“Look up there! A giant lady is despoiling the art!”

New Yorkers panicked in fear today as a 50 foot in scale woman attacked the innocent art of Bowery today. People gawked in fear as the giant creature stood, affixing its steely two-dimensional eyes upon the populace as it was tonguing what appeared to be a large red orb of some sort whilst staring hungrily at the word, “Grand”. Speculation suggests that it was doing this to avert its own true hunger in wishing to devour the residents it was splayed next to.

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You may remember, a while ago Dove won over the hearts (and wallets) of American women in droves with the release of their “Real Women” campaign. Dove has always been a strong proponent of exposing the fashion-industrial complex, warts and all, even while they toil and profit in its trenches. Nonetheless, they’ve made a business out of attempting to redefine the public image of the feminine ideal throughout the beauty industry. Many women bought it.

Now, it seems, the make-up is melting off faster than a Murray Hill Pinkberry shop in Mid-July.

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If you ride along the S line, then chances are you already very familiar with this one train that has the entire car in this toilet paper theme where, aside from plastering every sign receptacle with a toilet paper ad, the very walls are sheeted with faux toilet paper wallpaper. I am sad to say that it does not feel as comfortable as it looks, nor that it actually does offer much more than the impression that your trip to work was nothing more than a dream and you actually are in an asylum, where the padded walls will protect you from harming yourself when you find out the truth. Sadly, there is no one to offer you sedative-laced pudding or confiscate your pointy instruments like an aforementioned asylum or at least a trip on a private jet with some drugged-up rock stars.

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You know those snazzy Target ads that are all stunning graphics and Colgate smiles? Well, in a slightly convoluted but fundamental way, you have George Lois to thank/curse for them. Lois was the mustache-twidling mastermind behind much of the 20th Century’s cultural revolution in print. As the designer behind volumes of groundbreaking Esquire covers, he was highly outspoken and instrumental in breaking many of the Norman Rockwell-esque sensibilities that defined the magazine industry until his arrival. Don’t believe me, check out this month’s MoMA show: The man did these covers in a time when the most in-your-face cultural statement seen on newsstands was a middle-aged white guy in a suit posing with his briefcase. Plus, he did the “I Want My MTV” campaign and revived a dying network in its infancy. Therefore, we have Lois to thank for The Hills and the inevitable brain damage that we’ve all accumulated from watching Heidi try to think too hard.

George Lois- The Esquire Covers[MoMA]
Cover Guy [The New Yorker]

When the mobile taco truck, Endless Summer, rolled through my neighborhood bearing chimicangas and enough melted queso to smother Ann Coulter’s yapping face (fantasy!), I was pleased. When the MUD truck parked its orange painted goodness on my street, curing all ailments with caffeine, I was thrilled. But on my walk home yesterday, I came across two disturbing sights. Within the course of one hour, I passed a “Mitzvah Tank” and a mobile law office.

As a lapsed Jew with an even more lapsed law degree, I’d like to think I might have just a smidge of extra sympathy for the alternative ways of turning a truck into a buck. But there is nothing kosher about seeing drive-by justice and “Judaism to Go” doled out from something with a muffler. Like condoms and sushi, you get what you pay for. BUT even with lawyers and rabbis with questionable motives behind the wheel, I couldn’t steer clear. So I stormed the Mitzvah Tank.

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9:30 am. Coffee steaming from my grip as I blink back the sleep deprivation accumulated from an overactive weekend. The F train screeches into the station. Standing room only, as per usual. Mostly the clean smells of showers, hair product, and the occasionally ill-advised dollar store perfume spritz. Then, the inevitable. Some foul odor from some anonymous, hateful bottom. And the only thing staring at me from all angles are these stupid Cottonelle ads. Their slogan? “Be Kind to Your Behind.” One of their banners reads, “Too much Fiber?” The irony was overwhelming. As was the stench. Needless to say, I am not a fan of these ads. Booooo.

Photo via NY Times

Hipsters from Brooklyn will no longer have to come to the island to get their “Urban” gear. Today the new store on Atlantic Avenue (between Clinton and Court) opened. The first 100 customers get a free tote, and 10% of this week’s sales will go to BAM (Brooklyn Academy of Music). The thing that is really getting people talking though is not the store, (which is just like every other Urban Outfitters in America, except with no easy stroller access for those Park Slope mommies), it’s the ad they designed to promote the place:

“The mystifying amalgam of images, placed in some sort of elementary collage layout is presumably a representation of the borough. Many of the images look like they were cut out of a TV Guide circa 1984, and others, like the shot of Jay-Z has us wondering about legal repercussions.” [Gothamist]

[5th avenue, 1:30]

 -Andy Warhol.

Well, it’s not here quite yet, but today seems to be another little teaser for us.  I am in 100% agreement with Mr. Warhol.  In fact, for me, the ONLY good thing about winter (besides that first snowfall early on) is that it makes us appreciate SPRING. Now, for only $195, you can smell like spring every morning, even if it’s only 40 degrees outside.  In following in the Gap’s footsteps (capitalizing on Warholian fans), Bond no. 9 has launched their latest neighborhood fragrance in collaboration with the Warhol Foundation: “Andy Warhol Union Square“.  I wonder what Andy would think about the mass-marketing schemes that he is unwittingly taking part in.

[Photo via NY Mag]
Most of us avoid Times Square like the final bill at a 20 person birthday dinner. But occasionally we all have to subject ourselves to the stew of tourists while dodging fanny packs full of Olive Garden doggie bags. The one constant in the tumult is the Naked Cowboy. Yes, there are plenty of mentally deranged, tighty-whitey-clad men wandering our fair city. But this one’s got a guitar so he’s got some artistic integrity. His name is Robert Burck and he’s been adding to New York’s shame mystique for over a decade. But recently, there’s been a wrinkle. Burck is now suing M&M Mars for copyright infringement over their commercial featuring an M&M in a remarkably similar getup frolicking around Times Square. Even more remarkably, Burck had actually registered his schtick as an officially trademarked piece of performance art. The amount up for grabs is about $6 million, which will buy him a Victoria’s Secret set for his naked cowgirl and enough change left over for bus fare back to Jersey.

[Photo via Flickr]
After continually seeing this sign, I started to wonder the same thing. Part of the answer lies the parable of Kokie’s, which was a bar in the loosest sense of the word. It’s no secret that the best drinking establishments in the city often have a long, lurid history of illegal activity trailing behind it. What would a Wednesday night whiskey bender be without people stumbling out of the bathroom with a nosebleed and/or an inside-out shirt dangling from their neck? I’m not sure either. But if I was privy to such things, I’d say the passing of Kokie’s was cause for a stiff drink. Judging by the name’s thinly-veiled reference to powder-fueled recreation, you can imagine the level of debauchery that went down in Williamsburg’s pre-gentrification days. The choicest highlights of local New York nostalgia: More»