Where have all the crazies gone?

As I've documented before, one of the things I love about New York is the crazies. They're not just tolerated here, they're celebrated. Perhaps you've heard of Naked Cowboy Man - the guy who hangs out (literally and figuratively) in Times Square with a guitar and some sh*% kickers. He's a mainstay on the tourist circuit. And of course we all have our local favorites.

I took this picture in the Meat Packing District a few weeks ago as I was strolling to get my haircut. It was not Halloween, by the way. Just folks doing their errands on a regular Saturday morning. No one batted an eye at this guy. (Granted, he may not be a bonafide crazy - he could just be a kids party entertainer trying to make a buck. I still love that he doesn't stand out a bit on 13th street.)

I don't know what it is about the crazies that I love. There is something so defiantly independent about some of them. Just living their life out loud, not at all caring what the rest of us think. Highly evolved, really. (Remember, I'm a girl who gets upset if I think people on the subway mistake my commuting shoes for the actual shoes I plan to wear with that outfit.)

Speaking of the subway, it offers some of the best freak watching in the city. I am sad to say, my half deafness has put a hindrance on my enjoyment in this area. I don't know if this will go away over time or not, but loud and piercing noises are particularly bothersome to me now. Aside from the cranial discomfort, I'm also really paranoid about exposing my only hearing ear to decibles that could be loud enough to cause damage. Gotta protect what little I have left!

So I ride the subway with an earplug in my good ear. It muffles out the screeching of metal wheels on the tracks as we pull into or out of stations and makes the ride more bearable. But it has the unpleasant side effect of blocking out most of the psychotic ramblings one is normally treated to while riding the A train.

Yesterday I knew I was missing a good one. There was a guy sitting amongst the tired morning commuters and he could have blended right in. No tattered clothing, no stuffed shopping bags, just a normal looking guy. Totally average, except that he was shouting out his deeply pondered life philosophy at the absolute top of his lungs to a car full of unphased people immersed in the The Post - none of whom paid him any mind. I could hear enough through my earplug to know he was preaching about Starbucks. Something about a crazy person belting out wisdom through the symbolism of a yuppie icon such as Starbucks made me yearn for my un-handicapped eavesdropping days.

Mind you, I don't love ALL the crazies. Some of them are scary. Or smelly. Or both. But Starbucks man was ok by me...