Random Thursday: Glass Octopuses Shouldn’t Throw Musical Fords at Australia

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.

Just go with it.

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The Australian Booksellers Association would like to remind you of a simple, yet oft overlooked fact this holiday season:

Words to wrap by.

As a related aside,
when I told the friend who shared this on Facebook (hi, Paula!) that I wanted an Octopus anyway,
she sent me this:

All Hail the Octopodian Empire!

And good friends, too.

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Even Victoria Would Be Amused

The Melbourne Symphony Orchestra, already amazing, gets ten extra awesomepoints for this.

The conductor, Cezary Skubiszewski, gets twenty.

And the agency who came up with this and all the people who made it work?

They get All Of Them.

(Thanks, Siobhan!)

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Terrapin Glass Octopus

The day after I finished Nanowrimo, I rewarded myself by going to the local Art Fair
and buying myself a small, handmade, glass octopus.

This should surprise no one who knows me.

This is a terrible photo—I took it—so just trust me when I say that the whole of this translucent little guy shines, and any nearby light source makes him glow.

Those tiny dots on the underside of his tentacles are the palest pink—it works—and they feel good when you hold him in the palm of your hand.

When I hold him, I mean.  ‘Cause he’s mine.

I’m pretty sure his name is Herschel, but I don’t know why.

He was made by Jonathon Gartland,
a twenty-year old artist who can do beautifully detailed, remarkably tactile, and often disturbing things with glass.

Like this guy, who look up at me with his expressive little eye and reminded me of all the dragons I used to doodle in my math notebooks.
And maybe also a catfish crossed with a chihuahua:

All I know is, he fits perfectly into my hand while I’m thinking—
a smooth glass worrycreature packing two sharp barbs.

We’re still working on his name.

Mr. Gartland doesn’t have a website, yet,
or much of a Facebook presence at the moment,
but keep an eye out (pun intended) for Terrapin Glass out of Peoria.

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Random Dumb Joke You Will Be Telling at Least Two People:

What goes “Quick! Quick!” ?

A duck with the hiccups.

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Ode to an Ad Agency

I’ll confess to being indifferent about Fords, or even cars in general,
but I’m absolutely gone on the advertising agency who came up with this:

(thanks, Dee!)

Advertisement

Random Thursday: Random Acts of Octopus (and a hamster)

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.

Still waiting for that click.

But meanwhile . . .

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Searching for an Honest Octopoda

Ladies and Gentlemen,
I give you the Walktopus.

Eureka!

Scott Musgrove’s artwork is truly amazing.

Go look at his online portfolio.

Right now.

You’re welcome!

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“Mom! Mom! Mom! Do the Voice!”

“What voice?”

“The hamster voice.”

“Again?”

“Pleeeeeeeease?”

“Hey, this new wheel is pretty cool . . .Oh, hey, Gerald, how’s it goin—no, we both need to run in the same direction, right okay, watch my foot, there we go . . Wait, no, slow down a minute, dude, we gotta match speed, or okay, that—no, wait, dude, no, wait—WAIT . . . AAAAUUUUGGGHHH! Stop, no, stop running, Gerald, it’s NOT HELPING! AAAAUUUUGGGHHHStop! FOR THE LOVE OF ALFALFA PELLETS, GERALD, STOOOOOOOOOOP!!! AAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH! Okay, whew, no, wait, stop—I have to—I’m gonna—not AGAIN!!! Gerald, STOOOOOOOOP,!!  I’m gonna hurl, dude. What is the MATTER WITH YOU?!  AAAUUUGHH! No, NO! No, seriously, I need a minute. Here, I’ll just—nope, not going near the food bowl . . . Oh, god, no . . . “

“You mean that one?”

“Yeah.  Now do Gerald.”

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Our new Cephalopod Master
accepts your uncontrollable squees
as his rightful tribute.

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Octopus UnChained

Jordan Anderson does amazing chainsaw wood carvings.

His artwork has won several awards.

Show of tentacles:
who’s surprised?

(click the image to see a brief, righteously awesome Making of video)

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Monty Octopus’s Walking Marginatus

I wonder what the top waterspeed velocity of an unladen veined octopus might be?

