The Luna Park Gazette

I rolled through the Superfresh fruits and vegetables section early Saturday singing along with Dan Hartman. “ I can dream about you …” Normally I wouldn’t be singing in public, as I can’t carry a tune in my shopping cart. But there were so few people around I didn’t have to worry about frightening anyone with my impromptu karaoke hour. Normally I’d be at the gym at this time of the morning, getting a sound but controlled thrashing from my informal boxing coach before bouncing over to the cycling class for 45 minutes of sustained cardio abuse. “…if I can’t hold you tonight. ” And normally I’d do my grocery shopping on Sunday afternoon, when the store is so crowded and noisy you can barely hear yourself think, let alone decipher whatever the hell is playing on the sound system. But “normal” doesn’t count for much in today’s pandemic reality, now that the gyms are closed and the threat of Covid-19 means I need to get my rear-end up to the store before the crowds and their ge...

It took me a while, but I finally deleted the Girl from the North Country entry from my calendar last week. My family and I were supposed to see Conor McPherson’s fabulous play this afternoon, but after the coronavirus pulled the plug on Broadway, the show definitely wasn’t going on. I knew for a long time that it wasn’t going to happen, but I still couldn’t bring myself to clear the date on my I-phone. Maybe if I saved the date I could save the show. Girl from the North Country takes place in a rundown boarding house in 1934 Duluth, Minnesota, the birthplace of Bob Dylan, and the show makes extensive use of Dylan’s songs. That may sound strange—and it is—but it also works brilliantly. I first saw the play at the Old Vic in London three years ago and I loved it so much that I saw it again with my sister and auntie when it came to the Public Theater. And I was all set to see it again at the Belasco Theater until life as we know it came to an abrupt halt. The times, they ...

Everything seemed normal until I stepped off the elevator. I returned to my office on Friday morning after working from home for three days as our company—along with the rest of the world—ducks and covers from COVID-19. I didn’t want to be here. As a lifelong hypochondriac, the very mention of sickness has me diving under the bed and reaching for the Rosary beads. But I had an appointment with audiologist in the morning and then I planned to hit the gym after the work, do some shopping for my auntie and run like hell back to Brooklyn. The fact that this was Friday the 13th didn't help matters worth a damn. As I stood in the pouring rain waiting for my bus, I thought that I must be the only idiot in town going into the city during a plague. Yet the X27 was packed and traffic on the Belt Parkway was bumper to bumper. The ride into Manhattan seemed normal except, perhaps, when the bus driver cheerfully reminded us to wash our hands. The Oculus was crowded, as it always is...

She looked like something you'd see in a dream.. . I like to get to work early so I can beat the crowds, enjoy a leisurely stroll to my office, and get a start on my day. It's a bit of a hike from the bus stop to my new office in Brookfield Place and on cold days, I'll walk through the Oculus to avoid the freezing temperatures. I can travel underground for about three blocks zip right up to the 27th floor without ever going outside. If my timing is good, I can stroll through this massive transportation hub pretty much by myself and it's so quiet and vast that I feel as if I'm walking through a cathedral. On Wednesday, I had just stepped on the first of three escalators to the ground floor, when I saw this young Asian woman a few steps ahead of me. She was lovely. Her face was flawless, her hair was woven into two long braids, and she was wearing--seriously--a long red cloak with a hood and a flower embroidered on the back. This ain't no ordinary co...

Okay, so what did I do to deserve this one? As a lifelong Catholic, I’m constantly on the lookout for ways the Good Lord might be trying to enlighten me. If something bad happens, it couldn’t possibly be bad luck, rotten timing or poor choices. No, it clearly means that I’m being punished for some vile sin that I’ve committed. Now having had the profound displeasure of suffering through I Saw the Devil , a two-hour hate crime masquerading as a movie, I find myself looking up to the Heavens and respectfully asking, “WTF?” This 2010 Korean nonstop maim-fest is apparently about a secret agent who exacts revenge on a serial killer for the murder of his girlfriend through a series of captures and releases. I say “apparently” because I quickly lost track of the narrative as I reeled from the stabbings, decapitations, and acts of cannibalism. I’m certainly seen my share of violent movies over the years but this thing makes Silence of the Lambs look like Pinocchio . Women get th...

I won’t be sorry to leave behind the fright night elevators and the arctic air conditioning, but I’ll sure miss Marisol. My company closed down its Wall Street office on Friday after more than 20 years on the 15th floor; and we’re taking our act one train stop and a world away to Brookfield Place , a.k.a. the World Financial Center, right across the street from the World Trade Center. Moving crews were pulling TV’s off the walls on Friday afternoon as we emptied the contents of our desks into boxes. Even the company logo over the reception desk was removed and packed away. It was kind of eerie. I have a divided history with the place, having worked there for two years from 2006 to 2008, and then returning last March for my latest gig with the company. I’m also divided emotionally. I’ve already mentioned my rather terrifying history with the building’s elevators , but we also had a psychotic air conditioning system that blew freezing cold air through the newsroom even in the dep...

If you’re going to get your ass kicked, you might as well have a good soundtrack. I learned this rather painful lesson yesterday when I sparred with a Russian boxing instructor at my gym for what turned out to be a remake of Rocky IV . I’ve been taking boxing classes at the New York Sports Club for--ye gods--more than 20 years now. I get a great work out, I train with some really fine people, and I don’t have get to my cardio in subzero temperatures like I did back in my old jogging days. Most Saturdays I break the routine by going to a cycling class at the Bay Ridge club on 86th Street. I work up a serious sweat without having to trudge into Manhattan for a boxing class on my day off. Before class I hit the weights and loose up in one of the studios so I’ll be pumped for the cycling class. And for the longest time I’ve seen these two Russian dudes in there going through a boxing workout. I didn’t understand what they’re saying, of course, but it was obvious one was teachin...