Wednesday, September 09, 2009
I bet Jigglypuff could sing that dog to sleep. But then she’d have three foreheads to draw on with her Magic Marker.
Have you ever had one of those days where you feel the hot breath of hell hounds on the back of your neck? Where you feel anxiety about the uncertainty of the future, and about how the boatman’s gonna row all of us over the river some day, like it or not?
It was just a rhetorical question.
And it’s not like I spent any time this last weekend playing with someone else’s child’s toys, cruelly fitting Wendy upside down in the center jaw, and then Sir Handsome straight out to the side at a ludicrous rigor mortis angle, and then introducing Anonymous Sidesaddle Elf Princess to the remaining jaw, carefully squeezing the plastic dog teeth closed around her abdomen. My friend did that. She even laughed a little while she did it.
I was as shocked as you are. I think she has some unresolved aggression probably. I only laughed too so she wouldn’t be a lonely laugh-er. Nothing’s worse than being a lonely laugh-er. Except maybe a flesh-eating disease.
And just because I took a picture of the nightmarish tableau and then set Cerberus free to wander in a dreamy marsh-like Photoshop environment with his jaws full of human chew toys, you shouldn’t think I was enjoying playing with molded plastic, or that it represents anything. No strained metaphor here, no commentary on the impending death of childhood.
Definitely there was no contemplation on the worry you might have about maybe having to give up your favorite action figures just because you’re in middle school now, and what if the other kids find out you have a box with awesome elves and Harry Potter figures, and maybe even some old Pokémon (oh,there’s Jigglypuff!) at home, and that they still matter?
It’s just a picture. Sheesh. Let’s change the subject, shall we?
So. I was going to write a post last night, but Manson was on the History Channel, and those people feel like family.
Actually, they mostly just look like I remember my cousins when I was little, all long, pointy hair and groovy clothes and mysterious smoking things in their hands. Also an air of danger, and some mindlessness.
Anyway everyone on the show was oddly familiar, and then I had a bad post-simulated –murder- spree taste in my mouth, and no time left to post.
But tonight I’m here, writing a post about (let’s pretend that Manson detour never happened, okay with you?) Greek mythology, and Peter Pan, and some existentialist angst, and a great kid with a box full of childhood. I hope he keeps that box for a long, long time.
Sing us out, Jigglypuff.