2.26.2013

The Ides of March (or a profitable opportunity if Hallmark liked my ideas)

  I went to the Hallmark offices in midtown.  I showed them that I went to the internet and collected the best images in the spirit of the holiday. All they had to do was to commission their artists to make watercolors from the provided photographs and then print those on a good quality card stock.  They'd make a bundle and I only want 4% - after cost (I'm not greedy). I said, eventually once the Ides caught on, they could crowd source their content and the movement would fuel itself - they'd only have to exploit it.  
  After security escorted me out I had a troubling thought.  The behemoth of love and feeling that is the greeting card industry just might steal my idea and cut me out of the profit.  Watch for it. I'd bet everything on Hallmark using the "The apparition of Jesus in a Dog's ass," but that's just me.

All images courtesy the webernets-















2.17.2013

The Ballad of Mr. Palmer (or when Objects Revolt)




This is a story.

This story could be true.

This story feels true.

This story reaffirms my views.

This story feels true because it reaffirms my views.

This story must be true.

This story is true.

This story and its trueness must be defended.

This is a story I’m heavily invested in.

This story will always be true even if it’s not for real.

This true story may not be real but I believe it is.

This is a believable true story.

This believable true story depends on my saying so.

This story has to be true.

Mr. Edward Palmer built the first stocks in Boston colony.  Stocks consisted of two hinged planks of wood set upon a pair of legs placed into the ground at an agreeable depth so as to resist the flailing of an active body.  The violator would be put in the stocks with his wrists and neck locked between to heavy pieces of wood, effectively hanging him (I say him b/c it was mostly males who were put into stocks, women faced much worse punishments such as branks (Google it)) by the most delicate of body parts and exposing him to public mockery. This punishment was meted out through bodily pain and community shame.  Palmer, from all accounts, was a professional.  He worked his trade and delivered his wares on time. When the Governors of Boston commissioned Mr. Palmer to build some stocks for the marketplace he obliged and charged them for his work.  They approved the contraption.  Not the price. 

So into the stocks Mr. Palmer went.

He served his time, one hour as justice demanded, and was released. We don’t know what happened to Edward Palmer after his parole – history didn’t take much notice of the unlucky carpenter after his brief incarceration. Life in the colony went on and the stocks were rarely vacant – Mr. Palmer did good work even if wasn’t at a fair price. 

This story has to be true.

This believable true story depends on my saying so.

This is a believable true story.

This true story may not be real but I believe it is.

This story will always be true even if it’s not for real.

This is a story I’m heavily invested in.

This story and its trueness must be defended.

This story is true.

This story feels true because it reaffirms my views.

This story reaffirms my views.

This story feels true.

This story could be true.

This is a story.