The Luna Park Gazette

It was a great day to be me. I celebrated my 57th birthday on Saturday and by some miracle I was able to put aside all my worries, complaints, fears, resentments and hallucinations and have an absolutely fantastic day. Of course the fact that I was out with the two ladies I love the most—my sister and my auntie—had a lot (everything!) to do with it. First we saw Sea Marks, a charming two-character play at the Irish Repertory Theatre, then headed over to Le Zie 2000 for delicious dinners and decadent desserts, and after that we walked along the High Line, a public park built on an elevated freight rail line. Some people feel compelled to dive out of airplanes or throw lavish parties to celebrate their birthdays, but I felt truly satisfied and grateful for this simple, yet lovely day. We had great food, a lot of laughs and much love, the key ingredients any truly happy birthday—and a happy life. And I’m very slowly starting to see the importance being grateful for what you ...

I ran to the bus stop on 69th Street in Friday night’s downpour just as the B9 was turning off Fourth Avenue. Excellent timing , I thought, as I fell in behind a woman lugging a pair of shopping bags. I felt lucky to make the connection, but my traveling companion looked across the aisle at me as soon as we sat down and shook her head. “Last bus driver wouldn’t stop,” she told me in a pronounced Russian accent. “Driver close door in face !” It seems she had been waiting for the B64, which had come by a few minutes earlier. The driver of that bus, however, didn’t feel like picking up passengers apparently and left her high and dry—in the pouring rain. “I bang on door,” the Russian lady told me. “I wave at him. But he don’t stop. I don’t like to curse, but I shout, ‘ you asshole! ’” I listened to her story and tried to comfort her. It certainly sounded outrageous and even our bus driver muttered some kind of apology on behalf of his inconsiderate coworker. I was in a good mood...

I usually hate the sight of graffiti, but today I spotted a message in the subway that looked as if it had been written just for me. I was riding the N train and as we pulled into 36th Street—one stop short of my destination--I looked out through the open door and saw two words crudely painted across a pillar. “ Love yourself .” That’s it. Just a simple phrase, scrawled in black ink on a mustard-colored girder. But I felt like I had discovered the secret of life. I paused for a second because I really wanted to get home and enjoy the sunshine, but I didn’t want to leave those words behind, not on this of all days. So I jumped off the train, took out my smart phone and lined up a shot… I thought I could get through Mother’s Day without any kind of emotional turmoil, but I wrong. Even though my mother has been gone for nearly 12 years, I still feel the pain of losing her. It started earlier in the week when I walked into a Hallmark store near my office to get a birthday card...

I thought doppelgangers were the stuff of legend and horror movies. It just didn’t seem possible that anyone else out there could look as stunningly handsome as yours truly. But then there was this time in my life when I applied for job in Honolulu and now I’m not so sure. Yeah, seriously, Honolulu: sunshine, luaus, ukuleles, Steve McGarrett, the whole Hawaiian fantasy. Now let’s all pause for a moment and try to imagine me, a lifelong Brooklyn knucklehead living in the Aloha State. I went to Hawaii on vacation a few years ago and loved it. So when I saw ad for a job that matched my skills, I sent in my resume just as for a laugh. I never thought anyone would ever get back to me. Well, they did. The editor of this particular publication shot me an email within days of my response and we set up phone interview. We talked for over an hour and I have to say this interview was more intense than many of the face-to-face job encounters I’ve had with prospective employers. The ...