The Luna Park Gazette

I took out Robert DeNiro’s garbage today and, boy, was I proud. It wasn’t exactly his garbage, of course. I was emptying litter baskets at the Tribeca Film Festival, but since the festival is DeNiro’s pet project I figure I can stretch the point to absurd limits and claim that I indeed hauled Travis Bickle’s trash. I volunteered for the festival because I love film. My dreams of being in the business have yet to materialize and I figured this was about as close as I was going to get, at least for the moment. Maybe I’ll meet Robert DeNiro . That was my standard line whenever I told people I was working the festival. That never happened, but I did get a t-shirt, a knapsack, and an ID badge stamped “Volunteer” to wear around my neck. Then I stood in the rain and told people to have their credit cards ready. I haven’t given up being a filmmaker, or at least I haven’t given up fantasying about being one. I have a completed script and I’ve got a first draft of a short film script that I want...

When most people go home, I go to work. I work the night shift at a market research firm in Manhattan, where I am paid to watch TV shows I wouldn’t normally watch under the threat of death. From "Yes, Dear" to NASCAR, I’ll look at anything for 20 bucks an hour. Call me a media whore if you want,I won’t be offended. I’m too tired. It’s only three nights a week, but it feels like seven. I’ve only been there a month but it feels like years. My schedule varies so that I work weekends, holidays, and all the other times normal people are having fun. Going into the office, I have to fight a line of day workers streaming out of the subway station on their way home. Some nights, if I’m covering a late show, I won’t actually put my fingers to the keyboard until 11 pm. Most nights I don’t get home until 2 am. I’ve stayed out this late, even later, before but never for a damn job. When I was a kid going out for a night on the town with my buddies, my mother would always say “don’t come h...

I spent April Fool’s Day on Amtrak and I'm sure it wasn't a coincidence. I managed to avoid joy buzzers, itching powder and whoopee cushions as I rode roundtrip from New York to Albany; I didn’t take any calls for Prince Albert in a can and no one tried to pull the old looking up in the air gag on me. I had too much on my mind to even think about that stuff. I was going upstate to interview for a job I didn’t want in a place where I didn’t want to live. If you’re confused, join the club. I had answered an ad from the Associated Press—let me say that again, the Associated Press —and to my horror the news editor there called me and expressed interest. I liked the idea of working for a huge outfit like AP. But Albany? I'm having trouble with that. All I know about Albany is that it’s the state capital and it’s up north where it’s even colder than it is here. And, no slight against Albany, but after all these years as a reporter, I’ve had my fill of small towns and seco...

People die hard in Sin City. In the new film from Robert Rodriquez, characters are stabbed, shot, bludgeoned, and repeatedly run over by cars. They smash through doors and dive from windows in lieu of taking the stairs. Their genitals are shot off, their limbs are chopped away and their bodies are pierced by arrows. And their heads? Oh, gosh, their heads are chopped off, pierced, battered, mounted on walls, and crushed into Jell-o. As Marv, Sin City’s resident psychopath asks after an unsuccessful jolt from an electric chair: "Is that the best you can do, you pansies?" Apparently, yes, it is. And that’s unfortunate. Rodriquez brings Frank Miller’s graphic novel to very graphic life, taking us into the double-dealing heart of a fictional metropolis, where corruption rules, life is cheap, and the weather really sucks. It rains a lot here. Buildings, bridges and monuments loom high, dark and threatening. And there’s no hint of sunlight in this mostly black and white world (...

Can I just say something here without people getting all twisted and crazy? All right, here goes: I’m sorry to see John Rowland going to jail. Now, take it easy. Before you leap onto that soapbox or pound that table, I already know what you’re going to say. As Governor of Connecticut, John Rowland violated the public trust. He took gifts and services from businessmen who turned around and won hundreds of millions of dollars in contracts and tax breaks. His actions were outrageous, unconscionable, and unforgivable—not to mention incredibly stupid. And I think he deserves every day of jail time he gets—and probably a hell of a lot more. Yeah, I got all that and I’m a Democrat to boot. And yet I still feel bad for the guy. I’m one of God knows how many people who thought they knew John Rowland. Back in the early Rowland days, I was a reporter at the Waterbury Republican-American, Rowland’s hometown newspaper and in 1996 I got to accompany Rowland on his trade mission to Mexico. This wa...

I saw myself at the movies the other night. I was just going into the BAM Theater in downtown Brooklyn when I turned around and there I was. It didn’t look like me at all. I had glasses and a beard, and I was carrying a bag of popcorn. I was also taller and younger with a full head of hair. But it was me all right. I didn’t need the special effects skills of Industrial Light & Magic to be one person in two bodies that night. All I had to do was take a long look. This guy I was looking at was another person, but we were so alike we could have been clones. We were both alone on a Friday night and we were going to the movies. I don’t know this guy’s story at all, but in a way, I think I do. Movies are my favorite form of entertainment. I love seeing them, talking about them, and I’ve tried writing them, and since I’m going to the theater by myself on a Friday night, you can tell how successful I’ve been in that particular area. Tonight’s feature was a special Italian film selection ca...

Are you a creative, enthusiastic, team player who has tons of initiative? Can you hit the ground running, carry an intense workload, handle heavy call volume, speak seven languages and still maintain your sense of humor? Well, good for you. I’ve been out of work since July and after 9 months of reading classified ad copy I think I’m a little punchy. I’ve answered ad after ad, in newspapers, trade magazines, online and on the backs of buses. The result of all this effort is a handful of interviews, no job, and a non-stop headache from reading all these ridiculous ads. It’s another language, the want ads, written for another world. A world where people love their jobs, are rewarded for working hard, earn the respect of their employers and co-workers and lead happy, productive lives. In other words, Fantasy Land. Who writes this stuff? Who actually believes that anyone is this talented, dedicated or interested in a job? Hey, I’m out of work, I need a paycheck, let’s stop screwing arou...