April 20, 2007

Planting a Seed

A friend from High School started a website called Sprout to showcase her Bumps creatures, artistic talents and consultancy services.

Awww, looks just like those cuddly, cute palm grubs people eat in the Congo

I'm not sure how she became so creative because, let me tell you, our High School squelched anything remotely creative, free-thinking and originial in each and every one of us. But I figure something must have planted a seed.

My most salient memory of her is during German class. It must have been in German class because I remember being bored out of my skull and totally clueless to what was going on around me. Although to be fair, that could have pretty much described any classes in High School.

She was sitting behind me and eating a babybel. She took the wax covering from the cheese and rolled it into a perfectly circular, shiny ball. Then she remodeled the wax again and made a little mermaid. I swear this is true! A mermaid made out of Babybel wax. Ahhh, good times.

Anyways, looks like she’s progressed well beyond the food art and into, into... well, weird creature-making. Go check out her most excellent Christmas video of the Bumps or directly on Youtube.

2 comments:

Madevi said...

Thanks for the post! Hope you like your very own Bump identity...

strudel said...

by An Englishman in Osaka

Alarm bell goes, it's six in the morn,
Salaryman lets out a mighty yawn.

He calls to his wife, to get the breakfast on,
But then remembers, she’s in a different futon.

She's in another room, on the second floor,
He likes it like that, cos he can't hear her snore.

It was her idea, to have separate bedding,
Thirty years earlier, just after the wedding.

She's been up since five, filling his lunch box,
Cleaning his shirts, and darning his socks.

For breakfast it's rice and a relaxing smoke,
Wife's a non-smoker, so she starts to choke.

He doesn't mind, he's watching the telly,
Balancing the tray on his burdgeoning belly.

He leaves for the train, he won't be back for a while,
His wife waves him off, with a bloody great smile.

He stands on the train, his face pressed to the glass,
While somebody's briefcase, slides up his arse.

Someone breaks wind, it's a kind of torture,
Faces stay straight, but eyes start to water.

Next station comes, near the city centre,
One person off, but 90 enter.

Salaryman squashed, against an OL's thighs,
He thinks of his wife, to stop an embarrassing rise.

The train gently rocks, from side to side,
Salaryman starts enjoying the ride.

OL's oblivious, to his growing affection,
She's too busy thinking about the summer collection.

End station comes, but salaryman doesn't,
It'd be a right mess, he knows he mustn't.

Off to the office, arriving at nine,
Says ohayo gozaimasu, about 93 times.

Sits in his seat, and that's where he'll stay,
Till it's time to go home, late in the day.