God's Little Creatures

I've read this phrase on the BSNYC blog comments: "mimes make a careful study of the way things are done, and then they do them in the correct way." For some reason, it really caught my attention; may be because mimes are so mesmerizing, moderately creepy and seem to be completely out of place no matter the circumstance. In any case, I've caught myself trying to analyze the way people do things, but soon drifted into trying to figure out WHY are they doing all these things. Unfortunately, this thought is not at all new, and already a while back I've established that making sense of people's movements is hopeless, and that the only thing to do it to take things for face value.
One thing still bothers me though. Child shows. Muppets. Passpartout. Sesame Street. You name it. Think about the concept itself, think slowly. Adults produce an unnaturally lit space in which half-paralyzed, disproportional figures move as epileptics in a rave. These furry relatives of Chucky are presented in quasi-normal setting doing seems-so normal things. However, any time I see one of these shows I feel somewhat disconnected from reality, and not in a good way. The kind of disconnection you get when you are standing on the edge of a cliff or a tall building, and a sudden gust of wind takes you by surprise; and for a split second you have this double vision - in one you are still standing, and in the other already falling. I don't know if kids actually enjoy that kind of thing, but I clearly remember how I was afraid of the dark for an entire two weeks after I watched 5 minutes of the Muppet Show when I was about 4 or 5. Seriously, I just fail to understand how can somebody like red fuzzy big-mouthed frogs lip singing out of sync!
I think what freaks me out so much is that the life of all these creatures, anthropomorphic or otherwise, is grossly oversimplified; since it refers to the common actions that we perform on the daily bases I inevitably end up putting myself in the shoes of a clumsy, chubby, shaggy creature squeezed into a theme park created by a group of college design students on acid, who forgot that centi- and millimeters are not the same thing. Subjective? Yes, no denying. I'm just tired of people turning on the nostalgic look in their eyes and starting to sing whenever they see one of these things.
Don't get me wrong though, I don't hate all kids' stuff. I love cartoons. I adore some of childrens' literature. But childrens' music and shows are, and always were, beyond my understanding.
What triggered the rant above is that when I mention the word passpartout to some of my friends, they instantly think of the show. Not the master key, which is actually what the french word means, not the character from the classic "Around the world in 80 days," but the show. Of course, there is no shows' fault in it, and plenty of other references to world-wide classics go unnoticed, but... that is already an all different rant on the North American popular education and common knowledge, into which I don't want to get once again.

Way Down Below The Stars

With the below +20 C temperatures being establishing at 45°30’ northern latitude and 73°40’ western longitude the Autumn Spirit have arrived a bit early this year. The sweater-weather lovers rejoice to hear the cracking of dry leaves under their feet and tires of their bicycles, the nigth rides accompanied by chill wind smell of burnt leaves, and the puffy-tailed squirrels accelerate their run to find and hide as many used muffin papers as they can, looking something like this:
The Spirit, that in my day-dreamy world appears as a melancholically ironic and mildly transparent lady walking around the dark alleys and parks in slight confusion. Some fear her, some desire, some envy. She can easily do things we cannot even imagine, travel the realms that she unknowingly creates. Now I catch myself staring at the black board, like the ram at the new gates, while the professor is going on about the electrical fields; I don't understand any of this, so ride off to smell, see, and hear, all this spiced with a hint of guilt of missing another class.
Some time ago, I have observed a trend, that whenever I say that I'll never do a certain thing, this very thing seems to be doomed to happen. Any person who knows me, also knows my unappeasable hatred for tomatoes. It is easier to make me quit smoking cold turkey rather than make me eat a tomatoe, even if it is integrated in a sandwich. Well, behold! Recent experiments demonstrated, that integrated tomatoes are actually consumable. With awe I await the moment, when my restless experimenting mind will push me to try an unintegrated tomatoe.
Unfortunantly, before I realised the destructive spellpower of the word "never," I've made a bunch of hasty statements, one among which was that I shall never marry. Unsuspectingly and singlehandedly, I forged and placed a sword in the hands of Nemesis. However, the Great Creatures of the North *bows three times* have sent an omen, that the strike may be escaped...