The Luna Park Gazette

I have always been a worrier. As far back as I can remember, I was always concerned that some disaster, some catastrophe, some horrific incident would occur and rip my world to shreds. Accidents, plagues, murder attempts, my mind is a non-stop Hitchcock movie. I probably inherited this trait from my dear mother, who, while physically small, was the heavyweight champion of the heebie jeebies. If we stayed out late without calling, she’d get all upset and say “ I thought you were dead in an alley someplace! ” I was always tempted to ask her why we ended up an in alley and not some other location, but I didn’t want to press my luck. In addition to heredity, I also had to endure the toxic freak festival of Catholic school, which pumped out enough angst to light up the Las Vegas strip for a thousand years, so it’s no wonder I’m a hopeless hand wringer. If I could conjure up stock tips the way I churn out worries I’d be lighting up my cigars with $100 bills. And I don't even sm...

I’ve been getting a lot of double takes from cashiers lately and it has nothing to do with my incredibly handsome face. All I have to do is take out my wallet and I become a retail sensation. “ That’s so cool! ” “ I’ve never seen anything like that before! ” And what’s been the cause of all this excitement? My wallet. Yeah, cashiers see a lot of wallets in the course of a day, but they don’t see too many like mine. This wallet is light years away the traditional black or brown items I’ve been lugging around since high school. This is— product placement alert! —the Mighty Wallet and it looks like… money . Seriously, it’s like some Texas oilman went off the deep end and fashioned a wallet out of his petty cash. It’s got George Washington’s mug shot and all the serial numbers and signatures, though if you look closely it says “One Half” instead of One Dollar. I treated myself to Mighty Wallet after the old Italian job I’ve been carrying for the last seven years was star...

It started three days ago. I got a song stuck in my head—and I mean stuck —and for a while there it looked like nothing short of a lobotomy was going to get it out. The song was “Welcome Me Love,” by The Brooklyn Bridge, which was released in 1969. This was the same year that the Beatles released "Yellow Submarine" in the UK and Led Zeppelin released its debut album in the US. But I didn’t get any of their songs stuck in my head. This was also the same year Tommy James and the Shondells (what is a Shondell, anyway?) released “Crystal Blue Persuasion,” which popped up in a recent episode of “Breaking Bad,” one of my favorite TV shows. But again, that song didn’t loiter in my mind. No offense to Brooklyn Bridge fans out there, but I really dislike this song. But even it were my favorite song of all time, I still wouldn’t want it bouncing relentlessly around my skull. Why did this particular tune get stuck in my head? I wish to hell I knew. The thing just invaded my br...

I got to Manhattan before sunup this morning as I headed to an early gym class. It was like any other morning until the bus reached Battery Park and I saw the ring of American flags surrounding “ Sphere for Plaza Fountain ,” the battered sculpture that somehow survived the collapse of the World Trade Center 11 years ago today. We rode up Church Street and I saw the police cars and the news vans getting ready for the memorial services. When we stopped at Rector Street I saw that one of the disembarking passengers was wearing kilts, most likely a police officer or firefighter on his way to join up with one of the honor guards that would be playing today. I wish I had seen him when I had gotten on the bus. I would’ve gladly shaken his hand. When I got off at my stop, I said thanks to the bus driver, as I do every day, and he gave me some good advice. “Stay safe,” he replied. I was working across the street from the Trade Center that day, just like I do now. And on that day I h...

No matter how old you are, you can never outgrow model trains. I don’t care how educated or sophisticated you may be, the second you see a model train chugging through a miniature village or a diminutive mountain range you’ll freeze in your tracks and go roaring right back to your childhood. I experienced this phenomenon during my recent trip to California. While walking through Balboa Park in San Diego with my uncle and his wife, we paid an impromptu visit to the San Diego Model Railroad Museum . This’ll be pleasant, I thought, we’ll just take a quick look around and be on our way. And then I heard that unmistakable sound of trains streaking around the bend and the years faded away like clouds of steam from an old locomotive. For the record, the museum is the largest and only accredited scale model railroad museum in the U. S. with over 27,000 square feet of exhibiting layouts. It also has collections of some of the first scale model trains ever made. The layouts are hu...

I’ve never flown first class, and it seems unlikely that I ever will, but that doesn’t bother me at all. I’m so terrified of flying that all the perks would be wasted on me. Screw the comfy slippers, the free food and drinks, and the chance to share armrests with prime passengers, I just want to get my sorry ass back on earth as fast as possible. However, I had some experiences during my recent trip to California that are still bugging me, fear of flying notwithstanding. My flight out of JFK started off well. I had a nice chat with a skycap who cracked jokes and made me feel right at home. When I mentioned that my driver’s license photo was old, he laughed and said “I’d recognized you anywhere, Mr. Lenihan.” Then I saw a guy in the terminal who looked so much like Rod Stewart I thought he’d start singing “Maggie May” at any second. And then I got on the plane. There was a young couple in front of me who were using their seats like a park bench--and this was before takeoff....