The Luna Park Gazette

“A soldier will fight long and hard for a bit of colored ribbon.” – Napoleon Bonaparte When Alexander the Great encountered the Gordian knot in 333 B.C., rather than untying the mass of tightly entangled ropes, the young king drew his sword. “It makes no difference how they are loosed,” he declared, slicing the knot with a single stroke. That’s often my style when I’m faced with tough problems—for better and usually for worse. But on Christmas Day I decided to give the Alexander technique a rest in exchange for a little patience. My sister, auntie and I had gotten together for our holiday dinner where we ate, laughed, and tried to forget about Covid-19 for a little while. After watching The Mousehole Cat , one of my favorite holiday movies—yeah, smartass, I cried, okay?—we returned to the kitchen for dessert, which included a stack of Italian Christmas cookies, wrapped in plastic and held together with a brightly colored ribbon. Any other time, I would’ve grabbed ...

It’s Christmas and what better way to celebrate the most wonderful time of the year than by watching one of the scariest movies in creation? My sister and I did that very thing recently when we viewed The Haunting , Robert Wise’s stunning 1963 adaption of Shirley Jackson’s novel, The Haunting of Hill House . This film has been scaring the screaming bejeezus out of my family for a generation and I am happy to report that it delivered the ghoulish goods once again. We had gotten together for one of our Saturday sanity sessions, where we emerge from our respective Covid cocoons for dinner, TV, and some much-needed social interaction. Netflix was on the fritz on this particular evening, so after rummaging through my sister's DVR collection, we settled upon our favorite fright flick. I was thinking that this was an odd choice given the time of year, but then I remember that A Christmas Carol , the mother of all holiday stories—is packed to the rafters with all manner...

It’s the holidays, that time of year where I spend much of my time hurling swear words at my widescreen in response to all the shameless advertising. There are few things I hate more than some money-grubbing corporation telling me that it won’t really be Christmas unless I buy whatever overpriced crap they’re peddling. Most of these ads are about as subtle as one of those door-busting holiday sales that department stores insist on staging--and about as pleasant. These spots blatanly hijack beloved carols and regurgitate them as pathetic jingles. They dragoon Santa Claus and Ebenezer Scrooge to serve as pitchmen, encouraging us all to have a Merry Christmas as we run our credit card bills into the stratosphere. One car company is particularly outrageous. I refuse to mention the name, but the ads depict smiling simpletons giving each other brand new cars—complete with oversized bows—as gifts. Oh, yeah, everybody I know gives out cars at Christmas. I have this reoccur...

Okay, so where did this one come from? I had another one of my 20-megaton, head-banging nightmares last week and I’m still wandering what the hell brought it on. This was one of those horrific hallucinations where, when I finally do wake up, I look straight up to the heavens and thank God that it was only a dream. I haven’t one of these beauties in years, so I guess I was overdue. And my mind made sure to make up for all that lost time. Okay, so this freak show starts off with real bang—right below the belt. I had …shall we say…an acciden t where I had to pull off my jeans and throw them into the trash. Yeah, that kind of an accident. Now that little disaster alone would seem like plenty of material for a Grade A nightmare. Demolishing your drawers in public is certainly my idea of a really bad dream. But, no, it turned out my sadistic subconscious was just starting up this spook house ride. For some reason, I had a meeting in downtown Manhattan with a guy I kn...

“Be the type of person you want to meet.”--Unknown I love the smell of cinnamon in the morning. It smells like…gratitude. Like everything else going on this year, Thanksgiving 2020 bore absolutely no resemblance to normal, but there were still plenty of things for which I am truly thankful. My family had to postpone our holiday dinner this year after our beloved auntie was exposed to the vile coronavirus and forced to self-quarantine. Every morning I prayed to God that she would be okay and then I’d call her to ask her how she was feeling and if she could still detect scents, as a loss of smell is an early warning sign of the dreaded disease. My auntie told me that she would start the day by going to the kitchen and sniffing a bottle of cinnamon. As long as she got a whiff of this most special spice, we knew she was Covid-free. I’m happy to report that the quarantine period has passed with no symptoms and we are all very relieved and grateful indeed. For Thursday, my si...

