The Luna Park Gazette

If the train I was riding on Thursday morning had been a horse, I would have put it out of its misery. But then again, if I had been riding a horse, I probably would have gotten to work a hell of a lot sooner than I did. I work in Lower Manhattan, and normally it’s not such a bad ride from Bay Ridge Avenue to Rector Street. I get in the first car and usually slide right into the double-seat near the motorman’s cab. If I get the seat that’s flush against the wall, my morning is made—which should give you an idea of what my life is like. I get this seat so often I tend to think of it as mine and I get rather peeved when some thoughtless vulgarian decides to plop his or her carcass on my prime spot. I feel like a co-pilot on an airliner when I'm in that seat, ready to take control of the train just in case the motorman rips off all his clothes, puts on a busby, and skips down the track singing “Pass the Biscuits, Mirandy” at the top of his lungs. That’s never actually happened, mind y...

I stopped to give someone directions on Monday and ended up in a time warp. I had just stepped out of my building at lunchtime when a little old lady stopped in front of the revolving door and asked for directions. “Excuse me,” she said in what sounded like an Eastern European accent. “Could you please tell me where is 198 Broadway?” She was speaking to a man standing by the door and I was about to walk away until I noticed the guy was ignoring her. So I stepped in. “Where do you want to go?” “198 Broadway,” she said, holding up a slip of paper. “My eye doctor is there.” I work at 195 Broadway, so I didn’t think this would be too difficult. My office is located in this magnificent old building in Lower Manhattan that dominates one side of the street. The place is a treasure, with this fabulous lobby that looks like something out of a Cecil B. DeMille picture. It was the headquarters of AT&T from 1916 to 1983 and since they were a monopoly back then money clearly was no object. The ...

I dove headfirst into my comfort zone last weekend and I’m not the least bit ashamed. I know I should get out more: meet people, visit museums, go to the opera, attend concerts, wrestle alligators, and parachute out of burning airplanes. I live in New York, for God’s sake, there’s any number of things to do in this town, including alligator wrestling if you look hard enough. You can probably wrestle an alligator while diving out of a burning airplane if that tickles your fancy, though I don't know why it should. But sometimes I don’t feel like doing anything social at all. Some nights, instead of expanding my world, I feel like drawing it in around me like a handmade quilt. Some nights I just feel like staying home and watching TV. And that’s what I did the last week when Netflix sent me a DVD of old Jimmy Cagney movie I had never seen called “ Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye .” I didn't even know about this 1950 film until a few weeks ago, but it didn't matter. If you’ve got an old ...

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...