The Luna Park Gazette

I wonder what was in that bag. My luggage played a significant role in a dream I had last week, as did my brother Peter, who died over a year ago. I’ve forgotten most of it, but I remember stepping off a train that looked like the BART in San Francisco and seeing my brother. “Do you have my bag?” I asked, as the train doors closed behind me. Peter shook his head, and I turned around to see my bag sitting on the train that was slowly pulling out of the station. Things got fuzzy after that, but I don’t recall being particularly upset about the lost luggage. Still, it was very important to me. Okay, so clearly this dream was about loss. The case resembled an old style fencing bag, and since my brother was on Hunter College’s fencing team in the 1970s, perhaps losing it was symbolic of losing Peter. I still have these dark moments when I think about my brother and feel the terrible gap in my life. Then it passes and I feel better — at least for a little whil...

I saw her coming from half a block away. She was an older woman, although as I close in on 70, I’m not very comfortable labeling people as elderly. This lady was walking up 72nd Street this morning, hunched over her shopping cart, which doubled as a walker. I recently came across the term dowager’s hump on Google — an abnormal outward curve of the upper back, formally known as hyperkyphosis. This was near the end of my 30 block walk around the neighborhood, my attempt to get some kind of physical activity since my latest back attack is keeping me out of the gym. The good news is that I’m no longer shrieking every time I make a move, and my sister and I were able to make our yearly pligramge to Coney Island for the fireworks show and a spin on the Spook-A-Rama. But I still can’t do my cardio-iron pumping routine at Harbor Fitness Go. I’ve always been a gym junkie, so being sick or injured makes me seriously antsy. But I’m trying to be sane about this. My logi...

On Saturday morning I got out of bed without screaming. That may not sound like big news to most people but, given how I had risen to meet the morning on Thursday and Friday, it was quite an achievement. I did something to my back — big time. I suspect it started about ten days ago, when I was doing my daily qigong routine, one of the gentlest forms of exercise you can find. I reached down toward the floor, as the YouTube instructor told me, and turned to the left and then to the right — and something went bad. Of course, I tried to shrug it off. Of course, I went through my regular gym routine with only slight variations. And I didn’t feel anything, except perhaps some mild discomfort. In fact, on Wednesday, I went to a doctor’s appointment, picked up my laundry, and did my weekly shopping routine and didn’t feel a thing. But within a few hours I was in agony. I’ve had back problems for a long time now. Usually, it manifests as severe pain in my lower ...

“Don't look back. Something might be gaining on you.” --Satchel Paige. And I thought they’d last forever. Two iconic buildings where I spent a total of nearly 10 years of my life are empty shells now and I’m still a little shocked. I worked at newspapers in Pennsylvania and Connecticut from the late Eighties to the mid-Nineties, where I had plenty of thrills, laughs and temper tantrums, and I learned recently that one is up for sale and the other is for rent. Time moves on, nothing last forever, all things must pass. I get all that, but it’s jarring when it happens to you. The two structures could not look more different. The now former Pocono Record building on Lenox Street in Stroudsburg, PA, where I started my first daily newspaper job in 1988, is a 21,000 one-story building on a 1.79-acre lot. The Waterbury Republican-American building at 389 Meadow Street in Waterbury, CT is a landmark in the west-central Connecticut city. The building is a form...

“Everybody thinks you reach a certain age and you're a grownup, but it's not true. Nobody grows up until the day they croak.”—Keith Richard The timing was spooky. I’m planning to retire in about nine months, which is both scary and wonderful. Yeah, I’m very much looking forward to finally stopping work, but I still can’tbelieve I’ve actually reached retirement age. I finally stopped by my local senior center at the urging of my landlady last week, who told me the place has a gym. I wanted to check out the equipment in hopes of using it as a backup on rainy, cold, or busy days when I can’t make the 15‑block walk to my health club. Plus, I figured I’d check out their classes — Tai Chi, stretching — and maybeeven the cafeteria. Okay, first, I want to say it’s a great place that does wonderful work. I met some very nice, helpful people, including one who gave me a tour and explained everything the center has to offer. The problem is me. I’m still having trou...

