The Luna Park Gazette

The two fighters squared off in the cage as one of them unloaded a huge right hand toward his opponent’s chin. I tensed up, anticipating a brutal knockout. This was going to be a haymaker and—shame on me--I was actually looking forward to it. And then suddenly I was watching CNN. What the hell --? I was flying back from L.A. on JetBlue, where I was shoehorned into a window seat at the southernmost section of the plane, and the guy next to me had inadvertently changed the channel on my TV—and ruined the fight clip--when he moved his elbow. “Uh, sorry,” he mumbled. Yeah, pal, me, too. I was tempted to throw a flying armbar on this stiff, but it really wasn’t his fault. We were stuck in a flying sardine can where you couldn’t help but invade someone’s space. The flight out from New York was no bargain either. Once again I was crammed into the window seat--fear of heights, people, hello? --where a young woman sitting next to me had put her head on the food tray upon takeoff a...

“How are you?” the young woman at the supermarket asked me this afternoon. I’ve heard that line several times this week—I’ve said it myself--but it sounds a little strange in light of my recent trip to the ER. I was tempted to say, “well, I just got out of the hospital and I’ll probably be going back, and I’m dreading it. My left arm still hurts from having an IV needle stuck in it for three days and I feel tired, old, and cranky. How’s by you?” But the cashier isn’t getting paid nearly enough to listen to my grief, so I just smiled and said, “I’m fine.” I feel like I’ve been away for a long time. But unlike vacation, I don’t feel refreshed or relaxed; I feel drained. I looked at the pictures I posted on Facebook of my L.A. trip and I can't help but think that it wasn’t so long ago that I was happy and healthy, no idea that one of my organs was about to go haywire on me. I'm so emotionally fragile that I actually got teary-eyed when a nurse from my insurance company ...

I forgot how much I hate Jell-O. I’m back home now after a three-day stint at the hospital, where gelatin was the one of the few things I could eat—when I could eat at all. This particular hell ride began on Thursday morning when I started feeling stomach pains. I assumed I had eaten something that disagreed with me and that whatever it was would soon pass. I was incredibly wrong. The pain worsened over the course of the day, even though I was wolfing down Pepto-Bismol tablets by the handful. I kept telling myself that I was okay, but my doubts grew as the agony increased. I got into bed at 11pm, but the pain was so terrible that I knew I had to do something. Finally, I got up, dressed, and called for a car to take me down to the ER at Lutheran Medical Center. But I was still telling myself that the doctors would give me something for my guts and send me home in a few hours. I had even planned on going to work the next day. Clearly fortune-telling is not my strong suit. ...

The little girl sitting behind me on the plane Tuesday night said it best as we landed at JFK. “I want to go back to California right now !” she declared. “Me, too,” I muttered. Not that I’m complaining. Well, yes, of course, I am. I had no desire whatsoever to see my vacation end since I had an absolutely fabulous time visiting my Uncle Joe and his wife, Sara. I soared to new heights on this trip, as I tracked the migration of monarch butterflies in and around Monterey, hiked around the space shuttle Endeavor, met up with some of my West Coast cousins, and, craziest of all, took part in a “Pitch Slam,” where aspiring screenwriters like yours truly sit down with producers for a five-minute rundown on what they have to offer. I was only in LA for one night before we hit the road and headed north in search of the migrating monarchs. These amazing creatures cover thousands of miles as they make their way to their winter home. It’s just about impossible to photograph the monarc...