Anyone seen Lollipop Girl, of “Grand Theft Auto IV” fame, around lately?

Because she’s somewhat elusive during gameplay within Liberty City itself. Which is ironic, considering that the character is quite prominent in advertising around New York City, and so presumably is a drawing card for selling the game. It’s like one of those top-billed actors who wind up making a five-minute cameo in a movie…

On top of that, a few nights back I was chatting with a woman in some Upper West Side bar who claimed to have been the flesh-and-blood inspiration for Miss Lollipopper. That’s not her pictured above, but the girl I was talking to certainly held a resemblance. I’m not sure I believed the claim — simply because the ad imagery has been plastered all over town, I figured it might just be a convenient and relatable source of small-talk material. Plus, in the game Lollipop Girl apparently has been IDed as a hooker named Lola Del Rio — a dubious star from whom to draw a rep.

Then again, GTA publisher Take-Two and Rockstar Games are based here in NYC, so who knows? Maybe the programmers did have a real-life model to pixelate.

In a decided 180-degree from its previous display of Damien Hirst-arranged animal carcasses, Park Avenue’s Lever House is now hosting giant-sized sculptures of Hello Kitty characters.

Why? Because sculpture artist Tom Sachs considers the cutesy Japanese feline to be his pop-cultural muse, worthy of extensive bronze-working, topped with white-paint finishing.

I wandered into this public art display by chance this afternoon. I was heading toward Lexington and wasn’t even aware that I was on 53rd Street until I reached Lever and took a peek. It was a pleasantly jarring surprise to come upon a lunchtime scene festooned with these oversized white beasties. Some of them were working water fountains, which adds a whimsical touch to the overall scene.

Sue Simmons is a bona fide institution in New York City local news media, second only to her co-anchor Chuck Scarborough. Personally, I can’t remember when they weren’t occupying Channel 4; they were a firm part of my childhood channel-surfing.

Which is what makes her live-TV “What the fuck are you doing??” flub today all the more shocking (in a fun way!):

The shit hit the fan, of course, prompting an obligatory apology from Sue. Order is restored at the local NBC flagship affiliate.

A bumper sticker I spied not too long ago, upstate (I snapped a cameraphone photo of it, but it came out too crappy to use):

LIBERALS ARE PEOPLE TOO
THERE JUST POLITICALLY INCORRECT!

Yup, “there”, instead of “they’re”. No better way to sabotage an otherwise bold statement than via a boneheaded misspelling.

I would attribute this to a recent rash of mad-as-hell grammatical challenges, except that it appears this doofus has been displaying his cluelessness for a couple of years.

There are two ways of looking at Cablevision’s $650 million purchase of Newsday from Tribune Co.:

1. Underlying the apparent mismatch between a dominant cable provider and an entrenched but struggling newspaper is a potentially lucrative synergy:

But even if the prospective deal has an element of vanity to it, Cablevision could make the following argument. It has roughly three million cable subscribers in Long Island, New York, New Jersey and Connecticut, while Newsday has about 300,000 subscribers. Cablevision’s customer relationships could help it sell more subscriptions, while overlapping ad sales forces at the two companies could result in cost savings. And Cablevision owns a 24-hour local news channel in Long Island, which could use the news gathering capacity of Newsday — and in theory cut costs.

This makes the acquisition of Newsday the equivalent of securing an established and dedicated advertising channel for Cablevision. Nassau County is prime demographic territory, so any additional inroads a media company can make and present to ad clients is extremely valuable.

2. In order to extract the maximum value out of its unwanted asset, Tribune owner Sam Zell orchestrated an elaborate competition among Newsday’s suitors:

The trick was for Zell to turn this into a bidding war. That was difficult at first. The three interested parties acted as if they had the upper hand. Cablevision did some tire kicking, but the Dolans didn’t make an offer. [New York Daily News owner Mort] Zuckerman reportedly made a lowball bid.

Zell turned up the heat by entering into negotiations with News Corp. to accept $580 million for a majority stake in Newsday. [Rupert] Murdoch clearly felt he had the inside track. He began courting Long Island’s political leaders whose support he would surely need to get the deal approved by the FCC in Washington. That’s because News Corp. already owns the [New York] Post and two New York City television stations.

It now appears Zell was using News Corp.’s offer to establish a floor for the bidding. Zuckerman soon matched News Corp.’s offer. Then Cablevision did what non-strategic bidders often do in such situations. It offered to pay a higher price than either newspaper publisher.

And viola, Newsday becomes a hot property. Where it goes from here under the Dolans’ stewardship remains to be seen.

