An Open Letter to the MTA

I will be out of town for a few days and therefore won't be able to keep you posted on the bevy of up-to-the-minute events surrounding Times Square.

But I am going to leave you with this: an open letter to the MTA and New York State lawmakers, who have now approved a 27% fare hike AND severe cuts to subway/bus services.

Dear MTA & NYS lawmakers:

As you may now know, 'cause you no doubt have hung on to every word of my one-week-old blog, I work in Times Square. Do I enjoy working in Times Square? No. Do I enjoy having a job? Yes.

Now, this may come as a surprise to you, but I actually do not LIVE in Times Square. I commute. Guess how? Why, yes, by using one of your convenient, eco-friendly, budget-friendly, world-celebrated modes of transportation: the subway!

Now, it seems to me from your proposed service changes and cuts that you have never actually ridden one of these new-fangled subway trains. Somehow you seem to think that there is currently the luxury of '100% capacity:' which you have deemed to be one seat for every commuter. Your proposal is to increase this to 125% capacity where there will be '6-12 people' standing in every car. Perhaps you should talk to any rush hour commuter who has ever stayed upright by either sheer willpower and/or being wedged in between enough commuters that a handrail wasn't necessary. I'm thinking if you want to increase the capacity by 25%, perhaps you should think about paying for 25% of everyone's gym membership so that we can all be 25% thinner. Come to think of it, perhaps this is your grand plan as it ties in so well to Governor Pateron's obesity tax.

Let's see: cutting service on the G. Besides being an oxymoron, that's like pouring straight whiskey on a gaping wound, my dear friends. Actually, don't pour that anywhere; I'll take the whole bottle, please.

Cutting down on weekend service, late-night service, and actually eliminating 4 stations in downtown Manhattan and Brooklyn on the weekends? Listen, I know you guys have car services that can take you home when you've had a little too much happy at happy hour. But some of the peons who keep this city running have unfortunately had to put their "limo money" towards...oh, yeah, the extra $23 a month they'll have to pay for a ride that is more crowded and less convenient, but, on the bright side, 27% more likely to cause nervous breakdowns (which should definitely pour some money into the mental health industry. So good call!)

In short, as a New Yorker, a commuter, and a highly influential blogger, I beseech you to do one thing before you actually put this proposal into effect: please ride the midtown 1 train at 5:30 PM on a Tuesday at least 6 stops. Go on, try it. It won't kill you.

Sincerely,
ST

Go(eth) Knicks!

Attention Planet Hollywood patrons! You'll be happy to know that the meat you consume has been freshly purveyed each and every Tuesday via Knickerbocker Meat, Inc. whose logo represents one or possibly all of the following:

a) An effeminate pilgrim waving a team flag at his favorite sporting event. Pilgrims = turkey = fresh meat!
b) A soccer mom about to cut her son's greasy ponytail in his sleep with a kitchen cleaver. Mom jeans = room to allow for consumption of fresh meat!
c) George Washington about to cut down a cherry tree. I never quite understood why but that story had something do with honesty = integrity of fresh meat!

Enjoy your $16 burger whilst you stare at Rocky's used gym towel lovingly encased under six-inch bulletproof glass.

Reason #73 Not To Get Killed Off Of Lost

Oh, boy. I'm not going to pretend I had never seen an ad for one of these movies before. But when confronted with this epic spread today at the 42nd St. A,C,E stop, I nearly did something that goes completely against the rules of subway etiquette: come to a complete standstill.


Now, I could pick apart many things here. The strange and sad conglomeration of actors who have worked in legitimate films and shows and now find themselves plasticized to the nth degree on one of these posters (Emilie de Ravin/Lost; Jerry O'Connell/Stand By Me; Brittany Murphy/Clueless). The photoshopping that has managed to aneroxicize what I can only assume was supposed to be manly glistening pecs. The high-tech fabric that has caused all of the ladies' clothing to be in the process of dripping off.

But you know what, that's just too easy. So, since ostensibly a film poster is supposed to give the consumer a vague idea of what the film is about, I'm going to give you what I imagine to be the gist of each of these masterpieces.

