The Luna Park Gazette

It’s big, it’s nasty, and it’s heading this way. That may sound like a description of the nun that used to monitor my grammar school cafeteria, but I’m actually referring to Hurricane Sandy, aka “Frankenstorm,” which is currently churning its way up the East Coast and heading straight for my house. And just in time for Halloween… New York Governor Andrew Cuomo this morning ordered the suspension of all subway and bus service, the schools are being shut down, and residents of low lying areas are being told to pack up their troubles in their old kit bags and get the hell out of Sandy’s way. There’s talk of heavy winds, sheets of rain, and a possible guest appearance by the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse as all Hell literally breaks loose in my hometown. Okay, I may be feeling a little paranoid, but I think I’m entitled. I’m still in a lot of pain from chronic back trouble and I’m supposed to get both an MRI and my flu shot tomorrow—the very day that this meteorological monstr...

I left my house for the first time in a week today and found out that I need more tests. I had to take car service into Manhattan because my aching back can’t handle riding the subway. Hell, I can’t even handle the subway stairs. It was so strange being in the real world after my week-long house arrest. We rode by my office, by the street where my gym was located and I kept wondering why I wasn’t out there with the rest of the working stiffs, making the walk from my health club to my office building on Broadway. People looking at me might have thought I was some big shot riding in the back of this car while the peons did the mass transit routine. If they only knew… My doctor tells me that I am not responding to the 7-day steroid bomb treatment that he prescribed for me, so I have to get another MRI. I had one of these tests last year and it was decidedly unpleasant. You’re basically sandwiched within this monstrous machine that takes photos of your innards. It felt like it w...

It’s been a week since my back trouble starting kicking up again, but I feel like I’ve aged 20 years. I can barely walk, it kills me to sit at a chair for any length of time, and the only way I can get relief from the hideous pain that radiates up my shin is to stretch out flat on the floor like a corpse in a murder movie. I’m a prisoner in my own home. The simplest movements have become a struggle. Getting out of bed or walking to the kitchen takes forever, as I have to lean against the wall every few steps and let the pain subside. Walking down from my third floor apartment to get the paper is nothing short of torture and I have to sit down on the steps several times on the way back up because it hurts so goddamn much. My sister has climbed another notch higher toward sainthood by bringing me food and thus keeping me from starving. I had to take car service into Manhattan on Wednesday to see my back specialist and as I sat there in waiting room, racked with pain, worryin...

“ Attention, everybody ,” the elderly Hispanic man announced to the rest of us riding the R train. “ Jesus Christ is coming back! You must repent! ” This fellow, who was standing a few feet away from me one night last week, proceeded to helpfully repeat his message in Spanish. The spiel was irritating in any language, since I was trying to read during my ride home and I don’t particularly enjoy being sermonized by a total stranger. But given the way I was feeling at the moment, End Times couldn’t get here soon enough. I’ve been sick for nearly four weeks now after coming down with a particularly nasty bout of chronic fatigue. This has been a problem for me ever since I contracted mononucleosis back in the Eighties, though it hasn’t been this bad in a while. My stomach is queasy, my head feels like it's wrapped in a wad of gauze and just walking down to the corner is exhausting. It is also killing me emotionally, since I can’t socialize, exercise, or do any of the other t...

The sign taped to the streetlight in Red Hook did not mince words: "Warning: Teenage dirtbags are mugging people in this area. Stop fiddling with your cell phone and pay attention." Oh, great. Here I was, lost in a strange neighborhood at night, no idea of where I was going, and standing outside an empty park that looked like a training ground for apprentice hooligans. I was supposed to be going to a friend’s house, but I had somehow managed to wander into No Man’s Land. All of a sudden, the teeming unwashed masses of people who cough, spit, blab into cellphones and constantly get in my way had vanished in some kind of urban Rapture and I was completely alone. Except for the teenage dirtbags, of course, who were doubtless hiding behind every tree fiddling with their switchblades and paying attention to my every move. I had started the evening off by nearly getting on the wrong bus at 9th Street, but luckily a very helpful lady kept me from heading off in the oppo...