.: Curiosity Group: Don't Die Ding :.

With nothing more than a dream and a drive. It scrambles against all odds, tirelessly pursuing the light of day, desperately struggling to stay on track, all the while avoiding the pitfalls of compromise, doubt, and fatigue.

As Ding realizes firsthand, being an idea maybe isn’t such a great idea. His birth sends ripples of unwanted attention through the mind, as nasty things circle overhead, underfoot, and everywhere in between. He races through a dark and mysterious mindscape—through thickets of thought and brambles of brain. He must fly. He has to fly.

Just as Ding quests for the outside world, each of us must labor beyond our initial enthusiasm for our ideas and dodge the many challenges that stand in our way. Ding faces devils and danger. We face criticism and uncertainty. One thing is for sure: Nothing can stop a good idea from growing wings and soaring (though most everything tries)…

Don’t Die Ding!: A Holiday Spectacular was an idea hatched in the minds of executive creative director Steve Klinetobe, art director and illustrator Alberto Cerriteno, motion arts expert Lloyd Bagtas, and writer/composer Dale Basye. All these people work for Curiosity Group, a place where ideas are wrapped in fluffy blankets and sent into the world with nicely packed lunch pails.

Ding is a little guy with a big idea— an idea so big that he is the idea. He was born to run, to make himself something. He is driven by instinct, like a salmon swimming upstream to spawn, only— instead of making hot fish love and dying—Ding is driven to make his presence known in the world, so that people love him, even if it means dying in the process. See? If he stops, he is dead. In this way, Ding is both like a shark and a salmon, though really, he is an idea. He lives on the corner of “Aha!” and “Oooh, yes: of course!!”

Miss Davis has two things going for her. One, she is kind. Two, she is persistent. She is Ding’s fairy godmother, and is fairly good at helping Ding fare thee well. She serenades Ding with sweet encouragement and helps light his way from her buoyant bubble of bubbling back-up. And while she doesn’t exactly hit every high note, she slaps them around a bit. She is the only true friend that Ding has. An idea has many friends once it has been accepted, once its need for friends has gone. But to befriend an idea when it is but an untested notion: That is true friendship. That is Miss Davis. She is both an A cup and a D cup.

This unholy triptych is out to trip Ding up at every turn. They are the exact opposite of the three tenors, though much like Placido, Luciano, and the other guy, they strike fear into the hearts of all-you-can-eat buffet owners everywhere. They are a trio of baritone sirens seeking to lure Ding off his path. Ominous and overpowering, they rattle Ding’s sense of resolve with their incessant, booming voices—chanting and lurking—casting shadows of doubt in Ding’s heart. Luckily, Ding’s heart is bigger than his common sense, and he runs regardless. Always running, yet never running out of ideas. The Three Giants All Named Tall are hungry for ideas. They want to eat Ding. So run Ding must, and run Ding does.

A mind is a terrible thing. It is crowded and dense with danger. Too many ideas, too many demons, and too many pink flat jumpers. And not all ideas are good—like the electric bidet—and Ding has many skewed versions of himself scrabbling for freedom. It’s survival of the fittest, so Ding must outrun his brothers and sisters that distract and discourage. Not all red-herrings are red, after all (nor are they all small, oily fish of the genus Clupea found in the temperate, shallow waters of the North Atlantic and the Baltic Sea). You don’t know what is what, who is who, why is why, where is where, and when is when. It’s enough to make you forget who you are—like when you stare into the refrigerator in the middle of the night. Or like when you write character bios.