Tag Archives: community

On Love…(excerpt from upcoming Revolution and Beer book: TOMFOOLERY IS NOT A GUY FROM TEXAS, Riffs and Rants from Post-Republican America)

the mooksI’m collecting perspectives. That’s all any of us can do in coming to an understanding of what love is, which is fundamentally what the issue of Gay Marriage comes down to; Love and the hierarchy of love. That is, which love is valid, and with is not.

So, if in a truly Christian society, particularly one in which not only the Bible is contradictory, but even the most boisterously pious of men ultimate are judicious in what in that book they will adhere to, and what they will not, we are left with perspectives. So it becomes a mandate for each of us to collect perspectives on the world, and to weigh things not just in the balance, but upon a broader, deeper understanding of love.

I suppose that’s the way to come to some better comprehension of the word, as it is as elusive as defining a day without explaining the rotation of the earth, the waxing and waning of shadows, of morning dew, the urgency of fulfilling each final moment before sunset, or donning a sweater against an evening chill.

How does one comprehend the wind from a single pale word? In it there is limited comprehension for the gentlest of breezes against a humid morning, the rage of a tornado, a howling blizzard wind or the gust that stands out a flag to its fullest glory. There is only a hint of consideration in the word “wind” for the clap of a full sail unfurling, of the thundering surf rushed towards a pristine shoreline, the rattles of trash through an alley, the frosty whistle through a gap in the window.

Words fail us, and the heart fails us more. Not in the wish for love, but in the arrogance of ego that we truly comprehend its scope. Young lovers exalt in its electric rush, sweeping them headlong towards the uncertainty of love; to be swept over into the abyss where they are lost, or to settle into something that lasts a lifetime. There is the love in a child’s needing eyes, love in the betrayal and sorrow of a broken heart and an argument, and love in the adoring gaze of a pet.

There is love among friends, between lovers and among enemies. The desperate, dying and downtrodden find love in the rescuing eyes of those who would comfort and save them. Some find love in a glass of wine, or in a wonderful meal, others in the whisper of a sunrise or the majesty of a moment. We love our work and the passion of a cherished painter, or the brilliance of a favorite writer, or in diversity of all things. Many find it in the grace and goodness of god, but who’s god? What form god takes is entirely one’s own definition, and that definition informs their perspective or lack of perspective on love.

Defining love might be the fools way out. No, better to come to it as a science of sorts, in which there will never be a proper or simple definition, but rather a deeper knowledge and understanding…

Catch WC Turck and Brian Murray only at RevolutionandBeer.com. Watch us every Tuesday at 7:30 p.m., and Wednesdays at 2:30 p.m., on Chicago Cable Channel 19. Please don’t forget to Like us on Facebook.

ACTIVISTS AND COMMUNITY ORGANIZERS: If you have a cause to champion, please let us know. We proudly stand with you in the important work of strengthening the grassroots support network for the city of Chicago.

BEER! Catch the Beer of The Week review with 900poundgorilla, along with weekly food pairings for our featured beers by Chef AJ Francisco and Simply Healthy Gourmet author Carole Cooper here. Find all of the great beers we review each week at www.glunzbeers.com.

How to steal a house and not get caught. Follow these simple instructions.

First, and this is the hardest part, start your own bank. I know, I know, before you start laughing, you’re saying, “where will I get that sort of money?” But the great thing is, if you tell the government that you’re a bank and you have a business model that doesn’t work they will give you money. Alot of money! Now, here is the tricky part. You put that government cash in a shoebox, but you still need money for your bank, for your big house, a big ubiquitous building in some downtown financial district and maybe a cute little something on the side.

How do you get that money? You steal it!

Ha! you say. People go to jail for stealing, and have to pay back what they stole. Wrong. Not if you’re a bank, and not if you steal from the right people. Remember, you are too big to fail. Oh, and you’ll need money for political contributions and security too, because unlike banks before deregulation, your business model is no longer based upon providing an honest service for an honest fee, but on theft. When the protesters show up to express their outrage, using some silly document they call “the constitution” or some such, your political friends will provide courts and police against the so-called citizens. Security will get you home.

