The Luna Park Gazette

I've been told that one sign of paranoia is going to a football game and thinking the guys in the huddle are talking about you. And here's another: getting on a bus and convincing yourself there's an al-Qaeda suicide squad sitting behind you. This actually happened to someone I know and I'm sorry to say that someone was me. I was in Northampton, Mass. last week, at the end of my vacation, waiting with my dear auntie to take the bus back to New York. I hate buses and I hate waiting for the bastards even more. I'm always convinced I'm going to miss them, that I'll arrive in the depot all breathless and cross-eyed just in time to see my bus disappear in a cloud of mocking exhaust. The Wild Bunch I have taken many buses in my time and this has yet to happen, but this hasn't prevented me from thinking this way. On the contrary, I worry even more about missing a bus, even when I'm not taking one. I love trains and would have gladly taken one to Northampton...

Vacation's over, I'm back in Brooklyn, and I'm doing my best to keep from running out the door screaming. Let's look at the bright side: I had a great time, far more enjoyable than I ever would have imagined. Yes, by going to my aunt's farmhouse in the Berkshires, I was going to a comfort zone; I wasn't seeing any new places or meeting new people. But the Northampton, Mass. area is truly a wonderful place, a perfect balance of beautiful countryside with fabulous things to do and see. During my 7 days up there, I visited two art museums, saw two movies, went to a jazz concert, hooked up with an old buddy from Brooklyn, ate like a hog, saw beautiful scenery and cheerfully made time to just lay on my ass in the sun. I was away from my job, my tenants, and, God forgive me, my family. I didn't have to keep an eye on my father, I didn't have to jump every time I heard a noise, and I could sleep all morning if I so desired. For all my complaining and whining a...

I heard from my 9/11 companion Eva this morning. We had been corresponding each year on that date to mark our first meeting in downtown New York. I thought she wasn't going to write this year, but this morning, I found her e-mail waiting for me. She told me what had been going on in the last year, how her 89-year-old grandmother had to finally go to into a nursing home because she couldn't take care of herself anymore. I certainly know how that feels, since my family is going through the same trouble with my father, who is looking more frail with every passing day. Eva told me that she and her husband had adopted a German Shepherd from the North Shore Animal League who had been rescued after Hurricane Katrina. The dog--they named her Hetta--was 67 pounds when they got her, but they have since bulked her up to a healthy 91 pounds. Eva even sent me a photo of Hetta, which cheered me up. This has been a tough day. I am about to take off for vacation tomorrow and everything--I mean...

I went back to Ground Zero today, five years after the destruction of the World Trade Center. I've been by there before, of course, but this was the first time in a long while that I took a long look at that vast hole in the ground and really thought about what happened there on Sept. 11, 2001. I started my day by sending my traditional anniversary e-mail to a woman named Eva, whom I met on 9/11 in a senior residence, where we and so many had taken refuge after the towers collasped. Eva was in from Long Island for just that day and we walked over the Manhattan Bridge together to Brooklyn, where I directed to the LIRR station at Atlantic Avenue. She later called me her angel for guiding her to the station. I didn't think I did all that much, but I must confess it did feel good to be called an angel. It doesn't happen often. Before going to Ground Zero I stopped by St. Peter's Roman Catholic Church, which is just a block away, to pay my respects to those who di...

My father used to have this wisecrack he'd trot out whenever someone asked him for the time. "It's time old dogs are dead," he'd say, "aren't you feeling sick?" That phrase has been running through my head a lot over these last few days as my father's mental state has taken a downward slide. It started late last week when he went berserk with George, his home healthcare attendant from the Veteran's Administration, butted heads with my sister, and got to a point where my father and I squared off in the dining room ready to start punching each other. Yes, it's been a hell of a week. Let George Do It We'll start off with George, a nice, mellow African man who has been with my father for the last 2 1/2 years. He's soft-spoken and conscientious and seemed to get along with my father just fine. They used to go for walks together or have coffee in a local diner. In the last year, however, the old man's become increasingly hostile wit...

I think I'm finally ready to tell you about Lara from London. It's been a couple of months now and seeing as today is Tony Bennett's birthday, I think it's a good time to take a look at this particular chapter of my life. Sometimes I wonder if I didn't dream the whole thing up, but I still have a folder full of her e-mails to prove I didn't. She was real and for a while there, I was real happy. I "met" Lara on a dating web site back in April while doing a routine search through the postage-stamp sized photos and abbreviated life stories for the woman of my dreams. One caught my eye, an Englishwoman who looked really cute and who said she was moving to New York. Lara--not her real name, of course--seemed like someone I wanted to know. So I sent her an e-mail introducing myself and welcoming her to the Big Apple. Most of the time I don't hear back from these cyber-people. It's a rejection, I suppose, but it usually doesn't bother me because t...