The Luna Park Gazette

I’m turning into Captain Queeg. I have yet to see The Caine Mutiny in its entirety but I’ll never forget the scene in the 1954 film where Humphrey Bogart’s crazed captain went bananas over some missing strawberries. I came down with a wicked cold and I’ve been absolutely miserable, handling things in my usual way, by freaking out at everything and letting my inner Queeg chart a corrosive course through the Sea of Insanity. It started on Wednesday, the first day of autumn, when I thought I was having trouble with allergies. However things got worse and by the time Friday rolled around I was coughing, sneezing and wishing I could crawl under a rock for the next six months. I took a day off from work and canceled my weekend plans, which was really annoying since I don’t socialize enough to begin with. I then sank into a ruinous routine of bad television, lousy food, and rotten thoughts. By Saturday I was feeling marginally better, but I was out of food, so I staggered up to t...

It seems like one minute I was happily surfing the Internet and the next minute I was on the floor. I fell asleep in front of my computer a few weeks back, and with nothing to block my fall, my body did the whole Isaac Newton thing and hit the deck like a sack of wet laundry. I woke up with my computer looming over me and the carpet under my nose. It was bizarre and a bit scary to just slide off my chair like that. This has never happened to me before and I’m grateful that I didn’t get hurt. I didn’t think I was particularly tired, even though it was late, but then clearly I called that one wrong. I’ve been nodding off a lot more lately. I don’t know if it’s age or the difficulties I’ve had sleeping at night, but whatever the problem is it seems to be getting worse. I’ve actually conked out momentarily at the office, which can be awkward since I sit in a low-walled cubicle and anyone walking by can see me—top brass included. Luckily I have yet to tumble out of my chair. It’s...

“ To give value to others, you have to begin by valuing yourself. ” ― Tim Fargo My Aunt Marie has a singular way of expressing herself. I’ve been keeping a list of some of my mom’s sister’s best lines and I’ve found her observations to be both funny and insightful. For example, a few years back, my auntie, sister and I were going to a St. Patrick’s Day concert at a church in Bay Ridge and my aunt had brought along some health food bars for us to snack on. Being a hyper hypochondriac and demented fitness fanatic, I immediately asked if the ingredients were in fact good for me. “No nothing bad!” my auntie breathlessly declared. “Wow,” I snarked, “they’re really good for you!” I was teasing her about the momentary language lapse, but the more I thought about the phrase “no nothing bad” the more I liked it. It’s a good way to look at life. I am notoriously negative so the idea of pushing the positive beyond the grievous grasp of grammar appeals to me no end. What do I want ...

I wanted to stand across the street from the Freedom Tower at 8:46 this morning, but I didn’t make it. I was stuck in traffic on the BQE somewhere near 26th Street when I looked at my phone and saw that it was the same time when the first plane hit the North Tower of the World Trade Center 14 years ago. My plan was to start praying the Rosary at that time and place in memory of all the people we lost in the 9/11 attacks. But traffic was abysmal, which is not surprising given all the activity in lower Manhattan, and I should’ve used my head and taken the damn train instead of the express bus. And then in an attempt to console myself, I decided I would take my place on Cortland Street next year. Next year? If there is any lesson to be learned from the waking nightmare of 9/11 it’s that nothing is guaranteed, not next year, not even the next minute. All those people who were killed on that day in 2001 had plans for the future, too. I did my praying on the bus and in some ways I...

Oh, summer, how can you do this to me? It’s suddenly Labor Day Weekend and the bright, seemingly endless supply of beautiful summer days have dwindled down to a precious few. I must confess this has been a great summer, with a lovely vacation in California and nice nostalgia ride to Coney Island . But as usual I’m shocked at summer’s swift departure and I now dread the coming cold weather. And, as usual, I’m making my annual threat to pull up stakes and finally move the hell out to L.A., something I do with the same dependability as geese flying south for the winter. Except the geese actually leave—as opposed to yours truly. My late mother and I shared a strong aversion to the end of summer. When we vacationed at my aunt’s house in the Berkshires, where the fall starts even earlier, I remember my mother shaking her hand at the rapidly changing leaves. I went to the Chase branch on Fifth Avenue yesterday, where my mother worked for so many years back when it was the Lincoln...

All right, ladies, let’s give it a rest, okay? I just got done ranting about a pile of cyber-dreck by Sherry Francis and the incredible Dr. Orissa, who helped Sherry get back her wandering husband, and now “Julia Andrea from USA” clogs up my comment section with the story of her husband coming back to the fold. As my mother used to say when one of us spoke out of turn, “who stepped on your button?” Oh, and Julia? It’s the USA . I’m sure you already knew that being such a good American and all, but I thought I’d point that out to you in case you go crashing somebody else’s blog. “ I never believed that i could finally get back the happiness and the love that was gone after my husband left me totally, ” Julia tells me in a totally unsolicited spiel. “ I couldn't just believe that spells and magic could turn my thoughts and my dreams into reality in getting back with my husband after he served me with divorce papers…My ex husband after the divorce never showed up to me and ...