“Good morning, everyone, and 
welcome back to yet another round 
of Bones or No Bones: the game 
where we find out if my 13-year-old 
pug woke up with bones, and, as a 
result, we’ll find out what kind of 
day we’re going to have.” 
This is how Jonathan Graziano 
opens almost every one of his Tik-
Tok videos featuring his adorable 
pug, Noodle. For over a year now, 
Graziano has made jokes about 
Noodle having “no bones,” flopping 
back down on his bed every time he 
has to get up to go for a walk or use 
the bathroom. In the last couple of 
months, Graziano has begun post-
ing daily “readings,” in which Noo-
dle’s having bones (or lack thereof) 
determines how our day will go 
as well. “It’s kind of like reading 
tea leaves,” he says in one video. A 
“bones day” is a sign of good luck, 
and we’re supposed to treat our-
selves 
and go after the 
things we want. A 
“no bones day” is 
not necessarily a 
bad thing, though. 
Graziano 
rec-
ommends we 
use the day for 
self-care, and 
just take it easy. 
For those of us lucky 
enough to have these 
little videos cross our 
“For You” pages, Noo-
dle has quickly grown 
into a cul-
tural 
phe-
nom-
enon. 
Graziano 
currently 
has 4.5 
million 
followers on Tik-

Tok, and #Bones and #NoBones 
have hundreds of millions of views 
as well. Creators are writing songs 
about Noodle, designing “bones 
day” animations and 3D-printing 
wallet-sized displays to help keep 
track of each day’s reading. Noo-
dle’s fame is not limited to TikTok, 
as he and Graziano have made 
appearances on several talk shows 
and most notably, Noodle 
was canceled by Rolling 
Stone. There’s merchan-
dise available just about 
everywhere, and teachers 
are even incorporating the 
lingo into their classrooms. I’ve 
heard stories of students in class 
crowding around someone’s phone 
to watch the daily reading once it’s 
been posted. 
So why does it concern me to see 
some people taking these forecasts a 
little too seriously?
Sometimes the videos under the 
Bones/No Bones hashtags are clear-
ly just meant to be funny, but other 
creators seem to be basing their day 
on whether an old dog stands up or 
not.
This isn’t the first time that the 
general public has taken the “advice” 
of an animal. We 
have an entire 
holiday built 
around 
it. 
Instead 
of 
controlling 
the 
weather, 
Noodle con-

trols people’s moods and energy, 
like a version of spoon theory for 
Gen Z. Why do we feel like we need 
an excuse to have a good day, or to 
take it easy?
If I had to guess, I’d say this is one 
of the ways we’re coping post-pan-
demic. Most of us are back in person 
now, whether it’s for school or for 
work. Having spent the last year and 
a half adjusting to 

isolation, I’ve found it’s an equal-
ly big adjustment to leave. Being 
expected to return to our normal 
workload is exhausting, and some 
of us still need a break but don’t feel 
like we’re allowed to take it. Noodle 
is our current solution to this prob-
lem, providing us with either the 
justification for taking that break 
or motivation to keep going. As one 
creator put it, “The entire world is 
revolving around Noodle right now, 
and we are okay with that because 
he came to us in a time of need.” 
There’s no telling how much longer 
Noodle’s fame will last, but for 
now, he’s helping us feel 
better — and looking 
cute while doing it.

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Wednesday, December 1, 2021 — 5

Design by 
Maggie Weibe

The cultural impact of Noodle the Pug

HANNAH CARAPELLOTTI
Daily Arts Writer

After 
a 
successful 
four-show 
run, the cast and crew of MUSKET 
wrapped up their production of the 
Broadway hit “Funny Girl” last Sun-
day at the Power Center. Audiences 
watched leading lady Fanny Brice, 
played by Music, Theatre & Dance 
sophomore Carly Meyer, go from a 
determined dreamer to a star whose 
attention every character longs for. 
Inspired by the real life of Fanny Brice, 
the musical follows the actress’s rise to 
fame and the effects fame had on her 
life off the stage. 
The show began with quite the 
entrance from Fanny. Walking from 
behind the audience, she made her 
way through the aisles to take her place 
at center stage. Shortly after, the first 
of many exclamations Fanny would 
make was a memorable one: “I’m a 
bagel on a plate full of onion rolls!” 
She admitted that she’s not like oth-
ers, but used this fact to advocate for 
herself, reminding the audience that 
what’s more important than surface 
appearance is self-advocacy. As she 
declared herself “The Greatest Star” 
in one of the musical’s most iconic 