Poetry Wednesday: Ode to the Cephalopod Mollusc Contest!

Tell me, O Octopus, I begs
Is those things arms, or is they legs?
I marvel at thee, Octopus;
If I were thou, I’d call me Us.

—Ogden Nash

You know there’s an unfortunate lack of poems about a certain subject when I’m forced to resort to Odgen Nash, who was a clever, playful, and undeniably talented man whose utter disregard for meter drives me batguano insane.*

We shall not speak of how quick that trip must be for a woman who spent the better part of two hours searching for octopus poetry.

Instead, we shall agree that it’s clearly time for another Try It Yourself Poetry Contest!

The rules, as usual, are simple:  Write me an octopus poem. 

Don’t care what kind, dore care what quality—but there should be at least four lines.  And if your references go beyond nudge, nudge, wink wink, e-mail it to me, please.**

There will also be double points awarded for rhyming one of the Latin classifications and for using one or more particular biological quirks of a specific cephalopod mollusc (make sure I know which one, please).

Vitreledonella
Is such a funny fella
He plays at being naive and prim
But everyone can see right through him . . .

Ahem. 

If you accept this challenge and post the poem or a link to your own place in the comments—or e-mail them to me —your name will be entered into the Pink Cowgirl Hat of Win for a chance to own the regular-sized Cafepress mug of your choice,*** which doesn’t have to feature an octopus—but c’mon, how cool would that be?

This one is gonna be quick:  contest starts now and ends midnight (CST) on Thursday. 

Winner will be selected and announced on Friday.

Tell your friends!^

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*Not that I don’t appreciate a few of his poems, or at least what he was saying in them, but those are a rare exception—this is one of ’em.

**Kev, you’re still on limerick suspension.  I’m not joking.  And any graphic references to hentai will be passed on to your mother.

***Or an online gift card, if you prefer not to supply your postal address or CafePress won’t ship to your country, though so far, so good.

^If you’re related to me by blood or marriage, you aren’t eligible for this contest, sorry—but if you enter, at least I’ll know what to get you for your birthday.

Random Thursday: Silly Cephalopods

There’s no real reason for any of this, except I like octopuses* and it’s my blog.

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Soliloquy Octopus Hams it Up

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What does Sir Octopus wear when it gets cold?

 

A coat of arms.

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Octopuses have three hearts and their blood is blue.

I don’t know whether to attempt a poem about this or try an undersea crime piece about a vulgaris private-eye who falls in love with the society Octopoda who hired him to find out who turned her beloved father into sushi:

“Hold me!  Hold me in all your arms until we drift someplace far away from here . . .”

“I’m no good for you, Cirrina.  I’m from the wrong side of the genus.”

“Forget about all that, Sam!  Your blood is as blue as mine . . . “

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How do you make a baby octopus laugh?

Ten-tickles!

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Slightly More Adult Joke**

A guy walks into a bar with an octopus. He sits the octopus down on a stool and tells everyone in the bar that he’ll bet anyone $50 that this octopus can play any musical instrument.

A guy walks up with a guitar and sets it beside the octopus. The octopus starts playing better than Kirk Hammett and the guitarist pays up. Another guy walks up with a trumpet. The octopus plays the trumpet better than Louis Armstrong, so that man pays up.  Everyone else who tries to stump the octopus loses fifty bucks—it can play everything.

Finally, a Scotsman walks up with a set of bagpipes. He sits them down and the octopus fumbles with them for a minute before putting them down with a confused look.

“Ha!” the Scot says. “Can’t you play them?”

The octopus looks up at him and says, “Play it? I’m going to mate with it as soon as I figure out how to get its pajamas off.”

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SWF?

I can’t decide whether this is obscene or just really, really cool:

Maybe both?  But I’m fascinated with the way it blooms into its own colors.

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*The plural, or so I’m told, isn’t octopi—supposedly, that word came into use because several people mistakenly thought octopus was one of those Latin words that declench, or whatever it is Latin words do, squeezing  -us into -i in the process—which to my unsophisticated mind seems a bit backwards when I am clearly fewer than us.  But it isn’t one of those.  And as someone once told me, why would you ever give up the opportunity to say octopuses in public, anyway?

**I said adult, not mature.