Occam’s Razor Burn
When the most entertaining thing on the InfoBahn™ all day is an article culled from The Economist, life truly has become a narcotized gambol through the rank and humid glades of Nothing’s Funny Anymore. Anyhoo, the pocket protector crowd over at the magazine’s graphics department threw together the chart below in a doomed and tragic attempt to predict the future proliferation of the number of razor blades that will be available to Gillette and Bic users now that the already absurd standard of three blades has spawned cartridges featuring four and five. It’s sort of like Moore’s Law, but for things you can only a handful of times before you have to throw them away. “With only five data-points, it is hard to be sure exactly which mathematical curve is being followed. If it is what is known as a power law, then the 14-bladed razor should arrive in 2100.” Jesus. As it is, the three-blade cartridges cost $10 for a pack of four. Luckily, we’ll all be dead by the time they reach the double-digit mark.
Of course, this is funnier than the graphic, but it’s old funny. We want new funny.
Also: We accidentally bumped headlong into the annual Ringling Brothers’ elephant walk Monday night at about 1:30 in the morning as we reeled down 34th St after having made our first beachhead into the new girlfriend’s pants. It’s one thing to see a bunch of giant pachyderms hoofing it past the Garden when you’re expecting it; it’s still another when you forgot that the walk had been scheduled for that night and you’re feeling more than a little drunk and tired, but in a triumphant, Hey-World-Smell-My-Fingers kind of way. It’s stuff like this that makes us wonder why anyone would want to live anywhere else. Do elephants ritualistically march down the cockeyed streets of D.C. or Boston or L.A. or any one of those other places that people seem to want to call home? Like fuck they do. Of course, some PETA hippies had to jump in and wreck our blissful mood by chanting all sorts of shit about banging Dumbo in the nuts with a two-by-four. Fuckin’ smelly fucks. As Patton Oswalt notes here, it’s good to eat steak because every time you do, a hippie’s Hacky Sac™ rolls into the gutter.
Lastly, Gary Shteyngart has an excerpt from his soon-to-be-released novel, Absurdistan, in this week’s New Yorker. It is, predictably enough, brilliant and funny and life-affirming … although one thing it is not is online. Pull yourself together and lay down the $3.99, you cheap bastards.