I spent some time in the dark last night and it had nothing to do with moon or the stars. This was an emotional blackout, where I had a temper tantrum because a car service driver had committed the unpardonable sin of keeping me waiting. I was off last week and I was wrapping up a Covid-19 staycation that coincided, in part, with Diwali, a festival of lights celebrated by Hindus, Jains, and Sikhs. I had only recently become acquainted with Diwali, which symbolizes the spiritual "victory of light over darkness, good over evil, and—most importantly to me—“knowledge over ignorance." I had heard the term before, but I had never made the effort to find out what it was about until a friend posted a Happy Diwali message on Facebook. Diwali, I learned, comes from the Sanskrit word deepavali, meaning "rows of lighted lamps". What a fabulous theme for my time off, I thought. I can clean up my apartment and clean out the hostility in my head. This will be great. ...

I was stumbling home in the dark Tuesday night when six words streaked through my brain. “I’ve got to make this right!” It had been one hell of an evening. This particular scream-fest began when I decided to do my workout in nearby Bliss Park rather than at my local gym. The temperature was pushing 70 degrees that day, pretty much unheard of in New York in November, so I thought I’d take advantage of the nice weather while we still have it. I loaded up my fanny pack—-God, I hate that term—-with my wallet, phone, and house keys. There’s a nice little courtyard in the park where I like to do a shadow boxing workout from my I-phone. Several families were in the park and my first reaction was to get all grumpy about these people hanging around while I’m doing my thing. But this time I told myself to cease and desist this foolish and unhealthy attitude. These people have as much right to be here as you do, I thought. I’m convinced that by cutting down on the cranky, I was ab...

Does the Fifth Amendment apply to dating? It can get pretty lonely out here in Covid-land. I rarely go out and when I do, I don’t go far. There are days when I never lay eyes on another human being. I would like to have a significant other, but I'm a little nervous about meeting strangers due to the pandemic. Where does one go when so many places are shut down? And while many restaurants are serving people outside, that’s not going to last much longer as winter sets in. But being alone isn’t very appealing either and I don’t want to use the coronavirus as yet another excuse not to meet people. I recently began corresponding with a womam I “met” on Facebook’s dating site and we seemed to be getting along pretty well. And then I suggested we speak on the phone. “A few questions first,” she replied, and proceed to unleash a slew of queries that made me feel like I was applying for a job at a nuclear power plant: Do you smoke cigarettes, vape, cigars or marijua...

Gosh, I sure hope that place hasn’t closed down. There’s a Chinese restaurant on Lexington Avenue that may or may not have shut down due to the coronavirus nightmare. My auntie was passing the place on the bus last week and she said it looked like it had gone out of business. I checked their website and they say they’ll be closed until January, which I hope is legit and not a delayed death knell. I’m not going to mention the name of this place until I nail down the facts, but let us pray they reopen in the New Year. This restaurant holds a special place in my heart beyond the bill of fare because this is where I had my third—and so, far, last—sighting of David McCallum. A child of the Sixties, I first came to know this actor when he portrayed Ilya Kuryakin in the spy show The Man from U.N.C.L.E . He’s starred in such classics as The Great Escape, A Night to Remember, Billy Budd, and The Greatest Story Ever Told , where he played Judas Iscariot. He also playe...

( Bloggers, friends, and countrymen, lend me your minds. Today my dear friend Josephine Mori will guest-blogging on the LPG. Josephine is a talented writer, editor, and all-around fabulous human being. Please do give her a read.) A writer buddy and I had been noodling a short story, ping ponging segments between us. It became a game and went on for a couple years. Finally, we finished it. Buddy remarks it has graphic novel potential. Not what you say to a devoted text jockey. Quivers down my back bone, tremors in my thighbone. I placate and misdirect. But every so often buddy tweaks me about it. Like some Word doc. Jaws, the story won’t go away. Then, a bizarre thing happens—-a Facebook friend request from one Tony Talbert. We have no mutual friends, groups or pages. Yet somehow it doesn’t vibe the usual spurious friend requests we all get. Curious, I look him up and turns out he’s a fantastic artist: fine art and comic book art. Tony and I connect. ...

