There’s so much string here, or rope. Attached somehow, somewhere near the ceiling. Some of it looks like you could hold back bunched drapery. Others are thinner, like slender tie-backs or Beyonce’s locks. One is a face with braids off to the sides, and then for the actual face there is, guess? More rope — thicker rope that resembles a spinal column. All in all, these ropes are very heavy. Combined, that is. There are many, but they are orderly and you can count them; doing so would be easier than adding combed hairs You can drive thru them like at a car wash. They are that long.
Pam Anderson Doll
A friend and I are crafting a lifesize doll. We are building it in the image of Pamela Anderson, with those same smoldering lips and the blonde hair, the color of fresh-picked corn. Big bosoms, too. This is to buoy neighborhood morale in these turbulent times. All in all, Pam will be an almond-toned, anatomically correct, windswept Wonder Woman. She’ll have penciled eyebrows, precisely rendered, and those same aquatic eyes. We’ve also recently decided on a Baywatch theme for her, so she’ll get a one-piece red bikini. There’s an old rowboat in my friend’s front yard, and we plan to clean it and install the doll there when it’s finished. We want residents to know that someone is there to protect them, 24/7. Granted, some of the neighbors will probably complain because there is little else to do in our town. But we have no HOA, and local code enforcement is pretty lax, so we won’t sweat it too much. Pamela Anderson most likely will remain free to oversee our street, watching the young children play. People will come by to check her out. It is Pam Anderson, after all. They will take photos and video of her. They will look on in admiration, recalling Pam’s heroics on the LA County beaches. They will ogle and envy her body while they’re at it. But the more astute oglers will take note of Pam’s washed-out expression. They will ask why. And Pam will just stare off into the distance from the boat’s front deck, clutching her floatation device.
The cast of National Geographic’s Safari Live is not beneath discussing a spider web. The other day while exploring the African bush, one picked up a termite near its mound and went on about it, and in another episode, a guide held grassy elephant dung and extrapolated. Where did the matriarch go? These guides just do not want to run out of things to say or show you. Never a silent moment. You also will notice how brazenly close they park to the wildlife just to please us. They want us to see those leopards lounging in the sun at dawn or the elephants commiserating near a pond. During down time, I’m thinking that a major activity is studying nature guides and other reference texts? Cast members do have to avoid being stumped by viewers who tweet questions with the proper hashtag. On YouTube, meanwhile, viewers can engage in a live chat. But mostly they don’t ask questions. They just banter off-topic, post emoticons and make silly remarks, like poop patrol (in the case of the elephant dung). I’m assuming these are latchkey kids nostalgic for Yahoo! chatrooms. Burnt out from their workaday lives and in need of some element of nature and camaraderie. I personally do not take part in the chatroom foolishness. I simply watch the show because I love feeling like I am in the jeep. The camera angle will make you feel like that, too. It’s practically a first-person vantage point.
Cassandra Keenan is a poet, flash-fiction writer and visual artist living in Las Vegas, Nev. Her fiction has been published by Gravel, formercactus and Five 2 One magazine. Her poetry is included in a women's literary anthology titled Legs of Tumbleweeds, Wings of Lace.