From one of my most fave-o-reet episodes of “The Simpsons”, I present “Skinner & the Superintendent”, or (as I prefer) “Steamed Hams”:

And for good measure, the key exchange:

Superintendent Chalmers: I thought we were having steamed clams.
Seymour Skinner: Oh, no, I said steamed hams. That’s what I call hamburgers.
Superintendent Chalmers: You call hamburgers steamed hams?
Seymour Skinner: Yes, it’s a regional dialect.
Superintendent Chalmers: Uh-huh. What region?
Seymour Skinner: Uhh… Upstate New York.
Superintendent Chalmers: Really? Well, I’m from Utica, and I’ve never heard anyone use the phrase ’steamed hams.’
Seymour Skinner: Oh, not in Utica. No, it’s an Albany expression.
Superintendent Chalmers: I see.
[Chalmers bites into a steamed ham.]
Superintendent Chalmers: You know, these hamburgers are quite similar to the ones they have at Krusty Burger.
Seymour Skinner: Oh ho ho, no. Patented Skinner burgers. Old family recipe.
Superintendent Chalmers: For steamed hams…
Seymour Skinner: Yes…
Superintendent Chalmers: Yes, and you call them steamed hams despite the fact that they are obviously grilled.

One last tidbit: Along with the obvious allusions to Pulp Fiction throughout, this episode also owes its title — “22 Short Films About Springfield” — to Thirty Two Short Films About Glenn Gould. The title and structure of which, in turn, was inspired by the 32 pieces that comprise Bach’s Goldberg Variations.

What you see pictured above (snapped by me, with my cameraphone in Times Square) is but one outcropping of an epidemic that’s overtaken New York City: The spread of knockoff baseball caps emblazoned with “NY” logos, designed to look just enough like official Yankees or Mets gear to pass the glance test.

Seriously, I’ve seen these hats all over the place — subways, on the street, in clubs… Frankly, I’d be embarrassed to be seen wearing one. They’re downright shoddy-looking.

I’m guessing the only reason Major League Baseball (and any other sports league) isn’t filing infringement lawsuits is that those chunky-fonted logos are just distinguishable enough to not be considered credible copies of their obvious inspirations. But come on — there’s no mistaking their appeal, funky colors and patterns aside. They’re faux team colors for $5 off the street, versus the $20-and-up for the real deal.

The above is a crop from a bus-shelter ad I cameraphone-snapped a month ago, somewhere in midtown Manhattan. I like the composition, in that it used the familiar symbol signs for the human form to get its point across about the alienating effect of social phobia.

Not to mention that I have a touch of that particular anxiety myself. So I really identify with that black standalone glyph — much as I’d prefer to be one of those multicolored in-the-crowd types.

This should be interesting: I just got a guaranteed ticket to see today’s taping of “Late Show with David Letterman”, airing tonight!

How? The weirdest sequence of events: I was walking up Broadway, killing time while getting within the vicinity of a couple of afternoon appointments. At around 50th Street, it occurred to me that I was getting close to the Ed Sullivan Theater, which reminded me of my seldom-invoked intentions of attending a Letterman taping. I dismissed today’s possibility right away, simply because I didn’t think there’d be any tickets available as late as this afternoon.

Then, I walk by a girl who’s hawking “Late Show” tickets. She’s pissed because the two guys she was already talking to were “assholes”, in her words; so she turns to me. She confirms she’s with Worldwide Pants, the show’s production arm. After some preliminaries, she hands me a confirmation form letter with my name on it. According to that slip of paper (photo of which I’ll add later, after I get home — having some issues trying to email it to myself right now), I’m guaranteed a seat in chilly Ed Sullivan! (No joke, they really do tell you ahead of time to bring a sweater; I happen to be wearing a light jacket, so I’m set.)

I have to trek back down there in about half an hour to confirm, then head back there again for the 4:30-5:30 taping. They’re not kidding about this thing eating up your whole day. Fortunately, I was able to move around my meetings for this afternoon, or else I’d have to chuck this adventure. As it is, I’m currently cooling my heels in a damned *$ on 60th.

So, hopefully, I’ll finally get to see Dave live and in person, doing his thing. According to the TV schedule, guests tonight will be Ashton Kutcher, magician Mac King (because this is, after all, Magician Week on the “Late Show”), and musical legend Steve Winwood. Not the lineup I would have picked, but it’ll do.

UPDATE: Here’s the photo proof — first the confirmation letter:

And the resultant ticket:
Well worth the sacrifice of an afternoon. I won’t bother with a show recap; you can find that here. But here’s some general impressions:

- I actually didn’t find the famously deep-frozen theater to be all that cold. I wouldn’t want to sit there in just shorts and tshirt, but in a shirt and dress pants, I was fine.

