On Surgery

So I am getting a major surgery coming up here on Tuesday, November 25.  Yeah, that's right, directly before the the most Turkey-munchingest holiday of them all.  What of it?  

Some odd things happened in preparation for this surgery.  First of all, a little history.  The only "surgery" I have had in my life was having my wisdom teeth surgically removed.  Not exactly life-threatening.  SO I am a total newb in this arena.  Bring on the lions anyway.  

So a lady calls me to get some demographic information as part of my registration.  After getting the standard name, birthday, and social her first question was what religious affiliation I am.  I was a little confused at first but then immediately a light bulb went off and I totally got it.  

They ask you that question but it is what is implied, what they don't say, that is haunting.  They leave a part out.  The absent phrase is, "If you die and a religious representative is needed . . . ."  Of course they don't say that part because it would freak out masses of pre-surgery folk who'd then totally back out.  Docs and hospitals won't get paid, the health care industry would be turned on its ear.  Mass hysteria.   Any-who, I answered the question and went on with the rest of the survey.  Panic.

So that got me to thinking about dying on the table, which would totally suck.  So, hopefully, what I type here counts as my wishes...also, someone would have to see it.  I digress.  

If I die here's what I want to happen:

First the funeral.  In the ground, please.  Unless cremation is cheaper.  I care not what I am wearing.  I want Mazzy Star's "Into Dust" played at the funeral.  

All my stuff:  Goes to Addie and Jon.  My clothes can be donated to Goodwill or similar.  Addie can sell my car.  I still owe on it.  She can do whatever she wants with anything I have with a few exceptions.  My guitar cannot be sold or donated.  My books cannot be sold or donated.  

Eulogy:  

Who oh who to deliver a eulogy.  I immediately think of Ben Pruett.  Who else knows me well enough and won't be so overwhelmed by sorrow?  Ok, so Ben it is.  I'd like an equal balance of ethos, pathos, and logos.

Invite everyone:  Friends and family.  Exception: If I didn't know them, they are not invited.  That goes for like the younger generation's gfs or bfs.  

I bet I'll make it through just fine.  But just in case the above will cover the big stuff I think.

How morbid.

What some people don't seem to understand about politics

The election is over. Huzzah!

My guy won. Huzzah!

I've read some posts on various sites of people who are obviously ignorant on the process of American politics and protocol.

Hey, idiots, pay attention in civics class. here is a summary.

One user claimed that Obama has already gone back on his word to offer change. Hey, idiot, he doesn't take office until January.

Another user said that Obama is doing nothing to address Israel attacking or being attacked by whomever. Instead, this person stated, he's measuring the drapes. hey, idiot, HE DOESN"T TAKE OFFICE UNTIL JANUARY. Until then it is Bush's job still. Let's see how HE handles it. And if you're angry that nothing has been done yet it is the conservative Republican in the office now that hasn't acted.

Another user pessimistically says "we are so screwed." Hey, idiot, he doesn't take office until January.

By the way, there is no magic wand that comes with the office of the president. Just thought I'd throw that out there.

Another user says that democracy is over and socialism has begun in America. I wish it were true. Statements like this are clearly inaccurate. Obviously people making these statements have never learned what socialism really is.

Another user said that corrupt Chicago politics are going to ruin the country. This came from someone no where near the city or state. They cannot offer any examples.

Another user declared "Impeach Obama!" Obviously this person doesn't understand that impeach means to bring charges against. Since Obama doesn't take office until January he cannot be impeached for the office of the president. I guess this person wants a pre-emptive impeachment: how very republican.

Another user claims that Obama denounced the Constitution. hey, idiot, the wording and syntax of the Constitution is arranged as such so it limits not gives rights. But I've only studied the language and linguistics intensely for 6.5 years so what do I know.

Another user compared Obama to Jimmy Carter. Hey, idiot, this is a logical fallacy. If you don't know what that means look it up. More specifically it is called the false analogy with a little bit of ad hominem, straw man, burden of proof, etc, etc.

Another user said that it is the democrats who are making this about race. Hey, idiot, you brought it up.

Another user said that we are no going to turn into a third world country. Hey, idiot, go to a third world country some time and see what it really means.

Another user wanted to know where the line starts for free stuff. Hey, idiot, you're thinking more of communism (an idealized version) than socialism. Read a book.

Are all republicans idiots? Of course not. But the ones on this certain webpage were. If you're so convinced that the country is headed the wrong way with Obama, work for change instead of bitching about it on a website.