Sound farfetched? Sound like I’m using sarcasm-packed hyperbole? Take the case of Mary Bonelli, whose home was bought and paid for decades ago. Now fast forward to the mid-nineties. Mary and her sister take out an $80,000 Dollar loan to fix the burden of years and living on the modest red-brick two-flat their grandparents purchased in 1921 after arriving from Russia. It is reasonable that to secure the loan Mary and her sister handed over the title to the house to the bank. They made the repairs and made the payments to Fifth Third Bank. So far so good, right? Once they paid off the loan, which they were well on their way to doing, they’d get the title back. Honest business.

Back about 2010, amid the economic downturn (for the average American, but a windfall for banks as they virtually looted the treasury)Mary’s house was still valued at $250k. The Cook County assessor valued the house and lot at the same value a year later. In 2012, like every piece of real estate in Chicago, affected by the economy, the value dropped. Not by alot, the 2012 assessment was still around a modest $200,000. By then Mary and her sister had been paying on their home repair for the better part of 15 years. The house, paid for all those years before the loan, would soon be theirs again.

Then something interesting happened. Fifth Third bank simply stopped accepting their payments. Mary and her sister, now both sick, were still current on their payments. The bank just wouldn’t take their payment anymore. Furthermore, they just wouldn’t, couldn’t or refused to give the elderly sisters any information about why they were no longer taking their payments. Incidentally, all that money remains in their account.

Well, come to find that the bank had sold the title to Fannie Mae, and that Fannie Mae is now undertaking foreclosure proceedings against the property. The why in that equation is a simple one. Fannie Mae wants its money, and now as “holder” of the title, it needs to eliminate the last obstacle to that money: Mary Bonelli and her sister.

This is how it appears to me, and I have reached out to Cook County Sheriff Tom Dart for a clarification if I am wrong, but based on the facts thus far, this is a case of theft. From my point of view, and I will give everyone ample opportunity to state their side, but it appears that Fifth Third Bank stole Mary Bonelli’s house and fenced it to Fanny Mae, who now wants to liquidate the stolen property to make their money back.

So far Sheriff Dart has not responded, and he is welcome on the radio show to help clear the air or, as a Law Enforcement officer, detail the steps to right this apparently clear criminal behavior.

See, if you needed say, $200 bucks to fix your car and you gave me the title for keeping until you paid back the two hundred, the car really isn’t mine. The $200 was. The car is just a little security to get back my cash. Now, say you are giving me $25 a month and after the 5th month I just stop answering your calls or excepting the $25 because I decided to sell the title to your car to someone, in most people’s book, that is called theft, and you can go to jail for that. If you were the one buying the title, whether you knew the car was stolen or not, and you go ahead and put the car up for sale on Craig’s List, that also is a crime. Unless you happen to be a bank. Then it’s just business.

Mary Bonelli needs your help, because if they can do this to Mary they can do this to all of us. Draw the line in a fight we can win. Sign the petition at: http://start2.occupyourhomes.org/petitions/keep-mary-bonelli-s-family-in-their-home-of-three-generations. and find out how you can help at “Communities United Against Foreclosure and Eviction” unitedagainsteviction@gmail.com>View contact details;

Catch 900poundgorilla’s WC Turck and Brian Murray each Sunday 8-9am only on Our Town, at Chicago’s Progressive Talk, WCPT AM and FM, and streaming online. Friend us on Facebook at Revolution and Beer. And if you have a cause to champion, please let us know as we work to become the grassroots support network for Chicago Activists and community organizers

Catch the beer of the week review with 900poundgorilla’s WC Turck and Brian Murray each Sunday 8-9am only on Our Town, at Chicago’s Progressive Talk, WCPT AM and FM, and streaming online. Friend us on Facebook at Revolution and Beer. And find all of the great beers we review each week at Louis Glunz Beer Inc., http://www.glunzbeers.com

Revolution and Beer…of the week: Young’s Double Chocolate Stout

All the rage! the stock clerk at the liquor store said stout beers are all the rage. Hearing that, I nearly put my selection back on the shelf. i am not about the rage, but about the beer. Not that I’m a beer snob. I keep a couple of PBRs, a 6-pack of Schlitz or Old Milwaukee-as a nod to my dad-in the fridge. Sometimes cold and casual,  at least in a beer, is the way to go. doesn’t work so much for dates. Supply your own punchline here.

So, it was with some momentary reticence that I nearly put the beer neatly back on the shelf in front of him. For just an instant I pondered that act, perhaps swaggering arrogantly just a bit and remarking that I was way to cool to follow “the rage,” and that I would go home in stead to enjoy an ice-cold Mickey’s?

