Shantay, You Stay

Prompt: Earworm


Don’t you hate it when you get up, have a shower, realize you are too sick to function, go back to bed with wet hair so that you look like a clown when it dries, miss out on a whole day and don’t even manage your usual Wednesday post?

The struggle is real. But I’m fine and busy and had time to mull over the prompt, “earworm”, which is a tune that buzzes around in your head and is impossible to silence. When I feel sick I like to binge-watch stuff on Netflix— well, even when I’m not sick. In any case, I’m up to season 10 of RuPaul’s Drag Race, a reality-style competition show that pits drag queens from across the nation of America in a contest that nets the winner $100,000, some make-up, and huge drag queen fame.

When you binge-watch, Netflix edits out repetitive credits but the basics of the RuPaul theme song remain… “May the best woman winnnn” and of course the show is filled with repetitive songs and catch phrases (“The library is open!”) and insider jokes. The song that simply will not leave my head after a binge evening is “Cover Girl”, which plays every episode when RuPaul, before the judging segment, appears in full glorious drag and struts down the runway:

Cover girl
Put that bass in your walk
Head to toe
Let your whole body talk

That’s about it. But that little fragment spins round and round in my tiny brain until it collapses in on itself in exhaustion… then I sit down and watch anther RuPaul. I am diligently focussing on this series now so that I can reach the final episode and have that song grow wings and take flight for a destination far, far away.

(…BTW, I tend to like the quirky and the glamorous queens, like Tyra, Raja, Sharon, and Sasha.)

May  I now present a wee cartoon extravaganza?

cartoon that good

Merry

cartoon hickock


And remember, if you can’t love yourself, how the hell you gonna love somebody else?

~~FP

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Robin

Prompt: Enigma


It’s it is somewhere between twilight and darkness and the clouds are defined by the light ash sky behind them. Crickets are making their night sound. And I am thinking about Robin, the enigma.

Robin arrives on our back lawn every evening at 5:30 pm. He is tall and plump for a bird and has excellent posture. He hops around on two legs. When he hears worms making worm noises beneath the sod, he stops, tilts his head, and pounces. Then he continues his hop but with a worm or half a worm dangling from his beak. The ritual continues. When enough worms dangle he disappears, presumably to his hungry young family, tucked away in a nest in a location unknown. Then he returns, hopping and posing and pouncing, until sunset.

Robin returns every afternoon, punctually, so that I always know when it’s happy hour. This is a great service.

I can’t help but wonder what sound worms make in the dense earth under the grass. I wonder if they can feel Robin thudding around on the surface. “Oh shit, here he comes. Everybody run!”

Robin is not bothered nor distracted by me. He doesn’t fear me. If he does, he hunts anyway, for how else with the kids eat? He is a success as a provider.

I see the quail, and their parade of babies. I see the ducks, and their trail of ducklings. I watch them fatten and, sadly, dwindle in number as the season stretches on. I will never see Robin’s babies.

But I’ll see Robin tomorrow at 5:30 sharp. Cheers!

As it is Wednesday, many I now present a few of my favourite random cartoons?

cartoon mystery wrapped

cartoon nice moat

cartoon security


Peace and love,

~~FP

Teach a man to yodel

Prompt: Taught


Dear Wednesday,

Memorable teachers I have known:

Miss Howard: My grade one teacher was a kindly old woman (was she really old, I wonder? I remember her as grandmotherly). See Spot run. Look, baby, look! A good introduction to school for a sensitive little boo like me. My younger brother and sister were not so lucky.

Miss McGillvray: My second and third grade teacher was young and pleasant; liked kids and loved her job. She had freckles.

Miss Ferguson: My fourth, fifth and sixth grade teacher was a gem. Pushed us hard because she knew we could excel. I learned to write essays (yes, essays) in her class, a skill I needed and used in university. She once rapped my knuckles with a ruler for passing notes. She saw me as a feverish loony when she made a house visit when I was off school for three weeks because of strep throat. I missed my stage debut as Mrs Flintstone in the Christmas play because of this illness, which probably dashed my future career as an actress.

Mr Fraser: A prankster. It was fun to have a teacher with a sense of humour— also got my sense of humour.

Miss Connor: The one who called me a dim bulb, and failed a story I wrote because she didn’t know what a “gremlin” was. No, I still hold a grudge.

Miss McIntyre: Never was a teacher more well-intended but more boring. I used to pray for nuclear war to put an end to the mental paralysis caused by the topic “portage”.

Miss Campbell: Miss McIntyre after 30 years a teacher and thoroughly bored (and still boring).

Mr Cummings: a young teacher who somehow got me through Math class, which I took by mistake since I was hopeless and disinterested, and congratulated me after graduation at a basketball game for passing the final exam, when I was embarrassingly high as a kite and just grinned and drooled silently like a maniac.