For those that claim they know history and are convinced this is the beginning of the end . . . if you know history so well then you should know that the balance of power goes back and forth every 2, 4, 6, 8 years.

Now stop arguing with each other and get on with your lives.

Chelsea: A Retrospective

Tomorrow is my big sister's birthday. She'll be 31 for those keeping track. If she told you different she's lying!

Here are a few things I remember about my sister in (roughly) chronological order.

1. She was born the same year Elvis died . . . some still blame her for his death.

2. When I was born 3 years later Chelsea was not happy and tried to convince our grandparents that I would be ok alone in the house while they left to go to a park.

3. We used to make play dough balls and dry them in the sun in a vain attempt to make our own bouncy balls. The results were less than desirable.

4. She had (has?) a collection of little bears: diminutive teddy bears. She kept them in a clear plastic comforter bag.

5. She used to paint my finger nails with sparkly blue polish...I then became Claw.

6. We had sock wars.

7. One word: Goozy. If you don't know, ask her about it.

8. We used to have twin mini bikes but Chelsea never took hers out of first gear.

9. Chelsea once wrote a nasty letter to a neighbor girl she didn't like. Parents got involved. There was some unpleasantness.

10. Once, when picking up or dropping off Chelsea for a date, I had to witness the good night kiss. Here's how it went down. They stood right in front of the garage of the boy's house. Mom and I waited in the car. They didn't even try to escape the headlights. Mom said, "Now we get to see Chelsea play tonsil hockey." They did. I haven't been right ever since.

11. Chelsea's first car was a Firenza...not the newer kind. The previous owners named it Fire.
The head eventually cracked and it had to go.

12. Chelsea's second car was a four cylinder mustang with a noisy fuel pump. She rolled it on 55 one winter.

13. Once Chelsea convinced me to put on one of her old one-piece bathing suits. I did. Hilarity ensued.

14. In a sibling fight one afternoon, Chelsea kicked me in the Jimmy.

15. Chelsea got married, squeezed out a puppy, and moved to the burbs.

16. Chelsea told me not to write about her in my blog.

There is probably a lot more but I can't remember everything. Certainly there is much more embarrassing stuff. If I remember anything juicy I'll be sure to add it!

Happy Birthday, Sis.

Why I Hate Halloween: A Wet Towel's Primer

It's that time of the year again. Yes Christmas music on the radio. Santas on store shelves. Toy manufacturers up their budgets 200% for the newest radio controlled, voice-activated, batteries not included, plush, limited edition, fun for all ages plastic piece of crap . . . wait, this is October, right? How is it that I have heard so much about Christmas and not boo about Thanksgiving which, unless it dropped out of the holiday line to use the crapper and didn't call place holdsies, is the next work-relieving bacchanal?

But this isn't about Christmas or Turkey Day (or tryptophan appreciation day as I like to call it). No this is about Halloween and why I hate it so very, very much. The following points are in no particular order of annoyance. They all erk me equally. Read carefully and add to the list via the comment option if you so desire.

1. Disappointing costumes.
Once upon a time I was a kid. Like many kids I enjoyed Halloween. What kid wouldn't (with the acception of those with early on-set diabetes of course, Mormons, Quakers, etc, and so on). I recall one year, way back in 1986, when I wanted to don my best black head band and be a ninja. I don't recall the circumstances of that year that lead to the following affect but by recess that day there were no less than 2 dozen ninjas who had taken over the wood balance beam section of the Progress South elementary school playground. I felt about as original as a xerox copy of a blank page. Not to mention that my ninja costume lacked the awesomeness of many of the other kids' costumes. Clearly the artists interpretation of ninja for my costume was lacking even a basic understanding of the ninja mythology. It may have been my mother but I can't be sure.

Another time I recall wanting to be a ghost, something my own son desires to be this year. This is an obviously cheap costume to create. White sheet + scissors = ghost costume. But my mother refused this standard method, time-tested and functional as it was. She vetoed the idea citing that I may suffocate under the sheet. I was then made a costume complete with a head hole to provide my living noggin ample breathing space. Of course ghosts did not have living heads, or heads at all for that matter, so I was less than authentic and looked as though my costume was supposed to be nothing more than barber shop patron, a title which, if appearing in a Hollywood movie, would be buried so deep in the credits no one would be left in the theatre to even see it.