Oh, come on beer snobs. You’ve had a Mickey’s. Maybe late at night, when there are no witnesses. Just you and that squat, barrel-shaped green bottle with the wide mouth. Perhaps after sampling and pondering the nuances and layering, deciphering the layers of a couple imports hand crafted by Franciscans in the Alps, at some secluded 15th Century monastery/brew pub accessible only by mountain goat and Rick Steeves. After straining at descriptive adjectives like amber, sunset, or midnight to describe colors, and hoppy, roasted malts, citrusy and spices for flavor,  which is great, sometimes it is nice to trailer-trash things a bit with a simple brew that makes you feel a bit foolish for attempting at those descriptors. think of it like your Ferrari just ran out of gas and a guy in a rusted Ford pick up just rescued you from the side of the road.

Instead I pursed my lips thoughtfully and nodded politely before making my way to the check out. I set down the pint of Young’s Double Chocolate Stout in front of the cashier. She was a young and pretty, with shoulder length dark hair and  a sincere smile. I hadn’t seen her there before, and guessed that she was new. Turning the bottle to the silver and royal purple label she commented pleasantly, “Is this good? I love chocolate!”

Now there’s the right attitude, I thought. Go for what you like. Beer is supposed to be about community, and exploration in the amazing number of choices is a good thing, but we’re not pursuing the holy grail here, folks. The exploration is about finding something you enjoy, that rounds out an evening, becomes a catalyst for conversation or debate or  compliments a good meal…or is ice-cold and relaxing after a hot afternoon’s yard work.youngs-double-chocolate-stout

Young’s Double Chocolate Stout won the Gold Medal at the Brewing industry International Awards in 2000, and the Silver Medal in 2002. I knew that researching the beer before picking it up to try for the first time. Not that it mattered. I failed to taste any gold or silver in the beer at all! Instead, what I did find was a really nicely balanced beer. It had the essence of chocolate without being overly sweet, and just the right balance of bitterness. Midnight black(yeah, I said midnight…), it was full and rich without being too watery or too syrupy. I finished the bottle without feeling overstuffed.Young’s poured to a nice half-inch umber head. Sweeping in the aroma as the head melted slowly back into the body, I caught a hint of vanilla and caramel.

Comfortably priced, and coming in at a gentle 5.2% ABV, it was the right choice for  a frigid midwinter’s night. Full bodied dark beers with character, flavor and layers seem fitting for this time of year. Young’s Double Chocolate Stout is a great choice for cooking as well, and I can see, though I haven’t done it yet, working in a good chili or a hearty stew. I tried it with a smokey bit of sausage and cheese and found a really nice balance at that…

Listen to 900poundgorilla every Sunday morning 8-9 on Chicago’s Progressive Talk, WCPT am820 and streaming live worldwide for the Revolution and Beer show only on Our Town.

Catch the beer of the week review with 900poundgorilla’s WC Turck and Brian Murray each Sunday 8-9am only on Our Town, at Chicago’s Progressive Talk, WCPT AM and FM, and streaming online. Friend us on Facebook  at Revolution and Beer. And find all of the great beers we review each week at Louis Glunz Beer Inc., www.glunzbeers.com. And check out their fine beer glasswear selections  at the “Beerables” link  at the bottom of their page.  

Looking for a Christmas Miracle

There is  small but simple group of activists on Chicago’s troubled South Side. You likely have never heard of them, but what they are doing, or attempting to do is nothing short of miraculous. They are called HelpHouseChicagoHomelessPeople https://sites.google.com/site/helphousechicagohomelesspeople/.

I helped get them up and running over the summer. We literally were taking back immorally foreclosed homes in already struggling and blighted neighborhoods from banks. In a bold move, we simply occupied an abandoned foreclosed home, one the bank was content to simply board up and forget or write off as a loss at 6746 South Champlain. I’m told that the previous owner was  an elderly man who died shortly after being evicted. That done, the building was boarded up and forgotten. Taking it back for the homeless, doing badly needed repairs and re-integrating it into the neighborhood, seemed like justice. 

Tom Turner, who runs the 501c3, knows what its like to be homeless. He’s struggled with addiction and other issues before finding his way to Occupy Chicago last year, where he found direction, community and inspiration. When we first went to the house thieves had stolen or smashed all the windows, ripped out pipes, destroyed fixtures and carried away the only hot water heater. Pooling our money, friends helped Tom as much as possible, but it was Tom who worked tirelessly, sometimes going days to afford supplies from his public assistance to make the place livable.

