DTS's Greatest Hits

In the past two weeks, dramatic things have happened in Times Square. Exploding SUVs, evacuations and coolers filled with, GOOD GOD, MAN ... water bottles. You know what hasn't happened? This blog.

I'm guessing it's pretty obvious that I've semi-abandoned this thing. Will I ever write on it again? To be honest, I'm not sure. Don't get me wrong, Times Square continues to be as mindblowingly WTF-worthy as ever. But, perhaps, I've said all I've needed to say on this subject. Then again...who knows? Perhaps a Dingy Fozzie will one day step out of the shadows of a building, ask me for money and once again inspire me to take fingers to keyboard.

Until that day, though, if you've somehow taken a wrong turn on the Internet and landed on this site, I thought I'd round up a handful of what I think are some of my better posts and put them all in one place for your reading pleasure. After all, they aren't all comedy gold (some of them barely get a sad Duane Reade honorable mention ribbon).

And, in a moment of rare seriousness, to all those who have followed and read my blog over the past year, thanks so much for reading, friends! It's meant a lot to me.

Without further ado, in chronological order, I give you DTS's Greatest Hits:

Dingy Elmo
The Swedish Chef Better Watch His Back
Reason #73 Not to Get Killed Off of Lost
Go(eth) Knicks!
With Great Power...
Life is a Highway...I Want Off at the Nearest Exit
It's Official: They Are Building an Army
Say it With Swim Trunks
No Intel Inside
This Look Is Aces
Now the World's Most Famous Strip Mall!
No One's Gonna Save You From the Beast About to Strike
They're Going Global
The Silver Lining
Until We Meet Again
And What Happens When You Flush?
It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

And, in case you're absolutely itching for more, some Relatively Decent Hits:

Land of the Pilgrim's Pride
Sea No Evil
Tiled and True
Dancing with the Stools
'Post' of Shame
The #1 Argument for Pocket Mace
Virtual Insanity
Willy Nilly Killy Old Bear

Copyright Infringement: The Silent Killer

If you've ridden the NYC subway in the past couple of years, there's a good chance you've seen Rubik's Cube guy. He walks around giving a mildly amusing spiel about the Rubik's Cube's claim to fame as the predecessor to PlayStation - and then he sells cubes for a dollar. Usually, he sells a few cubes per car. Is it slightly annoying to hear anyone talking loudly on a morning commute train, sure. Is it deserving of a profanity-laced meltdown worthy of Christian Bale? Yeah, not so much.

Try telling that to the tan, blonde, sunglasses-on-the-subway douchebag who first decided to tell Rubik's Cube guy that he was wrong to call it a Rubik's Cube since that's a brand name and what he was selling was a generic cube. And then decided to follow this unusual but valid point with a loud 5-minute tirade involving the words "asswipe," "fuckface" and about 30 other iterations of the word "fuck." And after poor Cube-man had made his way down the train in the face of such open hostility, another brave/sadistic commuter decided to engage Rage-man with a question about why copyright infringement matters so much to him. His response? "Because I'm a writer!" And then something about how he makes $9.50 an hour. The iPod earbuds were in, so I didn't get to hear how exactly this relates but, as someone who is a writer of sorts on her better days, can I just say on behalf of anyone who's ever put pen to paper - "writer" is not synonymous for "carte blanche to be a dickhead." Being a writer doesn't make you better, more entitled or even more perceptive than anyone else. Although, let's face facts, it probably does make you slightly crazier.

And Rage-man? With your totally uncalled for outburst, I think you managed to vilify yourself - thus turning the mildly annoying Cube-man into a temporary hero of sorts and his wares into a stand against douchebaggery. Which is why I think he sold about 4x the amount of usual cubes on the car this morning. And why Marvel is on the phone with him as we speak to develop a gritty origin story. Well done.

One Down, Only 11 More To Go

In Times Square, home of the Oblivious, it's exceedingly rare to find someone who is refreshingly self-aware.



Thank god this man knows how obnoxious he is.

Of course that doesn't explain phenomena like:
a) why he's talking to Spider-Man
b) why Spidey looks like he's about to slip him an unmarked envelope
c) why he continues to ask me if I like comedy. Every. Damn. Day. There is a step after Acceptance, Annoying Comedy Salesman. It's called step #2.

Sometimes I Wish ESL Hadn't Worked For Me

Trudging through the pedestrian traffic in Times Square at any time of year means that - despite my best efforts to render my eardrums useless via the 8th incarnation of my earbuds - I will inevitably be forced to overhear a conversation that will blow the very fabric of space/time with its stupidity. Trudging through said TS traffic during the holidays raises the stakes of the equation thus: Tourists from the Midwest (x 10 to the power of 7) standing 9 across the breadth of the sidewalk (+345% likelihood) x the probability that I left my good headphones at my parents' house = a 745% increase in blown space/time fabric.

Case in point, here is what I heard not 10 minutes ago, verbatim.

Tourist #1: So which one is the famous museum in New York City? You know THE famous one.
Tourist #2: That's the art museum.
Tourist #1: Yeah, that's the one.

