Tagged: visualization

Color Me A Dinosaur

The History Of Crayola Crayons, Charted

First, Pluto got a demotion.  Then, surfing the FM dial, I heard a Styx song on the oldies station.  And just yesterday, park-side, a nanny chided me:  “Star fish?  No, kids call those sea stars nowadays.”  Oh, really?

Denial worked for a while, but honesty’s time had come.  “Okay,” I said to myself, “admit it.  Once, you were a cool dude, but he got eaten by your inner dinosaur.  Now, go roar, or something.”

Lumbering homeward with my sons, doubt swirled about my tiny Stegosaurus brain.  I quite liked my Jurassic bubble of backwardness, but was I raising my brood in it, too?

As we strolled down the sidewalk, we happened upon a stray green crayon.  My kids still doodled with the familiar hues of my youth, but did other children?  Or had they ditched that stupid stuff for a new-and-improved, perceptually-optimized, ISO-12647-2-compliant wax-based coloring system?

Crayons!

Crayons!

Us Stegosauri can’t type, unless we have something pointy attached to our feet.  That evening, thankfully, my boys duct-taped a couple of pencils to my toes, and thus equipped, I hunted-and-pecked across the Internet Dot Com and eventually landed on the web site of Crayola, the undisputed King Of Crayons.

Crayola’s crayon chronology tracks their standard box, from its humble eight color beginnings in 1903 to the present day’s 120-count lineup.  According to Crayola, of the precious crayons of my childhood – the seventy-two colors from the official 1975 set – sixty-one survive.  Today, each is loved to nubs by kids worldwide, just like when I was a sprout.  Woohoo!  Maybe I’m slightly less ancient than a dinosaur – a woolly mammoth, perhaps?

The next day, I gave my buddy Velociraptor a ding-a-ling, and true to form, he yakked his hyperactive yakkage – until I mentioned the crayons.  Five quick claw taps rang out from the phone, then silence, a hiss of “check your email,” and click!  The line went dead.  Good ol’ Velo’s sharp as a tack, but he’s also that way, if you know what I mean.

Three minutes passed, and “bing!”  Oh, a message from velo@cretaceous.org, let’s see… with an image attached, labeled Crayola Color Chart, 1903-2010:

Velo's Crayola Color Chart, 1903-2010

Velo's Crayola Color Chart, 1903-2010

To create the chart, Velo gently scraped Wikipedia’s list of Crayola colors, corrected a few hues, and added the standard 16-count School Crayon box available in 1935. 

Except for the dayglow-ski-jacket-inspired burst of neon magentas at the end of the ’80s, the official color set has remained remarkably faithful to its roots!

Ever industrious, Velo also calculated the average growth rate: 2.56% annually.  For maximum understandability, he reformulated it as “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!  Shortly thereafter, frazzled packaging designers rejoice, for to the rescue comes a revolution in household appliances: the new-fangled Replicator-Dissociator!  Load it with the Crayola plugin, and you’re seconds away from every shade in the rainbow – no boxes required!

At the dinner table in 2100 AD, great-great-grandson John might ask:

Hal, could you use this leftover broccoli to make five crayons, spaced evenly between Pantone 205 and hex f8b3a2, inclusive, please?

To which Hal will reply:

Most certainly, John, I can do that.
Would you like a dinosaur coloring book, too?

Miraculous 34th Street

My road to Christmas is paved with good intentions.  Every January, I smugly reassure myself: “This year I’ll finish my holiday shopping before Halloween.”  Then, fun is had, time flies, and oops!  It’s two short weeks until December 25th – yet still, the empty gift closet weeps in loneliness.

Oh, flippin’ Tannenbaum!  Now, I’m swamped by a seasonal tsunami of yuletide commitments: to procure the tree, deck the halls, roast the chestnuts, concoct the eggnog, plan the caroling route, and countless similar endeavors.  To avoid the permanent stigma of doling out envelopes of cash on Christmas morning, I need to do something, and fast.  Online won’t work, because I require the visual stimulation and tactile feedback of an in-the-flesh buying experience.  So, on to Plan B: the Streamlined, One-Day, All-Inclusive, Tommy-Gun-Style Shopping Spree.

But where?  On the left coast, Los Angeles offers cute boutiques, and for amusing junk, San Francisco’s Chinatown Crap Stores can’t be beat.  However, at this most wonderful time of the year, I pine for the thriving retail ecosystem of the original Metropolis: New York City, born itself of a legendary transaction of beads and trinkets!