Tom was helping himself  as much as pursuing the dream of helping others struggling and homeless. This was a lifeline for a man of limited lifelines. He thought way out of the box, showing the same initiative, the same drive and vision equal to any Fortune 500 CEO. Down on the street, belabored by all that comes with and from that, fortunes come hard-fought and in much different packages. But Tom and the small but passionate group of HHCHP now have two houses for the homeless. They’ll tell you it is only the beginning. Tom strikes an imposing profile. He’s been in jail, shot and stabbed numerous times, but I’ve spent a lot of time with him, under all sorts of circumstances, and his heart is true and decent.

So, this Christmas Eve, at around one in the afternoon, I will be delivering a Christmas dinner, complete with all the fixings. A good friend at Safari Cup coffee, Dave McLaughlin has already donated 5 pounds of his finest ground. As winter arrives, I’d give most anything for an “It’s a Wonderful Life” moment, as the community comes together to help people truly making a difference, far from the headlines, but closer to the heart.   

So this is what I’m asking, there are a lot of resources needed  to make these abandoned houses livable. Come to see the effort and join in the family you never knew you had and feel as welcome as if you’d been there forever. Is there a truer way to celebrate the season?
Some of the materials they need immediately are:
    – Windows
    – Paint
    – Carpet
    – Wood
    – Drywall
    – PVC Piping
    – An Electric Water Tank/ Radiators
    – Locks

    – Appliances
    – Food
    – Clothes (especially winter clothes and boots)Please contact https://sites.google.com/site/helphousechicagohomelesspeople/donate  if you have any of these supplies that you are willing to donate.

This Saturday: Fundraiser for the Occupy Freedom School at SHOP 5338 S. Woodlawn

Please Join us this Saturday for Food, Cocktails, Music, and Talk at the fundraiser for the Occupy Freedom School! 

Saturday, December 22nd 2012 at
     SHOP 5338 S. Woodlawn
                                    4-7 pm

The South Side Chicago Freedom School offers no cost, community-based educational opportunities for people of all ages. Classes and workshops directly respond to neighborhood and community’s specific desires and needs. We seek to blur the conventional lines between teacher and student, and believe in everyone’s capacity to teach and to learn. We value the non-canonized knowledge of our neighbors, daughters, elders, handymen, babysitters, and all others. This fundamental faith and belief in the worth of existing stores of knowledge within our own community supports our mission to encourage the growth of grassroots educational opportunities.

The South Side Chicago Freedom School is moving to the Woodlawn neighborhood at 6026 S. Vernon! This is an important move because the building and land we are moving into was previously vacant & abandoned. This is because the real estate market is self serving. It does not respond to the needs of the community, but to the demands of the market. This house was discarded after the crash, and we are now reclaiming this house from the market and assigning value to it as a Schoolhouse. Here we will continue to work with people to take back their neighborhood.

In the last three months we accomplished a lot. We started classes, recruited volunteers, and found a home. And we’re not slowing down. We’re planning to install plumbing and heating in the house, build a recording studio in the basement and plant a garden in vacant lots across the street all in the new year.

We are inviting you to attend our fundraiser this Saturday December 22, 2012 from 4:00pm-6:30pm! We need money, but we also want to commune with you.

Tickets are $25 at the door.

If you’re interested in attending and/or helping out in any other way, please contact me directly!

Peace & Thanks,

Stephanie Dunn


312 768 9949

Bec & Jake

South Side Chicago Freedom School aka Occupy Freedom School

Where is Occupy? All around you.

Steel blue-gray clouds to the west burned crimson  at the fringes  against a nearly settled sun. That thoughtful light painted long shadows among the deepening canyons of brownstones and apartment buildings in Chicago’s Rogers Park. A siren’s lamenting wail echoed away, swallowed by the shadows and the night. The moon was silver, climbing above the distant downtown skyscrapers, whose night lights gradually overtook that reflected crimson hue.

Off Lunt Avenue, forty or  so Occupiers gathered in the park beside the lake. Waves tumbled off the Lake, a distant but unmissable chorus as  they fell against the beach. They were gathered in a wide circle, most seated. There were a hand full of guests from Hamburg Germany. The rest were from the movement, which was now scattered into smaller constituencies  across the city. I’d known a number of them since the start of the movement just a year before. It had been a tough year. Some of them looked tired and worn, but the spirit was still there. Now, what had  started as a sort of audacious energy had been replaced by a stalwart resolution from a near tireless effort to turn the nation towards something that worked for the underrepresented in this nation.

