Willy Nilly Killy Old Bear

I have to admit. Comparatively, this Pooh is pretty benign:



I mean, yes, he's felt the the need to inscribe his own name on his shirt, either because he thought he wouldn't be recognized or because they have a previously-unreported belly shirt theft problem in the 100 Acre Wood.

And, yes, he's carrying a most un-Pooh like hamper bag that probably reads "Tips," but which I'm going to go ahead and pretend reads "Pips," because thoughts of Winnie the Pooh eating oranges and discarding their unwanted bits and pieces makes me much happier than thoughts of Winnie the Pooh whoring himself out for cold hard cash.

But, then again, I think he needs that money so that he can make a break from the terrifying clutches of Dora the Mind-Controller.



For God's sakes, don't stare at that photo too long! Can't you see she's trying to hypnotize you with her dead zombie eyes? Look away, look away.

Instead let's focus on the, er, cleaved bangs. No, the butchered remnants of her nose. Um...how about that saggy ankle skin?

...

Oh, I know! ' I <3 NY.' Yes, that seems harmless enough. I mean, I can relate to that...

Actually, I have a great 'Tip.' Run. Run like the wind. It's too late for Pooh. Save yourself.

Here Comes the Kitty

I really like when Times Square decided to meld its mindfuckery into one cohesive piece.

Readers, please say Hello to Bridesmaid Kitty:


Photo courtesy of @baddjuju

Gorgeous. I especially like the matching felt lavender dots that are crowning her forehead. That's very Mischa Barton of you, Bridesmaid Kitty. I'm also glad to see that you're carrying a proper purse instead of a Christmas stocking. After all, this get-up is clearly for a formal occasion.

But, really, forget a photo booth or a balloon arch. Getting a life-size animated character to be part of your bridal party is THE hot new wedding trend. I expect to see a piece on theknot.com about it in 5, 4, 3...

Virtual Insanity

On one of the 476 flashing Times Square signs, I saw a call to visit Times Square's official website: timessquarenyc.org.

So I took a virtual stroll over there today and:


I'm only showing a portion of this site for fear of sending my readers into epileptic shock. I really can't afford to lose any of you.

I don't know why I'm surprised that my virtual stroll through timessquarenyc would be ANY different than my actual painful trudge through Times Square NYC.

I counted 37 separate homepage promos*. This is not counting the navigation, weather widget, news ticker, interactive map promo, countdown to 2010 clock, or the pointlessly animated logo.

And then there were three different ways to sign up for Times Square updates. You know, in case you have a burning masochistic desire for the information overload to find you...wherever you are. (Which, I believe, is the perfect segue into reminding you that this blog too can be found on facebook, twitter, RSS feed, or e-mail subscription!)

Just for the fun of it (and by that, I mean in order to make fun of it), I clicked on a random pixel on the page and got to the Events calendar. Here's a smattering of what July has/had to offer in ye olde Times Square:

On July 1st, from 7-9 PM there was 'A Tribute to MEAT LOAF + FLEETWOOD MAC + TOM PETTY.' Why so few artists, Times Square? You sure you don't want to cram, oh, maybe some Bette Midler, Ted Nugent, and O-Town in those two hours? No?

In case you doubt the versatility of the venue that's housing the above, on July 12th there was something there that is simply called 'Atheist', which apparently is a band that feels like it's possible to have the phrase "quality Heavy/ Thrash/ Death Metal" used in a sentence. To which I say, paraphrasing the immortal words of Journey, way to never stop believin', Atheist.

And then, on, July 26th, there's Pat Martino**. Not being familiar with the name, I clicked on it and got this description, which is either a really really poor edit of his bio or the flapjacket of the latest Jodi Picoult novel:

'When the anesthesia wore off, Pat Martino looked up hazily at his parents and his doctors. and tried to piece together any memory of his life. One of the greatest guitarists in jazz. Martino had suffered a severe brain aneurysm and underwent surgery after being told that his condition could be terminal. After his operations he could remember almost nothing. He barely recognized his parents. and had no memory of his guitar or his career. He remembers feeling as if he had been 'dropped cold, empty, neutral, cleansed...naked.'

I particularly like the fragmented sentence 'One of the greatest guitarists in jazz' placed smack in the middle of what I think is the harrowing story of some sort of medical issue. It really adds a free-form poetry element to the bit. I also like the use of periods instead of commas. I can only assume it's meant to be taken as a subtle homage to poet e.e. cummings, who famously eschewed capital letters and punctuation. Thanks for the high-brow literary lessons, copy editor and/or Jodi Picoult!

* I think that's accurate but my vertigo would only allow me three attempts to count properly. If anyone wants to take the plunge and see if they can conclusively count the number of promos, feel free to leave said number in the comments section.

** Fine, I admit that I only clicked on this because for a second I got excited and thought it said Pat Morita.

What? No Nautical Themed Pashmina?

Yesterday, I saw:

A child perched upon a mailbox, ringing a bell on behalf of the Salvation Army, and screaming at the top of her lungs, "I'm on a boat!"

I actually didn't know that the Salvation Army did their whole 'bell' thing outside of the Christmas season.

