The Luna Park Gazette

It’s all Google’s fault. Yes, Google, the great all-seeing eye of Internet search engines, with its unnatural ability to find out anything about anybody, is the cause of all my problems. It’s turned me into Quasi-Modem. Now, thanks to Google, each night I climb into my digital bell tower, a bitter, twisted gnome determined to relive the past. I want to know all about the people I don’t like, people I haven’t seen or heard from in years, so I hurl my queries out into cyberspace only to have them come spinning back and hit me upside the head. It’s the Google-rang. And it gets me every time. I search for anyone who’s done me wrong, two-timing girlfriends, grade school bullies, obnoxious ex-coworkers, and discover the worst possible news imaginable: they’re happy. They’re not rotting away in a filthy dungeon in some sub-equatorial dictatorship; they’re not locked in a B-movie mental institution, trussed up in straitjackets and living on Thorazine and Rice Krispies. And they’re not st...

This has been quite a day: In addition to being the Chinese New Year and Ash Wednesday, it is also the last day of my unemployments benefits. A triple witching indeed. This is the Year of the Rooster, and I was born in that year in 1957, so a Chinese friend assures me this will be my year. I'll take whatever I can get at this point, as I quite nervous about the future. I have to find a place for myself in this world so I can pull my own weight. I don't want to be working at 70, but if I don't get a job soon, it looks like that's where I'm headed. Positive, positive. It is the year of the rooster after all, but if I don't get a job soon my goose will be cooked. Oh, gosh, I couldn't resist making that joke--even if it laid an egg. I wonder what the hell happened to me that I ended up in that situation. No career, no woman, no family--I'm just a middle-aged teen-ager. It's time to grow up and get a life...

There’s nothing like an old movie to teach you a lesson about modern times. I discovered this the other night when I sat down to watch “The Ox-bow Incident,” a classic western directed by William Wellman. The 1943 film stars Henry Fonda, Harry Morgan, Anthony Quinn and a cast of fine character actors straight out of Hollywood’s Golden Age. I thought I was just going to sit back and enjoy a fine old movie, but instead I found myself looking at a frontier rendition of George Bush’s war in Iraq. Sounds crazy? Tell it to Sponge Bob Squarepants—just as soon as he comes out of the closet. Based on Walter Van Tilburg Clark’s novel, “The Oxbow Incident” tells the story of a group of Nevada cowboys in 1885 who, upon hearing about a rancher’s murder, form a posse and inflict some hangman’s justice upon three hapless cattlemen they capture on the trail. In contrast to today’s multiplex McMovies, “The Oxbow Incident” has no digital effects, comic book heroes, vicious mutants, alienated alien...

"...that'll be me." I don't usually care for country music but I find this particular title fits very nicely in my relationship with Blue. Blue*(Not Her Real Name Either)--I don't know why I'm protecting these people since they are surely not innocent--was the one I met in my movie club who was kind of a friend, though I was hoping for a lot more (sex). She sent me an email today suggesting we hook up, and adding that it might be awkward since I now know she has been dating (humping) this fellow for the last two months. How nice. Me, I can barely get a kiss on the cheek and this other guy gets the New Year's Eve pipe job in Vermont. But, awkward?!?! Oh, perish the thought, I'm perfectly comfortable with this. My ass. I'm not comfortable, I am miserable, angry and hurt and I don't want to see Blue ever again, goodbye, see you later, don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out. I believe most of this is my fault, bec...

It's almost midnight and I've managed to avoid just about every news item about the coronation of President Jethro. If it wasn't for Air America, I'm be on top of a tall building with a salad shooter spraying the people below with raw zuccini. What happened to my country? I turned away for a second and it turned into Mayberry 666. What the f...? On the personal note, I had a job interview yesterday and I've got another one coming up on Tuesday. Christ, I think it's easier to fake an orgasam than it is to show interest in these suck-ass positions. Dating is somewhat less successful, as Annie *(not her real name) has apparently given me the slip. Don't know what I did wrong, but hope I had some fun doing it. I don't feel like following after this one to find out what happened. I believe the early stage of a relationship is like a jet in take-off. You need to reach the high altitudes quickly, without any problems or you'll be splattered all over the ru...

I am born... All right, let's get this show on the road. This is my first post on my first blog. I am 47, marooned in Brooklyn without a job, wife or children. Most of my big dreams have crashed and burned like the Hindenburg, but that hasn't stopped me from climbing on the next bag of hot air and heading back into the sky. Before being laid off I was a reporter for several years, a profession I never really cared for, other than it allowed me a chance to write. I confess I got a lot of great experiences out of journalism, but then I looked up and 15 years had gone by. Getting a job and getting a lover seem to have a lot in common. You want them, you need them, but as soon as you get them, you're thinking, "Jesus, I gotta get the hell out of this." You usually settle for them, taking a job/lover you're not too crazy about just to meet the immediate needs of paying the bills or companionship (Sex). You've got to go through rigorous examinations ...