The Luna Park Gazette

I keep asking the wrong question. Whenever I stop to look at how the years have flown by, I always ask, "where did the time go?" Of course, what I mean to ask is "what did I do with the time when I had it?" I asked that question twice this week when I became reacquainted with two of the biggest movies of my life. First, I read a news story about how the Post Office is preparing a commemorative stamp for Star Wars to mark the film's 30th--no, I'm not kidding-- 30 th anniversary. A stamp for Star Wars ? You issue stamps for dead people, not for movies that just came out...30 years ago. I was still reeling from that shock when I sat down and slipped Rocky Balboa into the DVD player tonight. Rocky is a year older than Star Wars. My God, where did the time--? No, I'm not going to ask again. I'm still not feeling well and I thought I'd get a few laughs watching Sylvester Stallone dredge up this character one more time. But instead I found myself cryin...

The signs are all around us, if we just know where to look. In my case, the sign was an actual sign. I saw it Monday night on my way to my solo performance class. This was a neon sign, three stories overhead, and while it was supposed to say "Psychic Reading," some of the letters had crapped out to where it now spelled out "Psychic Ding." You know I swear some days neon signs are built to burn out and give off these whacked messages. A psychic ding--sounds like a kind of cosmic fender bender. I got some of that on Saturday, when I went out with my aunt and sister on St. Patrick's Day. It was cold and miserable. The freezing temperatures carved right through my gloves and my socks got wet in record time. What the hell was I doing here anyway? I hate parades and despite my Irish ancestory I'm becoming less enchanted with St. Patrick's Day with each passing year. All the bars were filled with boozed up teenagers who thought being drunk was some kind of achi...

The question would have been strange at any time of the day, but on 2 AM on a weeknight it was positively surreal. "Is this forever?" The voice on the telephone said. Well, no, of course not. Nothing is forever, dimwit, didn't anyone ever tell you that? I wish had something said along those lines this morning to the freak that kept dialing my number in the dead of night, but all I could do was mumble, no, and then ask what number was he trying to call. The line went dead in my hand, though, so I never did find out what the guy meant by "forever" and why he thought he could find it by calling me. I went back to bed and tried in vain to get some sleep. I closed my eyes for what felt like a few seconds and when I opened them it was time to get up for work. It's been that kind of week. It's early on St. Patrick's Day morning, and just like my father always said, the weather is godawful for the Irish. The city is buried under a layer of wet snow and freez...

Oh, this is just peachy: I finally start feeling better and my computer gets sick. I came home late Thursday and felt like wasting a little time on the Internet, but all I could get was the Yahoo smiley, which grinned at me like an idiot, but refused to connect to the web. I cursed and fumed, restarted the computer, the whole routine. Nothing. So I finally got smart, or smarter anyway and tracked down the number for Verizon tech support. There's a prompt where the android woman asks you a series of increasingly stupid questions or gives you the option of asking for a techie by saying the magic words "Agent Now." I said it and I kind liked it, as it sounded like the name of an ultra-cool Sixties spy who gets all the babes and practices mindfulness mediation--thus allowing him to live in the now and earn that handle.. I keep thinking of the Old Silva Thins cigarette commercial--yes, I'm that old--which feature this slick double agent type in shades who always managed to...

Sometimes people have a way of coming into your life just when you need them the most. This is extremely rare, I know, and in my experience it's always been the exact opposite scenario, as in, oh, no, haven't I got enough problems without have to deal with this card-carrying douche bag on top of it all? Been there, done that, got the t-shirt, the tattoo and signed the movie deal. But today was different. I actually met somebody worth knowing and worth remembering. I've been feeling like crap for the last 10 days or so, with a sinus-stomach-psychotic espisode that's got me using the little strength I have to crawl the walls and curse the fates. I stayed in last night, even though it was Friday, even though I had two events I could have attended. I just went the hell home, got some chicken and rice soup, and watched The Fifth Element on TV---dumb flick, but it's got some great visuals. This morning I went out in search of a George Foreman grill, or a new one, I shou...

I know it's winter and the weather is supposed to be bad, but this latest round of meteorlogical misery really blows. We had some kind of snow and sleet combination hit the city last night and its turned the streets into a godawful mess, yet again. I haven't been feeling well since last week, but I woke up this morning actually feeling worse than I did on Friday. I was extremely pissed, since I had kept a low profile over the weekend to make sure my system was clear. Apparently I've got some kind of Australian malady as it went away and then came back and whacked me upside the head. I felt cold, sick to my stomach, and useless. I thought about the fact that I'm turning 50 in May and I felt like a sick old man. My solo performer class starts next week, I don't feel like going to the gym and that just makes me crankier. I felt like some mean old geezer who chases kids away from the front of his house. I came out of the subway, hooked a left and walked up the street ...

Hey, do you like guns? Yeah, me, too. Nothing says freedom more than having a .357 tucked under your armpit or carrying an AK-47 in the trunk of your car. Guns are what made America great, and if you don't believe that, I'll shoot you. Of course there are some drawbacks to this freedom, like, oh, I don't know, the occassional mass murder. We had two of them here in the States not too long ago, one in Philadelphia and one in Utah, and you can bet some bleeding hearts will have the nerve to suggest outlawing guns--yet again. The right-wing gun lovers were furious that the news media didn't mention that the Utah gunman--the one who shot up a shopping mall--was a Muslim. Only, the news media did mention this fact and went on to report that the police saw no connection between his religion and his actions. But what does reality matter to your average gun nut? Now these same neocon pistol-humpers had no problem with gun laws that allow psychotics to get their hands on lethal ...