Thursday, August 20, 2015
Muppet of the Fortnight: Robin
Friday, July 31, 2015
Muppet of the Fortnight: Sweetums
As per a friend's request, today's MotF is Sweetums.
Sweetums is the greatest. Sweetums for president. All hail Sweetums. Glory be to Sweetums.
If it ain't abundantly clear, I love me some Sweetums.
"Why do you love you some Sweetums, good sir?', you ask?
Well, thank you for asking. I shall answer with a god-awful poem:
Well, that lived up to its billing. Bleh.
Right, so Sweetums is a seven-foot tall ogre who is also bashful, clumsy, a bit simple, and often hilarious. My earliest memory of him, if I have my memories straight (I probably don't, memory is a dodgy thing) is a picture in a book. Similarly to my Frazzle story, I had a Muppet book of some sort as a kid, I knew all the other familiar friendly faces, and then there was this one page...
This is where I'd post a picture of the page if I could find it. Instead, here's Sweetums busting through a wall like a boss:
It was just Sweetums eating a bowl of soup. But again, like Frazzle, he grabbed my attention, he stood out, and scared wee tiny me just a bit. Filling the page, he seemed massive, I'd never seen a Muppet with such size. He was this gigantic, rag-clad, shaggy monster with a face unlike any other Muppet. Animal may have similar features but he also has this seemingly crazed grin on his face. Sweetums, on the other hand, looked gruff and threatening, at least in this image.
I would assume my next exposure to the big guy was The Muppet Movie which would add depth to my interest as I was able to see that no, this big scary monster was not really scary but in fact, quite lovable and dare I say charming.
It's odd that Sweetums wasn't really my favorite Muppet until more recently. I didn't grow up loving him as much as I do now which I find rather strange in retrospect. He's everything I should have loved and for some reason, it was only in the last ten years or so that I really started digging him. I would chalk that up to him being more of a second-tier character, often in the background or only having a line or so, someone easily overlooked...and yet, that's also something that draws me towards other characters. I tend not to go for the most popular folks, this is what kept me from liking Kermit for the longest time. On top of that, I always like the misunderstood monsters like Frankenstein's monster, Quasimodo, X-Men's Beast (I do believe I'm repeating myself from my Animal post here) and Sweetums absolutely fits right into a group like that. I should have been over the moon for this guy as a kid and thinking back, I can remember kind of liking him but that was about it. Truthfully, though, my overall Muppet fandom and appreciation for the franchise and its characters has amplified quite significantly in that same time frame as my fandom for Sweetums specifically. So I guess it might just be a case of "I got older, wiser, and more into this stuff" and thus was willing and able to assess the various characters from a different perspective and evaluate my favorite on more mature terms?
But you know, also HE'S A BIG OL' GIANT FURRY MONSTER DUDE.
Another cool thing about Sweetums is that he's a full-body Muppet. He can be shown head to toe, he can walk around, he can dance, he's got a freedom that lends to a realism that isn't so easy to afford to other characters. You can suspend your disbelief that much easier when he's walking around like you or me. In fact, he appears in the theater during the Disneyworld Muppets 3D show, which I have attended and therefore, I can say I've seen him in person.
What I consider to be Sweetums' best moment is likely something few people have really seen. It's not from one of the movies or The Muppet Show, it's from a digital Muppisode on youtube and Sweetums steals the show and I think, steals the scenes from Gordon effin' Ramsey of all people:
What else can I say? I want to hug the big bastard and then go play soccer with him at the park and I don't even like sports. I...
I think I might be in love.
I think I might be in love with Sweetums.
I mean, I'm thinking of us spending time together and I can't stop smiling. I'm thinking of us canoeing at sunset and cuddling on the couch. I'm thinking of skipping through a field, hand in hand, and feeding each other grapes. I can see us playfully wrestling in the long grass before we roll under a tree and I find myself brushing back his shaggy locks as he holds me close. I can see a beautiful future together, I can see a happy future, I can see us growing old together...
...I, uh, think I opened up just a little too much there.
*ahem*
So, right, this was my blog about Sweetums who is probably my favorite Muppet because he is pretty great and stuff. Hope you liked it.
If you've got a Muppet in mind that you want me to ramble about, sound off all ten of you that read these MotF posts.
Close us out, Sweetums...
Good lord, I love him so...
[ignore the little frog, though, I hate that guy...future blog post to explain why?]
Sweetums is the greatest. Sweetums for president. All hail Sweetums. Glory be to Sweetums.
If it ain't abundantly clear, I love me some Sweetums.
[and so do all these hot babes]
"Why do you love you some Sweetums, good sir?', you ask?
Well, thank you for asking. I shall answer with a god-awful poem:
O Sweetums,
great lumbering brute,
big shaggy ogre,
man in a suit?
Full-body Muppets
they sure are neat
they seem alive
as they walk down the street.
You look like a monster
but are gentle and shy
it was your looks
that first caught my eye
but then your character
I began to see
and it was these factors
that endeared you to me.
[Your face says it all, big guy...]
Well, that lived up to its billing. Bleh.
Right, so Sweetums is a seven-foot tall ogre who is also bashful, clumsy, a bit simple, and often hilarious. My earliest memory of him, if I have my memories straight (I probably don't, memory is a dodgy thing) is a picture in a book. Similarly to my Frazzle story, I had a Muppet book of some sort as a kid, I knew all the other familiar friendly faces, and then there was this one page...
This is where I'd post a picture of the page if I could find it. Instead, here's Sweetums busting through a wall like a boss:
[OH YEAH!]
It was just Sweetums eating a bowl of soup. But again, like Frazzle, he grabbed my attention, he stood out, and scared wee tiny me just a bit. Filling the page, he seemed massive, I'd never seen a Muppet with such size. He was this gigantic, rag-clad, shaggy monster with a face unlike any other Muppet. Animal may have similar features but he also has this seemingly crazed grin on his face. Sweetums, on the other hand, looked gruff and threatening, at least in this image.
I would assume my next exposure to the big guy was The Muppet Movie which would add depth to my interest as I was able to see that no, this big scary monster was not really scary but in fact, quite lovable and dare I say charming.
It's odd that Sweetums wasn't really my favorite Muppet until more recently. I didn't grow up loving him as much as I do now which I find rather strange in retrospect. He's everything I should have loved and for some reason, it was only in the last ten years or so that I really started digging him. I would chalk that up to him being more of a second-tier character, often in the background or only having a line or so, someone easily overlooked...and yet, that's also something that draws me towards other characters. I tend not to go for the most popular folks, this is what kept me from liking Kermit for the longest time. On top of that, I always like the misunderstood monsters like Frankenstein's monster, Quasimodo, X-Men's Beast (I do believe I'm repeating myself from my Animal post here) and Sweetums absolutely fits right into a group like that. I should have been over the moon for this guy as a kid and thinking back, I can remember kind of liking him but that was about it. Truthfully, though, my overall Muppet fandom and appreciation for the franchise and its characters has amplified quite significantly in that same time frame as my fandom for Sweetums specifically. So I guess it might just be a case of "I got older, wiser, and more into this stuff" and thus was willing and able to assess the various characters from a different perspective and evaluate my favorite on more mature terms?
But you know, also HE'S A BIG OL' GIANT FURRY MONSTER DUDE.
Another cool thing about Sweetums is that he's a full-body Muppet. He can be shown head to toe, he can walk around, he can dance, he's got a freedom that lends to a realism that isn't so easy to afford to other characters. You can suspend your disbelief that much easier when he's walking around like you or me. In fact, he appears in the theater during the Disneyworld Muppets 3D show, which I have attended and therefore, I can say I've seen him in person.
What I consider to be Sweetums' best moment is likely something few people have really seen. It's not from one of the movies or The Muppet Show, it's from a digital Muppisode on youtube and Sweetums steals the show and I think, steals the scenes from Gordon effin' Ramsey of all people:
What else can I say? I want to hug the big bastard and then go play soccer with him at the park and I don't even like sports. I...
I think I might be in love.
I think I might be in love with Sweetums.
I mean, I'm thinking of us spending time together and I can't stop smiling. I'm thinking of us canoeing at sunset and cuddling on the couch. I'm thinking of skipping through a field, hand in hand, and feeding each other grapes. I can see us playfully wrestling in the long grass before we roll under a tree and I find myself brushing back his shaggy locks as he holds me close. I can see a beautiful future together, I can see a happy future, I can see us growing old together...
...I, uh, think I opened up just a little too much there.
*ahem*
So, right, this was my blog about Sweetums who is probably my favorite Muppet because he is pretty great and stuff. Hope you liked it.
If you've got a Muppet in mind that you want me to ramble about, sound off all ten of you that read these MotF posts.
Close us out, Sweetums...
Good lord, I love him so...
Friday, July 24, 2015
A Toast to Better Days Ahead: Part II
The sky burns orange and purple both above the village streets and in the glistening pools of blood that cover them. There is a war painting them crimson, a battle being fought between two sides quite unequal in number but very much equal in peculiarity.
On the attack are a mindless horde without strategy or tactic but only an insatiable appetite for the flesh of its inhabitants. They have seemingly risen from the very grave itself with vacant grey eyes masking a burning hunger that drives them relentlessly toward the warm bodies hiding behind brick and mortar.
They are opposed by the brave few who have taken arms to protect themselves, a few who have grown only fewer as ignorance to their undead foes have thinned their ranks. But they fight with their own allies from the other side of the grave, a pair who bring not only knowledge of the ravenous army but also an immunity to their infection and abilities far beyond those of the mortal townsfolk. This macabre duo lead the charge without fear for they are the vampire, Count Dracula, and the flesh-golem handiwork of Victor Frankenstein, now calling himself Hugo.
"Aim square between the eyes! No bullet can stop them lest it's fired into the depths of their brains! The grey matter within their skulls houses their only spark of life! Whether it be by bullet, blade, or bludgeon, its destruction will lay them to rest," The Count bellows the instruction to a portly mustached fellow gripping his rifle with hands that tremble with both terror and the will to protect his family, "Tell all who may pass this way so that their weakness might be exposed to as many a man as dare stand against them!"
"Or woman, sir," a voice draws the Count's eyes to the man's wife who now stands beside him brandishing a pistol of her own. Responding with a fanged smile, Dracula seemingly melts into a swirling cloud of ink that slithers upward through the air. The gun-clutching couple stand slack-jawed but for a moment before tightening their grip on both their firearms as well as their resolve as they hear the groans of the invasion.
The spray of near-black crimson bursts across the bricks as a pair of skulls shatter against it, each gripped from the rear by the sizable hand of their towering attacker. Upon dropping to the ground their destruction is complete as an equally sizable boot crushes what remains underfoot. The near eight-foot Hugo does not bother to wipe the gore from their treads before lunging toward another trio of moaning assailants. Seizing the outside pair by the face, he forcefully claps their skulls together, catching the third between them, their skulls crushing like melons upon impact. Wringing the drippings from his hands, he catches glimpse of the black cloud spiraling down beside him.
"The joy of feeling their skulls collapse in my palms is a strong temptation to remain where I stand, my friend, but we must press onward and make haste to prepare the next village for their arrival."
As the mist solidifies into the vampire's form, a hand takes shape on the shoulder of the giant.
"Preparations go before us, dear Hugo. I have sent letters of warning and instruction to the next few villages in the direction of their advancement with several of my finest kin. Knowledge of the threat that has besieged their neighbors shall now be met by the knowledge of how they can ready themselves to succeed against it. And our own personal efforts have earned us recognition already, my friend. Indeed, the tides have begun to turn as the waves of blood spill from this loathsome plague. As word of this ravenous army continues to spread, so, too, does that of the two creatures of the night who dare lead the charge against them."
"I seek not renown for my efforts. I seek only to extinguish the revulsion that contorts their features as they look upon me."
"I know you seek only equality among them but I do not doubt that you would also welcome a firm handshake, a pat on the back, a warm embrace, or even a kiss should it be offered. What if they were to look upon you with admiration? What if they were to applaud and cheer your name? What if their features no longer crumpled in fear and disgust but instead lit up with awe and respect? I assure you the burden of being well regarded will be a thousand-fold lighter than that which is currently shackled to your back."
"We haven't the time to debate the weight I'm fit to bear as our foes here are not fully laid to waste."
"Listen, my friend! As their shots ring out, the voice of the adversary diminishes! This town is standing its ground and soon it will stand in silence! Go then and find yourself a few more that you might destroy for your own pleasure for I believe our work here to be near complete. And when that silence washes over this town, rest your bones for you have earned your respite. I must admit, however, that I will continue to prod you toward accepting your role as celebrated hero."