I also didn't know that they had recently taken to breaking child labor laws with a child that is either so dubiously supervised as to be allowed to watch Andy Samberg Digital Shorts or one who can't tell a boat from a mailbox. But then again, this is probably some head honcho's idea of viral marketing 2.0.

When I walked back up the same street 20 minutes later, the kid had disappeared. The woman who was standing next to her was still there - but no kid.

Maybe the same cops who arrested our superfriends last week had caught on and had come to take the kid away to Social Services. If that's the case, I admire this woman's resilience for being able to carry on ringing her bell even in the face of such a traumatic experience. After all, it's for a good cause.

The #1 Argument for Pocket Mace

One of the occupational hazards of keeping this blog is that sometimes I get ahead of myself.

For example, last month I wrote this post all about how "scary" one pair of DTS Mickey and Minnie looked. Little did I know what awaited me:



He. Has. A. Tongue. Tattoo.

It took me many, many photoshop zooms to figure out what it said. At first, I thought it said 'I love nuts.' Then I read, 'I love NYC.' But the true text is much, much more pants-wettingly frightening. Because this Serial Killer Mickey loves...YOU.

And you'll never be able to escape him. Not with those The Flash sneakers and glittery track pants designed for unimpeded movement. With that razor-sharp sequined bow tie at your throat and that tailcoat wrapped around your mouth...they'll never be able to hear you scream.

And you know why his velvet purse says "Thank You" on it? Because that's where your bones get deposited once he's plumped you up and skinned you alive in order to make a glamorous new body suit for himself. And he'd like to show his gratitude for that. Think polite and gracious, just like Ted Bundy.

I'm also sorry to report that he has an accomplice. An SK Minnie. But that's too much horror for just one post and I've learned my money-making lessons from Eli Roth: Always leave room for a sequel.

'Post' of Shame

This blog post hurts me for a number of reasons.

One, this was breaking Times Square news last week and I failed to be the one to break it to you. Two, I was chastised by two separate parties for this failure. Three, I actually have to link to the NY Post and cite them with a photo credit.

As to the first and second count, I can only plead that I was in my office, working at my obviously less-important, non-blog related job, and did not actually see the incident take place. As to the third count, what can I say? After years of surreptitiously reading the NY Post over the shoulders of many-a fellow subway commuter, maybe it was time I paid back the "newspaper" in kind.

So thanks NY Post, for capturing these photographs for me. And for all those lessons in hilarious headline-writing that saved me $279 in mediabistro tuition. (Lesson #1: Abbreviate Any Word Longer Than Three Letters. Lesson #2: Make Pun.)

Anyhoo, now that that unnecessarily long intro is over, apparently this happened on Thursday:



And then, more incredibly, this:



That's right. Batman and Superman were arrested for Performing in Costume Without a License. Batman went quietly. Probably because Bruce Wayne could make bail in about 2.3 seconds and knows enough higher-ups to get that shit off of his permanent record. In fact, he probably got Commissioner Gordon to reverse-charge the cops.

Superman, on the other hand, apparently put up a fight (see above). Now, I really can't account for this since I can't think of a prison that could actually hold the Man of Steel. My only theory is that maybe he was laid off from the struggling Daily Planet, got into it real bad with Lois Lane, had a few too many Jagermeisters, and then temporarily forgot that he possessed superpowers. Either that, or those cops have now taken to carrying kryptonite in their pockets.

In all seriousness, though, I am actually outraged. I mean don't NYC cops have anything better to do than arrest people for their questionable wardrobe choices? Don't they care that there are likely much more sinister things going on and, more importantly, that I need these people around to continue writing on here?! Write to your local congressmen, folks. Demand that the cops focus their energy on some sort of necessary stop sign or unsolved murder. Do it for this blog.

Cherry Pie? Is That You?

Yesterday, I stepped outside and forgot the Golden Rule of Blogging: Never forget your camera.

So, sadly, today I do not have documentation of what I will swear under oath to you that I saw. A woman, leisurely strolling along by herself, wearing an all-lace see-through wedding dress, like so:



And, underneath, nothing save:



Oh, right, and a veil.

As per usual, I only have some hypotheses as to why this would happen:

1) We are close to VH-1's office so perhaps we have gotten the inside scoop that Rock of Love's Bret Michaels has finally decided to tie the knot and end the franchise that single-handedly revived the leopard-print, bandanna, and male weave industries.
2) It was laundry day and this poor girl decided that if all she had left to wear was the wedding dress left to her by her Warrant groupie mom, she was at least going to accessorize it with pride, damn it.
3) Wedding stress caused this poor bride to forget that she was supposed to wear a slip with this dress. Also, that she was supposed to be at some sort of wedding-appropriate venue, have a groom, etc.
4) Hmmmm...maybe this is the lost bride from the Great Bridesmaid/Cheetah Incident of May '09. Which would actually explain a lot.
5) Project Amazing Bridezilla Race has been greenlit for another season and been picked up by VH-1! Probably in so small part thanks to the ongoing support and buzz that this very blog was able to generate with its millions* of readers.

(*multiplied by .000000000000000004)