So, are you glad you did this?” The question came from Jerry, the director of my one act play Mercy Road, as we sat in the lobby of the Chain Theatre on Wednesday night. It had been one hell of a ride—fear, panic, joy, and ultimately, a ton of gratitude. Jerry was the backbone of this project, taking time out of his schedule to find the actors and bring this show to life. And it’s all rather amazing, considering this production came very close to not happening. As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, I never thought I’d get this far. I sent my play to the Chain in May and promptly forgot all about it. So of course I had a massive conniption fit when the theater accepted the damn thing. I was inches away from turning them down, convinced I’d never be able to find actors, get a director, and have everyone ready to take the stage by July 12—the first of three engagements. But Jerry talked me out of it, strongly advising me not to pass up such a wonderful opportuni...

“There is no duty we so much underrate as the duty of being happy. By being happy we sow anonymous benefits upon the world.” Robert Louis Stevenson “Relax,” Jerry said softly. “Take deep breaths.” He was right, of course. Inhaling a healthy hunk of air slowly and deeply into the lungs is a great way to stave off anxiety. We were sitting in the third-floor lobby of The Chain Theatre on Sunday evening, where the second performance of my one-act play "Mercy Road" was about to begin. Jerry is the play’s director and the guiding force of this production who kept everything on track while keeping me out of the loony bin. Opening night had been an absolute blast, but that was two weeks ago—plenty of time for all the anxiety and terror I went through the first time to make a return engagement. My wonderful sister was coming again and bringing three of her friends, and my writing coach Rosemary was also attending with two of my buddies from our class. I di...

“ The Mets have shown me more ways to lose than I even knew existed .” — Casey Stengel, New York Mets manager, 1962 to 1965. On June 21, 1968, Earl Warren submitted his resignation to President Lyndon Johnson after 15 years as Chief Justice of the United States. On this first day of summer, Secretary of the Army Stanley Resor announced that the Army had sharply reduced its support of civilian marksmanship programs and would no longer sell pistols, only excess rifles. The move came in response to demands for tighter gun controls following the assassination of Robert F. Kennedy, who had been murdered in Los Angeles earlier that month. Mort Sahl was playing at the Village Gate. The Party , starring Peter Sellers, was showing at the Alpine Theater, just a few blocks from my family’s home. And way up in Flushing Meadows, the New York Mets clobbered the L.A. Dodgers. “If some benevolent dream merchant decided to compose a script for the satisfaction of New York Mets fans among ...

I’ll get right to the point—thank you, St. Genesius! We had our first performance of my one-act play Mercy Road at the Chain Theatre on Sunday and it was a blast. I was absolutely out of my mind leading up to the show, conjuring all kinds of hellacious scenarios, none of which—surprise!—actually happened. My new best friend, St. Genesius of Rome, came through with interest. The two cast members acted up a storm, and the audience appreciated every second of it. Of course, I was short-tempered and completely irrational leading up to showtime. I freaked at every single disruption no matter how small. The big blowout occurred when I entered the building and mistakenly thought both of the elevators were out of commission and we’d all have to walk up three flights of stairs to the theater. “My aunt can’t climb all those stairs!” I wailed, as a young woman pressed the button for the front elevator…which was working. “I’m sorry about the outburst,” I muttered as t...

Okay, St. Genesius, it’s up to you now. For the last week, I’ve been furiously praying to the one-time thespian who became a Christian martyr and the patron saint of actors, clowns, comedians, dancers, and musicians—along with lawyers, barristers, people with epilepsy, printers, stenographers, and victims of torture. That’s quite a roster, come to think of it, but right now I just need St. Genesius of Rome to please, please, pretty please with two tons of sugar on top, look down upon and bless my one-act play Mercy Road , which kicks off tomorrow for a three-show run at The Chain Theatre in Manhattan. As we got closer to the premiere, I became so twisted that I pounced onto Google, hammered out “patron saint of theater” in search of divine intervention, and learned about the Roman comedian who used to perform in plays that mocked Christianity. According to legend, Genesius had a rapid change of heart while performing before Emperor Diocletian. He had planned to thu...

"We learn the rope of life by untying its knots." — Jean Toomer The name Evan traces its roots to an ancient Hebrew moniker meaning “God is gracious.” As a standalone Hebrew word, it translates to “rock” or “stone,” while it’s sometimes used as a shortened form of Greek names like Evander (“good man”) or Evangelos (“good messenger”). All those terms work for me, and they apply to a neighbor who came to my aid last week when I was seriously tangled up in blue. Evan walked into my life during my weekly visit to the laundromat. I was about halfway down my block when the drawstring on my laundry bag got caught in the wheels of my shopping cart, and everything came to a grinding halt. I looked down at the snarled mess gripping the axle of my cart. The cords of the laundry bag had a lo mein–level stranglehold on my ride, and I couldn’t move an inch. I have since learned that knots are among humanity’s oldest technologies, predating even the Stone Age. ...

