The Luna Park Gazette

I worked the night shift at two different jobs last week and I never got out of bed. The activity was all in my mind in the form of two back-to-back work-related dreams that were so realistic I’m wondering if I should keep my resume on the nightstand. I know I blog about my dreams a lot, but some of these midnight mind mirages are just so twisted I can’t keep them to myself. Now to be honest, these two occurrences weren’t nightmares, certainly not like some of the high octane screaming mimis I’ve had in the past that packed enough psychic energy to power the Empire State Building. These, on the other hand, weren’t particularly bad dreams. They were just kind of… unpleasant . The first one had yours truly working at a temp agency doing some kind of brain-numbing grunt work that a NASA chimp would've found insulting. The events are vague—I think I was stuffing papers into envelopes at one point--but I remember quite distinctly the feeling of despair and depression I used ...

Aretha Franklin knew what she was talking about. “Music does a lot of things for a lot of people,” the Queen of Soul once said. “It’s transporting, for sure. It can take you right back, years back, to the very moment certain things happened in your life.” I did some emotional time traveling last week while listening to Eighties songs on YouTube. I was barely attention to the hits as they went rolling by until Tracy Chapman’s “ Fast Car ” came on. And then I was flying, bouncing through the years until I reached 1988, when I had just moved to Stroudsburg, PA to work as a reporter at the Pocono Record. This was more than a typical memory or recollection. It really seemed like I was back at my old apartment on Scott Street, feeling so lost and unsure of myself, convinced I had made a terrible mistake by moving here from Brooklyn, but too terrified to do anything but keep going forward. At the time there was an agent looking my novel, while a buddy of mine and his partner were tr...

"A man is not old until regrets take the place of dreams"—John Barrymore I missed the bus last on Friday night. I thought I had plenty of time before the bus bound for Pennsylvania was going to show up, so I took a quick run to the loo. I was planning to go to a local theater production, and I thought this would be a nice change of pace. As I walked out of the bathroom, I heard a large vehicle rolling by my house. That had to be a sanitation truck, I reasoned, and not my ride, but when I got to the window and watched this big-ass vehicle pulling away, I saw “Allentown” painted on the back. I wasn’t going to the theater. None of this happened, of course, at least not in the real world. I had dreamed the entire episode, which had taken place in the porch of my family’s back on Senator Street. But the emotion I felt as I watched that bus fade down the street was all too real and quite familiar. I was consumed with regret. Experts believe that dreamed about miss...

I blame Harlen Corben for this. As I mentioned in an earlier post, I recently watched the Netflix miniseries Missing You , which is based on one of the many books written by the demonically productive author. The title comes from the 1984 megahit by John Waite, which is one of my very favorite songs from my favorite musical decade. I absolutely love Eighties music, and this song is emblematic of the time. I remember seeing the video on NBC’s Friday Night Videos and then hearing it again on a new crime drama that debuted in ‘84 called Miami Vice . It was the second episode of the slickly produced program entitled “Heart of Darkness”, which featured a pre-Al Bundy Ed O’Neill as undercover FBI agent who got too deep into his role as a gangster. The episode opens with “Missing You” playing over a sweeping shot of the Miami waterfront and if memory serves—and it very well may not--I was watching it the home of one my sister’s friends. “This looks like a rock video,” our hostess...

It seemed like she was here for just a moment and then she was gone. Kim Sae-Ron was a popular South Korean actress who starred in over 20 TV shows and movies. I had never heard of her until a few weeks ago when I stepped into what I call “The Netflix Trap.” That’s where I sit down for what I plan to be a relaxing evening of television as I scroll through the movies and programs available on the streaming service. And I scroll, and I scroll, and I scroll, struggling to make a decision. This process can go on for quite a while and, more often than not, I’ll jump over to Amazon Prime and go through the whole charade all over again. What makes me particularly batty with both these platforms is that they warn you that certain films and TV shows will be leaving soon. I suppose I should appreciate the heads-up, but I often feel pressured to watch a movie that doesn’t particularly interest me. And I’ve sat through more than a few dogs in the misplaced fear that I might be mi...

It’s hard to believe that Harlan Coben has written only 36 novels. It’s just feels so many more. I confess I have never read one of the #1 New York Times author’s books, and I can’t say I have any urge to do so. They seem rather lightweight, and I recall one online commentator who described his prose style as “execrable.” But Coben’s stories, which often involve events from the past suddenly rearing their ugly heads, can make for some darn good escapist TV. Twelve of his books have been adapted for film or television, with Netflix cranking eight series to date. Coben’s work has been provided material for shows in England, Spain, France and Poland to name a few, and his net worth has been put at $25 million, which sounds kind of low if you ask me, given his output. I just got finished watching Missing You and in addition to being a funky mystery and a fine cast, the program was only five blessed episodes. There was just enough time to introduce the characters, set up the s...