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

You know it's holiday time in Times Square when:



1) Dingy Elmo changes out his pimp hat for a Santa hat.



2) Santa's silhouette juxtaposes with the Lace stripper silhouette to make this striking high-art image.



3) I finally find out who those mannequins around the GMA holiday table are supposed to be and it suddenly makes so much more sense that it's Carrot Top in that weird Satan worship pose.



And that Donny is actually, er, missing and Marie is instead holding court with Wayne Newton, with Bette Midler presiding. In a Big Bird head.

Did I say "makes more sense?" I meant "makes everything infinitely creepier."

But I choose to look at this as GMA's subtle homage to The Nightmare Before Christmas instead of A Precursor to ST's Vivid Nightmares. Because believing in miracles is part of the holiday spirit.

Let Us Entertain You

About two hours ago there was a fatal shooting on 46th and Broadway. You can read the details here.

This is scary and tragic and someone has now lost his life.

However, this doesn't stop the tourists of TS from continuing to do what they do best: being tastelessly overexcited and stationary in the most inappropriate places.

Far from staying away from the swarms of cops now at the area, most were crowding around to get a better snapshot for the family album. Quoth one: “It’s my first day in New York, so it makes very real what you see in the movies!"

Another one cited to a New York Times reporter that this was one of the more exciting moments of her trip - and that included such epic dramas as losing her luggage at Port Authority AND scoring tickets to 'Wicked.'

We're ever so glad NYC can continue to provide the type of exciting "real-life" entertainment that is sure to make Times Square a popular tourist destination forever more. And we in turn thank you, tourists, for providing both material rife for endless mocking in the midst of the most grave situations and excellent resistance for my much-needed elbow workouts. Seriously though, wouldn't you be happier vacationing elsewhere next time? I hear L.A. is fabulously safe this time of year.

Celebrating Yuletide Traditions...DTS-Style

I pass by the Good Morning America studios every morning on my way to work. Even though there have been some questionable things/people on display there at times, I haven't written about it yet because I usually put my head down and hope to make it past the corner in less than 10 minutes.

This morning, I saw that they had put up their Christmas windows. The first window was a large but rather classy wreath which simply said "Season's Greetings from Good Morning America." The second window was this:



Right, I don't know why we're being welcomed to fabulous Las Vegas in Times Square - maybe that's where GMA is hosting its Christmas week programming? But forget that oddness for a second. Forget the tacky, overflowing holiday table that this "family" is sitting at. And let's take a closer look at the family itself:



Those don't look like standard issue mannequins to me so I'm just wondering: are they made in the likeness of GMA anchors? Is that supposed to be Diane Sawyer?! If so, why is she wearing Big Bird's hide as a hat? Is this a subtle homage to the Muppet takeover in TS? Or is this GMA's way of giving her the bird for leaving them to go anchor the nightly news?

Also, this is happening underneath that jolly Christmas table, by the by:



A medieval idol-worship ritual? An homage to that unsupervised 8-year-old cousin who got into the egg nog? A friendly yuletide reminder as to how to avoid Sudden Infant Death Syndrome? I have no idea. But yeah...Season's Greetings from GMA and DTS (and thanks for saving me the trouble of having to make my own holiday window; that classy wreath had me worried for a sec).

Times Square at Face Value

Yesterday's post inspired me to really embrace those Times Square characters and phenomena that in turn embrace what Times Square means to me. Toilets, giant inflatable rats,



and other bottom-feeding scavengers.



Please note that the rat and the shrimp were within about three feet of each other.

Now the shrimp is there to 'advertise' for Bubba Gump which at least makes sense despite the fact that I never quite got the logic of seeing a cute, cuddly anthropomorphized version of something you're about to eat. I'm using the term 'cute' loosely here.

But I don't really understand the giant inflatable rat. I've actually seen him before, a few months ago, placed outside some other scaffolding on 6th Ave. There are no signs on him to indicate whether he's part of some sort of protest or merely a friendly reminder that there are millions and millions of his doppelgangers scurrying beneath the very streets we're walking on and possibly all over our takeout since he seems to be clutching a bag of it in his claws.



Thanks, street rat. Of course, the other much happier thought that flits into my head upon seeing him is the classic refrain from Aladdin: Riff raff, street rat. I don't buy that. If only they'd look clooooooser.

And then I remember that there's more to me that meets the eye. That I too am a diamond in the rough just waiting for my genie's lamp to lead me far, far away from Times Square to the scantily-clad princess and sultan's riches that surely await me. Thanks, street rat!

And What Happens When You Flush?

If there ever comes a time during this holiday season that you start to doubt your career choices, that you wonder if your job is meaningless, demeaning or unbearably menial - think of this man.



This man is dressed as a toilet in the middle of Times Square. While I applaud that the costuming is much more apropos to its environment than any cheery faux Muppet - and while I actually think Charmin's sanitary new TS bathrooms are a smart idea - let's face it. It can't get more humiliating than having to stick your hand in a felt toilet bowl every time you need to adjust your crotch (and the seminal film Just One of the Guys taught me that this is something men have to do often).

