The Luna Park Gazette

My father and I had a nice chat the other night, even though he died 10 years ago. This was a dream, of course, but I was grateful to have a enjoyable meeting with my dad, even if I had to be asleep to make it happen. I was standing in my parent’s bedroom at our family’s old house on Senator Street, where I used to sleep after they died. Apparently, I was still living there because I was putting away some clothes when my father just strolled into the room and started talking to me. He was elderly, but in relatively good condition, a sharp contrast to his final years, when dementia and mounting physical problems had robbed him of so much of his memory and mobility. I can’t remember one single thing we talked about, but I do remember that it was a pleasant conversation. There was no arguing, no shouting, no rude interruptions, or sarcastic remarks that marred far too many of our real-life encounters. One thing from the dream does stand out very clearly in my mind: after my fat...

Ruth Dingfield can go to Hell… Today is the 15th anniversary of my mother’s death and I’m thinking of how she used to try and cheer me up whenever I was feeling down. She knew me so well that I didn’t even have to say anything when I was upset. She’d see this morose look on my face, give me a most beautiful smile and, referring to my spirits, she’d say, “up, up, up!” I wish I had listened to her when she was alive. I wish I had kept a more positive attitude around her and showed that I was making an effort to be happy, instead of playing the victim far too often. And I could sure use her help today. My bank account was hacked last week and the sons-of-bitches were able to get my birthday and my Social Security number, which is pretty much everything in today’s society. I thought I had taken care of things by changing the password on my bank account, but then I got a call from Bank America checking to see if I had applied for a credit card. Of course, I hadn’t. Then the...

Poco Loco esta perdido… Please forgive me if my grammar is off, but I’m in mourning. I lost my Poco Loco Club hat this week and I can’t stop thinking about it. I had gotten this blue cap sometime in the early 90s, possibly on a trip to Mexico when I covered then-Connecticut Governor John Rowland’s trip south of the border. The cap sported the cartoony image of a toucan in red-polka dot shorts with the name that means “A Little Crazy.” And I was more than a little crazy when I discovered it was gone. Yes, the cap was losing its color and shape and I was seriously thinking about tossing the thing away. But I wanted that to be a conscious choice and not as a result of negligence. My auntie has relocated to her summer place in the Berkshires for the next few months and I had gone to her apartment to clean out the refrigerator and do a few other chores. I had been there earlier in the week and had forgotten the Poco Loco hat. Once I was done, I gathered up my backpack, stuffed ...

It started out with “Open Your Heart to Me” and it kept on going from there. I went on an impromptu Madonna binge the other night, which is strange, seeing as I was never a particularly big fan of hers. The other day I was screwing around with YouTube instead of writing, something I do far too often, and after playing one of her songs for old times’ sake, things just kind of snowballed from there. By “old times” I mean the Eighties, which I still think of as the recent past, when the decade is in reality 30 freaking years ago. (Oh, Jesus, I’m glad I’m sitting down.) YouTube ran the table with “Like A Prayer,” “Live to Tell,” “Express Yourself,” “Crazy for You,” “Holiday” and, of course, “Material Girl.” Yes, it’s pop music, but it’s really well done pop music and once these tunes get into your head, it’s hard to get them out. My nostalgia trip started when I rented Something Wild , Jonathan Demme’s 1986 film that stars Jeff Daniels as an New York executive, whose life is hi...