"Rather hero than monster, I suppose, if it must be one or the other."
"They shall sculpt you in marble and fix it in their square!"
A half-smile and a sigh are the giant's reply as he clenches his fists and jogs off toward the sounds of combat.
On the attack are a mindless horde without strategy or tactic but only an insatiable appetite for the flesh of its inhabitants. They have seemingly risen from the very grave itself with vacant grey eyes masking a burning hunger that drives them relentlessly toward the warm bodies hiding behind brick and mortar.
They are opposed by the brave few who have taken arms to protect themselves, a few who have grown only fewer as ignorance to their undead foes have thinned their ranks. But they fight with their own allies from the other side of the grave, a pair who bring not only knowledge of the ravenous army but also an immunity to their infection and abilities far beyond those of the mortal townsfolk. This macabre duo lead the charge without fear for they are the vampire, Count Dracula, and the flesh-golem handiwork of Victor Frankenstein, now calling himself Hugo.
"Aim square between the eyes! No bullet can stop them lest it's fired into the depths of their brains! The grey matter within their skulls houses their only spark of life! Whether it be by bullet, blade, or bludgeon, its destruction will lay them to rest," The Count bellows the instruction to a portly mustached fellow gripping his rifle with hands that tremble with both terror and the will to protect his family, "Tell all who may pass this way so that their weakness might be exposed to as many a man as dare stand against them!"
"Or woman, sir," a voice draws the Count's eyes to the man's wife who now stands beside him brandishing a pistol of her own. Responding with a fanged smile, Dracula seemingly melts into a swirling cloud of ink that slithers upward through the air. The gun-clutching couple stand slack-jawed but for a moment before tightening their grip on both their firearms as well as their resolve as they hear the groans of the invasion.
The spray of near-black crimson bursts across the bricks as a pair of skulls shatter against it, each gripped from the rear by the sizable hand of their towering attacker. Upon dropping to the ground their destruction is complete as an equally sizable boot crushes what remains underfoot. The near eight-foot Hugo does not bother to wipe the gore from their treads before lunging toward another trio of moaning assailants. Seizing the outside pair by the face, he forcefully claps their skulls together, catching the third between them, their skulls crushing like melons upon impact. Wringing the drippings from his hands, he catches glimpse of the black cloud spiraling down beside him.
"The joy of feeling their skulls collapse in my palms is a strong temptation to remain where I stand, my friend, but we must press onward and make haste to prepare the next village for their arrival."
As the mist solidifies into the vampire's form, a hand takes shape on the shoulder of the giant.
"Preparations go before us, dear Hugo. I have sent letters of warning and instruction to the next few villages in the direction of their advancement with several of my finest kin. Knowledge of the threat that has besieged their neighbors shall now be met by the knowledge of how they can ready themselves to succeed against it. And our own personal efforts have earned us recognition already, my friend. Indeed, the tides have begun to turn as the waves of blood spill from this loathsome plague. As word of this ravenous army continues to spread, so, too, does that of the two creatures of the night who dare lead the charge against them."
"I seek not renown for my efforts. I seek only to extinguish the revulsion that contorts their features as they look upon me."
"I know you seek only equality among them but I do not doubt that you would also welcome a firm handshake, a pat on the back, a warm embrace, or even a kiss should it be offered. What if they were to look upon you with admiration? What if they were to applaud and cheer your name? What if their features no longer crumpled in fear and disgust but instead lit up with awe and respect? I assure you the burden of being well regarded will be a thousand-fold lighter than that which is currently shackled to your back."
"We haven't the time to debate the weight I'm fit to bear as our foes here are not fully laid to waste."
"Listen, my friend! As their shots ring out, the voice of the adversary diminishes! This town is standing its ground and soon it will stand in silence! Go then and find yourself a few more that you might destroy for your own pleasure for I believe our work here to be near complete. And when that silence washes over this town, rest your bones for you have earned your respite. I must admit, however, that I will continue to prod you toward accepting your role as celebrated hero."
"Rather hero than monster, I suppose, if it must be one or the other."
"They shall sculpt you in marble and fix it in their square!"
A half-smile and a sigh are the giant's reply as he clenches his fists and jogs off toward the sounds of combat.
Tuesday, July 14, 2015
Always Be Yourself (aka Don't Be Batman)
So that thing at the top there, about being Batman. Someone posted in my Facebook wall one time...I guess 'cuz they know I dig comics and such. But I've given it some thought and I've come to a conclusion:
I do not want to be Batman.
Even if I could, even if it were possible, even if I could just wake up tomorrow without any effort and be Batman, I would decline.
I'm not sure if this is the part where fanboys and girls go off at me? Let me just play that part for a moment....
WHAT?! WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU NOT WANT TO BE A BRILLIANT MILLIONAIRE SUPERHERO WHO HAS SWEET GADGETS AND CAN FIGHT AND GETS BABES AND IS COOL AND OHMYGOD WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU!?!
Something like that. Let's say that you're asking me that...maybe not quite in those words and not so loudly because you're polite and that's why I like you. You're a class act, you know that?
Ok, so I won't deny that there are some parts of being Batman that would be alright:
-shit-tons of cash money
-straight-up jacked physique
-all the cool gadgets
-butler
-cool costume
-smart as hell
-handsome? (Bruce is supposed to be good looking, yes? I mean, he's certainly better looking than I am regardless)
-know all the fighting moves
Maybe a few more. Ok, cool, yeah that sounds pretty good. Pretty desirable stuff there. So why don't I want to be Batman?
First: the responsibility. You know the Spider-Man quote. if you're going to be a superhero, that's a pretty heavy burden to carry. You've gotta figure stuff out, you've gotta get out there and do things, and most importantly, you have to succeed. That's not easy. That's hard as hell. And you've got to do it routinely. You've got to bust your ass and make sure you get the job done. Because if you don't, there are some pretty serious consequences. Then you've let down the victims, the public, and yourself. You're just some idiot in a leather jumpsuit trying to be something he's not. The whole city, sometimes the world, is relying on you to not only realize there is a situation, not only figure out how to then tackle that situation, not only get out there and follow through on tackling that situation, but also successfully accomplish tackling that situation with as few side effects as possible. And hey, maybe you succeeded in stopping the bad guy from blowing up a thing or whatever but what if you botched up just a bit? What if instead of a thousand, even five people, even just one person, died because you miscalculated just a little? What if some big fancy building, maybe a hospital, was destroyed in the process? Sure, you've got shit-tons of cash money to pay for it but hey, there goes a chunk of your change and every time you look at that checkbook you'll remember that one time you let a hospital get destroyed. People probably died waiting for the new one to be build, you idiot.
[Hospitals aren't built overnight, jerk!]
Ok, so you've got a sick ripped body now. You're athletic as all hell. Fast, strong, agile. You're the pinnacle of the human body. You look great. Probably ought to take some pictures because even if you just woke up as Batman, this body isn't going to maintain itself. Soon as you start slipping on your workouts, soon as you start eating the wrong stuff, soon as you start getting winded just a little easier, start getting softer in the wrong places, you're going to have some problems, FatBat. You've got to train like a machine and eat smart, all that jazz, because if you lose a step, that means you don't catch that guy falling off a building, you don't throw that Batarang fast enough to deflect a bullet, you don't get to that bomb in time, you don't win the fight against that bad guy...and you fail. And we talked about you failing earlier. You don't want to fail. So if you're not pounding bad guys, you better be pounding weights...
...'Pounding weights' is a thing people say about working out, right? I don't know, I don't work out in the slightest...yeah, so you know, not really the right person to be Batman.
Alright, now let's address that you could die a lot. Like, you're out there fighting guys with guns and bombs and powers and stuff and they don't have your moral code or one rule or whatever, they will gladly kill you dead and make a very concentrated effort to kill you dead. And that's when you're actively engaging them. When you're not and you're just chilling at home, there are still a bunch of powerful crazy-ass bastards that are trying to figure out who you are and are trying to kill you dead. This also doesn't take into account your potential to make mistakes. That bomb I keep mentioning could blow up and kill you dead. Maybe you mistime that grappling hook and instead of swinging like a badass so you make a cool silhouette in front of the full moon, you just fall a couple hundred feet and you're Splatman. Basically every day you have a thousand chances to die. I mean, sure, that's true with all of us but you're really ramping up the odds in your line of work if your line of work is Batman.
I mentioned people trying to figure out who you are. That's another thing: the secret identity. Although, maybe you just go public with it? Some heroes keep it under wraps, some just put it out there. Either way you want to do it, though, you've got to figure out how you're going to play that game without making a big-ass mistake that again, gets you killed. Or gets everyone you love and care about killed. That's another thing, those crazy-ass bastards are going to come for your friends and family. You've got to figure out how you're going to keep them safe. Maybe by keeping your identity under wraps but that's no easy task. Maybe you put it out there and go public...but then that might just be inviting danger to your door. Or to your dear sweet mother's door. Or to the door of the one woman you've ever loved. Or to the door of your beloved canine companion. Or the door of your whole effing city. I guess the other option is to only be Batman...no normal life, no social life, no public persona, no escape...yeah, that also sounds like it might be kind of rough.
You can't just coast. You can't just be Batman and you're all set. Like I said about the body issue, you need to not only be constantly maintaining your body and mind but you've got to be getting better. All the time. You don't want to be predictable. You don't want your enemies to be able to figure out your stuff and be ready to counter all your moves and gadgets and whatnot. And they're going to keep trying to out-smart you. Better plans, better weapons, better everything...you've got to keep up, you've got to stay ahead of them, or at least not be too far behind them or again...dead people, man. So while they're coming up with better plans, better weapons, better everything, you need to be, too. The same old Batman's not going to cut it, bucko.
So, let's review why you should always be yourself even if you can be Batman:
If you are Batman, you need to be out in at least your city risking your life fighting crime and succeeding as much as possible with as few mistakes as possible when you're not doing that you need to be making every effort to improve yourself mentally and physically and technologically to be able to combat foes that are doing the same and who are also intent on killing you and probably everyone you hold dear and you have to wrestle with your dual identities all the while.
You may also have to team up with Robin or Batgirl or the JLA and figure out the whole teamwork thing as well as be responsible for not fucking up and getting them killed, too.
[And getting Supes on your bad side might get your head punched into a fine mist...]
Oh yeah, and if you want to be Batman your parents have to get murdered! So you know, maybe you think that's a fair trade, I dunno. Maybe your parents are jerks. Mine aren't. So I don't think I'd be down for the whole parent murdering thing.
[I mean, it seems to have affected Batman a fair bit...]
You know why Batman's so grumpy and brooding and it's easy to find images of 'sad Batman'? Because being Batman sucks.
["*sad noise*"]
So that part where I played the role of an angry BatFan up there...I probably should have just said:
HEY YOU IDIOT, IT'S JUST A JOKE!
And then not written 1400 words explaining why I would not want to be Batman. But then...wouldn't be much of a blog if I just told myself to shut up all the time, right?
I'm just saying given the choice between being the goof who just wrote this blog and being The Caped Crusader...I'll stick with being me. I mean, I'm not a billionaire playboy with eight-pack abs who knows all the fighting moves but hey, I can just sit here like a goof and write a stupid blog on a Tuesday evening and only have to worry about if my cat's going to shit on herself again tonight. Seems like a little lighter a burden is all I'm saying.
Now then...
...no arguments here.
Muppet of the Fortnight: Big Mean Carl
I do believe I've fallen behind and am a week late in posting a new Muppet of the Fortnight. It doesn't seem like these are my most popular posts so I don't know if anyone really gives a hoot. I will apologize regardless. Keep your hoots, you might need them later.
Now let's talk about Big Mean Carl!
Alright, I'm going to be honest in saying that me and Carl aren't overly familiar. Truth be told, when I went to write this column, I just Googled 'Muppets' and looked at the images to pick somebody to write about. I saw the above picture of Carl and was like, "Yes!" But I only recognized the face, I didn't recall the name, and had to think a bit about any appearances I could remember...and I only came up with one: the shitty Christmas special with Lady Gaga from last year.
Ok, so truthfully, it wasn't all shitty. The Muppets had some decent segments in between the musical performances. The rest of it was the problem. I don't hate Lady Gaga, I'm fairly indifferent to her, but it was just a big-ass commercial for her new album disguised as a Christmas special. It was pretty unpleasant. But again, the Muppet segments in between were fairly ok and saved it from being a complete waste of time. Anyway, as it pertains to Big Mean Carl, our man of the hour, I do distinctly recall him being a highlight and perhaps the highlight as I remember my wife and I laughing at his bit more than anything else. He auditions to be on it with a magic act that involves making his assistant disappear...by eating him.
