Random Thursday (ˈrandəm ˈTHərzdā): the day on which Sarah plunks down all the odd bits and pieces she’s been sent by friends or has otherwise stumbled upon this week in an effort to avoid writing a real post, the assembly of which usually ends up taking twice as much time as sitting down and creating actual content.
This post was made possible through timely and weirdly synchronous e-mails from caitlin and liligrif, who have been keeping me in random for a while now.
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I’m a Doctor, Gnome, not a . . . never mind
Trek Gnomes are the brainchildren of the lovely weirdos over at ThinkGeek.
oooooOOOOOooooo
A Bouquet of Roses for Who(m)?
Yes!
(and also for Lyra, because I miss her)
oooooOOOOOooooo
March of the Gnome-Eaters
My friend Caitlin, who is an amazing writer (see?),
sent these to me last month because she saw them and thought of me,
or, rather, my caffeine gnomes:
I hope she was thinking of the gnomes . . .
Seriously, these Gnome Eaters—
or Gnome Be Gones, as they’re professionally called—
are the awesome, though they remind me more of my caffeine gnomes themselves
than of something that will ward them off.
Either way, I love them.
If you love them, too—
or will admit a weird fascination with them—
check out metal-artist Fred Conlon’s website at Sugarpost.com.
Thanks, Caitlin!
oooooOOOOOooooo
Random Dance of Victory
Technically, Keith Apicary, who is one of the alter egos (or alter ids) of actor and dancer Nathan Barnatt, is not a gnome. Or a rose.
But he’s certainly random:
oooooOOOOOooooo
The Year of Gnomage
A few years ago, artist Jessica Peill-Meininghaus pledged, amid the chaos of her life,
to make one felt gnome a day for an entire year.
She did this to teach herself about follow-through, the satisfaction of completing small things,
and, I assume, grim determination.
And also felt gnomes.
And then she wrote a book about it.
I haven’t read it yet—I put a hold on the library’s copy—but I already like it.
Not just because I could use a little follow-through in my own life,
but because her gnomes are exactly like the ones in my old, tattered, much beloved, field guide:
When I was a kid, I pored over this guide and searched the woods for signs of them.
Since I knew would probably never meet one for real, I begged my parents night and day would have happily settled for a Gnome doll.
My mother, who had started my obsession by buying me Wil Huygen’s guide, drove me a long way to a special toy store that supposedly carried them, but when we got there, the content of the box looked more like a befreckled Dopey in a fake beard than the dignified denizen of the forest I was expecting.
I declined and she agreed—and bought me several little china renditions, instead. I still have ’em.
But it looks like Ms. Peill-Meininghaus has provided the solution to my childhood wish.
Maybe I’ll give myself a year to figure out how to make one . . .
oooooOOOOOooooo
Stick Figure FTW!
Jane showed me the first one of these, and I ended up following them through to the inevitable end, which is my favorite.
Again, not a gnome nor a rose, but totally random BAMFery:
Earful of Cider 