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...

In 1994, an American teenager living in Singapore was sentenced to six strokes with a cane for stealing road signs and vandalizing cars. I took a Singapore-related beating recently, but I never left Brooklyn. My relationship with this Southeast Asian city state is pretty much limited to entertainment, such as Road to Singapore with Bob Hope and Bing Crosby, Saint Jack , a 1979 movie with Ben Gazzara, and a fabulous off-Broadway show called Song of Singapore that I saw sometime in 1990s. Now this particular fiasco begins--like most of the others in my life--with me giving into panic. I was attempting to interview someone for a story I was working on. I was on a tight deadline and the individual I wanted to speak with lives in Singapore, which 13 hours ahead of New York. The person called me at the expected time, I picked up the phone and…the line went dead. Naturally, I freaked out. I had to speak with this man right this minute, so I called him back on my I-phone an...

I can be a very meme guy. Show me an encouraging little ditty on a New Agey background and I’ll slap that bugger on every social media platform I can think of. Given my generally dark outlook on life, I’m ready to pounce on any positive pronouncement like a Siberian tiger on a T-bone steak. They offer hope and encouragement, both of which I am sorely lacking. Some of them do read like touchy-feely fortune cookie one-liners but I can’t help it. When I find myself dismissing an affirmation as corny, I ask one simple question: What are you doing to improve your life? My response is usually something along the lines of “uh…nothing.” In addition to lifting my own spirits, I get a thrill when I post one of the affirmations and my Facebook friends send me a thumbs-up to show their appreciation. It shows that I’ve touched a nerve--in a good way. I’ve gotten into some very nasty political fights on Facebook, and I have nothing to show for them except bad feelings, lingering...

They had me going there for a second. I heard the ping on my phone yesterday announcing incoming e-mail, and I shot a quick Pavlovian look to the screen. “ You’ve been considered for inclusion… ” the opening line read. Really? Somebody wants to include me in…something? After all this time hunkering down in my apartment, hiding from the winter, the plague and most human contact, I’m finally receiving invitations? ‘The Golden Summer of Her Smile’ The excitement lasted less than a second before logic took over and I realized that it was an internet come-on that should be deleted with all due hate. But that brief thrill reminded me of how humans long for connection and, how Valentine’s Day, which comes up tomorrow, highlights that most basic need. I like to listen to Irish music, a habit I picked up from my father, who used to blast the Clancy Brothers’ records at full volume. While this was hardly the best introduction to the songs of my heritage, those tu...