First up:

Northern Lights. The story of a man and a woman trapped in an unheated cottage during a freezing snowstorm. Since Eddie Cibrian didn't think to pack any shirts, their only chance of survival rests with keeping Leann Rimes's magical shoulder covered with her sweater. Things do not bode well...


Midnight Bayou. The story of one mansion, a river, and the most sinister case of backlighting ever put on film. Jerry O'Connell and Lauren Stamile are nothing but pawns in the backlighting's game as evidenced by their looks of profound horror (O'Connell) and resignation (Stamile).


High Noon. Boy Meets Girl. Boy Meets Car. Girl Gets Naked As A Means Of One-Upping Car. But Truly Nothing Can Get In Between the Special Relationship of Ivan Sergei's Hair and That Sexy Car Hood. Somewhere, Gary Cooper Weeps.


Tribute. Brittany Murphy and Jason Lewis live in a house that he built as inspired by his favorite Thomas Kinkade painting. They lay in bed all day. Sometimes, Brittany Murphy reminisces about her 2.5 seconds as an It Girl or uses the word 'sporadically' sporadically. Sometimes, Jason Lewis reminisces about his 2.5 seconds of being a fictional It Boy within the plotline of a popular television show. Sometimes, they both notice the wine stain on the carpet at the exact same time.

The Swedish Chef Better Watch His Back

You know what I think when I see this guy standing outside of a deli:



I think: Man, am I hungry. I think this even if I'm NOT hungry. It could have something to do with the chef's own obviously full stomach (I mean, that's the most accurate depiction of 'this button's about to POP' I've ever seen rendered in...whatever hell medium this statue is in). Or maybe it's the dirty apron that's saying this is a place for freshly butchered meat and/or backroom abortions. Perhaps it's the fishhook eyebrow acting that's telling me this guy has serious chops and could potentially be only one audition away from landing the lead role in Mannequin III.

Most likely, though, it's the lazy eye/thumbs up combo. See, because the eye gives him a certain element of endearing vulnerability. And, obviously, anything with a thumbs up attached to it must be consumed immediately to bring about nothing short of unadulterated bliss. Everyone knows that.

Excuse me, I need to get a sandwich. And I think I know where I'm going.

Dingy Elmo

I like Elmo. I didn't really grow up with him (it was all about Grover and Cookie Monster back in my day), but I think the fuzzy little guy is cute. Does he hog the spotlight a bit too much these days? Maybe. But being a child of the 80s, having interned at Sesame Workshop, not to mention the recent video of Elmo & Ricky Gervais's hilarious Sesame Street outtakes, I have nothing but high, high regard for those masterful muppeteers and that included Elmo's Kevin Clash.

Ya know what's not cute though? The dingy life-sized Elmo that stands on the corner of 45th and Broadway, luring innocent tourist children and their parents into paying for photos with him. Listen to me children, that is NOT the real Elmo. Here are some telltale signs: the bizarre beaded Canal Street purse he is carrying? Elmo doesn't need a purse. And if he did, you best believe it would be some high-end leather messenger from Barney's, maybe Henri Bendel. Elmo is loaded.

Which brings me to my next point, Elmo lives in one of the ritziest neighborhood in all of New York, where even the garbage cans have more spacious accommodations than most East Village studio apartments. He does not need to whore himself out to make a couple of bucks.

And, finally, those digs Elmo's got going on? There's at least 3.5 bathrooms happening in that shit. And a personal groomer... on staff. Elmo would not be caught dead with anything other than pristine, shiny fur.

So take it from me and stop wasting your money on an impostor, folks. You get to keep your hard-earned dollars and I get to stop fighting my way through unnecessary foot traffic on 45th. And we all get to preserve the reputation of an icon. Everybody wins.

Now, just between you and me, that glimpse of red fur you caught popping into Cartier last week...that's the real deal.


Pimp Hat Elmo. Get your X-mas shopping done early this year, that's all I'm saying.

Taking Things Literally

Wardrobe Choice of the Day:
Top: Cropped black leather jacket
Bottom: Leggings dyed to look like black acid-washed jeans detailed with silkscreened back pockets in a creamy hue.

Conclusion: If the bottom part of your garment is so thin that pockets quite literally need to be painted on, it does not constitute as pants.


Not pants...seriously, even Lady Gaga is like 'Whoa, girl.'

Keep it classy, Times Square!