The Insights of a Young Bobolink

Congratulations on the 16th anniversary of your birth. Please report to: Rodent Assignment Terminus #1 13th Avenue Manhattan, NY 

Honest to God, I had no idea there even was a 13th Avenue on Manhattan but here I was.  After about two minutes of look around, I spotted the ramshackle little kiosk in the corner of the floating block of asphalt and pavement.  It was surrounded by mini traffic cones forming an impromptu runway that led right to the small window carved in the side of the slanted hut.  I knocked on the window sill and waited.

The tiny window slid open and the wizened face of an old lady appeared.  By my rough estimate, she was approximately 170 years old.  “Name?”  She croaked, taking a drag off her cigarette with shriveled lips.  

“Uh… Addison.  Addison Sharpe.”  I held up the pamphlet with my eyebrows up, letting her know I also did not know why I was here.  

The window slammed shut and I heard the bustle and groaning of the old lady getting up out of her seat.  

To my surprise, she appeared outside the kiosk with a metal wire hanger-looking device with a hook hammered into the end.  She shuffled three feet to a tiny, manhole cover and slipped the hook through one of its holes.  I rushed forward to offer to do it myself but to my utter shock, she lifted the manhole up and to the side with no more effort than it took her to slam the small window of her kiosk.  She removed her cigarette with one hand and cupped her mouth with the other.  “Addison Sharpe!”

A low, unholy sound emerged from the depths of the hole in the ground.  It sounded like 8 million chairs squeaking across a poorly-waxed floor.  It sounded like 32 million claws clicking and clacking their way across a cement car port.  It sounded like the asthmatic breathing of a mass of nightmares.  It got closer… and closer to the top of the hole.

A single rat, about the size of a small chiuahua, emerged from the hole.

“Look, he got dressed up for you,” the old lady wheezed affectionately, and casually moved the manhole cover back into place.

The rat in question appeared to have a pink bow on his head, stuck there with what I can only assume (and hope) was gum.  He regarded me, whiskers twitching, beady eyes staring. 

“I like your bow,” I offered.

The rat hobbled towards me, latching onto my pant leg with sharp little claws and climbing until he reached my hoodie pocket, where he settled with a decisive sigh.  

So, Disney storyboarded Hercules in live action with dancers. My mind is blown

What if supernatural creatures don’t exist anymore? What if they did once, but through the years, they slowly mixed in with humans?

You can see the blood of fairies in the way a ballet dancer hovers in mid air before he or she hits the ground. You can see it in the way that middle school girl never forgets when someone makes her a promise. You can see it in how that one little boy in the kindergarten class seems more comfortable in the forest on that field trip than the others.

You can see the blood of dryads in hikers who never trip over roots. You can see it in that suburban grandmother never lets any of her garden die. You can see it in that one kid who climbs a tree faster than his friends, barely looking at the branches as he goes.

You can see the blood of naiads in the way a professional swimmer seems to command the water to help them. You can see it in how a cross country runner needs a water break more often than his teammates. You can see it in the way that one girl in your class always has a water bottle on her desk.

You can see the blood of mermaids in a surfer who can be tossed around underwater for a long time without drowning. You can see it in a teenage boy who doesn’t have to pretend to be unbothered by the pressure when he races his friends to the bottom of a swimming pool. You can see it in the little girl who wades into every stream she sees on a hike without quite knowing why.

You can see the blood of sirens in people who never have a problem with getting people to date them. You can see it in that soprano who can hit notes most of her fellows can only dream of. You can see it in the camp counselor who all the straight girls have a crush on, who can play guitar and sing better than any of the others.

You can see the blood of shapeshifters in the way an actor adjusts their personality to become their character with scary accuracy. You can see it in the subconscious, barely noticeable changes a tween girl’s eyes make to match her outfit better. You can see it in the way you always lose that one friend in a crowd if you’re not careful, because he’s just too good at blending in.

People who carry the blood of werewolves don’t change with the full moon anymore, but you can still see it in the way your best friend always knows something is wrong, though even they don’t know they’re smelling the changes in your body chemistry. You can see it in the way that one guy always seems to eat more than the reasonable amount of red meat at an all-you-can-eat buffet. You can see it in the way that one werido never has a problem when the teacher turns off the lights before a PowerPoint presentation because her eyes adjust quicker and better than yours.

One of the world’s best-loved operas has been given a radically different ending in Italy, with the heroine killing her tormentor rather than being killed herself, in a stand against violence to women.

In Bizet’s original story, Don José is a naïve soldier who is lured away from his military duties and his childhood sweetheart by Carmen. But she then falls for the handsome bull-fighter Escamillo, driving Don Jose wild with jealousy. The last act of the opera is set outside the bullring in Seville, where Carmen is stabbed to death by Don José.

In what is believed to be a world first, a production of Bizet’s Carmen will see Carmen shoot her thwarted admirer Don José with a pistol that she grabs off him, rather than being stabbed to death by him.

The dramatic departure from operatic orthodoxy is an attempt to shine the spotlight on the modern-day abuse and mistreatment of women, an issue given added resonance by the outrage over the behaviour of Harvey Weinstein and Donald Trump.

The new version of Carmen will open at Florence’s opera house this weekend, with the first few nights already sold out.

“As far as we know it is the first time that the ending to Carmen has been changed,” the opera house’s Paolo Klun told The Telegraph.

The producers said they had changed the denouement of the story in part to protest at the large number of Italian women who are killed each year by jealous husbands, boyfriends and lovers.

Sociologists and campaigners say it is driven by men feeling threatened by the greater freedoms and enhanced economic independence that many Italian women now enjoy after decades of being seen as pliable possessions.

With horrific cases of domestic violence coming to light almost every month, the directors of the work said they were uncomfortable with the idea of audiences applauding the final scene, in which Carmen is stabbed to death and lies motionless on the stage.

DANCING GUY!! by Talbot (4yrs old)

I ran some animation workshops with kids at the State Library earlier this month. When I showed the results to my kids, Talbot wanted to have a go.