2. Creativity is not rewarded as it should be.
Many years after the fabled ghost incident in the late 1980s I took it upon myself to create my own costume. This occurred only because I was talked into dressing up by a friend of mine who was for reasons unknown excited about the holiday. His mother then produced a box full of numerous masks and other Halloween paraphernalia and I began to pick through it. I could not decide between the rainbow afro wig and the executioner mask so I combined them. I called myself the "Afro-cutioner," which I thought was brilliant. No one else agreed and I sulked for the rest of the evening.

An a separate occasion, in college, I was invited to a Halloween party but did not have a costume or the means to purchase one. I decided at the last minute to cut eye holes in a paper bag and, if asked, I would reply that I was Elanor Roosevelt. Again, no one really got it and I went costumeless for the remainder of the evening.

3. Speaking of parties . . .
I was invited again to a Halloween party the following year. This time I went all out and crafted a costume that took hours to complete. I was a dead pimp. People got it. They weren't as amused as I hoped but it was looking pretty good for me that year. But the costume, clothes, makeup, ended up being way too hot and I did not enjoy myself.

4. Academics in a red county are not in to fun
At my last job I dressed for Halloween. I was the only professor who did so. I was Ash from Army of Darkness. It was clever, no, really. After one class that morning I quickly ran to the school bookstore and purchased a shirt and disassembled my costume. I went through the rest of the day pretending that it didn't happen.

5. My own kid: a new era
You'd think I would have a renewed love for the holiday as seen through the eyes of my son. But no. Walking around in the middle of the night, in the cold, dressed as someone I'm not, and asking strangers for candy does not appeal to me.

6. The Simpsons
The annual Treehouse of Horrors is a staple of the season. But over the past seven years or so it has aired after Halloween. Lame.

7. Haunted Houses suck
They are a waste of money. If you want to be scared this holiday season watch the DOW for a day.

8. Pranks
At some point, it isn't always clear when, the pranker becomes the prankee. The "give us candy or die" mentality keeps us at the mercy of the young...those cheeky bastards.

9. Tooth decay

10. The slippery slope
Halloween's arrival signals the all-clear for the Christmas season free fore all that will inevitably consume the remainder of the year...even though it is two months away.

Perhaps that is it but reason enough for me to hate Halloween. I have a co-worker who loves Halloween. We don't get along. My favorite holiday remains the 4th for many of the reasons cited by my own father. You get off of work, you don't have to buy presents, and you can have a good time. All the things Independence should be.

There's a costume contest at work this week. I have been thinking about being a giant emtpy toilet paper roll. But I've been hurt in the past so I guess I'll stay on the sidelines.

Having a kid makes avoiding Halloween impossible for me. I am trapped for years to come. This year the boy wants to be a ghost and you can bet that he won't have to suffer the embarrassment of a barber shop patron head hole.

Why I'm Thankful for Tom Cruise and to a lessor extent Val Kilmer

Like a good portion of Americans, how many I couldn't say nor would I want to venture a guess or guesstimate or any other measuring verbiage, I have been sorta keeping an eye on this election thing that's about to go down in November.  In the mean time we get the obligatory pre-fight trash talk, like this November will be promoted by Don King (no relation to my doctor).  

So if you've been paying attention Obama is apparently a terrorist sympathizer and McCain is a mummy Karl Rove raised from the dead while on an expedition in Egypt.  Somehow Sarah Palin was caught up in the mess.  Apparently someone thought she was a politician.  And then we have Joe Biden, the man with the creepiest grin in Washington.  But I don't want to pick on Joey B too much since he is having some family troubles right now.

I always used campaign ads as an example of pathos (appealing to emotion in argument) when I was still teaching.  It's unfortunate that I do not have a few classes this year as the ads have been the proverbial (and stereotypical) gold mine.  I'm still waiting for the "Obama: he has giant ears, but is he ready to lead?"  Or maybe "John McCain has a plan for the economy.  All newly homeless people can make camp under his jowls."  But one part of John McCain's whole platform really has me a little creeped out.  It's not his fault and maybe it's just me but there is definitely something to be said about signifiers and the signified.

Basically what I take issue with is John McCain and Sarah Palin's self-referential use of the term maverick.  I'm not saying that politically either one is or isn't.  Frankly I could not care less.  It is the word itself.

Flashback to the 1980s for a second.  Leg warmers, New Coke, so on, so forth.  (If you haven't seen I love the 80s by now it's your loss.)  One of the most popular movies of the time was Top Gun.  You probably remember singing along to "You've Lost that Loving Feeling" with Tom in the bar scene.  Or maybe you cried when Goose died.  Or maybe still you remember thinking "why the hell are we fighting a handful of Russian planes?  Are we in some sort of trouble?"