Now I know how Mom felt about the trolley. My mother used to speak fondly of the streetcar that used to run through our neighborhood in Bay Ridge. In particular, she told us, that it was comfortable, warm, and she always got a seat. Trolleys were in a big item our borough at one time. In the early 20th century, Brooklyn's streetcar system was one of the most comprehensive in the U.S. and by 1930, nearly 1,800 trolleys were traveling along the streets of Kings County. Our hometown baseball team was originally named the Brooklyn Trolley Dodgers, which should give you an idea of how prevalent they were at one time. Well, that all came to a screeching halt in our neighborhood on Aug. 12, 1948, which was a few days before my mother’s birthday, when the trolley was replaced by the bus. And Mom said that the bus was cold, crowded and most times, she had to stand. Hardly what you’d call progress. Then the Dodgers left Brooklyn for L.A. 9 years later—in the year I was born. Th...

The voice mail greeting caught me off-guard. My sister and I went out to Los Angeles last week to attend the memorial service for our Uncle Joe, who died on New Year’s Day. As soon we got off the plane, I called Joe’s wife, Sara, to let her know we were in town and the next thing I know I’m hearing my uncle’s voice telling me to leave a message. Of course, with so many things going on, changing the voice mail greeting is hardly a priority. But hearing Joe’s voice again just reminded me how much I missed him and how much I enjoyed our Sunday afternoon phone conversations. And if felt so strange being in Los Angeles without seeing Joe. If I'm in L.A., I'm going to see Joe. The two are inseparable in my mind, which is not surprising given that whenever I went out there, I stayed with Joe and Sara. This time, though, we were sharing an Airbnb with our cousin Keir and his family. Keir was part of the memorial service, which was held at Griffith Park, where Jo...

“Didja' ever get one of them days when you should-a stayed in bed.” – Elvis Presley. If this had been a movie, I would’ve met the love of my life. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a movie, it was a real life and so, no, I didn’t meet the future missus, but I am trying to extract a lesson from Saturday’s disastrous experience. Okay, so what happened was one of my MeetUp groups was doing a tour of subway art, which is a great idea—no two ways about it. There are so many amazing murals and sculptures in the New York City subway, but I’m usually too busy rushing someplace to stop and take a look. The tour would be a great chance to slow down and view some of this fabulous work, while the group’s leader provided the background on the art work. I was definitely into it when I signed up for the tour. In fact, I was disappointed when the event was postponed two weeks ago, and I made sure to get on the list when it was rescheduled. But I woke up Saturday morning and I wasn’t feeling ...

Well, I’m glad I finally got that settled. Whenever I visited my Uncle Joe in Los Angeles, I could always count on him to use the word “Hijole!” several times during my stay. I got used to hearing this expression, but it never occurred to me to look it up or ask him what he was talking about. Now that he’s gone, I finally got around to find out what “Hijole!” actually means. Pronounced “ee-hoh-leh,” it is interjection used in several Latin American countries “to express surprise, exasperation, or to convey that someone is impressed.” Translations include the likes of “wow”, or “gosh.” Wikipedia tells me that hijole is an univerbation, which may sound dirty to all you degenerates out there—and shame on you, by the way—but it only describes a linguistic process that involves combining multiple words into a single word. For example, the word albeit comes from the Middle English expression al be it, in which “al” means although. Hijole is an ellipsis of “hijo de puta”, w...

As soon as I woke up this morning, I reminded myself to call Uncle Joe. Sunday is the day I usually call my dad’s younger brother in Los Angeles to get the latest on the West Coast branch of the Lenihans. And then I remembered I couldn’t call Uncle Joe today—or any other day. Joe died on Wednesday and so the last member of my father’s family left this world on the first of the new year. Joe was in his nineties and in failing health, but it’s hard to believe that I won’t be talking with him on the phone anymore or seeing him when I go out there for a visit. My sister and I have been staying with Joe and his wife Sara for so many years now. They took us all over the place to see the sites and meet up with our cousins. If I recall—and don’t quote me--I first went out there in the late Eighties when I was living in Pennsylvania. Joe and I had trouble finding each other when I arrived in LAX, but we met up and I sat in the back seat of his car recovering from my post-flight trau...