Now, I had to go and do some research on ol' Carl and apparently he did a few variations on this skit on Muppets Tonight. I have to admit, big of a Muppets fan as I am, I only recall seeing a few episodes of that show when I was younger and have never managed to revisit it since.
...oh crap, there goes my credibility...
So enough about me, let's get back to Carl!
So the bit is usually that Carl comes out with an act (ventriloquist, psychic, etc.) and ends up eating the other character. That's his gimmick. Simple but effective.
There's something about muppet-eating-muppet scenes that I really like even though they kind of break the magic and make it clear it's just a puppet getting shoved into the mouth of another puppet that's got an opening somewhere in the back of their black fabric gullet. It's like that peek behind the curtain where understanding the magic doesn't kill the magic but makes you appreciate it more. They're so goddamn good at this puppetry that you forget they're puppets and then for that split second when Big Mean Carl shoves some poor bugger into his gaping maw you're like, "I see how they did that" and for a moment, they are puppets, but that's fine because HE ATE THE OTHER ONE.
So what else can I say about Big Mean Carl? He's got an amusing and memorable look with his horns, bulging eyes, bulbous nose, and cavernous mouth, and he's got a good shtick that makes for memorable skits. He's funny stuff. You don't always have to be a layered superstar like Kermit, sometimes you can just be the big hilarious monster that eats things/people and be awesome in your own right. Keep up the good work, Carl.
Now let's talk about Big Mean Carl!
["Hi everybody, my name is Carl!"]
Alright, I'm going to be honest in saying that me and Carl aren't overly familiar. Truth be told, when I went to write this column, I just Googled 'Muppets' and looked at the images to pick somebody to write about. I saw the above picture of Carl and was like, "Yes!" But I only recognized the face, I didn't recall the name, and had to think a bit about any appearances I could remember...and I only came up with one: the shitty Christmas special with Lady Gaga from last year.
Ok, so truthfully, it wasn't all shitty. The Muppets had some decent segments in between the musical performances. The rest of it was the problem. I don't hate Lady Gaga, I'm fairly indifferent to her, but it was just a big-ass commercial for her new album disguised as a Christmas special. It was pretty unpleasant. But again, the Muppet segments in between were fairly ok and saved it from being a complete waste of time. Anyway, as it pertains to Big Mean Carl, our man of the hour, I do distinctly recall him being a highlight and perhaps the highlight as I remember my wife and I laughing at his bit more than anything else. He auditions to be on it with a magic act that involves making his assistant disappear...by eating him.
[Let's be honest, that assistant looks delicious...]
Now, I had to go and do some research on ol' Carl and apparently he did a few variations on this skit on Muppets Tonight. I have to admit, big of a Muppets fan as I am, I only recall seeing a few episodes of that show when I was younger and have never managed to revisit it since.
...oh crap, there goes my credibility...
So enough about me, let's get back to Carl!
["Hi everybody, I'm still Carl!"]
So the bit is usually that Carl comes out with an act (ventriloquist, psychic, etc.) and ends up eating the other character. That's his gimmick. Simple but effective.
[Finally a psychic that's not a fraud!]
There's something about muppet-eating-muppet scenes that I really like even though they kind of break the magic and make it clear it's just a puppet getting shoved into the mouth of another puppet that's got an opening somewhere in the back of their black fabric gullet. It's like that peek behind the curtain where understanding the magic doesn't kill the magic but makes you appreciate it more. They're so goddamn good at this puppetry that you forget they're puppets and then for that split second when Big Mean Carl shoves some poor bugger into his gaping maw you're like, "I see how they did that" and for a moment, they are puppets, but that's fine because HE ATE THE OTHER ONE.
So what else can I say about Big Mean Carl? He's got an amusing and memorable look with his horns, bulging eyes, bulbous nose, and cavernous mouth, and he's got a good shtick that makes for memorable skits. He's funny stuff. You don't always have to be a layered superstar like Kermit, sometimes you can just be the big hilarious monster that eats things/people and be awesome in your own right. Keep up the good work, Carl.
[Oh yeah, sometimes he's a bunny...Carl rules.]
Friday, July 3, 2015
The New Guy Pt. 1
"So they finally fired Steve Mellechuk?"
"Yup."
"'Bout damn time. How that asshole stuck around so long is beyond me."
"Everyone was sure it was blackmail."
"Well, ding dong Mellechuk's gone! I think we can drink to that!"
"We could. But part of me kind of wishes he weren't."
"Ok, what?! What twisted masochistic part of you wants that douchebag back in your office?"
"The part of me that's met his replacement."
"Ok, what's so bad about his replacement?"
"...he's a hideous mutant zebra man."
"...I'm sorry, what?"
"I know, I know, I shouldn't judge a book by its cover but, I mean, c'mon, man..."
"Ok, hold on, slow down, back up. So Steve was what, the Assistant Head of Executive Accounts and RCT Reports, right?"
"VRC Reports."
"Tomato, tomato. He was also a total asshole which I don't believe was a necessary qualification for the position. So, this new guy, is he also an asshole?"
"No, but he's a hideous mutant zebra man."
"I'm going to need you to start at the top and give this some context, man."
"Alright, sure. Pulled into the parking lot at quarter to, just in time to see an unmarked black panel van pulling away from the office. Dave Shoemaker comes running up."
"Oh man, Shoemaker probably had a field day with that. Let me guess, InnoServe Solutions is the money laundering site for the reptillians who caused 9/11?"
"Maybe, I've honestly stopped listening. It's just white noise. But I can't lie, my mind went in that direction when I saw it. We know the usual delivery trucks, never seen one of these. So, Shoemaker and I head in and there's Rachael at the desk and so we ask and she says Mellechuk's replacement just got here."
"Alright, so the dude carpools with the Men in Black. You used to ride with Greg Pheobus so you can't really talk. You had to burn your entire first year wardrobe."
"Pheebs was gross, absolutely, but this guy is a hideous mutant zebra man."
"Just keep going..."
"Alright, so Dave and I go to grab some coffee and we run into Chris Aims."
"Right, Head of Executive Accounts and RCT Reports?"
"VRC Reports."
"Potato, potato. And...?"
"'Hey guys, you need to meet my new Assistant, he just got here and he's a helluva guy!'"
"See? He's a helluva guy."
"He's also a hideous-"
"'HELLUVA GUY'! Continue!"
"...so, coffee in hand, we all head down to Accounts and Reports. Before we even get there, I hear this...dry, wheezing chuckle...and then, there he is at the fax machine."
"Laughing at the fax machine. Of course, it's not 1992."
"He wasn't laughing, though, and he was just punching it with a fistful of paper. Well, I'm not sure 'fistful' is even the right word but there's not really a word for what's in between a fist and a hoof."
"Laughing at it, punching it, it's a fax machine, it's well deserved. But enough about the fax machine already..."
"Aims makes introductions. "Guys, I'd like you to meet Alistair Zebraman." Next thing I know I'm shaking hands...well, again, I use the term 'hand' loosely...with a hideous mutant-"
"Zebraman is his name, dude."
"And what he is! He's all bones and sinew wrapped in this leathery striped skin, with these bulging black eyes that just stare blankly, just...like that line from Jaws. You know those creepy horse masks? He's like one of those come to life, man."
"Whoa, ease back a little, alright? I mean, you're no...Ryan Gosling yourself. Ryan Gosling, that's who I mean, right? He's that guy, you know, with the face...?"
"This isn't about me or Ryan Gosling, this is about the hideous mutant zebra man!"
"Was he well dressed?"
"What?"
"Was he well dressed?"
"...actually, yes. Real sharp suit. Grey pinstripe, mauve shirt, plum tie. But he looked like a corpse in it."
"Seems like Zebraman can't cut a break with you."
"He's a hid-"
"He showed up on time, well dressed, Aims thinks he's a helluva guy, and he's already getting to work straight away. I'm failing to see your problem with this guy."
"He's a-"
"Go getter?"
"He ate the paper. Couldn't get it in the fax machine so he crammed it in his toothy snout."
"So he's green, too. You could learn a lot from this guy."
"Sure, he could teach me how to piss in the elevator. Yeah, he totally did that."
"To be fair, I don't think that's really a teachable moment."
"To be fair, he's a hideous mutant zebra man!"
"Again, so far, I only get the last part 'cuz that's his name."
"...dude, I go out for drinks to wind down. This is not a wind down. This is a wind up. I'm about to lose it here."
"Probably don't want to look at who just came in then."
"Oh for the love of..."
"Your ex, Brenda."
"Oh, whew...I thought you were gonna say-"
"And she's with Zebraman."
"Kill me now."
"Yup."
"'Bout damn time. How that asshole stuck around so long is beyond me."
"Everyone was sure it was blackmail."
"Well, ding dong Mellechuk's gone! I think we can drink to that!"
"We could. But part of me kind of wishes he weren't."
"Ok, what?! What twisted masochistic part of you wants that douchebag back in your office?"
"The part of me that's met his replacement."
"Ok, what's so bad about his replacement?"
"...he's a hideous mutant zebra man."
"...I'm sorry, what?"
"I know, I know, I shouldn't judge a book by its cover but, I mean, c'mon, man..."
"Ok, hold on, slow down, back up. So Steve was what, the Assistant Head of Executive Accounts and RCT Reports, right?"
"VRC Reports."
"Tomato, tomato. He was also a total asshole which I don't believe was a necessary qualification for the position. So, this new guy, is he also an asshole?"
"No, but he's a hideous mutant zebra man."
"I'm going to need you to start at the top and give this some context, man."
"Alright, sure. Pulled into the parking lot at quarter to, just in time to see an unmarked black panel van pulling away from the office. Dave Shoemaker comes running up."
"Oh man, Shoemaker probably had a field day with that. Let me guess, InnoServe Solutions is the money laundering site for the reptillians who caused 9/11?"
"Maybe, I've honestly stopped listening. It's just white noise. But I can't lie, my mind went in that direction when I saw it. We know the usual delivery trucks, never seen one of these. So, Shoemaker and I head in and there's Rachael at the desk and so we ask and she says Mellechuk's replacement just got here."
"Alright, so the dude carpools with the Men in Black. You used to ride with Greg Pheobus so you can't really talk. You had to burn your entire first year wardrobe."
"Pheebs was gross, absolutely, but this guy is a hideous mutant zebra man."
"Just keep going..."
"Alright, so Dave and I go to grab some coffee and we run into Chris Aims."
"Right, Head of Executive Accounts and RCT Reports?"
"VRC Reports."
"Potato, potato. And...?"
"'Hey guys, you need to meet my new Assistant, he just got here and he's a helluva guy!'"
"See? He's a helluva guy."
"He's also a hideous-"
"'HELLUVA GUY'! Continue!"
"...so, coffee in hand, we all head down to Accounts and Reports. Before we even get there, I hear this...dry, wheezing chuckle...and then, there he is at the fax machine."
"Laughing at the fax machine. Of course, it's not 1992."
"He wasn't laughing, though, and he was just punching it with a fistful of paper. Well, I'm not sure 'fistful' is even the right word but there's not really a word for what's in between a fist and a hoof."
"Laughing at it, punching it, it's a fax machine, it's well deserved. But enough about the fax machine already..."
"Aims makes introductions. "Guys, I'd like you to meet Alistair Zebraman." Next thing I know I'm shaking hands...well, again, I use the term 'hand' loosely...with a hideous mutant-"
"Zebraman is his name, dude."
"And what he is! He's all bones and sinew wrapped in this leathery striped skin, with these bulging black eyes that just stare blankly, just...like that line from Jaws. You know those creepy horse masks? He's like one of those come to life, man."
"Whoa, ease back a little, alright? I mean, you're no...Ryan Gosling yourself. Ryan Gosling, that's who I mean, right? He's that guy, you know, with the face...?"
"This isn't about me or Ryan Gosling, this is about the hideous mutant zebra man!"
"Was he well dressed?"
"What?"
"Was he well dressed?"
"...actually, yes. Real sharp suit. Grey pinstripe, mauve shirt, plum tie. But he looked like a corpse in it."
"Seems like Zebraman can't cut a break with you."
"He's a hid-"
"He showed up on time, well dressed, Aims thinks he's a helluva guy, and he's already getting to work straight away. I'm failing to see your problem with this guy."
"He's a-"
"Go getter?"
"He ate the paper. Couldn't get it in the fax machine so he crammed it in his toothy snout."
"So he's green, too. You could learn a lot from this guy."
"Sure, he could teach me how to piss in the elevator. Yeah, he totally did that."
"To be fair, I don't think that's really a teachable moment."