But for me this movie holds a different memory.  It was the first, and really only, time I have heard the word maverick . . . until now.  Something went horribly wrong in my brain because now if I try to picture the movie everything is fine until a scene with Tom Cruise is recalled then, BAM, jump cut to John McCain in the role of Maverick.  Stuffed into a flight suit.  Crooning at the bar to attract a would-be sexual encounter.  Playing topless beach volleyball.  

It really is upsetting.  Of course it doesn't end there.  Sarah Palin would have to be Goose which I guess makes Obama Ice Man, Maverick's nemesis.  I imagine McCain and Palin walking shoulder to shoulder on a flight deck reciting, in unison, "I feel the need, the need for speed," before limping into a Lincoln Town Car and going 45 on the highway.  That's an age joke.  

Palin as Goose is a good fit though.  They are interchangeable.  Both with an "aw shucks, golly gee," sort of disposition which, coincidentally, makes me want to vomit.  Even Obama as Ice Man works.  The young hot shot . . . etc, whatever else...I can't remember too much about Val Kilmer in the film.  Of course then you have Viper who is sort of the boss of both Maverick and Ice Man so, to continue to merge reality and art, I guess, since both Obama and McCain are senators, Nancy Pelosi would be Viper.

Side note, the only black dude in the movie was named Sundown...not very subtle.  Why night Blackman or Midnight or Film Noir?  

So now I have this cast of politicians invading my memories of a movie I've never even liked which then makes me like it even less.  But I know, and this is my saving grace, that Tom Cruise was Maverick, whether I can picture it that way or not.  I hate Tom but I'd rather see him playing topless beach volleyball then Johnny Mac.  Palin on the other hand . . . .

PS At Blog's End fans, due to popular demand you should now be able to post comments.  Try it and let me know.

Don't Call Her Charlie

I haven't blogged for awhile and with good reason. I've been a little under the weather so to speak. More specifically I have the head spins with headache and loss of appetite. I finally decided to go to the doctor except I had to find one. I kept meaning to ask relatives who they recommend but I kept forgetting. Finally I got down to my last couple of pills per bottle and had to engage in a plan of action or suffer whatever dreadful misery awaited at the bottom of an empty prescription pill bottle.

I looked for doctors in my town because I didn't want to drive to Peoria just to get a script and I figured that, hey, why not have a doctor near by. It's sort of like having a lawyer on retainer but instead of the financial pain you might get from an attorney the doctor just jabs a needle in your arm (if you're lucky) and takes out or puts in some sort of fluid.

At any rate I narrowed my search to two practices in town and the lucky winner would be whoever answered the phone first. I think I lucked out though. My new doctor is named Donald King. Now I can say "I got a meeting with Don King about some bihness." It sounds kinda cool anyway.

So I finally meet with Don King which brings me to the real subject of today's entry. He was asking me a lot of questions trying to get a picture of my health and history. I had to give the abridged version because, well, if you know me I've had a lot of visits to the ER. But anyway he was asking me questions about how others in my life are concerned about my health. Primarily my wife. He said something like "I'm sure your wife is concerned about your health, too." I must of looked confused trying to figure out a way to say "I'm not sure, I can't tell," or something because he changed the subject to something else.

But I kept thinking about how to respond to that query. I mean, I'm sure she cares but really you'd never be able to tell. Which then reminded me of this girlfriend I had in 6th grade who, upon learning I had broken my wrist, said, "Good job."

My wife used to seem to have emotion but now she's more like that hot girl who plays the helpful terminator on the Sarah Conner Chronicles...I think they named her Cameron. They seem to have a lot in common: like hiding (or the lack of) emotion leads to a cold death machine that will kill you at any moment.

But it wasn't always this way. She (my wife, not the terminator) used to show anger, sadness, happiness, and the rest...it's true, I could tell by the look on her face. I can still make her laugh but I have to try real hard and it makes me out of breath and I start sweating (paging Don King).

The turning point was a little more than 4 years ago. She squeezed out a kid and afterwards it was like she just got back from NAM. Thank god she doesn't have flashbacks...or maybe she does. She gets kinda mean in her sleep. Must be some repressed anger in there some where. She scares the heck out of me. Grinding her teeth in her sleep, grunting. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and think someone's getting ready to slaughter a pig in the bed next to me.

Of course I am (like men in most relationships) the target of whatever output of anger and frustration there may be. But most of the time you wouldn't expect it. She won't be showing emotion then, bam! Ever get punched in the face by a blank canvas?

