The Luna Park Gazette

The lights went out last week, but I still got big jolt from my electric company. I awoke early one morning and discovered I was in the middle of a blackout. High winds had knocked out the power lines on my block and downed wires littered the streets. I’m very fortunate to still have a job in the middle of the Covid-19 hell ride and while I can work from home, I do need electricity to make the magic happen. Only there was none of be had. The refrigerator came back on pretty quickly, which meant my food was safe, but the lights, cable, landline, and internet were all out of commission. I was getting more anxious as it got closer to showtime, so I called ConEd on my smartphone. And that’s when I got a real shock. “Hello, I’m Mr. Brown,” the customer service rep said. “How can I make your day better?” I couldn’t believe my ears. This guy actually sounded human. I’m so accustomed to hearing some soulless cyborg lip-synching a pile preprogrammed platitudes before pushing m...

I was working out in Bliss Park one recent morning when I felt a presence behind me. Oh, fabulous , I thought, a local loon is stalking me . I had this problem before in June when I was shadowboxing in nearby Shore Road Park and a homeless woman sat down on a bench where I was doing my routine. Bliss Park has a nice little plaza at the top of a hill that local theater companies have used to stage Shakespeare productions in the pre-Covid-19 days. It’s also a great spot for a homemade workout—as long people leave you the hell alone. I turned around and I saw an older Asian man, who was looking at me and gesturing at the ground. “Clean up,” he was saying with some difficulty. “Clean up.” Clean up what? We’re in the park, God’s sake, not the Vatican. Unless you work for the Parks Department, stop bugging me. But then I recalled that I had overreacted when that homeless woman sat down on the bench. I recalled the shame I had felt for being so thoughtless and I wanted to d...

I came around the corner of Ovington Avenue last week and saw another sign of these hideous times: “Store for Rent.” Empty storefronts are popping up all over the neighborhood as the Covid-19 plague relentlessly marches on. This one was personal, though, because the latest victim was the Sunflower Beauty Parlor where I used to go for these fabulous massages. There was nothing better than bouncing in there to get an hour-long treatment. The ladies who worked there were small, but quite strong and they used to wring me out like a dish rag. I especially liked going there during the winter months—cold and flu season—because massages have been credited with boosting the immune system. But they were forced to shut down, just like so many other businesses, as the pandemic continued to spread. Unlike bars and restaurants, though, they can’t reopen with limited service. Their work involves close contact and touching other bodies, both of which are forbidden in this socially distan...

When I was in grammar school there was this one kid who always had such a happy look on his face that one of the teachers nicknamed him “Smiley.” He was a nice guy, as I recall, but I haven’t seen, heard, nor thought of Smiley since we all graduated in 1971--until last week. I’m writing a novel that takes place in the 70s and there are some scenes that take place in a Catholic grammar school not unlike the one I attended. I have certain rules for my nightly writing sessions, the most important of which is stay off the goddamn internet. That means no YouTube, Outlook, Facebook, Instagram or any other time-sucking distraction. The rule has served me very well when I follow it, but all too often I’ll invent the flimsiest of excuses to head out on a wild Google chase and waste the entire evening. Such was the case last week when Smiley’s smiling face came free floating into my mind and I just had to know right and there what this person I had not seen in 50 years was up to. So...

“Feel the power, yo, and plug it in!” – The Electric Company Theme Mount Newsprint is no more. Today is the last day of my week-long vacation, and even though I didn’t hit all the goals on the most recent edition of my To-Do list, I did make some progress in cleaning up my apartment. I decided to stay local, thanks to the coronavirus pandemic. I had no urge to get onboard a flying Covid-19 test tube, and go someplace where all the points of interest are either closed or severely restricted. Most other countries aren’t allowing Americans entry anyway, given our appalling infection and death rates. My one trip during the week was a ferry ride to downtown Manhattan. This used to be my daily commute, but now, after nearly five months of quarantine, I felt like Magellan sailing off for parts unknown. The route has changed since March and I wound up at the Cherry Street landing in downtown New York. There wasn’t a hell of a lot to see, frankly, it was awfully hot, and I ha...