The Luna Park Gazette

What did I miss? The Academy Awards are on tonight, and while I won’t be watching the broadcast, I’m still wondering about Jane Campion’s The Power of the Dog , which is nominated for 12 Oscars. I remain mystified about all the praise this film has received. It’s not that I disliked it as much as I was incredibly unmoved by what I saw. Please understand that I’m not here to trash Jane Campion’s film and if you enjoyed it, mazel tov. When I was younger, I used to be quite harsh in my film criticism, and I often irritated my friends or family members who felt differently. So instead of loudly declaring that a film is the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen in my life, now I’ll say something to the effect that I was disappointed with a particular flick. It’s only a movie, for God’s sake. There’s no reason to insult people, especially those I care about. And I'm not going to lambaste the critics who praised The Power of the Dog to hell and back. Most times I agree with

“Pearls lie not on the seashore. If thou desirest one thou must dive for it.”—Chinese proverb. Looks like Sting will have to wait. And Paula Abdul is on her own. My sister and I will be traveling to Ireland in August to meet up with our niece who is studying at Trinity College in Dublin. This will be a return trip for both of us. I went to Ireland some 40 years ago to take a screenwriting class that had been organized by the School of Visual Arts in New York. I stayed at Trinity back then and I had such a great time, meeting new people, experiencing a different culture, and drinking far too much. In fact, I think I still may have a free pass to Lord John’s disco where I got seriously wasted one night. Too bad the place isn’t around anymore. Just as well, I can’t drink like I did back in my younger days. But you should see me dance. There was another club called Zhivago’s, which had a huge billboard in downtown Dublin that described it as “Europe’s No.1 Nite Club,”

The word “fiasco” is defined as “a thing that is a complete failure, especially in a ludicrous or humiliating way.” A theater slang term, fiasco has a curious history. It comes from the French phrase faire fiasco , meaning "turn out a failure", according to etymonline.com , and the Italian far fiasco "to suffer a complete breakdown in performance." The literal translation of the phrase means "make a bottle," from fiasco "bottle.” An Italian dictionary notes the phrase fare il fiasc o used to mean "to play a game so that the one that loses will pay the fiasco." In other words, the loser buys the next bottle of wine. Confused yet? I sure as hell am. I’ve used the word more than a few times in my life and after a recent trip to the doctor, I’m feeling the need to use it again. Okay, so my appointment was at 10AM. I should’ve just taken the morning off, but I wanted to do the right thing by my job. I figured I could bang out

Somebody call the Police. I'm not talking about Sgt. Friday or Dick Tracy. I’m talking about the band whose front man, Sting, featured quite prominently in a nightmare I had last week. And let’s be clear: when I say “nightmare,” I don’t mean some bargain basement boogeyman chase scenario. No, this was yet another of one of my fire-breathing psych assaults that was so horrible that it ought to be a crime. It’s a rare breed of nocturnal submission that, upon awakening, had me frantically thanking God that it wasn’t real. Now I saw the Police at Madison Square Garden sometime back in the Eighties when the Go-Go’s were the opening act. And you can ask me how old I am, but my lips are sealed. It just seems that Sting’s music has popped up during some difficult times in my life and made things just a little bit better. “Every Breath You Take” was a hit while I was struggling to find some direction and I remember hearing it come on the radio one night and fee