Take two parts Dr. Seuss, blend in one part Edgar Allan Poe, and you’ve got “Horrton Hears A Heart!”:

One day I told Sam that I’d sample his pork.

He gleefully held out a bit on a fork

and I ripped the utensil from him with my trunk!

I poked out the Eye of that ham-sucking punk!

I jumped toward him with my whole two tons intent

on quashing Sam’s life – one hundred per cent!

I wish I could look forward to forthcoming editions, like “One Death, Two Death, Red Death, Blue Death” and “The Grinch and the Pendulum” (not to mention the sequel to the above, “Horrton Hatches The Raven”). But considering that “Edgar Allan Seuss” hasn’t expanded upon this literary mashup since 1996, despite a brief spurt of rediscovered fame five years ago, I’m not holding my breath.

The dismal science meets spiritual quantification in “The Economics of Sainthood (a preliminary investigation)”, a paper out of Harvard’s Economics Department:

Saint-making has been a major activity of the Catholic Church for centuries. The pace of sanctifications has picked up noticeably in the last several decades under the last two popes, John Paul II and Benedict XVI. Our goal is to apply social-science reasoning to understand the Church’s choices on numbers and characteristics of saints, gauged by location and socioeconomic attributes of the persons designated as blessed.

Among the econo-ecclesiastical terms applied to this analysis: “Saint-making fatigue” and “canonization per capita”. What, no “initial beatification offering (IBO)”?

The opening paragraph from John Fante’s “Ask the Dust”:

One night I was sitting on the bed in my hotel room on Bunker Hill, down in the middle of Los Angeles. It was an important night in my life, because I had to make a decision about the hotel. Either I paid up or I got out: that was what the note said, the note the landlady had put under my door. A great problem, deserving acute attention. I solved it by turning out the lights and going to bed.

A good analogy for what’s going down with me lately, up to and including the solution. And so far so good, I might add.

Now that the Supreme Court has OKed unbridled corporation spending on political campaigns, one intrepid company is cutting out the middleman:

In a soothing voice, a narrator bemoans that “as much as corporate interests gave to politicians, we could never be absolutely sure they would do our bidding.” The ad includes images of gleaming office towers and disgraced lobbyist Jack Abramoff and promises Murray Hill will bring “enlightened self-interest and corporate accounting” to Congress.

It concludes with a rousing call to action: “Vote for Murray Hill Incorporated for Congress — for the best democracy money can buy.”

Yep, Murray Hill Inc. for Congress is dripping with sarcasm, right down to a franchising program for other corporate-politico aspirants:

The first corporation to enter into a franchise agreement with Murray Hill Inc. is Computer Umbrella Inc. of Sterling Virginia. Computer Umbrella’s own Designated Human, Jonathan Stewart, is charting the corporation’s run for U.S. Congress in Virginia’s 10th District.

“We are proud to embrace the Murray Hill Inc. Brand,“ Stewart says. “From steel to silicon, it’s America’s entrepreneurs who find and exploit the new markets. The democracy market in Washington DC today looks like Silicon Valley 30 years ago. CUI wants to position itself as early leader in this emerging market along with Murray Hill Inc.”

There are pesky electoral and Constitutional requirements to overcome before corporate entities start stumping for office. But imagine the possibilities:

- Individual office-seekers setting up their candidacies as corporations, so that any irregularities or scandals later on can be deflected from them personally (“I didn’t hire those hookers, it was my limited liability partnership!”)

- Launching single-purpose business ventures every election cycle

- Watching mergers and acquisitions consolidate a fragmented corporate-constituent landscape

- Initial public offerings and stock market indexes for tracking incumbent performances

And if Murray Hill Inc. doesn’t make it to Capitol Hill, maybe the plucky PR firm could run for a local position in New York. I’m thinking a certain Manhattan neighborhood would be a good fit.

The above photo is from today’s New York Daily News article on the residential/merchant displacements caused by Brooklyn’s Atlantic Yards project. I find this visual — a bunch of padlocks “strung” together in a row on a construction-site chain-link fence — so compelling that I wanted to preserve it here (and on Flickr).

It’s not explicitly stated, but I got the impression from the article that this arrangement of locks represents a protest by the locals against the neighborhood disruption. If so, it’s a creative way to get the point across. I’m sure I’ve seen this before, although it couldn’t have been more than 3-4 locks grouped together; anything more than that would have piqued my curiosity long before coming upon this image.