"To be fair, he's a hideous mutant zebra man!"
"Again, so far, I only get the last part 'cuz that's his name."
"...dude, I go out for drinks to wind down. This is not a wind down. This is a wind up. I'm about to lose it here."
"Probably don't want to look at who just came in then."
"Oh for the love of..."
"Your ex, Brenda."
"Oh, whew...I thought you were gonna say-"
"And she's with Zebraman."
"Kill me now."
Wednesday, July 1, 2015
Why are there so many blogs about rainbows?
Earlier this week gay marriage was legalized in all fifty US states. I, for one, am thrilled for all those fine folks who have longed for and fought for equality in life, law, and love. Marry it up, you lovely people. I can only hope this is but the beginning of further progress that needs to be made in so many other ways.
But I'm not really here to talk about that. I'm here to talk about rainbows!
My Facebook feed has been drowning in rainbows this week and I'm loving it. But you know who's not loving it? The folks who equate the rainbow with God's covenant with Noah in the book of Genesis. They find its appropriation as a symbol for LGBT pride far from appropriate. They see this beautiful symbol as disgusting and terrible. I know how they feel because we've got their Godly covenant rainbow on the other hand...
[Just a heads-up, I am about to speak pretty unkindly of this story and of good ol' God himself, so if you aren't ok with reading that kind of thing, click away.]
Story time!
Once upon a time, God makes people. Poorly. People break thanks to a design flaw he knowingly built into them, as he knew they would, and as he could have prevented. He punishes them for his own mistakes rather than forgiving them and fixing them.
After awhile, there are a lot of people but thanks to God not really giving a shit, they get carried away and are all pretty bad for the most part (well, there are children and babies who can't really be considered bad but hey, lump them in with the rest like God did, ok?). God, in his infinite wisdom decides the best course of action is not one of a multitude of better options like teaching them, giving them a change of heart, rewiring their minds, or just about anything else you can think of because you are smarter than him, but instead opts to just commit global genocide and slaughter the whole lot of them (including those children and babies, don't forget!) and save only a handful. Oh, and not just have them die quietly and painlessly in their sleep or to just drop dead where they stand, he's going to drown them all. Because what's killing people if they don't struggle and suffer on their way out?
Also all the animals need to die, too. Because...because stop asking questions.
Well, except he's gonna cram a pair of each species on a big-ass boat with that handful of decent folks because...well, it's not like he could just create new animals. Well he could but...stop asking questions.
So, he after he drowns millions of people and animals and they're all thoroughly dead bloated corpses bobbing in the receding waters...he's throws up a rainbow! Talk about juxtaposition!
"Billy, stop poking that puffy corpse full of hermit crabs and look at the pretty colors! Please, everyone just stop looking at the mountains of rotting flesh and look at the lovely thing in the sky! Well, I mean, watch your step though, don't want to get your foot stuck in...whatever or whoever's carcass that is but seriously, try to ignore the horrific stench and look at the thing!"
In Genesis 9:8-17, God tells that handful of folks what the rainbow means: he promises that never again will he be a blithering idiot and drown the entire world with a flood. Now, he'll still drown parts of the population on a pretty regular basis. And also earthquakes and other terrible disasters will routinely wipe out decent chunks of the population. But hey, he won't kill all of us all at once with water!
So every time you see a rainbow, remember how much he loves you and how awesome it is that you're alive (though he might kill you at any moment) and not currently being drowned even though other people might currently be drowning by the thousands but at least they're not the entire human population because he's so great, am I right?
Just think if your dad killed your mother, brothers, and sisters, but not you and then gave you a teddy bear so you'd remember how much he loves you and won't kill you (though he might cut off your hand or gouge out your eye or any number of other forms of non-fatal bodily harm). "Dear ol', Sweet ol' Dad, whatta guy, I'll always treasure Mr Button-Eyes!"
Rainbows are beautiful. I find the LGBT rainbow and everything it stands for beautiful. They see their God's rainbow as beautiful. I'm just saying I see the rainbow as it relates to God and Noah's ark as a symbol of God's spectacularly shitty problem solving skills, murder on an absolute and global scale, a joke of a promise that essentially means nothing, and 'love' that is anything but. So I know how you feel, anti-gay Noah rainbow lovers, because I, too, can find a rainbow disgusting and insulting.
Just one man's perspective. I realize this post was probably pretty pointless because I doubt any of the folks I was talking about actually read it. But hey, I lose sleep over things that rattle my cage and homophobia and stupid religious stuff are high on the list of things that do that. Forgive my self-indulgent venting, I guess.
Oh, and if you're a decent Christian who is A-OK with gay marriage and happy to wave the rainbow flag and all that, sorry I crapped on your God and your story about him but if you're wise enough to be cool with the gay stuff, I hope you're wise enough to be cool with a raging atheist on occasion, as well.
But in the end, I think we can all agree: rainbows are pretty.
But I'm not really here to talk about that. I'm here to talk about rainbows!
My Facebook feed has been drowning in rainbows this week and I'm loving it. But you know who's not loving it? The folks who equate the rainbow with God's covenant with Noah in the book of Genesis. They find its appropriation as a symbol for LGBT pride far from appropriate. They see this beautiful symbol as disgusting and terrible. I know how they feel because we've got their Godly covenant rainbow on the other hand...
[Just a heads-up, I am about to speak pretty unkindly of this story and of good ol' God himself, so if you aren't ok with reading that kind of thing, click away.]
Story time!
Once upon a time, God makes people. Poorly. People break thanks to a design flaw he knowingly built into them, as he knew they would, and as he could have prevented. He punishes them for his own mistakes rather than forgiving them and fixing them.
After awhile, there are a lot of people but thanks to God not really giving a shit, they get carried away and are all pretty bad for the most part (well, there are children and babies who can't really be considered bad but hey, lump them in with the rest like God did, ok?). God, in his infinite wisdom decides the best course of action is not one of a multitude of better options like teaching them, giving them a change of heart, rewiring their minds, or just about anything else you can think of because you are smarter than him, but instead opts to just commit global genocide and slaughter the whole lot of them (including those children and babies, don't forget!) and save only a handful. Oh, and not just have them die quietly and painlessly in their sleep or to just drop dead where they stand, he's going to drown them all. Because what's killing people if they don't struggle and suffer on their way out?
Also all the animals need to die, too. Because...because stop asking questions.
Well, except he's gonna cram a pair of each species on a big-ass boat with that handful of decent folks because...well, it's not like he could just create new animals. Well he could but...stop asking questions.
So, he after he drowns millions of people and animals and they're all thoroughly dead bloated corpses bobbing in the receding waters...he's throws up a rainbow! Talk about juxtaposition!
"Billy, stop poking that puffy corpse full of hermit crabs and look at the pretty colors! Please, everyone just stop looking at the mountains of rotting flesh and look at the lovely thing in the sky! Well, I mean, watch your step though, don't want to get your foot stuck in...whatever or whoever's carcass that is but seriously, try to ignore the horrific stench and look at the thing!"
In Genesis 9:8-17, God tells that handful of folks what the rainbow means: he promises that never again will he be a blithering idiot and drown the entire world with a flood. Now, he'll still drown parts of the population on a pretty regular basis. And also earthquakes and other terrible disasters will routinely wipe out decent chunks of the population. But hey, he won't kill all of us all at once with water!
So every time you see a rainbow, remember how much he loves you and how awesome it is that you're alive (though he might kill you at any moment) and not currently being drowned even though other people might currently be drowning by the thousands but at least they're not the entire human population because he's so great, am I right?
Just think if your dad killed your mother, brothers, and sisters, but not you and then gave you a teddy bear so you'd remember how much he loves you and won't kill you (though he might cut off your hand or gouge out your eye or any number of other forms of non-fatal bodily harm). "Dear ol', Sweet ol' Dad, whatta guy, I'll always treasure Mr Button-Eyes!"
Rainbows are beautiful. I find the LGBT rainbow and everything it stands for beautiful. They see their God's rainbow as beautiful. I'm just saying I see the rainbow as it relates to God and Noah's ark as a symbol of God's spectacularly shitty problem solving skills, murder on an absolute and global scale, a joke of a promise that essentially means nothing, and 'love' that is anything but. So I know how you feel, anti-gay Noah rainbow lovers, because I, too, can find a rainbow disgusting and insulting.
Just one man's perspective. I realize this post was probably pretty pointless because I doubt any of the folks I was talking about actually read it. But hey, I lose sleep over things that rattle my cage and homophobia and stupid religious stuff are high on the list of things that do that. Forgive my self-indulgent venting, I guess.
Oh, and if you're a decent Christian who is A-OK with gay marriage and happy to wave the rainbow flag and all that, sorry I crapped on your God and your story about him but if you're wise enough to be cool with the gay stuff, I hope you're wise enough to be cool with a raging atheist on occasion, as well.
But in the end, I think we can all agree: rainbows are pretty.
Monday, June 22, 2015
Muppet of the Fortnight: Kermit the Frog
Welcome to the third round of my biweekly look at a member of one of my favorite troupes of loveable puppets, The Muppets. Last week we went to the obscure end and this week we're rocketing back toward the popular side to without a doubt the most popular and recognizable Muppets there is: Kermit the Frog.
["Hi-ho, everybody!"]
Here we have the frog who is the iconic face of the Muppets brand. A pop culture superstar. He has a star of the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Kermit's kind of a big deal. So where the hell do I begin as far as my thoughts on him are concerned?
Well, truth be told, I've only really appreciated him more recently. Part of the reason for that is I tend to be drawn to the less popular characters, the ones that don't always get the spotlight, the underrated and under appreciated. I mentioned a bit of this in my first entry. Kermit's the star of the show, the leader of the pack, the spokesman and, as I said, the face of the brand. Not everyone wants to like that guy. Sometimes by default you kind of want to dislike that guy. I mean, what's so great about him? He's kind of boring, really. Kind of overrated. I mean, look at this freaky weird guy over here, isn't he more interesting? He's more interesting and not overexposed like the frog. The frog...I mean, c'mon, there are monsters and weirdos and all manner of crazy critters and he's just...well, the frog. Meh. That's kind of how I felt about Kermit for a very long time.
[I know, Kermie, I know...but I'm not finished yet...]
So as a kid, I was no Kermit fan. He was bland and hogged the spotlight. But, much like how I sort of outgrew some of Animal's appeal, I also grew to understand and value Kermit and his role in the group. It's kind of like how when you're a kid you go through that phase where you think your parents are totally mean jerks but then later on in life, you realize the value of the discipline and advice that you were so resistant to when you were younger and now you're grateful for it. Six year old me probably wanted to punch Kermit in the face. Now that I'm thirty-one years old, I'm grateful for Kermit the Frog.
What's so great about Kermit, I asked? He is relatable, he's three-dimensional, he's more than a frog, he's a person. We can all see ourselves in him. What I mistook as blandness as a kid I now see as a certain everyman quality. While a lot of other Muppets have one certain personality trait that's amped up to define their character, Kermit's personality is broader, more even. While he's the backbone, he's the glue, and he's often the voice of reason, he's also flawed, makes mistakes, struggles with serious doubt, and is known to have a temper. All of his redeeming and inspiring qualities are matched by faults and flaws we all have and can understand. He leads the group with determination and encouragement but also repeatedly finds himself at his wits' end, snapping with exasperation and frustration, all but ready to give up the burden. But he never does. Not with finality. He always comes back after sorting himself out, apologizes and reconciles with the gang, and returns to his place as the father figure of the Muppet family.
There's an honesty about him. He's genuine and charming. He works hard. He loves his family and friends and wants to see them happy. But he doesn't have all the answers and doesn't always know what to do. It doesn't all come easy for him. He's everything we want to be and also everything we are when we fall short.
So there you go, I got older, I dug deeper, I saw the bigger picture. Maybe Kermit's not as cool looking as Sweetums or Uncle Deadly or as zany as Lew Zealand or the Swedish Chef but he's the rock, he's admirable, he's inspiring, he's you and me as we are and as we want to be.
From what I've read, it sounds like a lot of who Kermit was is who Jim Henson was.
[Couple of good dudes right there.]
Now that I got the deep mushy stuff out of the way, let's move on to some random bits:
I think my first introduction to Kermit was as the reporter for Sesame Street News. As a kid, I always thought his name, as he would introduce himself on the show, was "Kermit E. Frog" as he would pronounce 'the' with a long E. I also wondered why he was the only cross-over Muppet who had a regular gig on Sesame Street and why none of the others made appearances. Again, something that probably fueled my dislike for him at the time.