Could I fly to the Big Apple, dispatch my gift list in a single day, and ship everything back to California?  And, if so, where should I go for the utmost in supercharged shopping?

To answer those questions, I utilized AggData’s extensive collection of geolocated chain data to visualize Manhattan and surroundings, with store locations marked by dots and color-coded by the number within a ten-minute walk:

New York City In Chains

New York City In Chains. Click the image for a larger version!

The map includes retail, food, auto, service, and entertainment establishments, and represents 285 corporate entities with a total of 2800-plus locations inside the featured 12 by 12 miles.

Hark!  For bathed in mid-Manhattan’s glow, the herald angels sing!  Saks Fifth Avenue warbles of well-heeled merchandise.  The illuminated billboards of Times Square belt out a boisterous call.  And, from under the art-deco spire of the Empire State Building, broadcast the magnificent melodies of New York City’s Retail Epicenter: the place within a ten-minute walk of the largest number of our chain locations: more than one hundred.  Built upon this hallowed ground and framed by the coursing arteries of Broadway and 7th Avenue is Macy’s flagship department store: a Miracle On 34th Street to the desperate Christmas shopper, indeed!

To visit the core of midtown Manhattan is to stroll into a gigantic open-air mall – a square of concentrated commerce, one-and-a-half miles on each side – peppered with restaurants, hotels, and assorted creature comforts.  There, our anxieties melt away as thousands of stores make quick work of that pesky gift list.  Our taste buds rejoice for the universe of delectable foodstuffs.  And, at day’s end, on Broadway, our cultivated side celebrates retail triumph.  Elsewhere, last-minute Christmas shopping might be a chore; but in New York City, it’s a wonderful life!

The Flag Of Pure Bliss

Banners For A Perfect World

Dear Orwell, Dick, and Heinlein: your broken societies are fine.  I love it when you opine, and I don’t mean to whine, but more I must decline.  Because…

It’s time to get our utopia on!  Let’s dissolve all nations.  Break down the borders.  Unite!  Derive all our energy from the sun.  Harmonize with higher powers.  Open our chakras.  Harness our Ch’i.  Enjoy endless leisure.  Swap sweet serenades in Franco-Portuguesperanto.  And dine on terrific fusion food: sushi Szechuan, pad paneer, bi bim burrito, crepes creole, and more!

Shemar Moore and Eva Longoria

Shemar Moore and Eva Longoria

In our Rave New World, the gene pool dances a global lambada.  Humanity’s tones – the myriad shades of white, yellow, tan, red, and black, evolved over millennia of separation – melt straightaway to a radiant Mediterranean brown.  Everyone comes with healthy skin, excellent bone structure, and supermodel good looks – just like Shemar Moore and Eva Longoria.  Mrow!

In honor of those two alluring stars, we christen our utopia as Shemar-Longoriana.  We’ll also need a flag: to affix to the bumper of the AirRover, paint on our faces for the Pan Galactic Championship game, and hoist to the top of the otherwise vacant staffs.

Click here to read more →

The Hungry Midwest

America's Heartland And McDonald's

Say what you may about Midwesterners, but one thing is for certain: they love to eat!  With that in mind, I proudly unveil the first in a series of zooms of the McDistance Map – the Midwest United States as visualized by the distance to the nearest McDonald’s:

The Midwestern United States, visualized by distance to the nearest McDonald's. Click on the image for a larger version!

The Midwestern United States, visualized by distance to the nearest McDonald's. Click on the image for a larger version!

At this scale, the individual McFiefdoms become more apparent.  To the northwest, they cluster in tense armistice at Minneapolis, and counter-clockwise from there, at Omaha, Kansas City, St. Louis, Indianapolis, the sundry cities of Ohio, and points east.  Running with the feudal metaphor, imagine the manager of each location, late at night, climbing to the red-tiled roof, donning his crown, and declaring “I am master of all I survey!”  Oh, wait…  That’s what they do at Burger King.  Nevermind!

In the heart of the Midwest, we’re hard-pressed to find a viable McVoid, with the conspicuous exception of the large, pickle-shaped gap at the center of our map: Lake Michigan.  Come summertime, fishermen, jetskiers, and party boaters frolic on its crystal waters by the thousands.  Everyone’s living large and playing hard until, seemingly without warning, things get ugly: they’re offshore and famished.  To the Eager Entrepreneur, would McDonald’s sell a franchise-on-a-barge?  With a Boat Thru, preferably?