numbers, other characters began to 
acknowledge her stardom as well.
While Fanny achieved fame, she 
was quickly consumed by it, and those 
close to her worried about its effects. 
When Fanny entered a long and com-
plicated relationship with the char-
ismatic socialite and swindler Nicky 
Arnstein, played by LSA sophomore 
Sohil Apte, the two sang a series of 
songs that depicted their struggle to 
find their identities apart from each 
other. By the end, Fanny found clarity 
back on the stage, with a triumphant 
reprise of the iconic tune “Don’t Rain 
on My Parade.” 
Storyline aside, serving as the base 
for the musical’s progression was the 
21-piece orchestra led by Andrew 
Gerace — the Music Director and LSA 
and Music, Theatre & Dance senior — 
seen swaying along to the music as he 
conducted. One of the musical’s most 
exuberant moments was the number 
“Cornet Man,” with trumpeter Ryan 
Venora, a Music, Theatre & Dance 
junior, onstage interacting with Fanny. 
Blasting like a big band, the pit orches-
tra showcased full energy as Fanny 
imitated the trumpet sounds above. 
Another show highlight came 
about midway through the first act 
with the number “His Love Makes 

Me Beautiful” — a scene that brought 
in stunning solos by Meyer and Music, 
Theatre & Dance sophomore Alex-
andra Humphreys. When Meyer 
struggled comically up a set of stairs 
— a possible nod to the stairs in the 
1968 film with Barbra Streisand — as a 
pregnant bride, her interactions with 
an appalled Humphreys were price-
less. 
As the bridal scene came to an end, 
figures in black swiftly wheeled the 
stairs offstage, bringing in simple pan-
els to transition into Fanny’s dress-
ing room. These stagehands were a 
reminder of yet another team driving 
the production forward. The mecha-
nism of actors onstage, musicians in 
the pit and stagehands worked like 
clockwork on the Power Center stage. 
With only a two-and-a-half-hour run-
ning time and a relentlessly moving 
orchestra below the stage, MUSKET’s 
production staff, completely student-
run, made a lasting impression, allow-
ing the cast to shine. 
“Funny Girl” marked MUSKET’s 
much-anticipated return to the Power 
Center since halting live shows in 
March of last year. While the theatre 
group had kept itself busy at the height 
of the pandemic with well-produced 
virtual stagings of “Bright Star” and 

“Newsies,” viewers last weekend laid 
witness to a full range of expression 
from an unmasked, in-person cast, 
with ample distance between stage 
and audience. 

In the words of MUSKET’s 
Music, Theatre & Dance senior Jonas 
McMullen, whose Director’s Note 
graces the playbill: “We are reminded 
why we love to gather in the theatre, 

when we could not for so long.” After 
all the time that has passed, the cel-
ebratory nature of MUSKET’s return 
seemed to make their year-long hiatus 
well worth the wait.

BECCA MAHON/Daily

PRISCILLA KIM
Daily Arts Writer

MUSKET returns to the Power Center for a weekend of “Funny Girl”

I bet you can think of a song from 
which you can never detach a spe-
cific memory. The kind where, every 
time it comes on, the place you’re 
currently in blurs, and you’re sud-
denly in another space, in another 
time. For me, books have the capac-
ity to bottle up feelings. “Bloom” by 
The Paper Kites will forever remind 
me of the novel “The Light Between 
Oceans,” and “Jolene” by Ray 
LaMontagne is the faint sound that 
accompanies any flashback I get to 
the novel “A Little Life.”
The greatest memory-keepers, 
however, are walks. More specifical-
ly, what I like to call ‘thought walks,’ 
the ones you take when thoughts 
become so loud that you feel like 
you need to drown them out with 
a tune that is ten decibels too loud. 
As much of a coping mechanism as 
it is, music can also be a catalyst, 
an absinthe that makes a specific 
moment in time become ingrained 
in your memory forever. 
Let me tell you about my favor-
ite place in Ann Arbor for those 