There were friends from Occupy el barrio, working on the near South side for immigrant rights, others from the Evanstan group who’d won a fight to move the City of Evanston from Bank of America to a local and privately owned bank. There was a group from Englewood on the far south side, and several students from IIT who wanted to understand how social movements spread.

Rumors of Occupy’s demise were surely exaggerated. The media’s attention peaked and fled from Occupy after the NATO debacle, in which the media conspired to eclipse the message and valid issues by the movement with manufactured  rumors of widespread violence that all but paralyzed the city. And with the loss of the media’s attention went thousands of would-be peripheral supporters who either couldn’t or wouldn’t invest further energies, and were content to allow the powerful and wealthy to resume their temporarily interrupted pillage of the nation.

And so, it seemed, that Occupy was no more. On the anniversary of the movement, the media’s recollection had this sort of “remember when” tone. But Occupy never went away. It didn’t go underground or into seclusion, still smarting from its NATO pummeling. It went into the community.

But the confusion is understandable. It is easy to  see why the perception is that Occupy was a fleeting anomaly to the social and political discourse of the nation and world. The media has never cared about the community, except for content, or to further narratives on race, society and caste in America. but look closely and you will see, work that supports education, the environment, victims of illegal foreclosures, the homeless, immigrants, corruption and poverty. no, Occupy isn’t gone. It is all around you.

I built that, but not alone: Welcome new readers

“…if you’ve been successful, you didn’t get there on your own. You didn’t get there on your own. I’m always struck by people who think, well, it must be because I was just so smart. There are a lot of smart people out there. It must be because I worked harder than everybody else. Let me tell you something — there are a whole bunch of hardworking people out there. If you were successful, somebody along the line gave you some help. There was a great teacher somewhere in your life. Somebody helped to create this unbelievable American system that we have that allowed you to thrive. Somebody invested in roads and bridges. If you’ve got a business, you didn’t build that. Somebody else made that happen. The Internet didn’t get invented on its own. Government research created the Internet so that all the companies could make money off the Internet. The point is, is that when we succeed, we succeed because of our individual initiative, but also because we do things together…”

President Barack Obama, August 2012

I’m a writer, a novelist, an activist, artist and playwright. I’ve been to war, traveled extensively and have a supreme desire to better the world I was born into before I leave it, not commercially, but socially and humanely. A nurtured and near obsessive penchant for communicating that desire for a better world is my greatest tool, but it is nothing without the good people who perform and come to my plays, buy my books, read this blog and also those who argue vehemently with my assertions of sublime wisdom.  

In the Balkans during the break up of Yugoslavia, organizing relief for Rwandan Genocide victims, and struggling to understand bigotry and racial divides in this country, I came to a simple, single theme; that it is all based upon skewed and inflated perceptions of our own egos. There is a tendency in a world in which we are small and overwhelmed all too often to sub-divide the world down to smaller and smaller parcels to understand and pretend our own preeminence. We may define ourselves, for examples, Christians, and then Catholics when the other Christians piss us off, then Americans, midwesterners, from Illinois, then from Chicago, white or black, northside or westside, from a certain neighborhood, attending such and such school, disagreeable to neighbors and so forth until we are left alone in our own misgivings about the world around us. 

It is natural, as we are driven by our egos, needs and desires. But to accede to that solely is a capitulation to our base, anti-social, selfish natures. There must be a balance. We must balance ego with the understanding that we can all exist as nominal allies in this struggle to live and love and face the realities of the world and our own mortality. Rather than subdivide the world down to confirm our own self-importance, a negative, community means erasing a bit of ourself, multiplying ourselves out into the community where we face those inevitable realities in the embrace and nearness of others.

I could write in a cave, those thoughts and perspectives unchallenged as they echo back in some self-validating echo chamber. The illusion or hypocrisy is that the echo is there to assuage my loneliness in that cave. Rather, it is the community and all of you, dear readers, that gives any of this meaning, and for that I am deeply and unalterably in your debt. I did build that, but not alone.

