Sometimes I feel like the tiny little marble at the beginning of a Rube Goldberg machine. Just dropped off somewhere with the purpose of being a catalyst for better things. Rolling along with little inkling to what happens next—flames, paint splatter, art, and smashing suspended rubber tires? It's a strange kind of analogy, but I'm in a strange kind of mood today. It fits, I think.
I give you Melvin the Machine. It's the prettiest Rube Goldberg-like contraction I've ever seen. Of course it's Scandinavian.