The Luna Park Gazette

I thought those guys looked familiar. I was heading up Bay Ridge Avenue to pick up my laundry tonight when I saw two men walking down the opposite side of the street. I knew I had seen them before, but I couldn’t remember where. Three more steps and it came to me: I had just seen them yesterday in a production of “As You Like It” at Shore Road Park. They were undoubtably on their way to the park—a mere five minutes from my house—for the final performance. I wanted to shout “bravo!” or “you guys were great!” but I didn’t want to embarrass them—or myself—by hollering across the street. Now I wish I had said something because I had such a great time. I go to Shore Road Park most weekends when it’s warm to read, relax, and ogle the women in their bikinis. Well, actually I start with the ogling and get around to reading only if there are no women around. No wonder I never finish the Sunday Times . This weekend, however, I was moving beyond the lechery to take in the Act Out ...

One dreary winter day 36 years ago, my sister and I walked around the corner from our house in Brooklyn to the Lowe’s Alpine theater to see John Travolta’s disco epic Saturday Night Fever . The city was digging out from a recent snowstorm and since travel was severely limited, we figured, what the hell, let’s check out the hot movie of the day. Saturday Night Fever had been shot in our neighborhood of Bay Ridge and people couldn't stop talking about it. There were Travolta sightings every day during the filming and it seemed like half the people I ran into told me they had a part in the movie. I had heard that Alex, the son of a local funeral director, who lived on our block, was an extra, but I didn’t see him and I assumed the story was bogus. My sister and I were not disco types by any stretch of the imagination, and we laughed at these polyester louts tramping through our home turf and mangling the Queen’s English in their attempt to “tawk New Yawk.” In fact, my sis...

I feel like I’m walking with someone else’s legs. I got my cortisone shot this morning in an effort to relieve the dreadful pain that has defined my life for the last three weeks and, well, so far, so good… The doctor told me it would take anywhere from three to seven days for the effects to kick in, but I have to say that right now—knock spine—I’m feeling better. While I feel some numbness in my legs, I’ll gladly take that to the agony I’ve been forced to endure since the beginning of the month. How long this condition will last is another question and I may have to get a second shot in the next week or so. I’ll do whatever’s necessary short of selling my soul to Satan to avoid surgery. And I’m not entirely ruling out a deal with the devil. God, it feels so good to move around without wincing, moaning, and swearing. It’s hard to believe I’m the same guy who was limping to the bus stop so badly this morning that a little girl walking with her father stopped and stared at me ...

I closed my eyes and winced as another wave of electricity surged up my leg. “ Stay with me! ” Max, the medical assistant, shouted. Stay with you? Where the hell could I go? I had wires attached to my legs and feet, so if I made for the door, I’d probably be zotzed into a pile of ashes. And what was this “stay with me” crap, anyway? I was the one getting zapped here, not Max. But he was making it sound like we were Siamese twins. The strangest part of it all was that I had agreed to this punishment. I went to a pain management specialist this week to set up a cortisone shot for my aching back and I had managed to receive a lot more pain than I had expected. After a routine examination, the doctor asked me if I had ever had a nerve conduction study. While I’ve often been told that I have a lot of nerve, no one’s ever made a study of it. “You don’t have to do it,” she said. “But if you do, it will tell me more about your condition.” That was a warning right there. If anyo...

I always try to behave like a gentleman, though sometimes it can be a real challenge. I hold doors open for women, offer my seat to them when I’m riding on crowded trains or buses, and, hell, I’ll even tip my hat when standing aside for a lady. That’s the way my mother raised me and I want to honor her memory. It just feels right, too. These actions require very little effort on my part, the women seem to appreciate it, and that, in turn, makes me feel good. However, this bit of old school gallantry was put to a severe test recently when I was leaving my chiropractor’s office. I was waiting for the elevator with a young woman who was talking on her cell phone. People yakking into their phones are a part of the modern landscape, of course, but it’s still annoying to be force-fed a one-sided conversation. When the doors opened I did the gentlemanly thing and stepped aside to let her get on first. She made no acknowledgement of my courtly behavior, but I’ve grown accustomed...

In Sidney Lumet’s classic “The Hill,” a sadistic sergeant at a British military prison forces inmates to repeatedly climb a massive mound of sand under the blazing North African sun. I know just how those guys felt. All right, perhaps I’m overdoing it a little bit, but my never-ending back trouble has warped my sense of proportion. I went to see a new chiropractor on Monday in an effort to relieve this agony and she told me that I have to do a series of 10-minute walks every day with an ice pack pressed against my spine. “Don’t lie down,” she said. “You have to walk .” Ten minutes may not sound very long, but when every step is drop dead painful, time stands still, grabs its crotch, and blows raspberries in your face. Don’t look at the clock, I tell myself, don’t look at the clock... Well, of course I’m going to look at the goddamn clock. It’s impossible not to. And I still haven’t been able to go the distance as the anguish forces me to pull up a seat every few minutes....