The Luna Park Gazette

As we slog our way through the Winter that Refuses to Die, I’m doing my best to think warm thoughts. The other day I recalled a drive I took with my parents to High Rock Park in Staten Island. God only knows how many years ago this was, but I remember it was early Spring and we had decided to go out for a ride on a beautiful sunny day—remember those? High Rock was a great choice because it was close to home, but the woods there are so dense and the wildlife is so plentiful, it’s hard to believe you’re still in New York City. Our timing could not have been better. We had gotten there just when all the birds’ eggs were hatching and the air was filled with the nearly deafening chirping of what sounded like thousands of baby chicks making their debuts. The noise was incredible. Living in the city, I’ll hear birds occassionally chirping, but these squawking newborns sounded like an orchestra. All those new lives coming into existence gave me such a feeling of hope and serenity that whatev...

“Remember, O man, that you are dust and to dust you shall return” – Genesis 3:19 Each year there seems to be fewer and fewer people getting their ashes on Ash Wednesday. When I was growing up, everybody and his brother made sure to get the black cross put on their forehead. Of course, I went to Catholic school and going without ashes back then was kind of like wearing bowling shoes to Sunday mass. I was going to skip it this year myself. I’m hardly in the running for the Christian of the Year Award, if there is one, and I feel kind of weird walking around all day with this blotch on my forehead. But I wanted to keep up the tradition, since I was raised a Roman Catholic, after all--even though I am now going to an Episcopalian church. And the idea of being self-conscious convinced me that I should go ahead and get the ashes. If people want to give me weird looks, they’re more than welcome. I also felt like I’m honoring my mother, who wanted us to observe the Christian traditions. I made...

Millions of people will be watching the Super Bowl on Sunday, but I won’t be one of them. It’s unfortunate because I always enjoyed watching the game. I’m not much of a football fan, but, like a lot of people, I watch the Super Bowl for the commercials. But this year I'm boycotting the game because of one commercial in particular--and it’s got nothing to do with the Budweiser Clydesdales. No, I'm referring to a pile of propaganda being perpetrated by that allegedly “Christian” outfit called Focus on the Family. (Jesus, even their name makes skin crawl.) They’re behind an ad featuring somebody called Tim Tebow (told you I wasn't a football fan) and his mother, where, according to news reports, she talks about how she ignored her doctor's advise to abort her fifth child and went on to give birth to the big time football hero. What this little tale has to do with a woman's right to choose eludes me, but I wouldn't expect anything less from Focus founder James Dobso...

My service as a juror in Kings County Court came to an abrupt end today. I had been picked (screwed?) with 7 other people to sit on a civil case involving a car crash. We had expected the trial to go on for at least the rest of the week. But just after the attorneys made their opening arguments, Judge Solomon—yes, that’s his name--stopped the proceedings and sent us home. We were told this morning that the two parties had settled their case and our services were no longer needed. It was very difficult not to do a Homer Simpson “ woo-hoo! ” in court and run out the door, but I managed to control myself. Our court officer, Ralph, told us that people who seem really determined to go ahead with a trial often lose their nerve upon seeing the jury. “They realize that it’s serious,” he said, “and they think, ‘hey, I might get nothing.’ ” Judge Solomon told us that we wouldn’t be called for jury duty for another eight years—when I’m 60 years old—unless, he added, “we have a spike in crime.” I ...

Listen up: The Breukelen Coffee House will hold it's first official art opening on Friday, February 5. Among those participating in this incredible event is my boy Mike Sorgatz , a massively talented artist and husband of my big time buddy Eleanor Traubman, chief cook and bottle washer at Creative Times . A Brooklyn-based DJ, will be spinning fly tunes, and a Brooklyn-based bartender will be spreading the love in its liquid form, which is my favorite way of getting it. In addition to the party and press, there will be an independent documentary film crew be on hand to take footage for their docu on the 6 month progression of the Breukelen Coffee House. The event runs from 8pm to 12am. Breukelen Coffee House is located 764A Franklin Ave. Now you've got everything you need to know. So come on down to party, drink, and get some culture, damn it.

Heads up, y'all. If you love Coney Island--and who the hell doesn't?--then get on down to Galapagos Art Space this Saturday, January 30, for a good old fashion Brooklyn ho down. The folks at Save Coney Island are holding a fundraiser for the hallowed amusement area. "Gone Country for Coney" will feature five of the city's best plinkers and plunkers. The eats will be provided by Jakes BBQ. Save Coney Island is fighting to restore Coney as a world-class amusement destination, and this includes "trying to revise or overturn the city's misconceived plan for the amusement district." The group is working on a number of initiatives, including efforts to insure a successful 2010 season and protect historic buildings along Surf Avenue. The event runs from 3pm to 9:30pm. Tickets are $15 until 5pm and 20 bucks for the slow pokes out there. And you get a raffle ticket with entry. Could you possibly need anything else? Of course not! Galapagos Art Space is loca...

I’ve been chosen to play a vital role in our legal system. I am helping advance the cause of justice that dates back to the days of our founding fathers. I got nailed for jury duty. I don’t know what I did, but it was enough to get me a seat in the jury box at a civil trial. There’s nothing quite so depressing as pulling that jury summons out of your mail box. Your heart just sinks, your blood pressure soars and you ask why, why me, why now? I’ve got things to do, goddamnit. Yeah, you and 12 million other people. I went down to the central jury room and joined a cast of extremely unhappy characters. It was like being in church only here people really pray—as in please Dear God don’t let them pick me! Voices pour out of the PA system reciting the names of every person on earth, or so it seems. I suspect the afterlife is something like this. We arrive, take our seats in a vast room and wait until the Big Voice calls our name. I wasn’t feeling at all well on this particular day and I real...