I took this yesterday at the street fair in Park Slope:

Let’s be sure to address the four key points that make this a super shot.

1) Spongebob is gesturing to no one (maybe me?)

2) That little girl is overjoyed that she’s going to hug a strangely 6′3″ Elmo in under a second. Her brother’s like, “calm down, loser.”

3) Spongebob Squarepants and Elmo are playing a street fair in 90-degree heat, seemingly for no other reason than to delight the likes of me… and kids. They weren’t making tips… and even if they were, where would they put them? Elmo doesn’t have any pockets. Maybe Spongebob could stuff them in the g-string you know he wears under those slacks.

4) That woman on her cell phone HATES me right now. “Who do you think you are?” she’s wondering. Don’t worry, homegirl. I’m cool. I’m a blogger.

I’ve had an eternal fascination with the people who dress up as children’s characters. From shows like CSI and a made-for-TV movie whose name escapes me (Hickey Mouse, maybe?), I’ve been made to think they’re all pedophiles who use their furry, googly-eyed exteriors as their “in” to freely molest kids. There might be a small percantage of truth to that, but in general it’s not fair. Either way, it’s hilarious to consider the discrepancy between how the person looks in costume (100% fun and cute) and how he probably looks in person (~100% like someone you probably wouldn’t want rubbing your daughter’s back). I assume based on common sense that most parents wouldn’t let the non-costumed guy anywhere near their kids, so it’s amusing to think that all it takes is a somewhat convincing alterego.

But what if it’s not a well-known character? What if there’s just a guy dressed up in a banana suit or a massive walking sneaker, coffee mug, or bottle opener that claims to be a major cartoon character you’ve just never heard of? Are we supposed to act kindly towards characters just because they’re in costume? I’m serious. I think we’re more likely to smile and be polite to a person on the street dressed up as something than just a person on the street dressed as a human. If they’re putting forth the effort, for whatever reason, they deserve at least a lingering stare and slight smirk from me. It’s the least I can do.

Speaking of Spongebob, check out what TG and I found splattered on his Clinton Hill doorstep late Friday night:

Poor Patrick! He’s not even pink anymore. Not even a hint.

I eventually took a taxi home from the Hill to the Slope, and it took us 15 minutes of hanging out on Atlantic Avenue at 4:30 am to find a ride. But boy was it worth it! I took the greatest cab ride of my life that night. It was a minivan, which is always a plus because I can spread out and thereby infest a greater surface area than usual. The driver wore this rockin’, almost metallic-looking collared shirt, with a vest. And he was playing jazz at what most people would consider to be a deafening volume, but which I found perfect. He even had it blasting out of a pimped-out stereo system that definitely didn’t come with the car. It was one of those digital ones with purple and red neon lettering, and I could just barely make out the words “Track 03.” This guy had his own DRIVING MIX. I bet there were even multiple volumes!

I will never forget this ride. He also may never forget me, as I made a point of explaining to him the many reasons I was obsessed with his cab. I remember not wanting to get out until he was convinced just how much I loved his car! “No, I don’t think you really understand.” (Why the hell would he not undestand?) No matter, though. He was loving it. I cannot believe I didn’t have my camera.