Dr. Seuss and his 500 Hats

Theodor Geisel. The man himself. Dr. Freakin' Seuss. 

Today I spent some time trolling around the various news websites looking for something funny to talk about. At first, I found comedic hope in a man suing Outback Steakhouse over mashed potatoes. But that article became sad and scary when I read further. The dude actually needs to be suing them for about three times what he is. Outback had let broken chunks of ceramic plates fall into the mashed potatoes--and then instead of making a new batch, just went ahead and served the rockier version.

Onward and onward I searched. Turbulent times in Kiev, American Olympian Women get some sweet new bling, Russia lookin' in on Ukraine and dreaming sweet dreams about pipelines. Nothing immediately hilarious, nothing to make light of.

But, like my Father once told me, "When the news is mainly good news, that's when I'll start to worry." With that wisdom in mind, I was undeterred in my search of the funny and lighthearted.

And then?


Hats. Hats and whimsy.

                                       Audrey & Ted Geisel courtesy of the Dr. Seuss Estate

Dr. Seuss apparently collected hats, and like my grandmother and her many collections, hid them all away on his estate in some mysterious, presumably dark, closet--only to eventually be discovered by his grieving relatives. He also collected paintings, but that's less fun. 
Editors note: My grandmother is alive, I'm just positing an educated guess on the future of my grandmothers home.  

75 years ago Dr. Seuss wrote The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins, and in honor of that, his (I'm thinking awesome) hat collection is going on tour.

It's hard not to laugh when you think about Dr. Seuss actually owning a hat collection. Now that I know he actually did--it's impossible for me to think of him not having one. Dr. Seuss without a hat stash would be like Barry Bonds not having a baseball room, or Michael Phelps not having a medal case. I also imagine Seuss having a really odd garden somewhere, and drinking tea with animals and communing with nature, but not in a cultish, druidic way, but like, just talking, you know, man to tree. 

I tend to imagine Dr. Seuss as a reverse to all of the themes that they teach in English Criticism and Literary Theory courses to students who will spend the next ten years looking for jobs and eventually going back to school for something else: Man vs. Nature becomes Man with Nature. Man vs. Machine becomes Beware the Machine, but heck, Man with Machine. Man vs. Himself becomes Man finds Himself, but Himself is actually a person-like-thing dressed like Beetlejuice and the book is probably a pretty good read. 

I don't find Dr. Seuss to be a source humor in the classic way. I've never laughed at Dr. Seuss. Even our favorite comedians typically poke fun at themselves, it alleviates some of the tension when they make fun of others and things for a living. Dr. Seuss had a way of writing that helped us think, helped us learn for ourselves. Did we laugh? Of course. But one laughs with Dr. Seuss. 

Now I'm sure the man himself was not perfect. But his work was. Imagine a world without the Lorax, Horton or the Cat in the Hat. Imagine a world where leaves are only green and the Grinch never stole Christmas. It's hard to think about my childhood and not see and hear Dr. Seuss' influence. 

Editors note; Sadly, we already missed the Florida dates of the Seuss hat-show (they were in Tampa back in January.)

So, instead of that sad news, I'll leave you with this great piece from Buzzfeed.
If Dr. Seuss Titles were Named According to their Subtexts.