils. Let your conscience be your guide, but I am voting NO on Tues. and thinking of putting a meth-lab in one of my trailers. The art business sure isn't working. Gotta make the most of our present and not worry too much about the future. Time to get in the woods before some gambler steals my tree stand.