What's the deal with the pointy collar thing? I remember reading it was added to break up the monotony and add interest to his frame but what the hell is it? Frogs don't have weird point frills around their neck. He's not supposed to be some rare species of frilled frog. Of course, now I'm imagining that he is and am picturing it raising up ala the dilophosaurs in Jurassic Park before he spews acid at..oooh, let's say Steve Martin. I've just never gotten Steve Martin. But that's another thing for another time that will never happen. So the collar...is it clothes? No, Kermit himself has said he doesn't wear clothes most of the time. He hasn't said, "I don't wear clothes...well, except the frilly thing around my neck." So it's not a natural frog part and it's not clothes. Not much left for it to be. Also, there are other frogs. Plenty of other frogs have appeared in various Muppet stuff. I can't recall any of them having a pointy collar like his.
[Count 'em. One.]
I'm probably wrong about that, though, and there's something where his dad has one, too...
[Well, there you go, young Kermit between his parents and they've both got one. Frogs with Collars:1 mth:0]
One of the other things I really dig about Kermit is the expressiveness of the puppet. He's such a basic puppet and yet with certain scrunches, twists, and distortions of his face, they can convey so much emotion so effectively. His half ping-pong ball eyes never change but all it takes is simple movement of the corners of his mouth and you can read gritty resolve, meloncollie, or bewilderment. It's an amazing testament to both the puppet design and the puppeteers themselves. His often flailing limbs certainly help, as well.
['Yaaaaaaayyy!!']
Watch him take the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge and you will believe that he is flesh and blood not felt and foam:
[That's one cold frog. Also, surprisingly not actually a real live frog.]
Might as well mention my favorite Kermit moment(s) to wrap this thing up:
"Boffo, Lenny! Socko, Lenny!"
Love that scene. Also, any time he gets hit by Piggy and they just chuck the puppet across the room.
Love Kermit. Think you get why. See you next time.
Wednesday, June 3, 2015
Muppet of the Fortnight: Frazzle
Welcome to the second installment of Muppet of the Fortnight, my
biweekly spotlight on one of the many Muppets. After starting with one of the more popular of the gang, this go 'round we're
going to take at someone from the opposite end of the spectrum: Frazzle.
[There's the sexy fella]
Alright, so at this point you're probably asking two questions:
First, "mth, are you only going to talk about red/orange Muppets with pointy teeth and bushy black eyebrows?"
and second,
"Who the hell is Frazzle?"
Fair questions, the both of them.
Here are your answers: No, and he is a monster who's made a handful of appearances on Sesame Street and in its various books and such.
So if you're asking a third question, "Why Frazzle?", let me answer that one, too...with a bit of a story of sorts.
Way back when I was a just a wee tot bumbling about like an idiot (as opposed to now where I am that but taller and with a beard), I had a book. I think it was this book:
It's quite possible he's one of the characters that sparked my interest in monsters and I don't mean those like Grover.
Now, I should probably take a moment to clear Frazzle's good name. Despite his appearance, he is not a satanic beast looking to devour the flesh from your bones or the soul from your body or any of that lovely stuff. He's just a regular dude like you and me who happens to be a fairly scary looking monster. He's got parents, he gets sad, he goes to the dentist, he just wants to fit in. He's just a dude trying to get by in this crazy world. With choppers like a damn T-Rex.
So decades go by from little tyke mth to big adult mth and that face never left my brain. I did some research and I was able to put a name to the face. I was able to learn more about this guy and about the character behind the scary face. So in the end, I guess there's some sort of lesson we could take from this. Of course, if we stick too close to that lesson, we might just have our faces eaten off by a demon from the pits of hell who is legitimately as dangerous as his fangy, flame-eyed puss would imply.
Let's let Frazzle and friends wrap this up:
Wednesday, May 27, 2015
A Toast to Better Days Ahead
"Ah, good to see you again, old friend. Come sit down."
The pale man beckons with one hand toward the towering fellow who has just stepped into his chambers. His other grips the stem of a goblet full of something crimson. A smile crinkles his angular features as he watches his old friend lower his lengthy frame into the armchair across the table.
"It's good to be seen and good to sit," the tall man says, "I always appreciate the size of your furniture."
"Grand scale is not always for the sake of extravagance. Some of us do think of more than just impressing others with our furnishings. You sound like you could use a drink."
"I've learned that any time is a good time for a drink though I don't think I'll be having what you are. Something strong and brown should do me fine."
The pale man nods to the butler at the door who immediately attends toward preparing something for their guest.
"It's not easy to come upon a good beverage in your travels, I know. I'm glad that I can offer you something finer than you'd likely scrounge for yourself."
"I can scrounge better than any but even so, it would be no comparison."
He reaches out with a large leathery hand to take the tumbler from the butler, a smile parting his thin black lips. The two men nod and raise their glasses.
"To what, old friend?" the pale man asks with a raised eyebrow.
"To respite, well-worn friendship, and to the drink itself."
"A damn fine toast."
Glasses clink and their contents are sipped. The pale man raises a seemingly clawed finger.
"Perhaps we should have toasted the days of old, overdone though it may be."
"For nostalgia's sake?"
"For our own sake, old friend. Nostalgia be damned, we've merely lived from misery to misery but there was something about our earlier days, something about the reverence and the passion. There was a certain vitality."
"Speak for yourself. I've taken great efforts to distance myself from my youthful passions. I seek not reverence but anonymity."
"Ah, yes, of course, you would rather fade into the crowd than have it stand in terrible awe around you."
"In so many ways as we are cut from the same cloth, we are not. While I seek only compassion in the hearts of man, you seek their hearts for very...different...reasons."
The pale man smirks and eyes his drink.
"You must feel somewhat insulted by their general perception of you, though? The shuffling simpleton, the gargantuan man-child, the misunderstood brute. It's offensive."
"I cannot deny they are all truth in part, my friend."
"Curse your aged bones! The younger you would have squeezed the breath from them!"
"And that is but one proof their portrayal of me as a fool is not so inaccurate."
"You are a fool now for not putting terror in their breast!"
"Perhaps it's best we pause to drink before this fool-talk brings us to blows."
The pale man snorts amusedly and reaches for his glass. Pausing before he takes a sip he cocks his head with a reflective glance toward the ceiling.
"Perhaps I am being the fool, old friend. You have a grace for them that I cannot muster. While the years have given you perspective, I can still only see red when they besmirch my good name," he gives an amused glance down at his drink before taking a swig.
"Heh. We both know you'll see red regardless of whether they speak well or ill of you."
"Fair point indeed. But I won't have you painting me as the only one with certain....passions...festering in the pit of me."
"I will readily admit they are forever clawing at the door, old friend. You could say parts of me want to indulge in such affairs and truthfully I may be more parts than I am myself, after all."
"And what if you should open that door? What if you should let those parts that would crush their throat in your grasp run free, if but for an evening?"
The giant sits unmoving and for a moment there is nothing but the tick of the ornate grandfather clock filling the silence.
"I cannot deny I might find a satisfaction I have longed for for ages..."
"Then why not indulge with me? Why not put down our drinks, leave this table, and go out into the good night beyond these walls for but one night of the pleasures of our youth?"
Suddenly shifting and stiffening his posture, the tall man leans forward on the table, decreasing the distance between them.
"Shall I remind you of the wars that have come to your very doorstep? Shall I point to my life as a nomad forever dwelling in shadow? Shall I speak of your life as a recluse forever locked away in castle and catacomb? Shall I speak of guns, torches, and pitchforks? Shall I speak of unrest, of uncertainty, of the world ready to descend upon you with unflinching determination to end your very existence? These are your days of old, these are your nostalgic longings, these are the reasons why I keep the doors within me bolted shut, old friend. I will not deny that there is a monster straining beneath my skin, seeking to burst through every scar that crosses my flesh, but he must remain a under lock and key, a prisoner and a relic, a reminder of who I was and who they made me and who I do not wish to be."
The pale man smiles and gives a slow applause.
"Bravo, my friend, bravo. I assure you I do not clap with insincerity but again must reiterate my utmost respect for your firm determination to be a better man."
"One must be a man to be a better man. I can only attempt to be less of a demon."
"In truth, you are an inspiration, a voice of reason against the dark hunger that claws at my innards. Were it not for discussions like this I would no doubt find myself giving in to my vices. Rather than having a pleasant evening with a dear friend, I would be defending myself among the ashen ruins of this place against a horde of them with a bloodlust that puts my own to shame. Thank you for keeping me in check, comrade."
"Your words are flattering and I must return your gratitude. You do well to tempt me, I must confess, for it causes me to fortify my resolve. Left to my own devises I worry that I might easily regress but you provide a landmark with which I might find my bearings amidst the fog."
The pale man raises his glass.
"I believe we should drink to our friendship once more!"
The giant nods and glasses clink. For a moment they sit in the quiet, in the savoring of the peace and acceptance they find at this table. The pale man raises gnarled fingers to thoughtfully stroke his goatee.
"What more are you pondering, old friend?" the tall man asks.
"I am debating the best approach to confess my true intentions for inviting you here this night."
"You need not map a course, my friend, but tell me plainly."
"I know how we might find fulfillment for our darkest desires. I know an outlet, a reason and a cause for which we can open the doors wide to unleash and gratify the snarling beasts within our bones."
"I cannot deny my reservations are outweighed by my curiosity."
"There are others. More like us than like them. They come from the other side of the curtain. They have begun to rise up and to spread, slowly at first but their numbers are increasing. They are like a sickness, a plague, a mindless cancer seeking only to consume. We are immune, due to our...unique..nature, invulnerable to infection. This makes us ideally suited to combat this disease. If you truly seek to make reparations for your past then find yourself the will to join me in seeking out and destroying this emerging disease."
Leaning back in contemplation, the tall man's heavy brow furrows above his yellow eyes.
"I have heard murmurs of those of whom you speak. Only the faintest of whispers, fragments of information unfit to be pieced together. I had hoped to find kindred spirits but...purpose, above all else, has forever eluded me."
"Then find it here, my friend. Find it in dismantling this wretched affliction. While this thoughtless swarm might not taste fear as we descend upon them, we can still find the solace of old in rending them to pieces. And you can rest easy knowing we do not assault those with beating heart and light of life but only those who have already crossed the dark divide and now walk as puppets of the simplest of instinct. You can crush their skull without the slightest remorse but instead with the assurance that you are bettering and protecting humankind."
"Something stirs within me, old friend. Indeed, I would say two things: first, the firey-eyed deamon who thirsts to slake his rage, a companion I will now need to learn to wrangle at my command, and second, a fresh, new face, someone who has been struggling to have his birth for some time, a steely-eyed fellow of heroic resolve."
"You may very well be more parts than whole, old friend, but I do believe in this battle you might find you can merge them and find a wholeness you've never known."
"I must admit, you are doing a wonderful job of rallying me to your cause."
"Our cause."
"I believe a final toast is in order then, my dear Dracula."
"Then raise your glass, for they will no longer know you as the wretched fiend of Frankenstein's creation but as a noble warrior and champion for their survival."
"To new found purpose!"
"To the battle before us!"
"To the days ahead, for they shall shine so bright as to drown out the shadows of the past!"
"To spilling rivers of blood without remorse!"
"To not letting our zeal overtake us!"
They share a laugh as their glasses clink for the final time this night.
The pale man beckons with one hand toward the towering fellow who has just stepped into his chambers. His other grips the stem of a goblet full of something crimson. A smile crinkles his angular features as he watches his old friend lower his lengthy frame into the armchair across the table.
"It's good to be seen and good to sit," the tall man says, "I always appreciate the size of your furniture."
"Grand scale is not always for the sake of extravagance. Some of us do think of more than just impressing others with our furnishings. You sound like you could use a drink."
"I've learned that any time is a good time for a drink though I don't think I'll be having what you are. Something strong and brown should do me fine."
The pale man nods to the butler at the door who immediately attends toward preparing something for their guest.
"It's not easy to come upon a good beverage in your travels, I know. I'm glad that I can offer you something finer than you'd likely scrounge for yourself."
"I can scrounge better than any but even so, it would be no comparison."
He reaches out with a large leathery hand to take the tumbler from the butler, a smile parting his thin black lips. The two men nod and raise their glasses.
"To what, old friend?" the pale man asks with a raised eyebrow.
"To respite, well-worn friendship, and to the drink itself."
"A damn fine toast."
Glasses clink and their contents are sipped. The pale man raises a seemingly clawed finger.
"Perhaps we should have toasted the days of old, overdone though it may be."
"For nostalgia's sake?"
"For our own sake, old friend. Nostalgia be damned, we've merely lived from misery to misery but there was something about our earlier days, something about the reverence and the passion. There was a certain vitality."