Am I missing the boat, and this chain-linking of locks is a common-knowledge way of expressing discontent? I don’t know if there’s a clear symbolism: Are the protesters “locking out” the transgressors, figuratively or concretely? Or is it simply a relatively cheap and tamper-proof way to plant a protest symbol?

Spring is in the air in New York, so that must mean it’s time for the City’s official condoms to get a provocative wrapper-redesign:

More than 15,000 online voters have spoken: City-sponsored condoms will come packaged with a computer power button logo. “There’s a subtle message in the shape, so I figured if I don’t get disqualified, it will work great,” said contest winner Luis Acosta, a 29-year-old graphic designer…

His limited-edition design won 23% of the vote, with others running close. A top hat earned 21%; a colorful circle design won 20%. A manhole cover and a train design got 19% and 17%, respectively.

Congratulations, Department of Health. For the next year, no one in the five boroughs will be able to start up their power-buttoned tech devices without letting loose a phallic-inspired giggle.

I have to admit, that humble circular-stick icon does suggest an at-attention member. The “sac” hanging below is probably too round to represent the average male’s package, but stylization trumps anatomy when it comes to symbolism. Makes me wonder if some hardware-designing geek didn’t have this interpretation in mind years ago, and it took this prophylactic application to make us all catch on.

I’d already tweeted this earlier today, but it’s worthy of expanded cross-posting to the mother-blog:

March, the most wardrobe-challenging of months. I’m shiver-cold in the mornings, and sweaty-ish by late afternoons.

It’s the in-between weather that’s not-quite-Winter, and not-quite-Spring, that makes dressing up such an ordeal for this 31-day span. Which, vapidness aside, is why I think that T.S. Eliot was off by a month in his “cruellest” estimation.

Know that if you find yourself in New Jersey this winter, you needn’t worry about being offended by brazenly-bare snow-hussies:

Cops ordered a New Jersey family to cover up their saucy snowlady after receiving a complaint that the frosty front yard figure was X-rated.

While neighboring snowmen were allowed to flaunt their nudity with coal-eyed jauntiness, Elisa Gonzalez and her kids heeded the warning from the fashion police. They dressed their controversial snowlady in a green bikini top and hip-hiding blue sarong.

“I thought she looked more objectified and sexualized after you put the bikini on,” Gonzalez, 44, of Rahway told the Newark Star-Ledger.

Just in case you were wondering if puritanical attitudes had somehow gone by the wayside…

From Talking Heads’ “Stop Making Sense” soundtrack — which I just recently had occasion to rediscover, in physical CD format — here is the album’s list of Jenny Holzer-inspired truisms:

TIPS FOR PERFORMERS: Playing cards have the top half upside-down to help cheaters. There are a finite number of jokes in the universe. Singing is a trick to get people to listen to music for longer than they would ordinarily. There is no music in space. People will pay to watch people make sounds. Everything on stage should be larger than in real life.

LIVING WITH OTHER PEOPLE: Violence on television only affects children whose parents act like television personalities. Table manners are for people who have nothing better to do. Civilization is a religion. Civilized people walk funny. There is always a party going on somewhere. People will you remember you better if you always wear the same outfit.

LIFE ON EARTH: Men like pastries, women like custards. Scientists have invented a love drug, but it only works on bugs. Animals like earthquakes, tornadoes and volcanic activity. Nuclear weapons can wipe out life on Earth, if used properly. Cats like houses better than people. Dolphins find people amusing, but they don’t want to talk to them. People look ridiculous when they’re in ecstasy. Schools are for training people how to listen to other people. Body odor is the window to the soul. Sound is worth money.

IN THE HOME: There have been cases where people’s shoes got stuck on their feet and could never be removed. The best way to get rid of unwanted flying insects is to have strong body odor. There hasn’t been a good-looking American car in 20 years. There is always something on television. The best length for television programs is either 30 seconds or 8 hours.

THE SPACE PEOPLE: Space People read our mail. The Space People think that TV news programs are comedies, and that soap operas are news. The Space People will contact us when they can make money by doing so. The Space People think factories are musical instruments. They sing along with them. Each song lasts from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. No music on weekends.