I was sitting in my seat at the American Place Theatre when I noticed the woman next to me scribbling Asian characters on a notepad. This was 1999 and I was attending a performance of The Winds of God , Masayuki Imai’s astonishing play about two bargain basement comedians in modern day Japan who are hurled through time and reincarnated as kamikaze pilots in the waning days of World War II. Imai was the author, star, and director of the show, and he was brilliant in every category. Beautifully staged, The Winds of God is a powerful statement about the scourge of war and the curse of fanaticism that drives men to blindly throw their lives away for meaningless causes. Covid-19 has brought the curtain down on theater as we know it. I miss the plays themselves, of course, but I also miss the whole theater experience, including interacting with the other people in the audience. I’ve always found it so easy to talk to people sitting around me in a theater and this night was no e...

Gyms are slowly reopening in New York, but my favorite fitness classes are still out of commission. Fortunately, I have the CCC to back me up. No, I’m not talking about Franklin Roosevelt's New Deal Civilian Conservation Corps. I’m referring to the Canadian Covid Coaches. Ever since the coronavirus clobbered life as we knew it back in March, I have been scouring YouTube in search of exercise routines to stay in condition. My boxing class had been my main source of cardio for years and I never paid much attention to boxing videos because I didn’t think I would ever need them. Enter the plague. I also like strength training and qigong, a fantastic Chinese exercise discipline that works out the spirit the way boxing works up a sweat. I’ve been very lucky to find a series of great videos that cover all of these areas. But I’ve noticed that several of my YouTube instructors have something in common. They’re… Canadians . Yes, Canadians. They look like us…the sound like...

"Do I not destroy my enemies when I make them my friends?” -- Abraham Lincoln Back when we were still going to gyms, one of my buddies in the morning boxing class used to show me some of his favorite yoga routines. One morning I was having a hard time with a shoulder stretch and my friend gave a piece of advice that I think can work outside of the health club. “It’s not a struggle,” he said. “It’s a surrender.” Exactly. So instead of huffing and puffing and forcefully twisting my torso and risking injury, my friend was telling me to relax and let the stretch happen naturally. There’s effort involved, of course, but not an unhealthy exertion. I’m trying to get my brain to operate on the same principle. Eating properly or exercising are often depicted as chores, but you can enjoy them a lot more if you just drop the resistance and focus on the benefits. I have this unhealthy and unhelpful ability to readily recall unpleasant memories. I can’t remember where I put ...

I watched a certain YouTube video three times in a row this morning and I could watch it a thousand times more. During this plague year of isolation and social distancing, it’s important to sta y in touch with people. To that end, I recently reconnected with my cousin’s wonderful daughter, Lucy, whom I met back in 2009 when I visited my cousin Pat and her family in Santa Fe. I had a blast during that visit, but we hadn’t spoken in a while, so it was great to get the latest news on the New Mexico bunch. Last week, at my sister’s suggestion, I emailed Lucy a bunch of photos I had taken of her during my visit. Lucy wrote back to tell me that she is putting her creative energy into a music project, which she kindly shared with me. In the video, Lucy sings a song called “Hideaway” from an animated film called Wonder Park , which I confess I haven't seen. The song pretty much tells the story of my life as it celebrates the joys of avoiding adulthood at all costs. “ S...