"Speak for yourself. I've taken great efforts to distance myself from my youthful passions. I seek not reverence but anonymity."
"Ah, yes, of course, you would rather fade into the crowd than have it stand in terrible awe around you."
"In so many ways as we are cut from the same cloth, we are not. While I seek only compassion in the hearts of man, you seek their hearts for very...different...reasons."
The pale man smirks and eyes his drink.
"You must feel somewhat insulted by their general perception of you, though? The shuffling simpleton, the gargantuan man-child, the misunderstood brute. It's offensive."
"I cannot deny they are all truth in part, my friend."
"Curse your aged bones! The younger you would have squeezed the breath from them!"
"And that is but one proof their portrayal of me as a fool is not so inaccurate."
"You are a fool now for not putting terror in their breast!"
"Perhaps it's best we pause to drink before this fool-talk brings us to blows."
The pale man snorts amusedly and reaches for his glass. Pausing before he takes a sip he cocks his head with a reflective glance toward the ceiling.
"Perhaps I am being the fool, old friend. You have a grace for them that I cannot muster. While the years have given you perspective, I can still only see red when they besmirch my good name," he gives an amused glance down at his drink before taking a swig.
"Heh. We both know you'll see red regardless of whether they speak well or ill of you."
"Fair point indeed. But I won't have you painting me as the only one with certain....passions...festering in the pit of me."
"I will readily admit they are forever clawing at the door, old friend. You could say parts of me want to indulge in such affairs and truthfully I may be more parts than I am myself, after all."
"And what if you should open that door? What if you should let those parts that would crush their throat in your grasp run free, if but for an evening?"
The giant sits unmoving and for a moment there is nothing but the tick of the ornate grandfather clock filling the silence.
"I cannot deny I might find a satisfaction I have longed for for ages..."
"Then why not indulge with me? Why not put down our drinks, leave this table, and go out into the good night beyond these walls for but one night of the pleasures of our youth?"
Suddenly shifting and stiffening his posture, the tall man leans forward on the table, decreasing the distance between them.
"Shall I remind you of the wars that have come to your very doorstep? Shall I point to my life as a nomad forever dwelling in shadow? Shall I speak of your life as a recluse forever locked away in castle and catacomb? Shall I speak of guns, torches, and pitchforks? Shall I speak of unrest, of uncertainty, of the world ready to descend upon you with unflinching determination to end your very existence? These are your days of old, these are your nostalgic longings, these are the reasons why I keep the doors within me bolted shut, old friend. I will not deny that there is a monster straining beneath my skin, seeking to burst through every scar that crosses my flesh, but he must remain a under lock and key, a prisoner and a relic, a reminder of who I was and who they made me and who I do not wish to be."
The pale man smiles and gives a slow applause.
"Bravo, my friend, bravo. I assure you I do not clap with insincerity but again must reiterate my utmost respect for your firm determination to be a better man."
"One must be a man to be a better man. I can only attempt to be less of a demon."
"In truth, you are an inspiration, a voice of reason against the dark hunger that claws at my innards. Were it not for discussions like this I would no doubt find myself giving in to my vices. Rather than having a pleasant evening with a dear friend, I would be defending myself among the ashen ruins of this place against a horde of them with a bloodlust that puts my own to shame. Thank you for keeping me in check, comrade."
"Your words are flattering and I must return your gratitude. You do well to tempt me, I must confess, for it causes me to fortify my resolve. Left to my own devises I worry that I might easily regress but you provide a landmark with which I might find my bearings amidst the fog."
The pale man raises his glass.
"I believe we should drink to our friendship once more!"
The giant nods and glasses clink. For a moment they sit in the quiet, in the savoring of the peace and acceptance they find at this table. The pale man raises gnarled fingers to thoughtfully stroke his goatee.
"What more are you pondering, old friend?" the tall man asks.
"I am debating the best approach to confess my true intentions for inviting you here this night."
"You need not map a course, my friend, but tell me plainly."
"I know how we might find fulfillment for our darkest desires. I know an outlet, a reason and a cause for which we can open the doors wide to unleash and gratify the snarling beasts within our bones."
"I cannot deny my reservations are outweighed by my curiosity."
"There are others. More like us than like them. They come from the other side of the curtain. They have begun to rise up and to spread, slowly at first but their numbers are increasing. They are like a sickness, a plague, a mindless cancer seeking only to consume. We are immune, due to our...unique..nature, invulnerable to infection. This makes us ideally suited to combat this disease. If you truly seek to make reparations for your past then find yourself the will to join me in seeking out and destroying this emerging disease."
Leaning back in contemplation, the tall man's heavy brow furrows above his yellow eyes.
"I have heard murmurs of those of whom you speak. Only the faintest of whispers, fragments of information unfit to be pieced together. I had hoped to find kindred spirits but...purpose, above all else, has forever eluded me."
"Then find it here, my friend. Find it in dismantling this wretched affliction. While this thoughtless swarm might not taste fear as we descend upon them, we can still find the solace of old in rending them to pieces. And you can rest easy knowing we do not assault those with beating heart and light of life but only those who have already crossed the dark divide and now walk as puppets of the simplest of instinct. You can crush their skull without the slightest remorse but instead with the assurance that you are bettering and protecting humankind."
"Something stirs within me, old friend. Indeed, I would say two things: first, the firey-eyed deamon who thirsts to slake his rage, a companion I will now need to learn to wrangle at my command, and second, a fresh, new face, someone who has been struggling to have his birth for some time, a steely-eyed fellow of heroic resolve."
"You may very well be more parts than whole, old friend, but I do believe in this battle you might find you can merge them and find a wholeness you've never known."
"I must admit, you are doing a wonderful job of rallying me to your cause."
"Our cause."
"I believe a final toast is in order then, my dear Dracula."
"Then raise your glass, for they will no longer know you as the wretched fiend of Frankenstein's creation but as a noble warrior and champion for their survival."
"To new found purpose!"
"To the battle before us!"
"To the days ahead, for they shall shine so bright as to drown out the shadows of the past!"
"To spilling rivers of blood without remorse!"
"To not letting our zeal overtake us!"
They share a laugh as their glasses clink for the final time this night.
Friday, May 22, 2015
Weird Places for God: Part 1
God is everywhere. Dude is omnipresent. I should clarify, though, that I'm referring to the idea of God. Whether it's being thanked at awards shows or sporting events, being credited for wiping out a slew of people with a tsunami, or being sung about by N*Sync for his thorough craftsmanship, dude gets name-checked all over the place. And if you're a believer, this probably doesn't make you so much as blink. And even as a non-believer myself, for the most part, it doesn't make me blink, either. But on some occasions, in certain mediums, in certain situations, the mention of God seems just a little weird if you stop and think about it. After a handful of such occasions catching my attention, I figured it might be worth exploring them just a bit and thus, welcome to the first of a series of little blabberings about places where God seems just a little out of place.
This past Christmas my wife and I sat down to watch the Pee-Wee's Playhouse Christmas Special. Netflix just added it and since we both watched Pee-Wee as kids and hadn't seen it in a good twenty-some years, we thought we might indulge in a bit of nostalgia and holiday merriment.
Have you seen this show as an adult? Because holy crap, it is batshit crazy. I lost count of how many times my wife wondered aloud about the drugs involved or feeling like she was on some herself. Its manic and frantic and obnoxious. Every piece of furniture has a face, there are puppets literally coming out of the woodwork, there are tiny dinosaurs, a talking cow, a giant talking hand with a face painted on it, Laurence Fishburne's a cowboy, Pee-Wee can jump in and out of a computer screen...it's ADHD and LSD and glitter and screaming...just all kinds of madness. And that's just what the basic show is like, this one you've got to throw the Christmas theme over top of all that. So while Annette Funicello and Frankie Avalon are making a thousand Christmas cards at Pee-Wee's request, the hyper-active man-child is eagerly anticipating Santa Claus' arrival with all his gifts. And of course, in this world, Santa Claus is totally real.
So you go through a good half an hour of zany antics and celebrity cameos and general Christmas-ness and eventually Ol' Saint Nick arrives.
And then it happens:
"The true meaning of Christmas," is mentioned.
Pee-Wee makes a turn toward the camera to give us a thirty second explanation, complete with footage of what looks like a school play enacting the events, of the story of how Jesus Christ was born in a manger to save mankind.
And then it takes a sharp turn right back into the wackiness. My wife and I both questioned if what we just saw actually happened. This brief aside was rather jarring. It felt unconnected with everything else, almost like it was an afterthought, like they'd written the whole script and were about to start filming when somebody said, "Oh shit! We forgot about Jesus! Quick, cram him in there somewhere!" Here is this show, less than an hour, full of off the wall goofiness and energy and the furthest thing from anything remotely serious beyond the moral of the story (don't be a greedy dick, Pee-Wee!) and then out of nowhere, WHAMMO! Quick jab of serious Jesus business. And before you can even process it, it's over and there's a talking pterodactyl drinking eggnog with a shirtless lifeguard who's only there to be a handsome chunk of man-steak while everyone chants along with the genie head in a box to turn the whole thing into a luau. It's like if The Terminator stopped in the middle of trying to gun down T-1000 to do a brief bit of tap-dancing before unloading another shotgun blast or Big Bird stopped singing the alphabet to momentarily remind us of the inevitable finality of death constantly looming over us before getting back to Q through Z.
If it hadn't stuck out like a sore thumb and had been melded into the goings-on a little more, I might not have given it nearly as much thought. But that thumb jabbed me in the eyeball and got my gears turning. Truth be told, they'd already shown that the tiny dinosaurs who live in the wall are Jewish and celebrating Hanukkah. That already raised a few questions in my mind but it was not so heavy-handed. A little odd but kind of cute. But then they came out of left field and resoundingly underlined that God and Jesus exist and matter in this living cartoon. And that's pretty weird if you think about it.
Jesus was God in human form, so God would know and understand our mortal existence but does he know what it's like to be Chairry? Does he know what it's like to have a rambunctious twerp regularly sit on your face? Does he know what its like to be farted on by a boisterous man-boy? Does he understand the suffering of being a piece of furniture? Maybe he should have come to earth as a La-Z-Boy.
If there are living, breathing, sentient clocks and globes and floorboards, do they have souls? Will Magic Screen go to heaven when he dies? Or will he be damned for his ungodly Magic? People might say my cat won't go to heaven but what if my cat is anthropomorphic and plays the bongos? On which day did God create the living furniture? Or are these man-made abominations? Is this whole house actually the devil's work?
In this world, Santa Claus is real, singing flowers are real, a giant joke-telling hand with a face is real, and Our Lord God in Christ Jesus is real because any logic you might use to conclude that none of that stuff makes sense and defies reason is completely out the window in Pee-Wee's Playhouse. Logic does not exist here. But then what about other gods? Same logic applies...er, doesn't apply. So, they must all exist there, too? In that case, I don't know about you, but I'd pay good money to see Thor drop by...actual Norse Thor or sexy movie Thor, I'd be fine with either for fairly different reasons.
Anyway, in conclusion, yeah, I might over-think things. Especially God-related things. But for a very long time I was afraid to question and think too hard about those things so now I do and I sometimes do with a vengeance. Call it making up for lost efforts or something. Maybe this is all a stupid waste of time but thinking and questioning are good things, you can't really do it too much. It's good to stretch your mind, even if you are just wondering about some bullshit on a kid's show. I'm not saying they shouldn't have mentioned this stuff on this show, I'm just saying it was a really weird place for God.
This past Christmas my wife and I sat down to watch the Pee-Wee's Playhouse Christmas Special. Netflix just added it and since we both watched Pee-Wee as kids and hadn't seen it in a good twenty-some years, we thought we might indulge in a bit of nostalgia and holiday merriment.
Have you seen this show as an adult? Because holy crap, it is batshit crazy. I lost count of how many times my wife wondered aloud about the drugs involved or feeling like she was on some herself. Its manic and frantic and obnoxious. Every piece of furniture has a face, there are puppets literally coming out of the woodwork, there are tiny dinosaurs, a talking cow, a giant talking hand with a face painted on it, Laurence Fishburne's a cowboy, Pee-Wee can jump in and out of a computer screen...it's ADHD and LSD and glitter and screaming...just all kinds of madness. And that's just what the basic show is like, this one you've got to throw the Christmas theme over top of all that. So while Annette Funicello and Frankie Avalon are making a thousand Christmas cards at Pee-Wee's request, the hyper-active man-child is eagerly anticipating Santa Claus' arrival with all his gifts. And of course, in this world, Santa Claus is totally real.
