Until We Meet Again

Tell me, dear readers. Is it true what they say: does absence really make the heart grow fonder?

In the past few weeks, some major motion picture has shot something or other in Times Square, causing me to externalize my usual internal monologue of 4-letter words as I elbow my way through the foot-traffic of 4,273 people staring at a lighting rig and some really sexy lens filters. Britney Spears has apparently tweeted a hunt for herself that ended up with her in front of the M&M Store. And loads and loads of local T-Listers have continued to as, T.I. featuring Rihanna would say, "live their lives." Their ridiculous, ridiculous lives.

And, yet, I have not been there to bring you any of this crucial info. My excuse is lame: it involves something about long hours at a day job, blah, blah, blah. But my apology is heartfelt and so is my declaration that I have thought about your TS-deprivation each and every single day.

The sad truth it, I probably will not be updating much in the next couple of months. But to visualize this melancholy news, I'm going to ask for a special guest appearance from Sad Sack Mickey. Take it away, Mick:



It's hard to say what exactly it is about him that exudes such a sense of la tristesse. It might be the Urkelesque high-waters paired with platform boots, the droopy ears, or the generic tote bag that can't even be bothered to have a 1997 convention logo on it. But I think it mostly has something to do with his limpid eyes. With no Prozac lifesaver to keep you afloat, you could drown in those eyes that are murky with the woes of the world within.

And yet, as a Sandra Bullock/Harry Connick, Jr. vehicle tells me, Hope Floats, Sad Sack Mickey. So, chin up, my rodent friend. Things may seem bleak now, but I shall soon rise again to bring everyone the latest and greatest Times Square news as frequently as I ever did. Just like a phoenix; a phoenix with the stripes of tacky lawn chairs embedded on my wings.

*This post is dedicated to Amy & Sarah, who made my day by actually telling me that they missed my blog.

The Silver Lining

I have to say, one of my favorite things about Times Square is that it really offers options. For example, are scantily-clad Cowboys not really your thing?

Well then, you've got to admire a place that targets the scantily-clad Silver Egyptian/Native American/Spartan Hybrid God fans and then really delivers:




I do like that this man is not only dedicated enough to work out but to spray paint between his toes. Take that, Naked Cowboy.

He's also either searching for buried treasure with his sleek and stylish metal detector or practicing his one-armed ski jump. Either way, this man is a multitasker and I like that.

And let's not forget his commitment to personally rid the world of the plight of the frat boy puka-shell necklace by collecting the world's supply of them and creating ankle shackles, surely a symbol of the imprisoned sense one gets when forced to interact with said frat boys.

The Naked Cowboy may be running for mayor, but it's this unsung new hero that's getting my vote. Thank god for write-in ballots.