Home to eight million hungry mouths, the Chicago Metropolitan Area hugs Lake Michigan’s southwestern shores.  There, in suburban Des Plaines, Ray Kroc, founder of the present-day McDonald’s corporation, opened his first location in April of 1955.  This wasn’t the debut Micky Dee’s, however, for Kroc licensed the concept from brothers “Dick” and “Mac” McDonald, who had already established a small but successful collection of their namesake restaurants.  For more information regarding that somewhat cantankerous saga, read this.

Number of McDonald’s in the entire state of Illinois, sixty years ago: zero.  Within the fifty-mile purview of the Sears Tower’s 103rd-floor Skydeck, today: 424!

On this side of the country, Michigan’s Upper Peninsula wins the dubious distinction of Most McUnderendowed, by a landslide.  Understandably, mind you, for the bears keep tearing apart the restaurants, and the cultivated tastebuds of the discerning Yooper are not easily impressed.  Who needs Micky Dee’s when you got da pasties, eh?

Once again, thanks to AggData for providing the geolocated McDonald’s location information that made these maps possible.  To view the full, coast-to-coast McDistance Map, see my original post, entitled “Where The Buffalo Roamed.”

Where The Buffalo Roamed

How Far Can You Get From McDonald's?

This summer, cruising down the I-5 through California’s Central Valley to the Los Angeles Basin, I unwittingly stumbled upon a most exasperating development: the country strip mall.  First, let me state that I don’t hate.  I’ve got nothing against Petco, Starbucks, OfficeMax, et al.  When overcome by the desire for a cubic yard of kitty litter, a carafe of pre-Columbian frappasmoochino, or fifty gross of pink highlighter pens, I’m there in a jiffy!

But, Mr. Real Estate Tycoon, did you have to plop your shopping center smack dab in the middle of what was previously nowhere?  Okay, the land was cheap.  And yes, you did traffic studies and proved that the interstate and distant suburbs would drench whatever you built in a raging torrent of eager consumerism.  But your retail monstrosity drains the wildness from the countryside for twenty miles in every direction!  Sure, you can’t see it from everywhere – but once you know it’s there, you feel it.  In the rural drawl of a neighboring rancher, that flat-out sucks!

Which begs the question: just how far away can you get from our world of generic convenience?  And how would you figure that out?

As I hurtled down the highway, a pair of golden arches crept over the horizon, and the proverbial lightbulb smacked me in the forehead.  To gauge the creep of cookie-cutter commercialism, there’s no better barometer than McDonald’s – ubiquitous fast food chain and inaugural megacorporate colonizer of small towns nationwide.

So, I set out to determine the farthest point from a Micky Dee’s – in the lower 48 states, at least.  This endeavor required information, and the nice folks at AggData were kind enough to provide it to me: a complete list of all 13,000-or-so U.S. restaurants, in CSV format, geolocated for maximum convenience.  From there, a bit of software engineering gymnastics, and…

Behold, a visualization of the contiguous United States, colored by distance to the nearest domestic McDonald’s!

The contiguous United States, visualized by distance to the nearest McDonald's.  Click on the image for a larger version!

The contiguous United States, visualized by distance to the nearest McDonald's. Click on the image for a larger version!

You can download a bigger, wallpaper-ready version of the visualization, too!

As expected, McDonald’s cluster at the population centers and hug the highway grid.  East of the Mississippi, there’s wall-to-wall coverage, except for a handful of meager gaps centered on the Adirondacks, inland Maine, the Everglades, and outlying West Virginia.

For maximum McSparseness, we look westward, towards the deepest, darkest holes in our map: the barren deserts of central Nevada, the arid hills of southeastern Oregon, the rugged wilderness of Idaho’s Salmon River Mountains, and the conspicuous well of blackness on the high plains of northwestern South Dakota.  There, in a patch of rolling grassland, loosely hemmed in by Bismarck, Dickinson, Pierre, and the greater Rapid City-Spearfish-Sturgis metropolitan area, we find our answer.

Between the tiny Dakotan hamlets of Meadow and Glad Valley lies the McFarthest Spot: 107 miles distant from the nearest McDonald’s, as the crow flies, and 145 miles by car!

Suffer a Big Mac Attack out there, and you’re hurtin’ for certain!  For a coupla hours, at least, unless graced by the tender blessings of “manna from heaven” – that is, a fast food air drop from the Medi-Copter.

Update: See “The Hungry Midwest” for a regional zoom of this map.