Question: What do rehabilitation patients and Nintendo Wii have in common?
Answer: St. Mary’s Medical Center

Question: What does CNBC’s "Squawk on the Street" want with St. Mary’s?
Answer: A medical perspective on how Nintendo Wii is now being used to help patients meet rehabilitation goals.

Click here to watch the complete story.

Check out the new logo for the UK Office of Government Commerce.

Nice, right?

Simple.
Clean.
Inoffensive.

Now, tilt your head to the left and look at it again.

HIYO!

The intrepid reporters at The Register say:

"Well, we contacted the OGC for comment, and a spokesman gamely
explained: "The proposed version, which you have sent over, has been
shared with staff, and is now going through final technical stages. It
is true that it caused a few titters among some staff when viewed on
its side, but on consideration we concluded that the effect was generic
to the particular combination of the letters ‘OGC’ – and is not
inappropriate to an organisation that’s looking to have a firm grip on
government spend!"

Jolly good fun, eh, wot?

Thanks to Boing-Boing for the tip. link.

Mortar client Element Four was at the Aquatech trade show in Las Vegas last month. While there, they were able to take their eyes off the incredible view from their suite long enough to close deals with eight distributors from the U.S., Canada, Japan and other far-flung locales.

Element Four’s flagship product, the WaterMill is a revolutionary new air-to-water generator. If you don’t believe us, take the distributor’s words for it:

“The technology and workmanship of E4 is of the highest caliber and it shows in everything they do,” said Stuart Belshe, owner of Gyro Kinetics Hawaii.

“The Watermill is a work of art and it is obvious the team at element four are ‘the experts’,” said Teo Delecruz, PI sales at Unilab, Inc.

Now if they could only deal with the bunny problem in their hometown of Kelowna, B.C.

Have you ever been to a fair, only there’s no rides? And for some reason it’s inside of a giant basement and complete strangers ask you awkward questions every time you approach a booth – which turns out to have neither games nor prizes?

Welcome to the world of conventions, little Junior Copywriter. Behold the magical wonders that await around every partition, down every aisle. Enter to win more iPhones than you could ever possibly use – with a mere drop of a business card!

I was lured into this strange, subterranean land today while walking by the cubical of a fellow Mortaron. We shall call him "Sam Pipersky". Sam had an ad:tech badge sitting on his desk. Questions ensued. Fifteen minutes later, I found myself several blocks away at San Francisco’s infamous Moscone Center, trying to look inconspicuous amongst a sea of khakied promoters and men wearing blazers with lanyards instead of ties.

"What do I need a tie for? I’ve got a lanyard!" they must think.

I went from booth to booth, trying to absorb as much as possible before anyone back at Mortar noticed I was gone.

There were brochures galore, eye-catching piles of candy, bowls full of business cards, video displays for companies that had nothing to do with video, and hordes of colorful gizmos, whatnots, mousepads, and logo pens.

The booth staff were as diverse as the number of ways to put "e" before an otherwise low-tech company name. Some were laid back. Some were really excited. Some looked lonely. Most looked like they were eagerly awaiting the moment when they could put everything away and grab a nice cocktail. Some wanted to tell me about their company, but most wanted to hear about mine.

One, after glancing at my badge, asked, "So… Sam, what do you do at… Mortar?"

Not remembering that a very different title was on my badge, I replied, "Oh, I’m a writer."

"Oh. Hm, Pipersky, where is that from?"

Think fast, Thea! "Uuuuh, I think it’s German."

"Really. Interesting name, Pipersky."

I made a break for it, diving into the crowd – but first grabbing a logo-embellished sugar cookie.
I tried to blend in, taking a brochure here, a flyer there, a free mousepad, a foam million-dollar bill – until I made my way back near the exit.

On the way out, a little old man handed me a cone of fluffy blue cotton candy.
"For me?" I asked. He gestured to his mouth to explain that it was, indeed, edible.

It tasted like raspberries.

I left Moscone center and came back into the sunlight, disoriented – and slightly sweaty. As I walked back down the familiar blocks of my home city, by bearings slowly returned.

Had it all been a dream?

As I write this post, I glance over at the bulletin board on my cubical wall. There, between a zebra postcard and a humorously edited Superman comic frame, is a foam million-dollar bill, haphazardly tacked to the board by the coworker I threw it at.

Maybe ad:tech is real after all.