"For me, the greater the euds, the greater the che-launge"

I am not a fan of video tribute medleys. This is the exception.

Peter Sellers on Being Himself

"Sellers appeared on The Muppet Show television series in 1977. He chose not to appear as himself, instead appearing in a variety of costumes and accents. When Kermit the Frog told Sellers he could relax and be 'himself,' Sellers (while wearing a Viking helmet, a girdle and one boxing glove, claiming to have attempted to dress as Queen Victoria), replied, 'There is no me. I do not exist. There used to be a me, but I had it surgically removed.'"

Clip here.

Strikes Again!

I have no words lately. Nothing out of the ordinary; just quiet.

However, I did laugh my arse off the other night watching this:



I have my vague memories of my parents laughing hysterically and repeating Clouseauisms back in the 70s. It's warming to feel part of the circle of life.

In this next scene, Clouseau tries on his Quasimodo disguise, which arrived ready-made in a box sporting a specific warning not to over-inflate the hump.

"The bell! The bell!"

Step On Ya, Walk On Ya, Step On Ya, Walk On Ya

This phrase keeps popping into my head (and whoops, sometimes out of my mouth) at work. Its origin is one of my favorite cartoons from childhood, "The Cat That Hated People."

Appended for your amusement. It gets pretty trippy.

You Know Who's Got Hands?

This has been an exceptionally stressful week even by the standards of all the stressful weeks preceding it.

What better time to finally see "Walk Hard!"

The first time ¡J! and I saw it, we kept exchanging glances across the couch, witnessing one crazy-ass scene unfold after another. Ohthatissosillynoway. Ohgoodgrief.

There is a cumulative effect of such thoughts. About halfway through the movie I hit the breaking point. I pitched forward and started howling and haven't stopped since.

This is my favorite scene, I think:



I feel like like a 14-year-old who just discovered Monty Python.

Now, when things get bad, I beg ¡J! to put the movie on and play some scenes. It's the only thing that sets the world right.

Thus ends the . . .

. . . Muppet thread. And, hark! What thread has recommenced!?!





It's the return of the alien octopus!!!!!

This is the first time in a long time I've seen one that's not on a moving object (truck) or on a stationary object (wall) at a moment in time in which I am on a moving object (train, bus).

<. . . >

Mmm, ok, one more Muppet pic.

Electric Mayhem

(Clockwise from left: John, Joe, Ross, Erica, Andy)

Please note that Plastic Sharples / Blonde Wombat / 99 cent Beef combo, aka the John Sharples Band, will be playing at Hank's Saloon on Friday. I have no idea when, or with whom.

More info as it becomes available.

I'm the backup singer, woooo!

"Mo' Muppets" Monday!

I hope this inspires your singing as it has mine!

"Classic Muppets" Sunday!

Isn't today a great day . . .

(1) . . . to be born?

Welcome, Jonah Klein Rogoff! Looks like you have your mom's beautiful red hair and dad's winsome smile.
















(2) . . . or, if you've already been born, to curl up under a blanky and watch the newest fabulous show on basic cable?

Rescued

I am so completely happy to know that my favorite show is coming back in 2 weeks. This clip came on as I was watching Airplane TV, but the stewardess was yammering through it and she pre-empted the sound . . . something about oxygen masks . . . whatever. Anyway -- yay:



Here's a superbly over-the-top outtake that illustrates so much of what I love about this show.

Part 1:



Part II:

St. Elmo's: A Reconsideration

It was on tv the other night, and I couldn't resist. I remember falling in love with the characters when I was 13 or 14 and I totally, totally couldn't wait to be them.

I dug out my teen diaries to see if I wrote about it but I haven't found anything yet. I do remember how much I loved those girls. Ally Sheedy was so pretty in her pearls and lace and big sweaters and big skirts and big boots. Mare Winningham was the character I identified with most strongly at the time -- in the sense that she was kinda frumpy and plain -- and I aspired to be beloved and trusted by all, as she seemed to be. Demi Moore's character seemed kinda scary, but now she seems the most funny and real of the bunch. (That is, if "real" means doing coke in a hotel room with a bunch of Saudi Arabian playboys. But still, she was the quickest of the lot.)

I found other things in the diaries, though, which led me to new realizations:

1. I did a LOT of babysitting. I adored those kids.

2. I was depressed and dissociated much of the time, and my mom and sister were very moody, with some kind of special static between them.

3. I was prone to fits of righteous anger.

4. I watched too much television. (Should have picked up guitar - duh.)

5. My parents invested unbelievable amounts of time in their children -- running the household, going to work, running me back and forth to work, driving us around to visit colleges, doing epic amounts of food shopping, and so much more that I can't fully fathom at this moment.

My point of view in the diaries is basically dulled and distant, or when talking about my pack of girlfriends, slightly buzzed with giddiness. It's odd. The teen years are famous for oceanic depths of feeling; but for the most part, I was skimming.

Which brings me back to St. Elmo. As we know from Billy's big speech -- the intellectual high point in the film, judging by the other quotables -- the fire in question is no fire atall. It's just a phenomenon in nature. Furthermore, contrary even to Billy, sailors did not guide their journeys by St. Elmo's Fire. It just was what it was.

In a way, St. Elmo's was my St. Elmo's. (Billy version.) I couldn't wait to be young, hip, and fabulous, just like them. They didn't quite guide my journey, but they planted the seeds of an illusion.

What do you do when your illusions die?

Illusion is tricky: Necessary for the energy to continue in art, in the sense that you feel a surge of wholeness and importance when in fact only an assemblage of raw materials exist. Paint on canvas. Notes hanging in the air.

Illusion makes love possible. You don't just see your lover, you see yourself and your lover in some kind of paradigm of beautifulness.

Illusion easily becomes lethal to the soul. When enough illusions have been shattered, one can become Blance Dubois, frantically cobbling together new illusions out of shards.

Perhaps the question really is, how do you live without illusions? Is that what people mean when they say that someone Just Gave Up?

Tag 'n tell

You may be wondering who I tagged:

Everybody Loves Saturday Night,

Nipperknits,

Flowergirl,

and In the Quiet of My Heart.

I'm not sure that they all care to play such foolish games, but they always have something interesting to say regardless.

Ssssh! Let's listen now!

Wagging the Dog

It has come to my attention that the previous post may have been unclear, or heaven forbid, unseemly.

I guess I just meant woof.

Apologies to Scott and everyone if this seems disappointing.


*********************

Other topics of the summer:

1. Faith.
Why have it. What is it. Where can I get some.

2. Firemen.
If it weren't for the macabre sense of comfort provided by this show, I'd have completely given up on item #1.

3. 'Fiddich.
I do not drink this often, but take comfort knowing it's out there if I need it.

4. Frank.
Finally, yes . . . I believe every fucking word he sings.

You barkin' at me?

Sea Lions are taking over.

I'm crushed. I just heard from a reliable source that my ten-year crush is now married with a child! It's just as well: If I ever had the opportunity to hug him, I would likely crush him.