So you go through a good half an hour of zany antics and celebrity cameos and general Christmas-ness and eventually Ol' Saint Nick arrives.
And then it happens:
"The true meaning of Christmas," is mentioned.
Pee-Wee makes a turn toward the camera to give us a thirty second explanation, complete with footage of what looks like a school play enacting the events, of the story of how Jesus Christ was born in a manger to save mankind.
And then it takes a sharp turn right back into the wackiness. My wife and I both questioned if what we just saw actually happened. This brief aside was rather jarring. It felt unconnected with everything else, almost like it was an afterthought, like they'd written the whole script and were about to start filming when somebody said, "Oh shit! We forgot about Jesus! Quick, cram him in there somewhere!" Here is this show, less than an hour, full of off the wall goofiness and energy and the furthest thing from anything remotely serious beyond the moral of the story (don't be a greedy dick, Pee-Wee!) and then out of nowhere, WHAMMO! Quick jab of serious Jesus business. And before you can even process it, it's over and there's a talking pterodactyl drinking eggnog with a shirtless lifeguard who's only there to be a handsome chunk of man-steak while everyone chants along with the genie head in a box to turn the whole thing into a luau. It's like if The Terminator stopped in the middle of trying to gun down T-1000 to do a brief bit of tap-dancing before unloading another shotgun blast or Big Bird stopped singing the alphabet to momentarily remind us of the inevitable finality of death constantly looming over us before getting back to Q through Z.
If it hadn't stuck out like a sore thumb and had been melded into the goings-on a little more, I might not have given it nearly as much thought. But that thumb jabbed me in the eyeball and got my gears turning. Truth be told, they'd already shown that the tiny dinosaurs who live in the wall are Jewish and celebrating Hanukkah. That already raised a few questions in my mind but it was not so heavy-handed. A little odd but kind of cute. But then they came out of left field and resoundingly underlined that God and Jesus exist and matter in this living cartoon. And that's pretty weird if you think about it.
Jesus was God in human form, so God would know and understand our mortal existence but does he know what it's like to be Chairry? Does he know what it's like to have a rambunctious twerp regularly sit on your face? Does he know what its like to be farted on by a boisterous man-boy? Does he understand the suffering of being a piece of furniture? Maybe he should have come to earth as a La-Z-Boy.
If there are living, breathing, sentient clocks and globes and floorboards, do they have souls? Will Magic Screen go to heaven when he dies? Or will he be damned for his ungodly Magic? People might say my cat won't go to heaven but what if my cat is anthropomorphic and plays the bongos? On which day did God create the living furniture? Or are these man-made abominations? Is this whole house actually the devil's work?
In this world, Santa Claus is real, singing flowers are real, a giant joke-telling hand with a face is real, and Our Lord God in Christ Jesus is real because any logic you might use to conclude that none of that stuff makes sense and defies reason is completely out the window in Pee-Wee's Playhouse. Logic does not exist here. But then what about other gods? Same logic applies...er, doesn't apply. So, they must all exist there, too? In that case, I don't know about you, but I'd pay good money to see Thor drop by...actual Norse Thor or sexy movie Thor, I'd be fine with either for fairly different reasons.
[I can almost smell the smouldering crater already]
Anyway, in conclusion, yeah, I might over-think things. Especially God-related things. But for a very long time I was afraid to question and think too hard about those things so now I do and I sometimes do with a vengeance. Call it making up for lost efforts or something. Maybe this is all a stupid waste of time but thinking and questioning are good things, you can't really do it too much. It's good to stretch your mind, even if you are just wondering about some bullshit on a kid's show. I'm not saying they shouldn't have mentioned this stuff on this show, I'm just saying it was a really weird place for God.
Thursday, May 21, 2015
Ol' Squeebishaw
The old man invites us to "Gather 'round, gather 'round". He sucks on a pipe with a mouth that has teeth in the single digits. It only took one cocked eyebrow and one sentence of wondering just what in the hell a 'Squeebishaw' was for him to pounce. Much like he might lead you to some old crate full of musty treasures, he was eager to open this box of knowledge but did it with a deliberate pace. There is a certain ritual to this, I imagine, an order of events that he follows with each curious tourist who passes through his shop. It starts with the yellowing poster tacked to the wall, then your eyebrow raises, a questioning murmur escapes your lips, and there he is, ready to lead you through the rest of the paces. His steps as he moves toward you, the timing of his speech, his movements as he tells you the tale, all a part of a ceremony that's become second nature to him. How many times has he done this?
"'Course you ain't hearda Ol' Squeebishaw...you ain't from anywhere near here. Where you from?"
Our answer doesn't matter, we're just playing our part. His response will be a chuckle whether we say New York City or Nowhere-You've-Ever-Heard-Of, USA.
"Yeup. Ol' Squeebishaw, he stay close. He love this town. Love it deeply."
Maybe we ought to talk about that poster, the one that got this ball rolling. 'Poster' is a generous term, it's maybe twice the size of your standard sheet of paper. It's in sepia tones, gridded with creases as though it had been folded up for the majority of its existence. 'DO YOU DARE?' it asks above a rough sketch of forest with a dark angular figure slinking among the trunks. 'CALL UPON OL' SQUEEBISHAW?' it asks as though that's a second question and not a continuation of the first. Beneath that it becomes an event promotion with time and date and location. I guess if you dare, you dare then and there? Old Man will clear this up soon, I assume.
"He live in the trees. There a tree, there Squeebishaw. He up in there even though you can't see him. He there. Always."
Of course you don't start with, "Squeebishaw is a giant squirrel" or "Squeebishaw is a mutant chimpanzee." You don't get right to the point and answer the question. We'd be done and gone. Things need drama and intrigue, you've got to keep the mystery brewing. That's why you shoot down questions. You don't get a word in asking for clarification before you're hushed. This is his thing, let him do it.
"He watch. He wait. He come in the fall. He come when the moon orange and the sky purple. He come when he ready, when we ready, when it time."
Each nugget of info is punctuated by a long drag on the pipe. Pacing. Masterful. Drag this thing out. Ramp up our curiosity until we're damn-near vibrating. But then I fear he'll just walk away.
"He come down out the trees...gangly ol' Squeebishaw, branchy Ol' Squeebishaw..if you know how to call. If you know how to invite him. You invite him right an' he will come to you. Time gotta be right. Gotta follow the rules, gotta do what he want, gotta do it just right."
I can see where this is going. Those fears weren't off base. He's going to lead us on right to the edge and then, with a grin on his leathery face, he's going to walk away. We'll have to go on from there. We want to know just what in the hell Ol' Squeebishaw is? Well, we gotta do the dance. We gotta put in the work. We gotta invite the gangly bastard out of the trees. Of course.
"You sit under the orange moon, under the purple sky, you sit 'roud with your eyes closed. You need three things: goose, bucket, an' two penny."
So there's a shopping list involved. Good thing we're in a store. I can see a bucket from here. There's probably a goose out back. Hopefully they cost $9.98 so I can pay with a tenner.
"One penny go in bucket, one penny go in goose. It don't matter which end."
I assure you it'll be the front end, good sir.
"An' then you call on him, you call on him the way he like. You gotta sing his name, slow, you sing it slow and long...like you callin' your lover...but you gotta keep them eyes closed, you gotta keep them clamped shut. An' then he come. He come out the trees with his gangly bones...come with saucer eyes...come with snaggle teeth.
He come to you, he be with you, he be among you, Ol' Squeebishaw move among you, and you hear him breathe an' you feel him warm an' you smell him terrible...but you do not open them eyes, hear? You do not try an' see him or SLURP! SLURP! He eat them eyes like grapes an' then he gone, hear?"
We hear. Eyes closed or they're grapes, check.
And that's essentially where he leaves it. Takes us as far as he knows to go and then points us toward the park on the poster. Work 'em up to a fever and then walk away. Classic.
So we buy the bucket and sure enough, he has a goose on stand by. Two cents in my pocket and away we go. The sun's setting soon and that big orange moon will be in the purple sky before too long.
Nice little park. Lots of trees.
It's not often you have to get a goose to eat a penny and thank god for that because brother, it is a challenge. Much harder than putting one in a bucket.
We circle up. Bucket's in the middle, goose is wandering about making a rather awful honk as it tries to cough up President Lincoln.
Eyes closed.
For real, you guys, keep 'em shut.
Remember: SLURP! SLURP! Grapes!
He never said if the song had to be a solo or group effort so we all join voices with less than harmonious results.
"Squeeeeeeebishawwwwwww...
Squeeeeeebishaaaaaawwww...
Squeeeeeebishaaaaaawwwwww..."
And then...
"'Course you ain't hearda Ol' Squeebishaw...you ain't from anywhere near here. Where you from?"
Our answer doesn't matter, we're just playing our part. His response will be a chuckle whether we say New York City or Nowhere-You've-Ever-Heard-Of, USA.
"Yeup. Ol' Squeebishaw, he stay close. He love this town. Love it deeply."
Maybe we ought to talk about that poster, the one that got this ball rolling. 'Poster' is a generous term, it's maybe twice the size of your standard sheet of paper. It's in sepia tones, gridded with creases as though it had been folded up for the majority of its existence. 'DO YOU DARE?' it asks above a rough sketch of forest with a dark angular figure slinking among the trunks. 'CALL UPON OL' SQUEEBISHAW?' it asks as though that's a second question and not a continuation of the first. Beneath that it becomes an event promotion with time and date and location. I guess if you dare, you dare then and there? Old Man will clear this up soon, I assume.
"He live in the trees. There a tree, there Squeebishaw. He up in there even though you can't see him. He there. Always."
Of course you don't start with, "Squeebishaw is a giant squirrel" or "Squeebishaw is a mutant chimpanzee." You don't get right to the point and answer the question. We'd be done and gone. Things need drama and intrigue, you've got to keep the mystery brewing. That's why you shoot down questions. You don't get a word in asking for clarification before you're hushed. This is his thing, let him do it.
"He watch. He wait. He come in the fall. He come when the moon orange and the sky purple. He come when he ready, when we ready, when it time."
Each nugget of info is punctuated by a long drag on the pipe. Pacing. Masterful. Drag this thing out. Ramp up our curiosity until we're damn-near vibrating. But then I fear he'll just walk away.
"He come down out the trees...gangly ol' Squeebishaw, branchy Ol' Squeebishaw..if you know how to call. If you know how to invite him. You invite him right an' he will come to you. Time gotta be right. Gotta follow the rules, gotta do what he want, gotta do it just right."
I can see where this is going. Those fears weren't off base. He's going to lead us on right to the edge and then, with a grin on his leathery face, he's going to walk away. We'll have to go on from there. We want to know just what in the hell Ol' Squeebishaw is? Well, we gotta do the dance. We gotta put in the work. We gotta invite the gangly bastard out of the trees. Of course.
"You sit under the orange moon, under the purple sky, you sit 'roud with your eyes closed. You need three things: goose, bucket, an' two penny."
So there's a shopping list involved. Good thing we're in a store. I can see a bucket from here. There's probably a goose out back. Hopefully they cost $9.98 so I can pay with a tenner.
"One penny go in bucket, one penny go in goose. It don't matter which end."
I assure you it'll be the front end, good sir.
"An' then you call on him, you call on him the way he like. You gotta sing his name, slow, you sing it slow and long...like you callin' your lover...but you gotta keep them eyes closed, you gotta keep them clamped shut. An' then he come. He come out the trees with his gangly bones...come with saucer eyes...come with snaggle teeth.
He come to you, he be with you, he be among you, Ol' Squeebishaw move among you, and you hear him breathe an' you feel him warm an' you smell him terrible...but you do not open them eyes, hear? You do not try an' see him or SLURP! SLURP! He eat them eyes like grapes an' then he gone, hear?"
We hear. Eyes closed or they're grapes, check.
And that's essentially where he leaves it. Takes us as far as he knows to go and then points us toward the park on the poster. Work 'em up to a fever and then walk away. Classic.
So we buy the bucket and sure enough, he has a goose on stand by. Two cents in my pocket and away we go. The sun's setting soon and that big orange moon will be in the purple sky before too long.
Nice little park. Lots of trees.
It's not often you have to get a goose to eat a penny and thank god for that because brother, it is a challenge. Much harder than putting one in a bucket.
We circle up. Bucket's in the middle, goose is wandering about making a rather awful honk as it tries to cough up President Lincoln.
Eyes closed.
For real, you guys, keep 'em shut.
Remember: SLURP! SLURP! Grapes!
He never said if the song had to be a solo or group effort so we all join voices with less than harmonious results.
"Squeeeeeeebishawwwwwww...
Squeeeeeebishaaaaaawwww...