- The theater stage is surprisingly compact — looks a lot bigger on TV.

- Even though everything was live and only a few yards away, I couldn’t shake how it still looked like a televised presentation — even though I was watching with my unaided eye. I guess it was the lighting doing its job, because somehow, I didn’t get the feeling that I was really there in the same room with Dave, Paul et al.

- “Johnny Twain” may be a lame filler segment. But he can belt out “Hooked On A Feeling” with muy, muy gusto! (I’m guessing that performance won’t be making the telecast.)

- Steve Winwood rocks.

It’s a bit of a hike, but I’ll have to keep Larry’s Barber Shop, on the northern fringe of Hell’s Kitchen, in mind for my next haircut. Not only will I get a new ‘do, I’ll also get a chance to watch a random mobster movie while I wait.

From the mirrored reflections of the talking heads in his tiny shop on 57th Street near 10th Avenue in Manhattan, [shop owner Larry] Babizhaev receives political opinions, financial advice, sports commentary and other news between haircut and tip.

Along the way, some of his customers started recommending films like “The Godfather,” “Goodfellas” and “A Bronx Tale.” “I just got hooked,” Mr. Babizhaev said.

He began spending a good portion of his tips on mob movies and “anything to do with gangsters.”

Providing a DVD to watch is definitely preferable to some inane snip-snip chit-chat. Only snag: I’m not sure I’d be satisfied watching just a snippet of a movie. But then, I wouldn’t want to spend two hours in a barber shop just to see the complete “Pope of Greenwich Village”, either.

For anyone who was wondering what prompted new New York governor David Paterson to go on a confessional spree shortly after inauguration, he now claims that elements within the state police were zeroing in and would have outed him anyway.

Paterson first disclosed to the Daily News in March that both he and his wife, Michelle, had affairs during a troubled point in their marriage several years ago. The day after he was sworn in, the couple fielded questions at a tense press conference at the state Capitol.

“That feeding frenzy was getting closer and closer to my family,” Paterson said Friday, adding he had heard “wild rumors” about himself - including that he fathered his 23-year-old nephew.

“So what we decided to do was you get yourself before they get you,” said Paterson, who has also since disclosed that he smoked pot and used cocaine in his youth.

This is pretty much what I suspected, although I didn’t know specifically who was getting ready to hit Paterson — I would have guessed it would have been some investigative reporter or somesuch. But the flood of admissions were clearly a preemptive move.

What I’ve argued is that Paterson made his disclosures at the only good time possible. He couldn’t have done so before he was sworn in, because that would have jeopardized his ascension to the Governor’s mansion. And had he waited until later, not only would he have risked someone else beating him to the punch, but he also would have gotten considerably more flak; the positive energy he was getting from not being Eliot Spitzer served as enough of a shield to deflect serious fallout.

Simply put, there was no other time when he could have done it, and gotten gain out of it. It was actually a very shrewd public relations strategy: Taking advantage of a window of optimal goodwill.

It’s no secret that the bold “city that never sleeps” tagline primarily applies to nocturnal opportunities. And so it is that some guidance is required for navigating early-morning pursuits in Manhattan on the weekends, when most of the natives are sleeping it off.

This is in contrast to people elsewhere in America, who often maximize their Saturday-Sunday time by starting the free-time ticker barely after dawn has struck. I can’t think of a better way to sum up this incongruity than this:

That puts you on track for about a 7 a.m. breakfast, which is tricky business in these parts. Most restaurants that are open at that hour in the city are big chains — Starbucks and McDonald’s, for example — adhering to national standards that don’t quite fit in Manhattan. (We see this elsewhere, as well, like the use of a driver’s license as the standard form of identification in a place where no one drives.)

I’m not as bad as others, who consider noon the optimal weekend wakeup marker. But true, the only way I’ll see 7AM on one of my off-days is if I back into it — just before collapsing into the “previous” night’s slumber.

The above picture of the L Line Bedford Avenue platform harp-playing performance artist is re-presented here as an anonymous favor to an anonymous poster on Subway Crush:

Some weekends I see you playing a giant ass harp at the Bedford stop and I think to myself “holy shit that is a huge harp!” A girl with that dedication is someone I need to get to know. I never wanted to interrupt your playing, but would love to grab some coffee or a drink sometime. I’ll even help you carry your harp! Get in touch!

Looks like she’s managed to strum somebody’s heartstrings. If this helps you get her digits, brother, then you’re welcome.

I was at that Bedford stop just this past Friday — a rare personal excursion into Brooklyn. Ms. Harp was nowhere to be seen; I guess she’s got a weekends-only engagement.

