The Luna Park Gazette

Brace yourself for a shock, but I actually chose to miss my bus the other night and I’m so glad I did. This may not sound like a big deal to you out-of-towners, but usually New Yorkers will ruthlessly trample children, little old ladies, foreign dignitaries or any other hapless son-of-a-bitch who comes between us and our manic desire to get to some place other than the one we’re currently occupying. Most evenings I come out of my building on lower Broadway and either speed walk or flat-out run up to the X27 bus stop a block away. The urge to sprint is almost impossible to resist. If the bus is leaving, I’ll stand outside the door with my pathetic puppy face on and silently beg the driver to open up so I can get home right now —as opposed to waiting 10 whole, agonizing minutes for the next bus. But last week I decided to give my Pavlovian instincts the night off so I could stop and smell the exhaust fumes. And it paid off big time. I’d had a shockingly bad day at work—worse tha...

The young Marine stood in the alley of my family’s house on Senator Street and told me all about his haircut. His commanding officer was very strict, he said, and demanded that this young man get a most severe crew cut. The Marine was friendly, happy to tell someone his story. I listened and nodded politely as he spoke. None of this was real, of course. I no longer live on Senator Street and I don’t know any young Marines. This was a dream I had a few nights ago. The scene shifted, the young Marine disappeared, and I was inside my family’s house, tending to my elderly father, which I did up until his death in 2007. However, unlike reality, there was none of the stress, worry, and anger in the dream. Instead I was calm and in control and my father was cooperative—all the evidence you need to show that this wasn’t happening in the real world. I was getting my father his breakfast and he said he wanted to go outside. “Put on a jacket or you’ll catch cold,” I said, sounding ...

The voice came from behind while two loving hands held me up. “You have a lot of sweet energy,” it said. “I could feel it while I worked on you.” The person speaking was Kathryn Davis , a healer, teacher, mystic, and all-around miracle worker as far as I’m concerned. I went to see her on Sunday for a private energy session and that turned out to be one of the best decisions I’ve made in years. “You have a good heart,” she told me. “It loves you.” I have a notoriously low opinion of myself, so hearing that some part of my being actually loves me was so hard to believe that I started crying. “Is this unusual?” I asked while fishing a tissue out of my pocket. “No, not at all,” Kathryn said. I feel so relaxed, so peaceful, and so unlike my usual uptight self. My body is loose, a nagging pain in my right shoulder has faded dramatically, and I feel like I’ve had a massage that reached right down into my soul. My misdeeds, missteps, and mistakes all seem so distant now. They ...

In 1974 The Three Degrees hit the top spot on the adult contemporary chart with the song “When Will I See You Again.” The song , which poses a series of questions about the early stages of a relationship, was a big hit in England, too, and the Philadelphia soul group performed it at Prince Charles’ 30th birthday party in Buckingham Palace. I always liked the opening of the song where the trio comes in behind the strings to sing the line “Precious moments…” Lead singer Shelia Ferguson said she hated the tune when she first heard it and angrily declared she would never sing it, believing that “it was ridiculously insulting to be given such a simple song.” She would later admit she had called that one wrong. And from now on, whenever I hear this song I’ll think of a girl named Janet. I met Janet—or Jeannette as she liked to be called—at a friend’s party in the Bronx some 40 years ago. She was a lovely young girl who was so funny and so outgoing and we just hit it off. “When Wil...

Every morning when I ride the bus to work, I settle in my chair, close my eyes and silently recite the 23rd Psalm. The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want… This prayer is so comforting and I say it to clear away any workday jitters that might be gnawing at me. If I can walk the Valley of the Shadow of Death without fearing any evil, then I think can handle anything at the office. And instead of worrying about my health or my future or anything the other several dozen other things I fret about, I turn to the Lord who resoreth my soul and leadeth me in the paths of righteousness. Today is Easter Sunday, the perfect time to contemplate spiritual restoration and righteous paths as we celebrate resurrection and rebirth. Easter wasn’t a big deal for me when I was a kid. I was much more enthusiastic about Christmas and all the great presents that came along with it. Back then Easter meant little more than some new clothes, chocolate bunnies, and a baked ham dinner with my family. ...

“ A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. ” --John 13:34-35 The Black-Eyed Peas were right—something really is wrong with the world . In particular I’m looking at Indiana and Virginia and their disgusting legislation that allows bigots to hide behind their alleged “religious beliefs” and refuse providing services to gay people. Make no mistake, people, these atrocities are not laws; they’re hate crimes in drag. They give extremists a legal excuse to inflict their vile views on the rest of us. It’s shocking that someone could actually invoke the name of Jesus Christ in defense of these horrible bills. They need to stop thumping the Bible and actually start reading it. What would Jesus do? Not this bullshit, I can assure you. I wonder what world these holy idiots live in where the biggest problem you face is making a cake for a gay wedding. Must be great to live in a place where there’s no crime, no poverty, no homeless ...

I didn’t see the well-to-do up and down Park Avenue, but last week I almost collided with a first class schmuck on that famous thoroughfare. I was on my way to a meeting at Fidelity Investments’ midtown office at Park Avenue and 51st Street in an attempt to get a reading on my finances. I’ve had an account with them since 1980 and while I’ve been making annual contributions to my IRAs I had no real handle on their worth. I had been relying on my brother, who had worked at Fidelity for years, to manage my money. But he left the company a while ago so now I was trying to make some shaky steps towards adulthood before senility sets in. I have to confess that my knowledge of my holdings is shockingly limited. When it comes to any discussion of this topic I tend to go into full-on Butterfly McQueen mode and wail, “ I don’t know nothing about managing no mutual funds! ” This had to change. Two weeks ago I met with my bankers at JP Morgan Chase and now it was Fidelity’s turn. I g...