We interrupt this week’s blog post with some monstrous news: if you’re going to be in New York next month, please stop by the Chain Theatre. Back in May, I submitted my one-act play Mercy Road to Chain’s summer festival and promptly forgot all about it. I was certain it would go nowhere and I’d get another cordial rejection letter thanking me for participating while pointing me to the exit. But then this theater company on West 36th Street pulled a fast one on me. They said yes. Wait — what? That’s exactly what they did. Suddenly I was responsible for assembling a director and a cast, and I didn’t begin to know what to do next. I was sorely tempted to withdraw from the running, but my buddy Jerry — an actor who’s appeared in several Chain productions—talked me out of it. He offered to find the actors and direct the play as well, thus saving my keester. I’ve been promising for the longest time to get out of the comfort zone, and I certainly think this qualifies. We’...

One of the things I miss most about my brother Peter is his laugh. He would call me just about every day, and I loved getting him laughing with a joke or funny story. When it came to laughter, Peter did not hold back. I was thinking recently of one of my favorite Rodney Dangerfield jokes — one I know would’ve had him roaring. “My doctor told me I was crazy,” Rodney lamented. “I told him I wanted a second opinion. He says, ‘You’re ugly, too!’” We also traded war stories about our father, who could get mighty ornery with very little provocation. Today is Father’s Day, and tomorrow is Peter’s birthday, so it feels like a one‑two to the heart. Peter loved his daughter Kristin so much, and I know he was incredibly proud of her. He also loved animals, particularly dogs, and I recall how he once started crying when he told me about a movie where someone’s canine died. And Peter wanted absolutely nothing to do with A Dog’s Purpose, a 2017 film where a dog dies and is reincarnated...

I was wheezing my way through a Stairmaster workout last week when I took a half‑century backward. Like most fitness clubs, my gym has music pouring out of the sound system nonstop. They keep it at a decent volume so you can enjoy the songs, but you can also tune out the tunes you don’t like. For years I worked out in the early morning, when the club played a solid hour of Frank Sinatra — probably to please me and my fellow dawn‑patrol geezers. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of mentioning how much I liked it to the staff, and it seemed like a short time later Old Blue Eyes went silent. The last time I heard Frank at my gym, the sound system abruptly cut him off midway through “You Make Me Feel So Young.” That made me feel so old. But my Stairmaster flashback concerns another Sinatra — his daughter Nancy — whose voice suddenly filled the gym in the midst of my stationary ascent. I strained to hear the lyrics over the clang of barbells, the gym chatter, the pounding ...

“ Hell is truth seen too late.”—Thomas Hobbes And then the dog showed up. I joined my sister and her friend on Saturday to see The Fear of 13, a play based on the life of Nick Yarris, who spent 22 years on Pennsylvania’s death row before becoming the state’s first death row inmate exonerated by DNA evidence. The play, written by Lindsey Ferrentino, is based on a 2015 British documentary film and stars Adrien Brody as Yarris and Tessa Thompson as a death row volunteer, both in their Broadway debuts. It was also one of the most exhilarating theatrical experiences I’ve had in years. I knew next to nothing about the play when we walked into the theater, and I’d never seen the film. But I was in tears by the time the lights came up. Brody is simply extraordinary as he takes us on the brutal journey of Yarris’ life — how this stupid young kid with a knack for stealing cars ended up convicted and sentenced to death for a 1981 kidnapping, rape, and murder. Director David Crome...

Skip the sneakers. That’s just one nugget of advice that comes up when you google “how to dress for a job interview.” Men are advised to wear polished leather dress shoes or oxfords to go with a navy, charcoal, or black suit with a light-colored button-down shirt, “along with a conservative, high-quality tie.” But you can’t wear kicks. Of course, I already knew that. I always put on my dress shoes when I meet with a prospective employer, no matter how laid back the company appears to be. And yet I did that very thing when I went to inquire about a reporting position at the Washington Post. Well, it wasn’t a real interview. This was a moment in yet another very weird dream of mine where I had gone to the 149-year-old publication in the nation’s capital and made a string of rookie interview mistakes that looked like a career suicide note. This wasn’t a full-blown nightmare where I wake up trembling and thanking God none of the horrifying events actually happened. No, this w...