Try to follow along here:

To introduce their new non-pizza offerings, Pizza Hut had some fun with an April Fool’s announcement that it was rebranding itself as “Pasta Hut”.

As a follow-up to this campaign, it’s been running a TV commercial to promote these new dishes, called Tuscani Pastas. The spot follows a time-honored format — hidden-camera taste-testing — but with a questionable wrinkle:

The commercial purports to gather unwitting eaters to try the food at Tuscani in New York, and then revealing to them on hidden camera that in fact it’s Pizza Hut pasta, not Tuscani’s pasta.

As far as I can tell, there’s no Tuscani restaurant in New York. Although it’s a pretty effective ad, it seems to me that if they made up the whole thing it’s particularly egregious, even for the advertising world.

No Tuscani’s, but no problem:

The people were invited to an actual restaurant that is named Provence, he adds, but [according to ad agency BBDO] “we intentionally did not reveal the name and instead outfitted the restaurant as ‘Tuscani’ to reinforce our new product launch.”…

True, the fact that the restaurant is presented as if it is named Tuscani is not factually accurate. But I believe that it falls within the realm of artistic license, particularly since the campaign has already used an element of imaginary name-changing.

But wait, it gets even more convoluted:

One final note, dear readers. The New York Times reported that the restaurant Provence was scheduled to close last week and reopen in May under a new name, Hundred Acres. Maybe Pizza Hut could ask the owners to rename it Tuscani — at least long enough for folks to stop by for a pasta dinner.

So basically, the restaurant on TV is a fake makeover of a real NYC restaurant, which is itself now “fake” in the sense that it’s no longer open — but is in the process of getting a real makeover/rebirth.

Throw in the French/Italian/fast food cuisine switcheroos at play here, and my head hurts. On top of that, my stomach’s growling.

It’s a soaking-wet day in New York, with a steady downpour that’s forecasted to last the whole day. Far from optimal conditions for someone who’s got client meetings to flit to and from all day long.

Is it just me, or does it seem like there’s no such thing as a “normal” rainy day anymore? Specifically, I can’t remember the last time I’ve experienced a rainstorm without moderate-to-heavy winds being in the mix. Today’s no exception — it’s far from hurricane strength, but there’s enough windplay going on to swirl the raindrops all around, making even the best umbrella coverage only iffy.

It wasn’t always this way, was it? My memory’s failing me on more and more things these days, but I could swear I remember rainy days that didn’t practically assault you.

I’m thinking we can chalk this up to another manifestation of global weirding.

Nothing says Earth Day quite like a giant balloon-animal sculpture on the rooftop garden of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

It’s not really made out of oversized balloons twisted into shape, of course (if that’s even possible/feasible?). It’s one of Jeff Koons‘ signature pieces, among a niche of balloon-imitation artworks that make him stand out in the pop-art scene.

Sadly, it seems that the open-air environment is not the optimal milieu for Koons’ pooch:

The biggest problem is scale. Seen in an indoor gallery, the elephantine, shiny metallic “Balloon Dog (Yellow),” which rises to 10 feet at its highest point, would have a weirdly imposing, slightly menacing presence. On the roof it appears dwarfed by the vast sky and by the open expanses of space to the south and west of the museum.

Further context might improve the presentation. Maybe the artist can be persuaded to add a few pieces of balloon-like dog turds to the rear, to simulate activity? I’d sure go see that.

New York State’s newly-enshrined governor, David Paterson, is legally blind: Only his right eye has any visual functionality to it.

So how does he manage to head up the government of the nation’s third-largest state? With plenty of audible help:

Mr. Paterson, a Harlem Democrat who has been blind since infancy, has been making adjustments to his surroundings throughout his life. But, with the added demands of the job of governor and the relentlessness of his new schedule, staying on top of his work now takes a lot more time. He said much of his day can feel like a big game of catch-up. “I’m always trying to get back that time that I’m losing,” he said.

Given the volume of material he must take in, he tries to find ways to do things faster. He listens to very long articles or books on a special tape recorder for the blind that plays at speeds so fast, it is difficult for others to comprehend. “You get used to listening to that Alvin and the Chipmunks voice,” he said.

Not to get all gushy, but as someone with fairly weak eyeballs, I find Paterson’s ascent inspiring.

It’s common knowledge that rents are abhorrently high in Manhattan. But the monthly payments are just the bar tab, so to speak — the cover charge in preliminary fees and procedures are the real eye-poppers:

Aside from the realities of price and space, the requirements set by New York landlords are also bound to help turn a bright-eyed first-time renter’s outlook grim. To start with, landlords want only tenants who earn at least 40 times the monthly rent, which means an $80,000 annual salary for a $2,000 apartment. According to census data, more than 25,000 graduates ages 22 to 28 moved to the city in 2006, and their median salary was about $35,600.