MONEY: People will do odd things if you give them money. When everything is worth money, then money is worth nothing. If you keep your money in your shoe, then people will know which bills are yours. If you crumple your money into little balls, it will never stick together. The best way to touch money is by the edges. U.S. money is the worst looking money in the world.

WORLD TRAVEL: Passport pictures are what people really look like. Rich people will travel great distances to look at poor people. Toast is the national dish of Australia. People never travel to look at flat landscapes. People would rather watch things than eat. Looking at postcards is better than looking at the real thing. Looking up is as scary as looking down.

IN THE FUTURE: In the future, women will have breasts all over. In the future, it will be a relief to find a place without culture. In the future, plates of food will have names and titles. In the future, we will all drive standing up. In the future, love will be taught on television and by listening to pop songs.

WORK: Crime is a job. Sex is a job. Growing up is a job. School is a job. Going to parties is a job. Religion is a job. Being creative is a job.

Some heady pearls of quirky wisdom. If you can disregard the Heads’ preoccupation with personal hygiene.

The following exchange between two food servers may or may not have really happened. Okay, here’s a hint: It didn’t. But I liked the concept and the conversational timbre that somehow came to me, so I’m posting it. Besides, I need to exercise my dialogue-crafting.

Waiter 1: I’ll betya that one’s a cheap-ass tipper over there.

Waiter 2: Nah, I’ll say he’s good for a generous tip.

Waiter 1: Whaddya bet?

Waiter 2: Make it however much he leaves for you.

Waiter 1: Eh?

Waiter 2: Whatever tip he leaves, that’s how much I bet ya. So he leaves a shitty tip, you’re right and I win little to nothing. He leaves a big tip, I’m right, I’m a big winner, AND you’re a big, wrong loser.

Waiter 1: Erm.

Waiter 2: What? It’s perfect. If yer right, you win and you only lose a pittance…

Waiter 1: Yeah…

Waiter 2: And if I’m right, I win and I beat you out of a big tip — that you never figured you would see anyway, cuz you wrongly thought the guy was cheap! Hehe.

Waiter 1: Well I guess so. But I hate to lose a tip…

Waiter 2: Even a shit one?

Waiter 1: Yeah.

Waiter 2: You’ve no conviction.

Waiter 1: Nah, okay, yer on.

Who won this fictional gratuity-dependent bet? You decide. I’ve already done the hard work to this point.

Whereas a strap-free gown provides the occasion to show off a woman’s shoulders, the strap-free “Feeldoe” provides the occasion to, well:

Insert the bulbous “pony” end vaginally (or rectally), spread the labia, and nestle those nifty little ridges of the “saddle” against your clitoris. We trust y’all will figure out what to do with the “horse” end that looks like a dildo.

The scalloped ridges on the “saddle” massage the driving partner’s clitoris, and the “pony” rocks her G-spot, while her pubic mound rubs the other partner’s clitoris, and the “horse” (of course) strokes her G-spot..

Whether or not this feels more natural than the traditional strap-on is… not my call.

I’ll give the creators of Chatroulette credit for a unique concept in webcam-based chatting: Displaying your chat window side-by-side with some random stranger’s, then letting either of you hit the F9 button to bail and dial up another, more suitable random-chatter.

In practice, though, the concept hits cold reality. I’ve given the site a couple of spins, with webcam audio/visual on and off, and the results are pretty consistent: Rapid-fire F9ing by both me and the chat-other, resulting in a lot of spinning and little-to-no actual chatting. Like any other chatzone, there’s far too many guys, and far too much lewdness (now in grainy video!), to make real live communication with someone realistic. It’s definitely more game than social hub, but a pretty limited one at that.

It is safer than the more famous form of roulette associated with Russia. Although after having a half-dozen or more cam-strokers cue up on the Chatroulette screens, don’t think I wasn’t tempted to pick up the nearest pistol and start spinning the chamber…

In the wake of yet another high-profile plagiarism incident in the publishing world, we come upon the modern media proliferation justification for cribbing others’ work:

Although [16-year-old novelist Helene] Hegemann has apologized for not being more open about her sources, she has also defended herself as the representative of a different generation, one that freely mixes and matches from the whirring flood of information across new and old media, to create something new. “There’s no such thing as originality anyway, just authenticity,” said Ms. Hegemann in a statement released by her publisher after the scandal broke.

