The Luna Park Gazette

It didn’t take long, did it? Michael Jackson was just dead for a few hours this evening when I witnessed a scramble for post-mortem memorabilia. I stopped by a used book stand on W. 73rd Street and Broadway to see if I could add even more paperbacks to my already mountainous collection. As I approached the stand, the proprietor—I guess that’s what you call him—a large African-American man, was arguing with a skinny middle-aged fellow with glasses who was clutching a copy of Jackson’s Thriller LP. “I don’t want your money,” the bookseller declared forcefully. “How much do--?” the other man tried to say. “— I don’t want your money .” I’ve bought so many books here, but I’ve never learned this man’s name. He is a local legend, though, and very protective of his patch of ground. The guy with the glasses finally got the message, put down the record—which looked like a manhole cover next to a CD—and walked away. “You have a blessed day,” the bookseller said in a way that made me doubt his s...

I’d been running low on joy lately, both the emotion and the dishwashing liquid. Replacing the soap was easy—I just went to the appropriate shelf at my local grocery store and grabbed hold of the plastic bottle. But at the last second, thanks to the recession and my unflagging frugality, I forsook the Joy in favor of an eerie blue generic brand that was two bucks cheaper. How much Joy do you need in this life, anyway? However, the cutrate suds didn’t cut the mustard—or the grease--and so my funk deepened. I was in a rut and desperately in need of a change. And that’s when I got this email: “I am Capt. David Charles, 50 Years Old from (England) United Kingdom. I work with Princess Diana Luxury Motor Yacht in United Kingdom. We are seeking applicants to work on the new year-round UNITED KINGDOM flagged Passenger ship. It’s a private own yacht. Accommodation will be provided by the Company. I will like to know if you are interested in working on the ship.” All I know about sailing can be ...

"So how’s your father?” The question caught me off-guard—not only because my father died over two years ago, but because it came from a car service driver whom I mistakenly assumed was a total stranger. My girlfriend and I were going to a party at my blogging buddy Flatbush Gardner's house and we had been talking to each other during the ride. I was feeling a little uneasy because I was ignoring the driver—I usually like to chat with them—but I thought I’d give the guy a break. It had been a hectic day. My girlfriend was coming down from the Bronx to visit me and I was racing around all morning, doing my weekend chores and cleaning—or attempting to clean—my house so she wouldn’t faint or run out the door screaming when she saw the place. And I was walking back from food shopping when I saw a young father and his little girl walking up Fifth Avenue. The girl was blond, about 5 years old, and just beautiful. She was hopping around while her father was talking on a cell phone. “...

This is the prayer that FDR read to the nation on radio on the evening of D-Day, June 6, 1944. There's a line towards the end when Roosevelt prays for "a peace invulnerable to the schemings of unworthy men" that makes me think of the modern day parasites who sent our soldiers into a disastrous war. "Unworthy men" would be the best way to describe them, and, unfortunately, our soldiers, our nation, and our world were not invulnerable to their schemes. So let us pray that we learned we have finally learned from our mistakes, as impossible as that sounds. And let's see if we can bring back that sense of purpose and unity that made such an incredible task like D-Day possible. My Fellow Americans: Last night, when I spoke with you about the fall of Rome, I knew at that moment that troops of the United States and our Allies were crossing the Channel in another and greater operation. It has come to pass with success thus far. And so, in this poignant hour, I ask yo...

I walked through the old neighborhood for the first time last night. I was on Arthur Avenue in the Bronx with my aunt, sister, and girlfriend, who lives a short distance—though a world away—from the Italian enclave on Arthur Avenue. We had spent a fabulous day at the New York Botanical Garden, wandering over through so much greenery we forget we were in New York. It takes just under forever to get to the garden by subway from Bay Ridge, but you can get there in 20 minutes if you take Metro North from Grand Central. Plus you get to pass through one of my all time favorite sites in New York, which provides entertainment, a history lesson, and fabulous architecture along with a transportation hub. While waiting for our aunt to arrive, I saw a lady get on the ticket line with three huge parrots resting on her. She was pulling a large cage on wheels, but I guess she wanted to give her crew some fresh air before packing them in the carrying case. For a second I thought she was...

“Those who do not understand their own destiny will never understand the friends they have made nor the work they have chosen, nor the one life that waits for them beyond all the others.” --“All the True Vows” from The House of Belonging by David Whyte. I was leaving my house the other morning when I saw a minor traffic jam on my block. A huge black limo was trying to squeeze through the space between a double-parked van and a Poland Springs delivery truck. I don’t know what the limo or the Poland Springs guy were doing on my street, but there they were. The truck driver, who I believe was from Africa, guided the limo driver with one hand while holding his cell phone with the other and speaking into it in some language I didn’t understand. It had the potential of being a miniature disaster, but the delivery truck driver was doing a good job of guiding the limo to safety. When the limo was clear of the two parked vehicles, the trucker began waving his hand and chanting, “it’s good, it’...

Happy Norwegian Day. The annual Norwegian Day parade is going on in Bay Ridge today and from what I saw the turnout was pretty good. The parade is one my favorite signs of spring and it usually means my birthday is not far behind. That used to be a good thing but as my birth year becomes more and more distant, I’m finding fewer and fewer reasons to be cheerful. But I do love a parade. I was coming home from a night away and I had no idea what all the noise was about until I saw the people in plastic Viking helmets. Oh, yeah... I was holding two bags of groceries and I had to wait for a gap in the parade before I could dash... lurch ...across the street. I had dinner at a Thai restaurant in Manhattan with my best bud Hank on Thursday—the day before his birthday—and as I walked into the place I had this feeling of deja vu. Then it came to me. I had eaten lunch here in 1997, my first day on the job at Adweek , where I first met Hank. I had just moved back to New York from Waterbury, Conn...