The Luna Park Gazette

There’s a tombstone in St. Paul’s Cemetery on Fulton Street with a biblical quote reading “The Souls of the Righteous are In God’s Hands.” It’s pretty hard to miss and whenever I see it, I can’t help but think “ and the rest of you losers are in very deep shit .” I’ve been thinking more about the End of Days these days. I suspect it has something to do with a pamphlet I recently read that predicted the Rapture is coming our way next spring. I picked up this item while walking through the Grand Central subway station on my way to the shuttle to Times Square. The passageway is a popular spot for musicians, prophets, and other assorted street performers who save souls or sing songs to the disinterested masses. You’ve got a built-in audience down there, especially during rush hour. On this particular day I saw a sign taped to a pillar proclaiming “ The End of the World is Almost Here! Holy God Will Bring Judgment Day on May 21, 2011! ” The world is going to end in less a year? Holy crap! I...

I've been searching through my house for Phoenix Prime , a fantasy novel by Ted White that I read when I was in high school. I'm not particularly interested in re-reading this book and I doubt seriously the story would hold up after all these years. What I really want to see is the book’s cover. The cover illustration for Phoenix Prime shows the muscular back and shoulder of man on some distant—and quite hostile-looking--alien terrain. He’s clutching a stone in his right hand as a pack of red-eyed wolves move in on him. I had been laboring under the mistaken impression that this classic image of man versus beast had been created by James Bama, my favorite book cover artist. But a quick jog around the Internet revealed that the painting had actually been done by Frank Frazetta, my other favorite book cover artist. I grew up reading science fiction and fantasy novels and I can only guess how many of these books had cover art by either Bama or Frazetta. Their work helped me and a...

I don’t expect much in the way of surprises anymore when I open my mailbox. With everything shifting to the Internet, all I usually find in there when I come home at night are bills, junk mail and menus from just about every restaurant in North America. But last week I learned that conventional mail can still hold a few jolts. The first one actually came to my family's old house on 86th Street some 66 years ago in the form of a post card from my Uncle Walter to my Aunt Marie. My uncle was a pilot during World War II and he was writing to my aunt from the air base in Lawrenceville, Ill. There is a photo of Beechcraft Trainers on the front of the card and it is postmarked Feb. 19, 1944. The card came fluttering off a bookshelf in my bedroom while I was rearranging some paperbacks. I must have put it up there a long time ago for safe-keeping and, as usual, forgot all about it. I certainly don't remember reading it before. It's just a couple of handwritten lines, but looking b...

Good things really do come in threes. Over the last few weeks, I have been interviewd by the New York Times and appeared as a guest on CNN. But these events don’t begin to compare to my latest stroke of good fortune. I am happy—nay, ecstatic —to report that Lucy, my cousin’s beautiful 10-year-old daughter, has written a children’s story especially for me. The story is entitled “Rob” and it’s all about a magical rabbit named…Rob. I'm telling you, this one’s got “bestseller” written all over it. This Rob is no run-of-the-mill carrot-chomping cotton tail. He can speak, change colors, and glow in the dark. He even has pockets in his fur. I was overjoyed when I saw the story on Lucy’s blog (sorry, invitation only). I’ve never had a character named after me--especially one you can use for a lamp in case of a blackout. And the timing could not have been better, as I had just gone through a harrowing three-day period filled with nightmares of both the waking and sleeping variety. This was ...

The limo pulled up to my house right on time this morning, ready to take me off to CNN's studio in Manhattan. I was to be a guest on the morning program for a Memorial Day segment. I had been invited to read a poem that my father had written about his experience as a soldier in World War II. And I still couldn’t believe it was happening. I was a mess. I had spent the previous day conjuring up all sorts of gruesome scenarios and whining to friends, family and anybody else I could tackle about all the catastrophes that were surely waiting for me just around the bend. Is any of this news to people who know me? I didn’t think so. “Take a reprieve from the negativity,” my ex-girlfriend told me. “This is Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.” I had actually turned down the offer of a car--thank you, Sister Frances-- and volunteered to come to the studio by subway, but my ex lit a fire under my butt and told me to get the damn limo. The TV appearance was a follow up to a CNN.com story about the poem...

Last week, a 53-year-old computer science professor in China was sent to prison for organizing and participating in at least 18 orgies. The professor, a member of swingers clubs that engaged in group sex and partner swapping, was charged with “crowd licentiousness,” which is probably more fun than being licentious all by yourself. One of the things that struck me about this story—aside from the fact that he held these events in a two-room apartment that he shared with his Alzhemier's-afflicted mother—was the defendant’s online chat room handle: “Roaring Virile Fire.” Now that's what I call a handle. I turned 53 today and I've decided that I’m going to adopt this nom de schwantz to mark this auspicious occasion. Since the original RVF is going to be busy for a while, I’m sure he won’t mind. Usually I mark my birthday by spending the day moping and whining about how old I’m getting, how little I’ve accomplished, what the hell is wrong with me, etc. But then I realized...

I saw David Lynch’s Inland Empire yesterday…or was it tomorrow? Whenever it was, I wish to hell I hadn’t. . Now I happen to be a big David Lynch fan. Who could forget Dennis Hopper’s priceless "don't fucking look at me" scene and the "In Dreams” lip synch in Blue Velvet ? I enjoyed Mulholland Drive no end--and not just for the smoking hot girl-on-girl scene, you dirty-minded buggers. Back in the Nineties, when I was living in Pennsylvania, I couldn't get enough of Twin Peaks . I even attended a Peaks party at a bar in Easton. So I was pretty psyched when I ripped open the Netflix envelope and slid the Inland Empire disc into my DVD player. After a hard day at work, I was looking forward to some inspired weirdness. The trouble started as soon as I hit the “Play” button and heard my DVD player rumbling like a station wagon stuck in the mud. I tried cleaning the disc but it still wouldn’t play. Talk about a sign from God. It couldn’t have been any plainer if it ...