They never saw it coming. That was the tagline from a movie called Derailed, but it pretty much describes my feeling about aging. By the grace of God, I turned 69 today, and I was reviewing my birthday blog post from 2006, which I described as “a quiet affair—just me, my dad, and my sister.” I titled the post What Hath God Wrought? , which was the first official message transmitted over a commercial telegraph line in the U.S. on May 24, 1844. Patti LaBelle, Bob Dylan, the Brooklyn Bridge, and my grandmother also celebrate their birthdays today. “Mary, my dad's aide, made a delicious pasta dinner, my sister got the cake and sang ‘Happy Birthday’—my dad didn't seem able to join in—and then we watched Derailed on DVD,” I wrote on that day. Back then I was shocked that I would be turning 50 the next year. Now, I’m just kind of numb to the numbers. “I couldn't help but think of my mom when I looked at the cake's candles flickering in front of me, I could almost...

A year ago today, the phone stopped ringing. This is the one year anniversary of my brother Peter’s death, and like so many other events in my life, I can’t believe how fast the time has flown by. It seems like it was just last week that I was sitting on my couch when I got a phone call from my niece that began with the words, “I have terrible news.” I couldn’t begin to imagine what the problem was, and then she said, “My father passed.” “Peter?” I shouted, jumping off the couch, as if I were hoping it would be somebody else. But it wasn’t. My brother was gone. My God, what a terrible day that was. I started making phone calls, and then my sister and I went to Manhattan to tell our aunt what had happened, because there was no way we were going to tell her that terrible news over the phone. I still miss his daily calls. I keep hoping I’ll see his name flash across my iPhone, even though I know that’s never going to happen. I later learned that Peter had b...

Okay, I’m going to watch this video just one more time — I promise. Last month, Saturday Night Live ran a sketch called “ Fashion District Robbery ,” and I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard at an SNL bit. I’ve been watching the late night comedy show since those early days in 1975 with the likes of John Belushi, Dan Aykroyd, Jane Curtin, Gilda Radner, and Chevy Chase — although I never thought that guy was funny. There were great sketches like the Killer Bees, the Coneheads, and the Jaws parody about the landshark. There have been ten presidential administrations since SNL debuted on Oct. 11, 1975, and that first episode is now the subject of a Netflix film I’m planning to watch. The show has also spawned a British adaptation, SNL UK, which premiered on March 21. Interestingly enough, Curtin said in a 2023 interview with People that she had watched an early show and “not one thing was funny.” “I think it was just one of those, you had to be there ...

At some point this morning, I decided to give myself a break. “You know,” I told myself, “it doesn’t have to be so awful.” Yes, how about that? I really could stop tearing into myself. After all those hours of abuse, it would be so nice to ease up on the misery, wouldn’t it? Now all I had to do was believe it. The cause behind this latest emotional assault began Saturday night when I attended BKOne’s production of John Patrick Shanley’s 1984 play Savage in Limbo at Industry City, a massive warehousing and manufacturing complex in Sunset Park that dates back to 1918. The property was pretty much deserted for the longest time, but now it’s home to restaurants, bars, and all kinds of businesses — including the theater. The play focuses on a group of former parochial-school classmates who get together at a rundown neighborhood bar in the Bronx. They’re all 32 years old, they have empty lives, they rip into themselves and each other, and they talk about changing fo...

I thought my dreams were weird. Over the weekend, I watched Dream Scenario , Nicolas Cage’s 2023 movie about an ordinary schlub whose life becomes a nightmare after strangers suddenly start seeing him in their dreams. The hero, Paul Matthews, is a college professor who initially enjoys his strange celebrity and sees an opportunity to publish his long‑delayed book. But things go horribly wrong when people start dreaming that Paul is attacking — and even murdering — them. He quickly becomes a pariah to his neighbors, students, and even his family. It’s a strange and, at times, disturbing film, but I enjoyed it. It reminded me of Charlie Kaufman, the writer of Adaptation , Being John Malkovich , and Synecdoche, New York. The plot resembles a supposedly real event compiled on the website “Ever Dream This Man?”, created by Italian advertiser Andrea Natella. He claimed that more than 3,000 people had dreamed of the same man repeatedly for years, with the first case registered in Ne...