The Luna Park Gazette

Sometime back in the Seventies, I had a whole lotta love that suddenly turned into a mountain of heartache. I was a student at Hunter College, and I had a serious crush on a woman that I had met through an after-school job. We’ll call her Kate. I was always hoping Kate and I could move beyond friends and start dating, but I felt awkward, and I was worried I’d lose her friendship if I tried to take things further. So, I did nothing, except sit back and hope that my dreams would magically come true all on their own, something I still do far too often. Kate had recently returned to Brooklyn from Los Angeles where she had been visiting her sister. We got together shortly after she got back, and I immediately sensed something was going on. “I’m in a bummed-out mood,” she said, using a popular expression of the day. After a little more prodding she told me that she was moving to L.A.—and now I was in a bummed-out mood. I finally blurted out my feelings for her, and, what a surp...

One night back in the 1980s, I came home to find my brother Peter and his wife had stopped by our house for a visit. They were sitting in the living room with my parents and when I walked in, my brother loudly called out, “hey, it’s Uncle Wimp!” Peter and I had a long history of relentless ball-busting, so I shrugged off his latest sophomoric insult and tried to move along. But he wasn’t letting it go. “Hey, Uncle Wimp,” he said. I was about to tell to shut his trap when I realized that the key word in his two-word insult was “Uncle”—meaning my sister-in-law was pregnant, and that I was indeed going to be an uncle. Well, I forgot all about the “wimp” business and gave my sister-in-law a hug, I was just so damn happy. The time flew by and the next thing I remember I was sitting at my desk at the Bay Ridge Home Reporter when my phone rang. “Robert,” my mother said urgently. “You’re an uncle!” “Boy or girl?” I shouted. “Girl!” “All right!” I hung up the phone, ran r...

"What stands in the way becomes the way.”--Marcus Aurelius There, I said it again. The words popped into my head on Sunday, and I immediately asked myself, “hey, isn’t that the name of a song?” Yes, in fact, it’s a 1941 tune written and published by Redd Evans and David Mann. Vaughn Monroe and his Orchestra recorded a version in 1945 that reached No. 1 on Billboard's chart of “Records Most-Played on the Air”. Bobby Vinton’s version, the one I know and don’t particularly care for, spent four weeks at the top of the Billboard Chart in 1964, before being ousted by The Beatles’ “I Want to Hold Your Hand.” But I wasn’t thinking of the song when the phrase came to me. I was thinking about how many times I’ve said some version of “I wish Peter were here” since my brother left this world three weeks ago. I said it on Saturday when I was helping my auntie defrost her refrigerator, a job we’ve both been putting off for weeks. It’s an older model and probably should be s...

I wonder what I was doing on December 23, 2023. It was two days from Christmas, so I probably cranking out those last few holiday cards and looking forward to dinner with my family. It was a Saturday and the most popular song in the U.S. at that time was Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas is You”—I still like that song, damn it--while “Last Christmas” by Wham!—which I wrote about in my blog the following day- was top dog in the U.K. In the post entitled " Moments of Wonder " I talked about how I had regained my Christmas spirit, after my listless response to the most wonderful time of the year 12 months earlier. The reason I’m so fixated on 12/23/22 is because that’s the date of the only voice mail message from my brother Peter, who’s been gone for about two weeks now. It’s just 17 seconds long and rather mundane, to be honest. “ Hey dude what's going on? ” he says, sounding a little disoriented. “ Got confused for a second…I just called to say Me...

“You may leave this life at any moment: have this possibility in your mind in all that you do or say or think.” — Marcus Aurelius One night, many years ago, when I young and foolish, I got seriously drunk and became violently ill. As I hovered unsteadily over the toilet puking my guts out, my brother, Peter, stood right behind me and coached me through this intestinal nightmare. “Breathe through your nose,” he said quietly. “Breathe through your nose.” It was good advice, and I find myself employing it now, eight days after Peter’s death, when the grief becomes too much for me to handle. I turned 68 years old on Saturday, and I had gotten used to getting his phone call each year wishing me a happy birthday. Such a strange time, when I get both a birthday card and a sympathy card in the same day’s mail from my Aunt Sara, who became a widow in January when my Uncle Joe died. Talking about Peter is the past tense is eerie. I pray each morning that my parents will rest in...

“A brother is a gift to the heart, a friend to the spirit.” -- Unknown I keep waiting for my brother to call me for one our nearly daily chats, but the phone isn’t ringing. Peter, two years my senior, would call from his job or on his evening commute, or on his way to Tai Chi class. He’d always start off with his greeting: “Hey, dude, how’s it going?” and then we’d talk about movies, TV shows and politics—especially politics. I hadn’t spoken to him in a few days and so I fully expected to hear from him on Saturday morning. When the phone did ring, it was his daughter, my niece, Kristin, calling to tell me that my brother had died. He was about a month away from his 70th birthday. The details are slim. He had been complaining about his blood pressure earlier in the week, but it seemed to be getting better. Then on Saturday morning my sister-in-law found him in bed unresponsive and called an ambulance, but there was nothing they could do. I still can’t believe he’s gone, ...

My father was the master of the backhanded compliment. He had a hard time saying something nice and often got a little dig in there just to keep you on your toes. One of my dad’s favorite wisecracks was “you made a mistake and did the right think.” The implication is that you since screw up most of the time, when you finally do something right, it’s a fluke. I thought of that phrase today to describe something that happened at my gym, only in a slightly different context. Okay, so three days a week I hike up to Harbor Fitness Go on 87th Street for my morning torture sessions. I start off with the strength training, which includes a couple of turns on a long stretch of astroturf with the weight sled. It’s just what it sounds like—a sled where you stack barbell plates and push or pull it (ideally both) along a flat surface. And, of course, if you look on YouTube you’ll find tons of variations. Weight sleds were initially designed for specific sports, like football, an...

