The Luna Park Gazette

“Love is an attempt to change a piece of a dream-world into reality.” --Henry David Thoreau What does it mean when someone dies in a dream? It is some subconscious message that you want them to die? Or is death in a dream a stand-in for change? I had these questions this week when I dreamed about a former crush of mine whom I had not seen or spoken with in seven years. This woman--we’ll call her Mary Jane--never returned my affection, but she was always ready to laugh at my jokes and call me when she needed someone to talk to. I hinted at, but never really told her of my feelings for fear of losing whatever relationship we had, but I kept hoping and hoping that I’d win her over. Brace yourself for a shock, but my hoping didn’t do me any good. For when it came to love, sex and marriage, Mary Jane, like so many woman in my life, made sure to get it all from somebody else. The last time I heard from her was in 2002, when she called me to whine about her then-boyfrie...

“For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” --Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21 I received Communion from Sister Promise today. That’s what I saw on her nametag as she took the host from my hands, dunked into the chalice and put it in my mouth. Sister Promise. I rather liked that name—it seems to be filled with hope and…promise. I was in Trinity Church for my usual weekly service and to receive ashes. I was raised a Roman Catholic, but I’ve attending services at Trinity for over a year now. I had to check the church’s web site to make sure the Episcopalians actually conducted Ash Wednesday services and when I found out they did, I started to get very anxious, wondering if I should get ashes at a Protestant church rather than a Catholic house of worship. I reminded myself that I’d been taking communion at Trinity for quiet a while, so by the Vatican’s reckoning I probably was already well on my way to hell. A smudge of soot on my forehead wouldn...

I was making a failed bid to catch the R train Friday morning when I looked down at someone’s lost glove on the platform and for just a second, I thought it was giving me the finger. It’s been that kind of a week. I’m trying not to be a drama queen here, but the last seven days have been packed with more misery, grief and bad luck that a whole month of Friday the 13ths. Add to this my guilt in knowing that my problems don’t amount to diddley in comparison with the horrors going on in the world and you can see why I’d like to skip my life ahead to May. For starters, something is feeding on me. I have been waking up for the last several mornings with some kind of insect bites. New York City is the middle of a citywide bed bug infestation, so naturally I freaked at the very thought of the evil little bastards invading my hearth and home. I pulled apart my bed, sprayed the whole bedroom with some over the counter insecticide, and even slept out in the living room. None of this helped. I we...

I try not to get too depressed on Valentine’s Day, but I got up this morning and realized that I had received just one card this year—and that was from my aunt. Casanova can rest easy as I’m not about to usurp his title as the world’s greatest lover any time soon. I thought I was on to something last week when I got an email reading “Message from Heaven” that had popped up in Friendster account. I didn’t think the Lord wrote emails but then He does work in mysterious ways. However, this was no divine intervention. I clicked on the link and saw a photo of three young women in bathing suits smiling at the camera. It was grainy and amateurish, like a vacation photo, and I wondered if I actually knew someone named Heaven. (I assumed she was the one in the middle.) Maybe I had met her at some event, or perhaps she was the friend of a friend, or a former co-worker. Maybe I was just grasping at straws. Whoever she was, she was attractive and interested in me, and since I don’t have anybody, ...

Every so often you hear a line that is so perfect it’s nearly painful—especially when someone else says it. This happened to me a few days ago as I was riding down the elevator at my office. I found myself once again looking up at the video news screen that seems to be standard issue in most elevators today. The doors of these elevators are highly reflective so if you don’t look at the monitor you end up staring at your reflection and those of your fellow passengers. It's like facing a group of long lost twins. The news monitor is sponsored by the Wall Street Journal and provides non-stop business news, which, given the current state of the market, feels like non-stop water-boarding. Please, I'll sign anything you want, just don't tell me any more news. When I saw the word “layoffs” appear on the screen, I promptly turned my back. “I don’t know why I read that damn thing,” I said out loud. “Yeah,” a guy next to me said. “‘Market’s Dead; You’re Next.’ ” I had to laugh, in sp...

It's that time of year again when I make my annual oath to move to California. We're into that really ugly part of winter now. Most days are bitter cold, the holidays are over and spring is so far off it feels like something I dreamed up on a three-day binge. Whenever the icy breezes tears through me, I want to put my head back and scream, " what am I still doing here? "--and then run away to some place where the words "wind chill factor" have no meaning. So, once again, I'm swearing to God and anybody else who's listening that this will be the last, goddamnit, the absolute last winter I will ever spend in New York. I want sunshine, warmth, and blue water. I want to visit sandy beaches all year round and ogle women half my age in tight bathing suits. I'm tired of hiding inside my house like a grizzly; I'm weary of wearing a bloated parka that makes me look like the fat man at the circus; I'm fed up with sneezing, sniffling, coughing, cho...