So according to this mindset, Hegemann’s lifting of an entire page from an obscure novel called “Strobo” for use in her book, “Axolotl Roadkill”, is fair game. Because “Strobo” came to Hegemann in a flood of content, it was essentially anonymous raw material, free for repurposing.

Which is all nonsense, of course. What strikes me about these supposed new-media rationalizations is that they are never disclosed ahead of time — only after the theft is discovered. If copycats like Hegemann truly believe that what they’re doing is acceptable, why don’t they reveal what they’re doing upfront, when their book/movie/music first comes out? Obviously, if they can’t admit to this content theft (or “mixing”, or “curation”, or whatever semantics sound best), then they know that they’re in the wrong. At best, they’re just too lazy to engage the original creators’ permission. Ethical quicksand, all around.

The name of a trucking company I spied earlier today, appropriately on the side of a tractor-trailer:

Road Scholar Transport

Cute. It is a real company. Odds are that it does not employ an actual Rhodes Scholar. Not that anyone says it has to.

You might think that the best way to gauge the success of Craigslist’s Missed Connections is by the number of people its gotten together. But no — in fact, the true measure of that online meat market’s effectiveness is its late role as creative raw material:

Billed as “ripped straight from the online pages of Craigslist,” “Missed Connections NYC” was an evening of 13 eight-minute plays based on the listings, and it ran for a week at the Ars Nova Theater on West 54th Street in Manhattan last month. The Ars Nova troupe’s group of emerging playwrights used the subject headings of posts — “Submit Party — From the Couple Having Sex Everywhere” (above left), “You Were a Mexican With Friends” (center) and “Doritos Boy” (right) — to devise literal or fantastical interpretations of the situations described. “It was really fun, really interesting, to see how the writers tackled the challenge,” said Emily Shooltz, the troupe’s associate artistic director. “I think the appeal was that everybody knows someone who was — or at least thinks they were — referenced in a Missed Connection.”

More or less an update of the old dadaist photomontage technique. Probably a more worthwhile endproduct than the improbable hook-ups that may or may not happen.

I don’t chew gum.

So why is there a picture of Dentyne gum in this post? Simple: Dentyne’s marketers reached out to me for some blog-vertising action (just one of a recent spate of requests to come this way). They sent on two “bottles” worth of the gum, so I guess I’m obliged.

That’s one thing: “Bottles”. Dentyne refers to these plastic containers as bottles, even in ads. And yet, with their wide-mouth lids, they’re clearly more like jars. Maybe “jar of gum” sounds like an odd packaging description, but “bottle of gum” doesn’t sound much better.

Such packaging isn’t new in the gum/candy game. It’s been around for years now, obviously geared toward car-cupholder placement. But once again, I’m not a good fit: I don’t own a car. And even if I liked gum, I don’t know about having a jar (yeah, I said it) taking up valuable space inside my everyday man-bag.

So is there anything I like about this freebie? Just one thing: That wild artwork on the container’s outer wrapping. It’s a commissioned design by Anthony Yankovic, part of a series of color-themed designs for Dentyne’s flavors. Those intricate line-drawings are mesmerizing. I particularly dig that psychedelic triple-eyed owl, the centerpiece of this mini-mural.

As it happens, Yankovic and I share a bit of a connection: He currently resides in St. Petersburg, Florida — the same town I made my home in for 15 years. In fact, as near as I can figure, Yankovic moved to the ‘Burgh just about the same time I moved out, some four years ago. Small world.

In any case, after this review, I’m left with a couple of 60-piece counts of sugarless peppermint gum in a cool-looking container. Nice to look at, but ultimately, I’ll have to give them away, fanciful art and all.

True story, via my tweetstream today:

I’m dealing with someone who’s dyslexic when it comes to Roman numerals. Yeah, really.

The catalyst for this backward-Latin enumeration: Saw VI, which my collaborator keeps mis-communicating to me as “Saw IV“. Luckily, we’re really only dealing with the later sequel, so no permanent confusion; but still.

I haven’t had a chance to ask her why she keeps flubbing that VI as IV. I wonder how common this malady was in ancient times — did Romans routinely mix up their numbering system, leading to massive daily miscalculations? Maybe that’s what led to the Empire’s ultimate decline and fall.