The Meaning of Life? I mean, not in a religious or spiritual sense, or even a philosophical way, but what is the purpose for the Universe to allow or evolve towards the animation and consciousness of life from its inanimate particles and molecules, especially in the face of a Universe which is overwhelmingly hostile to that life? The fundamental question from a universal perspective is whether life is a purpose, a consequence, an accident or an illusion of perspective by beings who define themselves as “alive?” From a human standpoint, the question becomes, what do we do with it? Evolutionary Science tells us we are assemblages of otherwise autonomous organisms working in community for common benefit, and that over billions of years surrendered their autonomy as parts of immensely complex beings capable of asking inane questions such as “why?” By that standard, where do we end and community begins, among each other, upon the planet and in the Universe? Is pain and suffering any different? Are we as individuals fortresses or clouds, or a combination of both? Just thinking…

Naked on a highway in Dalmatia

Hardly more than twenty-four hours earlier I was slogging up a foggy Bosnian mountainside, escaping the war-ravaged Sarajevo valley under sporadic sniper fire. Forced to leave my new wife behind, I made it later the next morning to the besieged town on Mostar, and finally, by mid afternoon to Croatia’s Dalmatian coast.  As night fell, I drifted into an exhausted sleep for the 13 hour bus ride to Zagreb, a full five hours longer since Croatian Army checkpoints and Serb held lands encroached and threatened the two lane highway.

The inky curtains of night, scented with drizzling rain brought a chill through the crowded old Yugoslav Centrotrans bus. I managed a small pocket of warmth beneath my jacket by curling tightly on the worn green vinyl bus seat. i looked up briefly as the bus pulled off the road into the jaundiced light of a road side restaurant. I’d recalled the place from a previous trip. It was an oasis of sorts, miles from the nearest town. I tucked my head under the jacket and went back to sleep.

A short time later I awoke. The bus was nearly empty. A few souls dozed in their seats. Most had gone in for a drink or a meal. Under that jacket, and better than two days since washing, I had even begun to offend myself. I decided a little cleansing was in order.

Leaving my jacket and the rest of my things on the seat, I grabbed my toothbrush, a clean pair of socks and climbed down from the bus, struggling to find my legs at first. I stretched with a yawn and looked back along that dark two-lane highway. To one side lay the Serb-held hills, to the other the sea.

Inside the sounds of diners and the glare of lights were almost assaulting. I paused, looked over to the bus driver, still working on a tiny cup of Turkish coffee, and nodded. In the tiny restroom I grabbed a hand full of towels and stripped to the waist. The cold splash of water fought against the lingering sleep in my body, the tooth-brush and fresh socks brought me a bit closer to humanity. 

 There were  a hand full of Croatian Kuna in my pocket, enough to buy a soda. Stepping out into the diningroom I paused, the realization that the place was suddenly empty not quite taking hold for the moment. Through the plate glass window, just pulling back out onto the highway was the bus!

Swearing loudly, I was off in an instant, bursting through the door, vaulting a short wall and sprinting across the gravel lot after the bus. I yelled, and yelled again, charging into the road, but to no avail. I watched, still running, socks and toothbrush in hand, as the bus went over the hill and disappeared into the black Croatian night.

I kept running, waving my arms. What else could i do? My passport, journals from the war, marriage documents that would get my new wife to America and the one credit card I possessed were on that bus bound for Zagreb. Never in my life, not in the war or anywhere else did I feel so naked and helpless as I did at that instant on that dark deserted road.

A horn blared from behind as a semi-truck swerved around me before it too was swallowed by the night. I kept running, now thinking it was time to head back to the restaurant and call some authority, but as I reached the crest of the hill I was amazed to find the truck driver had somehow signaled the bus. They sat beside the road a little better than a half mile ahead. Shouting at the top of my lungs, I covered the distance in record time, embracing the truck driver and getting a round of applause from all those aboard the bus. 

I collapsed into my seat, pouring sweat, heart pounding madly, more from the thought of what might have happened that night. After a time I started to laugh, and soon couldn’t stop laughing, drawing some odd looks from other passengers. I don’t recall that I stopped laughing that night, only that I awoke the next morning as the bus pulled into Zagreb. Never had that city looked so good.

Occupy My Heart: The radio Show on Best of the Left

The Play that made national headlines, changed hearts and energized a movement is now available on Best of the Left at the link below:

Filled with heart and truth, Occupy My Heart: A revolutionary Christmas Carol is not just a story for the holidays, but a tale of our times. You will be touched in this modern retelling of the Dickens classic.

Please share it with your friends, especially those who still think the struggle of our times is not the co-opting of our great nation by corporate and financial greed.

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