“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
Design by Madison Grosvenor
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