By the way, this post’s title is probably not proper Latin (this Latin translator was of little help). But it sounds good, so I’ll swap linguistic accuracy for artistic license. And it’s better than the inevitable alternative.

It’s nearly a decade old now, but this techno-tuned song about Russian leader Vladimir Putin is still going strong:

How strong? In keeping with the cult-of-personality theme in Putin’s political career, consider the winning of hearts and minds via urban sing-a-longs:

It’s winter in Russia. At night, Muscovites crowd the clubs and request their karaoke favorite, “A Man Like Putin.” I want a man like Putin, who’s full of strength. I want a man like Putin, who doesn’t drink. I want a man like Putin, who won’t make me sad.

The techno-pop tune by the duo Singing Together first appeared mysteriously in 2002 and quickly topped the charts in Russia. It went on to become a Putin theme song, still played at his rallies. Catchy and ironic, this was a new kind of propaganda song.

Popular propaganda has morphed into pop-prop — certainly a long way, stylistically, from old-wave Soviet agitprop. And to underline that shift, it appears that “A Man Like Putin” was written and produced on the strength of a $300 bet, then later co-opted by pro-Putin boosters. I guess free-market sensibilities are verifiably ingrained in Mother Russia now…

Between this lyrical adulation and his feats-of-strength outdoorsman photos, one wonders if Putin didn’t engineer his rise to power just so he could pick up chicks easier. Sort of a Bill Clinton blueprint for political deftness.

Above is a typically clutter-ful Web ad, featuring Brett Favre holding a magic 8-ball — er, make that a 4-ball.

Er, make that, not really holding that ball. Because it couldn’t be more obvious that the hand in the foreground is utterly out of anatomical sync with Favre’s body in the background. Unless he’s just been mangled by a sack, there’s no way Favre’s arm is contorting in such a way to hold up that ball that way. Truly a poor example of Photoshop hackery.

And yet… This is far from a rare instance of the disembodied-hand look in visual advertising. I see it all the time. And so do others: Witness this fan-forum critique of Sophia Bush’s fake hand in a Flip video billboard. It’s rampant.

It’s easy to figure out how such a travesty happens: The directive is to highlight the primary visual element — the product, the celebrity, the gimmick — above all else. So the image gets subdivided against itself, with everything other than the focal point being relegated to mere background. Realism is sacrificed to the sell-job.

Still, I can’t figure out how this became such a widespread aesthetic. Is it assumed that the viewers “get” that this is supposed to be an unrealistic, collage-like presentation? Is there an attempt at subtle comedy in not finessing the off-position hand? Or are legions of art designers simply not up on human-body depictions? Whatever it is, it’s not a good trend.

The lyrics to Lady GaGa’s “Paparazzi” contain these lines:

It don’t have a price
Ready for those flashing lights

For some inexplicable reason, I keep expecting that bit to go thusly:

It don’t have a price
Ready for the paradise

Considering that the entire tune is photography-themed, “those flashing lights” makes eminent sense within the song’s context. So I can’t quite figure out why I’m mentally forcing the issue with my odd replacement wording.

But then, “ready for the paradise” does have a unique ring to it — almost like a rallying cry. And I see that it’s pretty much an unprecedented piece of phraseology.

So I’ve unexpectedly coined a new expression, much like I did only a couple of weeks ago. Only this time, I had inspirational help. I’ll take all I can get, so long as the result is something fresh.

I’d wager neither Malthus nor Moore envisioned that their theories on exponential growth over time could be applied to the implements of coloring-book art:

…“Crayola’s Law,” which states: The number of colors doubles every 28 years!

If the Law holds true, Crayola’s gonna need a bigger box, because by the year 2050, there’ll be 330 different crayons!

The accompanying visual aid above, formally titled Crayola Color Chart, 1903-2010, draws from Crayola’s own corporate crayon-color chronology. I’m not sure how this accounts for retired and renamed hues — like when “flesh” was racially de-labeled into “peach” in 1962 — but I’ll accept the algorithm, in recognition of the sheer devotion required to uncover it.

As for what’s driving this multiplicity of color-sticks from the original 8 to the current 120? Maybe the world is getting more visually subtle. Or else Crayola just likes making up new color-names for marketing purposes, and simply tweaks existing shades to manufacture expansion. There goes the mathematics right out the window…