Truly, truly, I tell you, spring is in the air here in NYC. The temperature broke 60. The Naked Cowboy is frolicking in Times Square, socks full of tourist booty (booty as in what pirates steal, not as in J-Lo has a big). And most telling, the Times Square subway station has gone from smelling like stale farts to smelling like stale urine. That, more than any robin or green sprout, is the true sign of spring in the city.

To celebrate the many rites of spring, I will be joining some bloggers at Barrage this evening. After that, I'm off to Pieces to hang with the soccer boys. They are sponsoring a tournament this weekend, so there are loads of hot little soccer guys just longing to shout "Goooooooooooooooal" with someone.

No doubt, SoccerBoy will be there, but I have no hopes of that going anywhere this evening. Who knows, with any luck MAK, PatCH and UncleBob will get me so trashed that I won't even make it to the soccer party.