I decided my first New York weekend had to be done the right way, filled with paisleys and perverts. Stepping onto the Coney Island bound N train, I couldn’t fathom the degree to which my senses would be assaulted. Despite previous mental preparation,  my mind’s visions of Ariel and Sebastien sharply contrasted the “experience” (since no other word adequately captures the ordeal) of blobby body paint and gelatinous man-boobery. Pictures after the break