The Luna Park Gazette

Now I know what “hell on wheels” really means. I took a ride on the world famous Cyclone roller coaster today and having survived this experience I can you two things: this was my first time on this attraction. And it was probably my last. I was part of a select group of just four people who had been given a special ride on the Cyclone and while I was quite honored by this star treatment, I am really happy to be alive. If there is a record for screaming the phrase “Oh my God” repeatedly in under two minutes, I smashed it to pieces. Now, you may be wondering why a man who is afraid great heights and excessive speeds would willingly climb aboard a roller coaster knowing full well that he would have to deal with, well, great heights and excessive speeds. I had been contacted by Ariel Kaminer, a New York Times columnist who is doing a story about the Cyclone. She had come across some of my blog postings where I wrote about visiting my father at a Coney Island nursing home a f...

I was sitting on the R train Sunday morning when the screaming started. We were at the 45th Street station in Sunset Park. I was going to a gym class in Manhattan and I had left my house ridiculously early so I wouldn’t be late. I was overdoing it, but it's always a good idea to give yourself a little extra time when you're traveling at off-peak hours. There are fewer trains on the weekends, so if you miss one, you’d better have something to read. Perhaps that thought was on the mind of a young woman who was racing down the steps to get onto the train. The doors were closing just as she got to them and she tripped—perhaps the platform was slippery from all the goddamn rain we were having. Whatever the reason, she managed to somehow slide her leg into the space between the train and the platform, which I didn’t think was possible at this particular station. It was the kind of freak occurrence that you couldn’t do if you tried a hundred times. But there it was. “Stop the train!” ...

This is the kind of day where you want to pull the covers up over your soul. It’s raining like hell here, the wind is blowing and you feel really sorry for anybody who has to be outside right now. I went out twice today and both times and I got soaked to the skin and bone. Enough, already; whatever I don’t have now I’ll do without. The rain does have its good points. Like a snowstorm it forces you to slow down and look at yourself. And you can take care of those little things you've been meaning to do. I’m into my fifth day of no diet soda. That may not sound terribly impressive, but anyone who knows me will probably go into shock upon hearing this. My family has pleaded with me for decades to cut out Diet Coke and Diet Pepsi. Every New Year’s Eve since the Carter Administration I’ve resolved to stop drinking the stuff and every year that was the first resolution to hit the deck. In fact over the years, it only got worse until I was drinking three cans during the day and coming hom...

At least my veins look good. I had planned on going to the gym on Sunday morning, but I ended up in the emergency room at Lutheran Medical Center instead. I had been feeling this discomfort around my chest for about three days and when it refused to go away, I finally went to the hospital. It started Thursday night right after supper. I had been feeling pretty good; I had come through a tough week without blowing my stack, at least not too much, anyway. And then I started feeling lightheaded, my stomach gurgled like a cauldron, and my chest felt a little...weird. I sat down and said "what the hell is this?" I actually considered called 911. I got dressed, got out my insurance card and sat in my living room with the phone in my hand. I’m not a young man anymore, of course, but I’m also a bit of hypochondriac. I pictured an ambulance and a fire engine pulling up in front of my house in the dead of night with the lights going. I saw myself being carried out on a stretcher in fro...

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...