I’m glad I held on to that shoebox. A few weeks, I treated myself to new pair of shoes and, as is my custom, I held onto the box they came in, even though I didn’t have any immediate use for it. I’ve been trying to cut down on the clutter in my apartment, but it just seems wrong to get rid of such a sturdy container. And whenever I do toss out an empty box, I suddenly need one. It never fails. Last week I was working in my computer room and I just fed up with all the debris. I have piles of stuff that I’ve been threatening to sort out for years and while I couldn’t take care of the whole mess in one day, I decided to clean up one small spot near me. Whatever I wanted to keep would go into the shoebox. I sat down on the floor and got to work. I found a single chess piece, a pair of 3-D glasses I bought when I saw the movie Up back in 2009 (Yes, I cried), a St. Anthony medal I am now wearing, and a cover from Parade Magazine dated June 7, 1998 with a photo of George Cloo...

The first U.S. Census began on August 2, 1790. Secretary of State Thomas Jefferson had marshals take the census in the original 13 States, plus the districts of Kentucky, Maine, and Vermont, and the Southwest Territory, now known as Tennessee. Nearly 200 years later, in 1970, my parents decided to make a little extra money by becoming census takers. I was 13 years old at the time, and, while it’s all pretty vague now, I do recall my mom and dad had these plastic shoulder bags that bore the image of the American flag and the words “1970 Census.” They called people at night and went to their homes to interview the more reluctant ones, and they’d bring home stacks of completed census forms. Both my parents were in sales and they enjoyed connecting with people, so this was a good gig for them. I hadn’t thought about that little bit of family history until last week when my doorbell rang just as I was signing off from work. I rarely get visitors, even before the coronav...

Plaquemine is a city of roughly 7,100 people located in Iberville Parish, Louisiana. I had never heard of the place until recently and I have since learned that the city, which is also the parish seat, hosts an annual International Arcadian Festival that draws people from all over the world. Plaquemine is also known for a number of antebellum structures, and is the birthplace of the jazz pianist and composer Clarence Williams, who recorded such classics as “I Can’t Dance, I’ve Got Ants in My Pants,” and “I’ll Be Glad When You’re Dead, You, Rascal, You.” But I know of Plaquemine because it is apparently the home of Daisy Louise Tendergrass. I recently connected with Miss Tendergrass while researching a story about a large company, which I will not name, that is in deep financial trouble due to the coronavirus pandemic. I wanted to get into touch with a particular industry analyst but I had virtually nothing in the way of contact information except for his Twitter account. I a...

My God, how we have failed these people. Today is the 19th anniversary of the September 11 attacks, 19 years since I stood across the street from the World Trade Center and watched hijacked jetliners crash into the North and South Towers. Every year since that nightmare I do my very best to return to the spot where I stood on Liberty Plaza in 2001, outside a now-shuttered Brooks Brothers store, and pray for the people we lost. That was my father’s 80th birthday, a beautiful late summer day without a cloud in the sky. I was working at Goldman Sachs and the plan was to go home, meet up with my sister and take our father to dinner. And then the gates of Hell opened up. I couldn’t get down there today because of the Covid-19 pandemic, which is especially painful since my office is located in the financial district and under normal circumstances I would be within walking distance of the ceremonies. I did listen to the reading of the victims’ names on television. I had to do t...

“When the shoe fits, the foot is forgotten; when the belt fits, the belly is forgotten; and when the heart is right, ‘for’ and ‘against’ are forgotten.” – Chaunt Tzu When I was a child, my father used to take me to Marty’s Shoe store on Fifth Avenue each year for a new set of footwear. I remember Marty and his employees as these kindly old guys—they looked old to me, anyway--who knew every single thing there was to know about shoes. I’d sit down, get measured me up, do a brief walk up and down the store to make sure the shoes fit properly while my dad shot the breeze with Marty, and then we’d leave with a new pair of Stride Rites. I’ll admit this is not the most exciting memory I could share, but these mundane recollections are becoming more important to me as the years go by and I realize how precious they really are. I hadn’t thought about Marty until my favorite pair of walking shoes wore down to a Charley Chaplin level of disrepair and forced me out of my Covid-indu...