Mr Creep: Several of my post high-school teachers fit this mold. Yep, creepy comments, asking me out, penalizing my work if when I didn’t cooperate, downright sexual harassment. One of these was expelled by the University of British Columbia because of me. Well, not me directly. My mother and a few other parents petitioned the Dean of Women after hearing a few of the stories, which I told as if they were jokes. She didn’t tell me this for 10 years.

The teacher who told me every single word matters hugely in a poem you are writing, and every single stroke counts mightily in a picture you are drawing.

And may I now present several of my favourite cartoons, some tenuously related to today’s prompt, “taught”?

cartoon janitor conference

cartoon give a fish

cartoon viii skater


Peace, love, and early season cherries,

~~FP

Legal Drugs

Prompt: Law


Dear Wednesday,

I wonder what the world would be like if there were laws that penalized or even incarcerated liars?

Think of anti-vaxxers, who put the world (yes, the world) in jeopardy of preventable disease pandemics. Or YouTube conspiracy theorists who bully the innocent and terrorize the gullible. Or policy-makers who claim devotion to bettering the human condition while taking bribes to do the opposite. Or a big fat Orange Foolius who lies multiple times daily and renders a entire nation laughable, harmful, and ineffectual all at once.

And he doesn’t even cross his tiny fingers.

…Quick, a diversion! Like you and the entire population of the Universe, I am sick to death of you-know-who. So may I present a few of my favourite cartoons, more or less related to today’s prompt, “law”?

cartoon divorce

cartoon higher court

cartoon legal drugs


Peace, love, and good health,

~~FP

Bad Goldfish

Prompt: Unrelated


Hello Wednesday,

As summer approaches we get busier here in tiny town, with gardening, watching fish mate, visitors, making up species names for birds, wondering what “that smell” is, mentally putting out forest fires, and treating sunburn. It is a magical time of year.

We are thinking of getting a puppy. There is a local farm litter of chubby creatures of unknown lineage, and a couple of shepherd/ lab puppies now available at a local SPCA. Life is so easy and peaceful without a puppy, dear Wednesday, so I’m of two minds. My brain is split. My heart wants a cuddly fur ball, but my muscles, joints, and sleep centre all scream ARE YOU SURE?

Decades ago I did this: I woke up in the morning and noted that I felt cheerful enough to hum a random song, that it was supremely easy to propel myself out of bed, that I felt healthy, fit, alert, awake, energetic, and optimistic about the day ahead. I wondered if that moment would be worthy of a spot in my memory. It was a worthy thought. I appreciated, even if for just a fleeting moment, my youth and vigour, and as I now am greeted each morning with bizarre little aches, pains, random bumps, vague mental lapses, and a desire for a puppy, at least I have that vivid sense memory of a time when my body sang, even if my brain was annoying and juvenile.

The saddest thing in the world: a lone duck or Canada goose gliding across the lake,  obviously looking for a missing mate. Also puffins washing up on shore starved to death because global warming has caused their food fish to flee to colder waters further north. Today I recycled a wax milk carton, so I’m part of the solution.

Before I go and peel an orange, may I present a few of my favourite cartoons of no particular theme?

cartoon switch on

cartoon reserved table

cartoon bad goldfish


Love, peace, and happy memories.

~~FP

Less Tuba

Prompt: Stranger

cartoon strangers day

Stranger is a strange word. A stranger is someone unknown, and it’s root is “strange”, which kind of sets up the scenario that we should be suspicious and even on high alert when in the company of someone strange, a stranger.

A stranger is just a friend you’ve never met. Some cheerful people believe this.

A stranger is an alien and fearsome. Other people cheerfully believe this.

A good way to lose a friend is to treat them like a stranger. I believe this, less cheerfully.

The war for the hearts and minds of people all over the world might just boil down to how we perceive strangers, from new next door neighbours to international treaties.

I will definitely ponder that as I eat an orange.

For now, relating not to strangers but to merely, mildly strange, may I present a few of my favourite cartoons?

cartoon rapunzel

cartoon prodigal son

cartoon less tuba


–]

Don’t be a stranger!

~~FP

Insomnia

Prompt: Earworm

dreams

Once there was a way,
To get back homeward.

Once there was a way
To get back home.

Sleep, pretty darling,
Dot not cry
And I will sing a lullaby.

Golden slumbers,
Fill your eyes
Smiles await you when you rise.

Sleep pretty darling
Do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby.

My brain is oh-so-literal, judging from the soundtrack it’s put together for insomnia. But the brain forgets that the insomniac will bounce through soothing lyrics in triple time, completely neutralizing their somnolent qualities.

Still, it’s a lovely song, from the Beatles’s Abbey Road album. Lovely, but with something angry bubbling to get out. Perhaps my insomnia soundtrack should be more ragey (let it all out before sleep) or more sweet (no hidden anger).

Or I could take a pill.