The Luna Park Gazette

I took a couple of photos on Christmas Day and I’ve decided they’ll serve as a nice theme for the New Year. While on walking along Shore Road to my sister’s home, I spotted two old steamer trunks in front of an apartment building waiting to be carted off by the Sanitation Department. Somebody was getting rid of their baggage. Perhaps that’s twisting the metaphor a bit too far, but I don’t care. I just want to dump the junk I’ve been hauling around in my head for far too many years. I’m not making any grand pronouncements for 2019 because we all know that most New Year’s resolutions hit the canvas in less time than it takes to make them. I just want to check in with the progress—or lack of it—I’ve had in reaching my goals. There are writing projects, career objectives, and personal undertakings that I’ve let slip away from me. I can do this any time of the year, of course, but New Year’s Day seems like a good jumping off point. Now 2018 was a bit of challenge, as I was recu

At last my diet soda addiction finally paid off. Every year around this time I vow to rid myself of these vile sugarless soft drinks that have been polluting my body since the Jimmy Carter Administration. This year will be no exception, of course, but on Saturday, my weakness for caramel-colored chemicals actually had an upside for once. I was at a local supermarket picking up some diet ice tea, which unfortunately for me, was on sale for a ridiculously low price. The place wasn’t particularly crowded, but I sensed that it was all aglow with holiday excitement. Or maybe that was the caffeine withdrawal talking. Anyway, I was online all set to checkout when I realized I hadn’t picked up an extra bottle of Diet Coke. I loathe counter shoppers—these losers who dump their goods in front of the cashier and continue their buying spree- (I tell ya, there oughta a law! )—so I abandoned my spot on the line, dashed over to the soda aisle and bounced back with my prize hoping to reclai

I turned on to the short street one block down from Third Avenue on Friday morning and braced myself. This was the one-year anniversary of my double-knee surgery, after I had fallen in the snow in front of a house on this street. That was the start of a hellishly long hospital stay and a lengthy rehab. As I walked, I had a powerful urge to bare my buttocks at the house where I had hit the deck and scream, “ I’m still here, you sons-of-bitches! ” at the top of my voice. But I resisted. This isn’t a time for anger; it’s a time for gratitude. There’s a lot of turmoil going on in my life right now, but at least I’m here to deal with it. Yes, it’s already been a year. The event seems both distant and recent—and somewhat surreal. “ How you much you like them pants? ” That was what the EMT said to me after I had been loaded in an ambulance last year. “Well,” I said, “I just got them…and they’re very warm. Why do you ask?” “We may have to cut you out of them.” It turns the

I wish I had a camera. You don’t hear that line much anymore in this age of smart phones that take photos, give directions, translate other languages, send text messages, give mambo lessons, and, oh, yeah, make calls. But I remember the days when you’d see something cool or exciting or beautiful and you’d stand there just awestruck by whatever the hell you were looking at for a few seconds until you realized you have no way of sharing this moment with others—except by telling them about it. I’m not knocking story-telling by any means, but sometimes a picture really is worth a thousand clichés. This mini-rant is brought to you by a stray memory that came sliding into my mind yesterday and refused to leave. It was back in the Seventies, somewhere in the vicinity of a little town called Peru, Vermont, where my family and I were staying for a few weeks. One night we were coming of a local restaurant and heading back to our car when something caught my eye. It was two dogs sittin

There’s nothing like watching children at play to help you forget your problems. I take a boxing class near City Hall twice a week and, on the way to the gym, I walk by the Oculus, the transit hub-shopping center-9/11 Memorial, but I rarely have the time to go inside. I arrive before sunrise and when class is over, I don’t have much time for sightseeing. Now, to be honest, I wasn’t particularly impressed with the Oculus when I first saw it. I found the $4 billion-dollar structure’s design to be a bit weird and off-putting. And what’s with that name? The fact that all these shops and stores were located so close to the site of the 9/11 attacks didn’t help much either. I know that life has to go on, of course, but the memory of the horrible day will always be on my mind when I walk around that area. Last week I had some business to take care of in and around lower Manhattan so I took the opportunity to walk around the Oculus for a little while. I had a good feeling when I we