It also wouldn't be terribly unlikely that some drunken, possibly costumed Times-Squarian will one day mistake that felt bowl for the real McCoy. Yeaaaah.

So whatever idiotic task your boss has you on, whatever soul-sucking assignment you are currently undertaking, just think - it could be worse. This is my Christmas gift to you.

Context Is Everything

As someone who was in NYC on 9/11, there are few subjects which bring me to a more somber tone. Although I feel there is no way that anyone who was here can ever forget any of it, I generally don't comment on the 'Never Forget' paraphernalia that exists.

Until now.



Seriously?! Okay, yes demolition company - I get that you have a right to express yourself just like anyone else. But maybe considering the fact that the words Manhattan Demolition actually have to appear on your van, perhaps you could've picked a better medium for your sentiments. Ooh...I have a great idea never thought up by anyone before EVER: how about a patriotic tattoo?!

Tacky even by Times Square's standards. That is an achievement, indeed.

And...we're back!

The holiday season is upon us and could I really let this special time of year go by without bringing you the yuletide crazy that is sure to twinkle ever so brightly in Times Square? No, I could not. You can thank Santa for putting you on the 'Nice' list.

And because the merriment of the season has put me in a super-generous mood, I present you with this most rare and ultimate of all DTS photos. I call it, The Man Behind the Dinge.



I wasn't close enough to hear what unmasked Dingy Elmo was saying to the unidentified man with the newspaper - and by wasn't close enough, I mean I gave a wide berth to the dude because the crazy in his actual eyes might have been slightly crazier than the maniacal Elmo eyes I've learned to treasure. But I'm going to pretend the conversation went something like this:

Dingy Elmo: Look at this. What the hell is this? A blue backpack? What kind of a muppet in a pimp hat would be carrying around a blue backpack? Where's my beaded purse, man? WTF? I wouldn't even touch this with my dingy fur. I'm gonna have to actually take my arm out of the fur sleeve to touch this shit.

Unidentified Man: Sir, I don't know you and you're not really making any sense.

DE: Are you even listening to me?! Do you understand how upset I must be to be half-dressed and unmasked a mere three feet from my corner. What if a fucking kid sees me like this, man? Do you want him to believe there's no such thing as Elmo. Is that what you want?!

UM: I'm gonna slowly step away now...

Yes, Virginia, there is a Dingy Elmo. And he continues to mystify and terrify all the boys and girls on the corner of 45th and Broadway every single day. Season's Greetings!

Decisions, Decisions

In Part II of What DTS Did On Its Summer Vacation: Atlantic City Edition, we ask - after a grueling henna session, what else could one need other than a nice, soothing massage?

Luckily, I have two AC "Spa" recommendations which come with extremely top-notch credentials. The first:



As you can see, this massage parlor has the distinction of getting the highly coveted rating of "Voted # [Thumbs Up]." Have you ever seen any place worthy of getting that rating before?! Of course not. The Voted # [Thumbs Up] is the equivalent of 6 Michelin Stars, of a 900 SAT verbal score, of Grade A+++ meat. So elusive that it is thought not even to exist...until, one day, you are lucky enough to spot it in the last place you would expect it. Just a hop away from the image of a urinating defunct Sunday comic character.

You're probably wondering what other massage recommendation I have that could possibly beat that. Only this:



It may not have the rating or the elitist attitude. But it seems to me like a happy ending is being guaranteed. And, sometimes, isn't it all about doing away with the fancy frou frous and getting down to the good old-fashioned simple joys of life?

That's Atlantic City for you: something for everyone.

What DTS Did On Its Summer Vacation

Well, folks, summer is almost officially over. And not only did we New Yorkers get a rainy, dreary, gloomy one, but I wasn't even able to harness the crazy enough to write regular posts on this thing. If there was a DTS Eeyore, I would insert him here now.

Even though this summer doesn't really deserve it, I think I'm going to try to give it one last hurrah by dedicating this new mini-themed blog within a themed blog to it. Because as it turns out, although Times Square naturally continues to be the epicenter of WTF-dom, there is actually a whole world of lunacy out there. And so I present...What DTS Did on Its Summer Vacation. Part 1.

Our first stop...Atlantic City. A city so magical that it must have known how homesick I felt as I tread its hallowed grounds.



Why, what's that I spot above the peeing Calvin image?



Well, I'll be darned. If it isn't Sad Sack Mickey and Unhealthily Obsessive Minnie (Stage 1 of Serial Killer Minnie). Why yes, yes Atlantic City! I would like these images to appear in diminishing colors of brown on my skin for the next 2-3 weeks! What a wonderful way to honor the ancient Eastern art of henna.

Right on my lower back if you please. And you know what...I'll take peeing Calvin too. How about you take one of those super-original tribal tattoos to the left and artistically insert Mickey, Minnie, and Calvin into them? Go ahead. I trust that your aesthetic judgment will create a DTS-worthy piece, sure to give me the confidence to walk the Boardwalk with a spring in my step and a burning hope for future blog posts. Which will take me all of 1/2 a foot to the next booth...

Stay tuned for the exciting continuation of "What DTS Did On Its Summer Vacation!"

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.

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.