Squeeeeeebishaaaaaawwwwww..."
And then...
Muppet of the Fortnight: Animal
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We're going to start with the one that used to be my favorite, Animal. 'Used to be', eh? Do explain, mth!
Righto, well, back when I was a wee pup, Animal was my favorite. I thought he was awesome. For those who don't know beans about The Muppets, Animal is a bestial rock 'n' roll drummer with a limited vocabulary prone to getting overly enthusiastic, chasing folks, and beating the ever-loving crap out of his drumset.
So, why did little me love him so? A few reasons, I think:
-His comedy is simple. It isn't clever wordplay or satire. It isn't jokes that would fly over the head of a six year old. I suppose part of the reason for that is that he's portrayed as a fairly simple-minded character that talks like a caveman. Easy for a kid to understand his dialogue. A lot of it is him reacting to things with his classic look of confusion or embarrassment, where his thick bushy eyebrows drop and he breathes heavy, the hair on his face somehow seeming to wave with each exhale. Or he perks up, eyes wide, jaw slowly dropping into an open-mouth grin before bellowing about whatever it is and flipping right out. Chasing people, biting people, headbutting a snare drum, and being an idiot are things a kid can appreciate.
-He is easy to imitate. A lot of the Muppets have very distinct voices and that's part of the reason folks struggle to accept new voice actors if they can't nail the classic sound of the character. Animal, though? A bit of gruffness and then just shout. You may not be bang on but trust me, if the gist is there, it'll be pretty obvious to anyone who's familiar and much better than your Kermit impression. Go ahead, try it:
"AN-I-MAL! A-NI-MAL!"
"WO-MAN! WO-MAN!"
"DRUM SOLO! HEH HEH HEH!"
If your spouse/roommate/stalker-in-the-closet knows The Muppets, they'll know who you just impersonated. So as a kid, it was easy to impress yourself and your friends and have a laugh at your dynamite Animal impression.
-He is a bit of an outcast. I've always been drawn to the freaks and weirdos. Quasimodo, Frankenstein's monster, X-Men's Beast, these were my dudes and Animal kind of fits into that crowd. A lot of the other Muppets may be animals but most of them are pretty human as far as intelligence and behavior are concerned. Animal's a peg down from that, not quite on the level of the chickens but they've got the dude on a chain for god's sake! He doesn't quite fit in as an equal and he's even referenced to and treated as a pet in some instances but dammit, he's a Muppet, too! He has thoughts and feelings! They may be a bit simpler and he may not be able to express them clearly and without eating a cymbal but they're just as valid as Fozzie's or Gonzo's!
We could probably delve deeper into my psyche to figure out more but I'm not sure either of us are ready for that. So, why did I say, 'used to be my favorite'? What's changed?
Well, I do still like him. I've got a couple t-shirts with his grinning mug on them. But I've grown up. Over the past decades, I've grown to appreciate other characters the younger me overlooked. For example, little me probably thought Kermit was boring and spotlight-hogging (I accidentally typed that as 'hopping' at first, it should be noted) but older me gets him better now, appreciates his heart and determination, gets witty remarks, and so forth (can't explain too much or this'll just turn into my Kermit entry!). So while I still dig Animal, the playing field has levelled out a bit more and truthfully, sometimes his antics don't do much for me and even annoy me. Sometimes I think he's a little too one trick, almost predictable because of being a bit of a simpler character.
RANDOM THING! Sometimes Animal has a tail. It's a bit like a lion's tail, a long orange thing with a tuft of red on the end. You can see it clearly when he's clamped on that dude's ankle and getting dragged around in The Muppets Take Manhattan. I've seen it in a few other instances as well but the vast majority of the time, he's tail-free. Maybe it's tucked down his trouser leg, maybe he got it surgically removed. Probably a sensitive issue so I wouldn't ask unless you want your face bitten off.
Now how the hell do I wrap this up...?
Favorite Animal Moment?
Sure, let's do that.
I have to say what immediately sprang to mind when considering it was a scene near the end of The Muppet Movie where the feral fellow eats Dr. Honeydew's insta-grow pills. A forty foot Animal's grinning maw bursting through the roof was a striking visual that stuck with me to this day.
I'm not sure how they did the scene but a part of me hopes there's an Animal head the size of a minivan out there in the world. Part of me hope someone lives in it, too. *insert Animal House joke here*
In closing, Animal's an iconic member of the group with an instantly recognizable look and personality. He's pop culture. I owe a lot to him for getting me into The Muppets, he was good gateway character for an idiot kid. And while he may not top my list today, he still holds a place in my heart. Aww.
Take us out with a drum solo, you magnificent shaggy bastard...
Off with a sputter...
Well, of course.
Of course I'd finally buckle down after months of saying, "Man, I oughtta start a blog!" and finally do just that only to hit that inevitable brick wall of doubt. Am I writing something anyone's going to to want to read? Is what I've writing good enough? Interesting? Funny? So I've got a nearly finished post, the first installment of my Muppet series, sitting in the tank and here I am writing this instead of finishing that. I've edited and reread that post several times and even considered just scrapping the whole thing for now. And now I'm wondering if I've put the key in the ignition, started the car, and now am just going to sit in the driveway until the gas runs out.
So how do I tackle this beast of a thing that's keeping me from blogging my little heart out?
Well, first of all I should probably remind myself that no one reads the damn blog yet. I just started it. I made one post. I plugged it on Facebook but no one commented. So as it stands, I think the only people who've read that first post thus far are my wife and myself. If no one's watching, I can go ahead and make a damn fool of myself and not worry about anyone laughing.
But that's the thing, I shouldn't give a hoot anyway, I should just put it out there. I'm a really big fan of not giving a hoot about what other people think of you and your whole thing, it's practically my motto, and here I am doing just that about a post on a blog no one reads.
Excuse me while I slap myself.
The other thing is, I like doubt. I'm a big fan of doubt. I think it's a virtue. It makes you question, it makes you investigate, it makes you prepare. It makes you try that much harder to be that much surer. As long as you don't let it defeat you, doubt's a damn fine tool for being better. And I've already used it to refine the unposted post. I just need to say, "Alright, Doubt, ol' chum, thanks for your help but I'll take it from here," and let go of my dear friend's hand.
It's not even a bad post. It's probably a pretty good post.
And I'll be publishing it in just a few minutes.
Because c'mon, geez.
Of course I'd finally buckle down after months of saying, "Man, I oughtta start a blog!" and finally do just that only to hit that inevitable brick wall of doubt. Am I writing something anyone's going to to want to read? Is what I've writing good enough? Interesting? Funny? So I've got a nearly finished post, the first installment of my Muppet series, sitting in the tank and here I am writing this instead of finishing that. I've edited and reread that post several times and even considered just scrapping the whole thing for now. And now I'm wondering if I've put the key in the ignition, started the car, and now am just going to sit in the driveway until the gas runs out.
So how do I tackle this beast of a thing that's keeping me from blogging my little heart out?
Well, first of all I should probably remind myself that no one reads the damn blog yet. I just started it. I made one post. I plugged it on Facebook but no one commented. So as it stands, I think the only people who've read that first post thus far are my wife and myself. If no one's watching, I can go ahead and make a damn fool of myself and not worry about anyone laughing.
But that's the thing, I shouldn't give a hoot anyway, I should just put it out there. I'm a really big fan of not giving a hoot about what other people think of you and your whole thing, it's practically my motto, and here I am doing just that about a post on a blog no one reads.
Excuse me while I slap myself.
The other thing is, I like doubt. I'm a big fan of doubt. I think it's a virtue. It makes you question, it makes you investigate, it makes you prepare. It makes you try that much harder to be that much surer. As long as you don't let it defeat you, doubt's a damn fine tool for being better. And I've already used it to refine the unposted post. I just need to say, "Alright, Doubt, ol' chum, thanks for your help but I'll take it from here," and let go of my dear friend's hand.
It's not even a bad post. It's probably a pretty good post.
And I'll be publishing it in just a few minutes.
Because c'mon, geez.
Monday, May 18, 2015
Onward, Upward, and Always Twirling
Here we are, you and me, at the start of a thing called a blog. I am just another idiot who thinks what's in his head oughtta be words other people can read and you're...well, you're the poor sap that's giving me a moment of your time. For that, I thank you and probably ought to apologize in advance. I can't promise this is going to be anything close to worth it but by golly, I'm gonna do my damnedest to make this something someone other than myself might think worthwhile. If it makes you feel any better, I've been mulling over writing one of these for a good year or so and have had a lot of ideas rattling around, so hopefully I can polish those up and knock out content fairly regularly.
So, what can you expect here at Climb Out of My Nose? You can expect to climb out of my goddamn nose, that's what.
*cough!*
You can expect bad attempts at humor for starters. I'm going to probably do some random creative writing type stuff, probably have a couple of regular features (something of the month, maybe Muppet maybe pro wrestler, maybe monster, maybe all of the above), and then just spout my bullshit if the mood strikes. I'm into pro wrestling, monsters, comic books, and animals to name a few interests. Married. Atheist. Bisexual. Cut my own hair. Wear too many bracelets. Rather than just spit out various words about me I should just let the blog do the talking.
First hurdle I had to overcome in becoming a blogger was that pesky title. I wanted to go with 'Indifferent Plumbing' initially but then I googled and it didn't seem as unique as I'd first thought. So I sat here for damn near an hour throwing out various phrases and then staring at them in the box before deleting them. Some made second and third appearances. Considered the well worn 'just another idiot with a blog' approach, various song lyrics ("One of a Million Wandering Children" seemed a bit long), childhood nicknames ('The Goobug's Yabber"), and really lingered for awhile on 'Hot Mandrill Sex'...that was the front-runner for a good five minutes. So, what's up with the current title, you ask? Dave Letterman went on a rant about it on the Late Show when I was younger that had me laughing my ass off and it's stuck with me ever since. "What I want you to do is go to the tool shed, get a ladder, and climb out of my nose!" No idea what ol' Dave was on about but it's weirdness and I dig weirdness. You'll understand that soon enough.
Second hurdle: do I swear? You have to consider your audience but you also have to be genuine. In real life, I'm known to fire off some salty language here and there. I feel it adds color and punch and expresses things better than the softer alternatives. At the same time, my dear sweet mother might want to read my ramblings and not be so fond of her son popping off f-bombs. So what's a boy supposed to do? Sorry, Mom, but there may occasionally be some adult language from your adult son.
I think that's long enough for an intro. Maybe too long? I honestly know jack-diddly about blogging protocol, I'm just diving in like an idiot. So come swim with this idiot if you'd like and hopefully we don't drown.
So, what can you expect here at Climb Out of My Nose? You can expect to climb out of my goddamn nose, that's what.
*cough!*
You can expect bad attempts at humor for starters. I'm going to probably do some random creative writing type stuff, probably have a couple of regular features (something of the month, maybe Muppet maybe pro wrestler, maybe monster, maybe all of the above), and then just spout my bullshit if the mood strikes. I'm into pro wrestling, monsters, comic books, and animals to name a few interests. Married. Atheist. Bisexual. Cut my own hair. Wear too many bracelets. Rather than just spit out various words about me I should just let the blog do the talking.
First hurdle I had to overcome in becoming a blogger was that pesky title. I wanted to go with 'Indifferent Plumbing' initially but then I googled and it didn't seem as unique as I'd first thought. So I sat here for damn near an hour throwing out various phrases and then staring at them in the box before deleting them. Some made second and third appearances. Considered the well worn 'just another idiot with a blog' approach, various song lyrics ("One of a Million Wandering Children" seemed a bit long), childhood nicknames ('The Goobug's Yabber"), and really lingered for awhile on 'Hot Mandrill Sex'...that was the front-runner for a good five minutes. So, what's up with the current title, you ask? Dave Letterman went on a rant about it on the Late Show when I was younger that had me laughing my ass off and it's stuck with me ever since. "What I want you to do is go to the tool shed, get a ladder, and climb out of my nose!" No idea what ol' Dave was on about but it's weirdness and I dig weirdness. You'll understand that soon enough.
Second hurdle: do I swear? You have to consider your audience but you also have to be genuine. In real life, I'm known to fire off some salty language here and there. I feel it adds color and punch and expresses things better than the softer alternatives. At the same time, my dear sweet mother might want to read my ramblings and not be so fond of her son popping off f-bombs. So what's a boy supposed to do? Sorry, Mom, but there may occasionally be some adult language from your adult son.
I think that's long enough for an intro. Maybe too long? I honestly know jack-diddly about blogging protocol, I'm just diving in like an idiot. So come swim with this idiot if you'd like and hopefully we don't drown.
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