Plastic Pastoral

October 14, 2012

Scribbling

I am in love with this picture. I really am. I’m giggling right now as I type. Every time I see it, I at least smile.

Which is apropos to its origins into my little world. As many of you that know me on the ol’ Facebook are aware, I post a couple of silly pictures on Friday and Saturday nights for people to write captions for and try to crack each other up. After spending much of the early years on the ‘Book engaging in, shall we say, lively discussions on most of the things our parents-OK, grandparents-would find boorishly rude to discuss in public, I came to the highly researched position that it would be better for all involved to try to create more positivity than negativity. Let’s laugh. Ideally, at ourselves.

Don’t get me wrong, it was a good learning experience. I suppose in a similar way that Army basic training was a good learning experience. Nah, this was way better: I could do it in my underwear (or less), I got exposure to a much wider range of viewpoints than I ever would in non-virtual reality, and I got plenty of attention that I could turn off at will. My personal reactions to all those things have been enlightening, especially when combined with a natural propensity for the mental back step from myself that we talked about in our last little chat. Don’t get me started down that rabbit hole again, trust me…

So anyway, I’m fishing for fodder for the Saturday night funnies when I stumble across this little gem above.  This wasn’t for captioning. Oh, no. Not quite right for the part. No. Shut the front door! This was Facebook profile cover material at its finest. The quintessential, hip, iconic, ironic, symbolic, bucolic with frolic image for the facile land of images, visual or otherwise.

Whatever art is, I know this touches me on so many levels. I feel a glow of emotion, thought, and biochemistry when I look at this that feels good. That makes it fun to be alive. And no, I’m not saying it gets me randy. More the delicious play on what gets us randy. OK, maybe it makes me a tiny bit randy, too. But that’s where it gets all the more fun, right? To have a chance to laugh at ourselves in the Fun House mirror, and somewhere in the back of our mind a little seed gets planted that can often germinate and start climbing all over our ego defenses. Fun stuff.

I’m tempted to trot out my own litany of acute observations and rather impressive symbolic perceptions of what this image “represents” (and yes, you must actually do “air quotes” when your read that, so please go back and do it again), but besides the sitting around in my underwear part, I’ve learned the second best part of all this virtual connection is getting that exposure to so many other perspectives. I would love to hear yours… ¦-)

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5 Comments on “Plastic Pastoral”

  1. 68ghia Says:

    Having a funny bone tickled seems to be a very personal experience.
    at least you had fun with this one – my bones get tickled with Cyanide & Happiness…
    Barbies, in any way, shape or form, even in jest, has never done it for me. Unless it’s the joke about Divorced Barbie…

    Reply

  2. Patti Says:

    During my own childhood and my daughter’s, I’ve known a lot of Barbies – I think this is just a very fun, happy picture. And I love the beautiful curve of the splash of water!

    Reply

  3. Cameron Says:

    I grew up next to a creek, and my Barbies (and Kens) were champion co-ed, naked, white-water swimmers, so this image pretty much just takes me back.

    And then, of course, there’s the giggling at the swimwear ad-ness of it all, the double take at Barbie’s presence in such a setting, the gorgeousness of the natural elements, etc… but mostly just memories of chucking her headfirst into the culvert and seeing if she could get all the way to the skating hole without getting stuck in tree roots or rock outcroppings.

    Reply

  4. bexgonegeek Says:

    I am waiting for Jaws or Jason Voorhees to come out of the water… Forbiding not frolicking to me. And I was a Barbie fanatic once upon a time.

    Reply

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