The Luna Park Gazette

My brother worked as a bartender many years ago and he and his co-workers had a subtle way of handling indecisive customers. “Hey,” they’d ask, “are you buying or crying?” Not terribly polite, I suppose, but this was Brooklyn, after all, and there’s nothing like a direct line of inquiry to clear up any confusion. I should probably ask myself that question more often so I can make choices and take action, instead of fretting about what my next move and doing nothing at all. On Friday night I stopped by a local antique furniture store I’ve frequented several times to see if I could find an old school desk. I do most of my writing on the computer, but I’d like to do my revisions on a nice, solid desk--as opposed to the kitchen table. The owners showed me a charmingly battered teacher’s desk that was selling fairly cheaply; I told them I’d think it over. Then I walked to the back of the store to take a look at a magnificent bullfighting poster that I’ve fantasized about buying...

Martin Luther King Jr. once said that he had decided to stick with love because “hate is too great a burden to bear.” King was murdered by someone for whom hatred was no burden, and on this day, when we honor King’s memory and celebrate the inauguration of the first African-American president, I am sorry to say that hate is a growth industry in America. It’s been over a month since the Sandy Hook Massacre and nothing has been done about the flood of guns in this country. Yes, President Obama’s team came up with some noble ideas and he’s using his office to take some important steps, but the Republicans in Congress will never give an inch on any of the major concepts as they disgustingly cling to their bogus “Second Amendment rights” argument. On Saturday a 15-year-old boy in New Mexico allegedly murdered his parents and three of his siblings using “multiple weapons, including a military-type assault rifle.” After slaughtering his family, police say the boy loaded up a van wi...

My old Italian grandmother hated loud noises. Whenever she thought the TV was too loud she’d mutter “shut up” when she walked by, as if this machine, this lifeless pile of tubes and wires, would fall silent at her command. I remember she once told the ice cream man to quit ringing the bell on his truck. I was terrified because as a kid I couldn’t bear the thought of being in trouble with the Freezer Fresh guy. I could only imagine what grandma would think of today’s non-stop attack on the eardrums, ranging from car stereos and revving engines, to really stupid people who talk too loudly on their goddamn cellphones. In many ways, I feel like I’m taking grandma’s place in the quixotic crusade for quiet because I, too, have grown to hate loud noises. There’s only thing where grandma and I differ—the television. I don’t know if it’s due to my aging eardrums or my TV’s sound system, but I’m having trouble hearing the dialog in many of the DVDs that I watch. “Speak up!” I shout...

On January 17, 1950, 11 men stole more than $2 million from the Brinks Armored Car Depot in Boston. Twenty-seven years later, on January 17, 1977, convicted murderer Gary Gilmore stood before a firing squad in Draper, Utah and uttered his very last words: “Let’s do it.” And 28 years after that, on January 17, 2005, I wrote my first post for the Luna Park Gazette. “ All right, let's get this show on the road ,” I wrote, back when I had brilliantly called the thing “Rob’s Blog.” “ This is my first post on my first blog. I am 47, marooned in Brooklyn without a job, wife or children. Most of my big dreams have crashed and burned like the Hindenburg, but that hasn't stopped me from climbing on the next bag of hot air and heading back into the sky .” Cheery little bugger, wasn’t I? A bit little wordier than Gary Gilmore, too, but then I didn’t have a firing squad taking aim at me. Eight years have gone by since that first post. I’ve reached out for many bags of hot air, ...

I tried not to get excited. I really did. When a small publishing house in Brooklyn asked to see the first 40 pages of my novel, I immediately told myself, “ take it easy. They just want a peek. You’re a long way from the New York Times bestseller list .” But it was something . It was some kind of positive energy after all the rejections, all the form letters that apologized for being form letters while telling me to take a hike, all the “it’s not quite what we’re looking for” e-mails that had me screaming up to the rafters “what in the holy transmogrified hell are you looking for?” This email was actually written by humans. And they were interested. I don’t care how calm and relaxed you think you are, when a publisher asks to see your manuscript, you’re going to be thrilled. Your mind will blast into the future perfect tense and you’re going to see your book in print, picture yourself giving readings and autographing copies of your masterpiece. You’re going to imagine bein...

I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard. Today is my niece’s 18th birthday, but I received a fabulous gift myself when I called her this afternoon. Victoria, one of my two beautiful nieces, has been a character ever since she was born and things have only gotten wilder as she’s grown. This beautiful young woman—I still can’t believe those words—had me roaring with laughter when I called her today, something I never would’ve thought possible given the current state of my mind and body. In addition to the Saga of My Aching Back (SMAB), I’ve had some kind of sinus infection for the last 10 days that keeps threatening to go away before coming back to hit me twice as hard. Things really hit bottom early Tuesday when I went through a dark and stormy night of my own making. I was coughing, choking, and cursing the fates, the course of my life, and my traitorous immune system. I felt like a two-legged lab rat waiting for his next toxic injection. It could’ve been another ...

The first words that Jesus speaks in the Gospel of John are in the form of a question. He’s walking through Jerusalem when John the Baptist sees Him and declares, “Look, the Lamb of God!” Two disciples begin following Jesus, whereupon He turns around to ask them “What are you looking for?” Rev. Mark read this gospel at Trinity Church on Friday and he expanded upon this most basic question during his sermon. “If that isn’t the question for this year,” he told us, “then I don’t know what is. In 2013, what if we allowed this question to echo through our hearts and our lives for this year? What are you looking for? What do you want in life?” The obvious responses include health, happiness, companionship, and success. I’m looking to free myself from the chains of rage and despair that I’ve used to entangle myself so I can become the person I really want to be. I’m looking for love, starting with myself, because I have to say that sometimes when I look in the mirror I’m not very f...

What gets into people? I know it’s a cliché, but sometimes I am so stunned by the behavior of some of my fellow human beings that I seriously have to wonder if they are human beings at all or ingeniously disguised aliens who aren't quite sure how things work around here. I found myself asking this question yet again recently while I was on my way to work. Now for you out-of-towners out there, the area around Ground Zero is essentially one big construction area, so it tends to get noisy. Drills, jackhammers, trucks rolling in all directions--it can be tough on the nerves and the eardrums. However, the big noise on John Street this particular morning was man—and woman—made. I was walking down the street, half-asleep, wondering why the hell I wasn’t on a beach in Hawaii instead of freezing my kazoo off in New York, when I heard people shouting. The yelling was so loud I could hear it over the regular racket that goes on in this neighborhood. I looked across the street to a ...

It is now 2013 and time for me to launch my ascent. I subscribe to Rob Brezny’s weekly astrology newsletter and he expects me to surpass my own peak levels of accomplishment in the New Year. To make his point, he cited the story of Bob Beamon, the track and field athlete, who, during the 1968 Olympics, broke the world long jump record so decisively that the optical device designed to calculate his leap didn’t work. Thank goodness for the old school tape measurer. The word “Beamonesque” began cropping up in conversation, Brezny said, signifying a feat that vastly outstrips all previous efforts. I like the sound of that. I’ve decided to make one--and only one-- resolution this year, as opposed to the usual yearly to-do list that goes on for several pages and never quite gets done. And I actually got started a few days ago because I didn’t want to give in to the silly midnight ritual. In this coming year, I will be more mindful. That’s it. No sweeping declarations, no roa...