Go all the way with it. Do not back off. For once, go all the way with the goddamn way with what matters. ” – Ernest Hemmingway . The 1918 Broadway Oh, Look! featured a song “I’m Always Chasing Rainbows." The music is credited to Harry Carroll, but the melody is adapted from Fantaisie-Impromptu by Frédéric Chopin. The lyrics were written by Joseph McCarthy, and the song was published in 1917. The first version I heard was by Tony Bennett, but it’s been recorded by Judy Garland, Petula Clark, Frank Sinatra and so many others. Bennett starts things off by asking the musical question, “why have I always been a failure?” “I’m always chasing rainbows,” the song goes, “watching clouds drifting by. My schemes are like my dreams, always ending up in the sky.” The song ends with the singer talking about “waiting to find a little bluebird in vain.” I’ve been spending far too time lately rewriting history lately—even more so than usual—and this tune is starting to feel like the...

In 2016, a survey of 2,000 Britons named "The Dead Parrot" as the U.K.’s favorite Monty Python sketch. I live in Brooklyn, so naturally I wasn’t included in this survey, but The Dead Parrot is certainly one of my favorite routines by the iconic comedy troupe. The bit, which debuted on Dec. 7, 1969, tells the uproariously deranged story of a disgruntled customer (John Cleese) attempting to return a parrot that turned out to be deceased. The sketch has a ton of funny lines as Cleese haggles with the shifty pet shop owner (Michael Palin), including a lengthy list of euphemisms for death ending with “this is an EX-PARROT!”--but I’ve been focusing on the routine’s opening lines as Cleese enters the store. “Excuse me, Miss,” he says to obviously male shop owner. “What do you mean ‘Miss’?” Palin indignantly responds. “I’m sorry,” Cleese says after taking a second look. “I have a cold.” I know the feeling. I'm finally showing some signs of health after nearly tw...

We had quite a year in 2019. There were flying cars and colonies on other planets. Our cities were sprawling, overcrowded places dominated by monstrous buildings that put the pyramids to shame. And did I mention the replicants? This was 2019 was supposed to look like back in 1982, when Ridley Scott made the science fiction epic Blade Runner with Harrison Ford and Rutger Hauer. I saw the movie in a theater all those years ago, and I recall being stunned at the film’s opening shot of Los Angeles of November 2019, with airborne autos zipping through the smog and massive towers igniting the sky with sheets of flame. At the time I considered myself a sophisticated film lover who would never be bowled over by mere special effects. But Blade Runner rocked my world as I sat there gaping in disbelief at this incredible scene. I’ve been suffering through most of Easter Week with a hideous cold—we’ve rescheduled our holiday dinner until next Saturday—so I decided to drown my mise...

On February 25, 1987, history was made. I’m not talking about how astronomers witnessed Supernova 1987A, the first supernova visible to the naked eye since 1604, although I am referring to a big star. No, this day marked Frank Sinatra’s last full character acting project when he appeared in an episode of Magnum P.I . as Michael Doheny, a retired New York police officer. Sinatra had starred in over 40 movies in his career, including such classics as Guys and Dolls, From Here to Eternity, The Manchurian Candidate —my personal favorite—and The Man with the Golden Arm , for which he won the Academy Award. One of my earliest memories of O’ Blue Eyes dates back to 1965 when my family went to see Von Ryan’s Express at the Casino Theatre in Mount Pocono, PA, where we were vacationing. Sinatra played an American POW who leads a prison break during World War II, and my father—who had fought in Europe—was less than thrilled about seeing someone who had avoided combat in the real world ...

“The only person you should compete with is the person you were yesterday.” ― Prem Jagyasi That was one killer work out, if I say so myself. So last week I was in my gym, and I was wailing away on the heavy bag like Rocky Balboa pounding on a side of beef. I was focused and mindful and I had flow coming out my ears. It was great. Too often though I’ll get distracted at the gym, where I’m working my body, but my mind is stewing over something either in the past or something down the road—anywhere but the present moment. I use an app called Precision Striking that features a boxing coach who calls out various combinations as a way of staying disciplined while burning a lot of calories. And when I’m preoccupied or unfocused, invariably I'll screw up the combination, and then, of course, I'll get mad at myself and make more mistakes. But it’s not just boxing. When I’m inattentive either on the job or when I’m meditating or writing, I’m wasting time and energ...

Oh, come on now. It can’t be that easy…can it? For most of my life, I’ve been searching for ways to keep my noodle in shape, and while I’ve made some marginal progress in this area, I still have a lot of work to do. One of my favorite techniques is a deceptively simple concept that my old buddy Fred the Shrink told me called “Detach and Observe.” The idea is that you step outside of yourself and take a nice long look at your mind. You don’t judge, you don’t scold, you don’t do anything except observe what’s going on in your head. It’s good way of catching destructive thought patterns and, we hope, undoing them. So, I’ve been observing lately, and I see that I fly off the handle far too often. The computer is too slow, I can’t find my wallet, one of my articles isn’t coming together fast enough--whatever the excuse may be--and I start cursing and fuming like a bag lady in the Port Authority Bus Terminal. I live alone and it seems that my subconscious mind has essentially...

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...