Those who don’t make 40 times their monthly rent need a guarantor, usually a parent, who in turn must make at least 80 times the monthly rent. In addition to a security deposit, some landlords also want the first and last month’s rent. Tack on a broker’s fee and a prospective renter for that $2,000 apartment is out of pocket nearly $10,000 just to get the keys to the place.

Yep, it ain’t cheap. No need to wonder why so many people are loathe to leave their dwellings when they don’t have to — they want to maximize the amount of time they spend in the place they spend so much on (even when it’s a shithole).

I sure to pick the damnedest times to leave town. While I was funning and sunning in Florida, a silent rave broke out in Union Square yesterday evening.

What’s a silent rave? It’s a rave without sex, without Ecstasy, and without music — at least outwardly-audible music:

It was striking for what could not be heard.

On the west side of the square, city workers ripped up the street with jackhammers. On the east side, a stalled caravan of drivers, no doubt frustrated by streets’ closing for the visit of Pope Benedict XVI, leaned on car horns.

But in the middle, there might as well have been a Cone of Silence. A mass of people — a head-bobbing, arms-above-the-head, conga-line-forming full-tilt boogie-woogie — emitted what seemed like no sound but rather music visible.

Everyone danced in place, listening to an iPod and prancing to his or her own playlist. For long minutes, in the distance, only the square’s ever-present bongo players could be heard, while close up only shoes, or bare feet, could be heard padding on concrete. Video cameras and cellphones were everywhere.

Note that this go at silent raving differs from the conventional version, where all the separate iPods are synced to the same playlist. Personally, I prefer the Union Square method — more chaotic and freeform.

This couldn’t have been a more perfect opportunity for me. I may not be Facebook-enabled to have RSVP’d, but there were other ways of finding out. And the start time: 6:17PM? Practically my lucky number (don’t ask). Plus, like so many New Yorkers, I’m practically fused to my iPod.

The negative is that this is, obviously, little more than a latter-day flashmob scene. But with a decidedly individualistic edge: While social grouping is the point, having everyone listen and groove to their own private soundtrack injects some self-absorbedness into the experience. It’s really the natural next step in the prevalent iPod cocooning that everyone does daily. (That may be corrosive societal trend, but it’s pretty well unstoppable at this stage.)

I’m going to keep my eyes open for the next edition. A repeat of the Union Square site would be just dandy, but any Manhattan location would do.

I’m on vacation in Florida, and thus won’t be near the action during Pope Benedict’s papal visit to NYC.

But, if I choose to immerse myself in the experience, I can via WatchThePope.com, which itself is an outgrowth of Brooklyn’s own The Prayer Channel. This combined online/offline presence boasts an advertising and marketing message of “pray-by-pray coverage”.

Alas, the spirit does not move me. Maybe I’ll catch the sure-to-come “big Popein’” retrospective when I get back to town.

So you’ve experienced love at first sight on a subway car, but reached your stop before you could muster up the courage to actually talk to your object of affection? Then you’ll be checking Subway Crush on a regular basis, in the hopes of finding that fellow traveler (who, of course, is never again seen on that line).

The unique thing about this longshot love connection is the ability to sort via specific subway line — for example, the chance encounters on the 6 train. So you can easily check on your usual ride. (This is obviously NYC only; those seeking love on other metro tubes are on their own.)

This forlorn posting board is right up my alley. I can’t count the number of times I’ve wound up face-to-face with some ravishing woman, only a few feet apart, and coming up silent. Then my stop comes up, or hers does, and that’s the end of that. The code of silence that pervades most cars is more intimidating to me than anything else.

Right up my alley, as I said. Unfortunately, my cynicism precludes me from actually posting anything. Although if the contributions remain as scarce as they are in this early going, I might have to pitch in, just to provide content.

If the site does catch fire, let’s hope it partners with the City and promotes New York’s custom-wrapped condoms, often distributed at subway stations. Might as well combine the underground-linked concepts.

UPDATE: It’s on the InterWeb, so I guess I believe it: Apparently Pope Benedict XVI’s current papal visit to the U.S. included a journey leg on the L train:

You were wearing a mitred hat and a large cross. That cross looked heavy. You had dark circles under your eyes, like you had just taken a long flight and were really tired. Maybe you had the weight of the world, or an organized religion, on your shoulders. I’m an atheist, but let me help you shoulder your burden. Beers at Larry Lawrence?

I’m liking this site more and more.