“thought 
walks”: 
the 
Pioneer 
Woods. It wasn’t until late in my 
time in Ann Arbor that I found it, 
and I’m bitter I didn’t find it earlier. 
You probably wouldn’t believe me if 
I told you the closest road to it was 
W. Stadium Boulevard (in my opin-
ion, the noisiest and least appealing 
road in Ann Arbor). 
It is the place where industrial 
life mingles with nature. There are 
various entrances to the woods, so 
many that I am pretty sure I have 
yet to discover new ones. Typi-
cally, I make my way toward the 
small, almost rabbit-hole paths off 
the side of W. Stadium Boulevard. 
Like entering Narnia, you go from 
being surrounded by street signs to 
tall trees that drown out the hum of 
city life. The woods are not big — it 
takes less than ten minutes to cross 
through them — but it’s a magical 
place where oaks, white pines and 
shagbark hickories engulf you, the 
leaves below your feet crunching 
with every step you take.
At the end of the woods, an 
arched tunnel created by bent 
branches leads you into a vast open 
space called the Greenview Nature 
Area. In the fall season, the meadow 

grows untamed, and in the spring, 
the weeds turn into colorful wild-
flowers that become the home of 55 
different kinds of butterflies. A few 

yards away is a little pond, seem-
ingly so forgotten and untouched 
that you could imagine the water 
has been the same since the begin-
ning of time.
The first day I set foot in this 
place was probably one of the most 
cathartic days of my life. I experi-
enced nature as one experiences 

the first snowfall or the first dip in 
the ocean after a cold winter. It felt 
pure, so much so that I felt like I was 
trespassing. Yet at the same time, I 

was welcomed, embraced by the tall 
weeds, calmed down by the sound 
they made as the wind brushed 
them from side to side. 
I sat down on one of the three logs 
at the top of the meadows, and here 
is where catharsis occurred. “One 
Sunday Morning (Song for Jane 
Smiley’s Boyfriend)” by Wilco start-

ed playing, and suddenly, breathing 
felt like a harder task than it usually 
is. I am not a crier, I never have been, 
but in that moment, a tear rushed 
down my cheek. They weren’t tears 
of joy, but they weren’t tears of sad-
ness, either. I think it was my body’s 
way of telling me it was at peace. 
“Outside I looked lived in” was 
whispered in my ear as I took every-
thing in. Those twelve melodic 
minutes glued every detail in the 
scenery to the twists and turns of 
the phrases, the piano motifs and 
the painfully honest lyrics. I had 
felt like this before, but it’s not often 
that a song and a landscape leave 
you gasping for air. I don’t mean to 
sound melodramatic, exaggerated 
or even absurd, but I really mean it. 
A song, “One Sunday Morning,” and 
a landscape, the Pioneer Woods, had 
caused a perfect chemical reaction 
— liberation pickled with sadness. 
Not out of grief, but by the mere fact 
that I couldn’t live in that moment 
forever. 
I knew I could still go back to 
the Pioneer Woods whenever, but it 
just wouldn’t be the same. Life isn’t 
static. It’s ever-changing, and I am 
a different person every time I go 

back — even if only two days go by 
between visits. But for twelve min-
utes, despite what I may be going 
through, despite the weather or the 
season or the reason for my escape, 
the warm tenderness that I bottled 
up one afternoon in May becomes 
present. I cannot come to these 
woods and not listen to “One Sun-
day Morning.” I make it a ceremony, 
actually, a ritual to see how this song 
morphs as I myself morph — reading 
between the lines and seeing details 
of the landscape I hadn’t seen before. 
It’s all part of a continuous narrative, 
one which parts me from the accep-
tance that that tenderness will never 
be as strong as the first day I encoun-
tered this safe haven.
Songs being memory boxes is a 
universal phenomenon, I think, or 
at least I hope it is. So I reveal my 
secret, my little treasure — it would 
be selfish not to. I think everyone 
should know this feeling of release 
through alignment. So go out to the 
Pioneer Woods and allow yourself to 
feel, whatever that means. 
The Wilco prayer said it first: 
“Something sad keeps moving, so I 
wandered around. I fell in love with 
the burden, holding me down.”

One Sunday morning at the Pioneer Woods

CECILIA DURAN
Daily Arts Writer

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