The Luna Park Gazette

I came home on a recent Friday night, picked up the remote and channel surfed until I came upon a classic fight program. The footage was grainy and I recognized the voices of Marv Albert and Ferdie Pacheco, the “Fight Doctor,” who had called a lot of fights together during the 1980s. I was a big boxing fan back then. Inspired by Rocky , Hard Times , and other movies, I imagined myself as some kind of junior badass putting up my dukes and taking on the world. Now, of course, I know much better. Boxing and mixed martial arts matches are about the only sporting events I watch, even though I know the fighters are risking brain damage with every blow they absorb. I must say it’s getting harder for me to enjoy these fights because, as I get older, I realize how fragile human beings really are, no matter how fearsome they may look. I’ve been around long enough to see talented young athletes battered into feeble, overgrown children from years of head trauma that they suffered in the ...

I read through the New York Times obituary for Julie Harris this morning in search of a reference to The Haunting , my nominee for the scariest movie of all time. Miss Harris, who died on Saturday, made her considerable mark in the theater, but I know her best for her work in Robert Wise’s 1963 classic that has been scaring the beejeezus out of me since I was eight years old. The movie is finally mentioned in one of the obit’s last paragraphs, where Miss Harris’ character is summed up as “a spinster beset by evil spirits.” I suppose that’s one way of putting it. The Haunting is a terrifying ghost story that manages to frighten us without blood, guts, CGI or buckets of flying pea soup. No, Wise combined good filmmaking, three-dimensional characters, and fine actors, to strike fear into the hearts of audiences. The spookiest thing about the film is what we don’t see. There are all kinds of ungodly noises—pounding on doors, hideously indecipherable chants and wailings, but the...

I walked down Houston Street Wednesday night mildly curious about the accident at West Broadway. There were plenty of cops and yellow tape, and traffic was shut down in both directions. Houston Street was eerily empty, except for a lone motorcycle rider who roared by me with his head cranked down over the handlebars. He stopped when a man stepped out from a group of cops and waved for him to hit the brakes. I assumed this was a fender bender that would be quickly cleared up and cars would soon be streaking up and down the street at their usual manic pace. And then I got closer a little and I saw a sheet-covered body in the middle of the street. “Damn,” I muttered, “that was a fatal ." It’s funny, but I’m certain those were the same words my editor at the Pocono Record said one cold winter night 25 years ago when I covered my first fatal accident. We were listening to the scanner when we heard the county corner being called out to an accident, which meant somebody wou...

My father did not believe in coincidence. Whenever he had run-ins with petty bureaucrats, dimwitted telephone operators, or terminally dense waitresses, he’d slowly shake his head and sarcastically say, “I get all the winners.” Dad, who was not the most patient of men, said those words a lot when I was growing up and I confess that I inherited his hostile attitude. Or at least that’s the excuse I give people. However, I know that this is no way to go through life and I’m making an effort to change. And change was the theme when I walked into my local supermarket last week--only this type of change was in the form of serious coin. I was standing on the checkout line listening to Billy Joel on the store’s sound system singing “ Tell Her About It, ” a tune from way back in 1983 that I always liked and hadn’t heard in ages. The video for the song was equally enjoyable as it was built around the old Ed Sullivan Show and featured an appearance by Rodney Dangerfield. A scene had ...

I picked up my favorite blue pen from my desk on Thursday afternoon and noticed that the clip had come loose. Now how in the hell did that happen, I asked myself. And then I remembered. I had broken the clip earlier that morning when I threw the pen down on my desk in a burst of rage. I know I have anger management issues, but this time I had excuse for my Berserker routine--honestly. Well, sort of anyway… I had been unable to reach my auntie all morning. She’s staying at her summer home in Massachusetts and we have a routine where I call her every morning before I leave for work. On Thursday morning I got the voice mail, which happens occasionally when my aunt’s out for a walk or can’t get downstairs in time to pick up the phone. I left her a message saying that I’d be leaving soon. Often she calls me back before I go out the door, but not this time. Okay, I thought, no big deal. I’ll call her from the bus stop, which I did. And I got the voice mail again. By the time ...

There’s a line in Sergio Leone’s gangster epic Once Upon A Time in America that pretty much summed up my day today. “Life is stranger than shit,” the mobster Joe Minaldi says, shortly before his violent death. “That's all. It's a pisser.” I haven’t seen that movie in years, but those words came back to me this afternoon as I walked around SoHo. First, I had an excellent brunch at Sullivan Bistro with my two fabulous friends, Jen and Heather. I love these ladies so much and I always have a great time when we get together. I worked my way through a delicious vegetable omelet and a glass of wine that was so tasty that I decided to have two more. So there I was, stuffed, buzzed, and satisfied. The weather was great and the company was even better. It was a perfect summer afternoon. We finally parted company and I headed toward Broadway for a rendezvous with a bus back to Brooklyn. I believe I was crossing Thompson Street when I heard someone call me. “ Rob Leniha...

This may be good for my health, but I still feel like a little old lady. I finally took my chiropractor’s advice and bought a shopping cart to lug all my groceries. It’s the right thing to do for my spine, but it seems like yet another step towards infirmity. Next I’ll be climbing on a Rascal Scooter to go play checkers in the park. I had been putting this purchase off for a while, preferring to lumber down the street with bursting plastic bags in each hand and a bulging knapsack sagging down my back. By the time I reach my dry cleaner, the last stop of my weekend shopping routine, I look like an overworked bellhop. And then I have to somehow pick up my shirts and get home. I’ve been telling myself that this was perfectly acceptable, but on Saturday I decided I couldn’t go on killing myself. So I walked into a cheapie store on Third Avenue, threw down 20 bucks and wheeled my new cart out into the world. I haven’t used one of these things since I was a kid and it felt like I ...

History was made in lower Manhattan this week and I'm proud to say that I was part of it. After nearly three years of communicating through our blogs, I finally met Ron of Vent in the real world right outside my office on Broadway. It was like Abbott meeting Costello, Lewis meeting Clark, or Heckle meeting Jeckle. Ron, who lives in Philadelphia, came up to New York with the lovely and talented Val of Photo A Day Blog for a day on the town. Even though we had planned to do this a while ago, I still couldn’t quite believe it when my phone rang and I heard Ron’s voice telling me that he and Val were standing outside my building. It was so strange speaking with someone in the flesh after all these years of keyboarding. And it was fabulous. Look, if Superman and Batman can get together for a movie, then it’s high time Ron and I did a meet and greet. Ron has been one of my most loyal, most supportive readers, always stopping by with a kind word and a thoughtful observatio...