No, she doesn't physically abuse me, that would be silly...no really, these bruises are from when I walked into a door. But seriously, she's a 5 foot 3 powder keg.

But I imagine she'll read this post and yell at me...or I'll ask her about it and she'll say "Yeah, I read it." Or maybe she'll re-develop a sense of humor.

Antique Heads and Shrunken Memorabilia

You may wonder, as you read this, what this particular subject has to do with pop culture. My answer is this: pop culture isn't all He-man and Fox animated TV shows, hula hoops, and hoop skirts etc and so on. Remember that the "pop" stands for popular, or, if spelled wrong, poplar, which is a somewhat misunderstood and often under appreciated species of tree. And if M. Night Shama...Shamie...Shamalan...Shyamalan has taught us anything it is to respect trees...or they will kill us all.

Anyway the following does fall under the category of pop culture because for a time antiquing was a popular part of our culture. See how that works. Anything lampooned on mediocre sitcoms is fair game. On to the show!

Now whatever your reason for antiquing may be, trying to impress a lady you're courting (or gentleman), seriously looking for that last piece of your interior design puzzle, or trying to meet a new special someone, you may or may not have run into this conundrum.

I used to frequent antique stores more for my love of junk than anything. You see I am a recovering pack rat and to get my fix I would frequent the several antique stores in Cape Girardeau, MO. The wall-to-wall collected chaos was my crack. Eventually I was able to overcome the addiction and I haven't visited an antique store in quite some time. 3 years sober!

But for a time there was nothing better to do. Around the same time I went through a rather interesting phase. It was a sort of old-fedoras-and-hats-in-general-are-super-sweet-and-why-the-hell-shouldn't-I-be-super-sweet-too-and-bring-them-back phase that, unfortunately, you won't find an informational pamphlet or hygiene film about.

If you've ever been in an antique store, you've seen these hats. The former wearers (probably) long dead, and here you are lucky enough to find a few not buried with the deceased. I've been in dozens of stores and have always seen hats.

Now you may have reservations of where you put your head. I am less picky about where I park my melon. I have no fear of lice or catching polio or some other disease of times past (passed?). Try it out some time. Live a little. Trying a hat on in an antique store is exhilarating...like bungee jumping.

Anyway, upon inspection of these hats all have been, without exception, in remarkable shape. Perhaps a little faded, of course quite dusty, but overall very wearable...until I try to place them upon my noggin.

I'm not saying I have an abnormally large head. I mean, it's not like Sloth from the Goonies or anything (Rocky Road?). It is pretty average when it comes to hat sizes. Normal, it seems, has evolved. Instead of a semi-snug fit around my dome I am left with an overtly comical, as if I tried for the effect, fedora or bowler perched upon my head. Picture a cartoon rendition of Laurel and Hardy...I'd be the fat one.

Without fail, every time, the hats would not fit. This lead me to several hypotheses:

1) The hats shrunk over the years. Plausible but I'm not contacting the Mythbusters just yet.

2) I have a wicked large head. On the contrary. When I look in the mirror my head is disproportionate with the rest of me. Also I believe I have always had a small head...a fact that can be confirmed by my offspring who also has a small head (noted by a doctor who didn't pull any punches).

3) People in the past had much smaller heads. This is, of course, the only logical conclusion. And, I might add, the best case for evolution.

This had to be the answer. Science has already verified that people thousands of years ago were much, much smaller. So it only stands to reason that 50 years ago people were only slightly smaller than now. I was able to verify this by looking at matching suites of the same time period...none of which fit me.

There is the possibility that only small-headed and bodied people left these hats behind but that would be a most unlikely coincidence. What are the odds...the Rams have a better chance at super bowl ring this year.

No, it is official, people in the past, the first half of the 20th century, had tiny heads. It isn't their fault, that is just how it is. The question is why the tiny heads? People of the past really didn't have access to as much information as we do now. Oodles, even. It's sick how much we know, collectively, as a people. All that knowledge has to go somewhere, right? So it only stands to reason, more knowledge = bigger brain = fatter head. That's the evolution part of the argument.

Perhaps in the future we'll have to cart our enormous heads around in some sort of wheeled device. Of course, we''l be so smart we won't even have to walk. But I digress.

Having finally solved the problem I accepted the fact that I'd never have a lovely fedora of my own. That was until Target, apparently coming to the same conclusion as me at a much greater expense I'm sure, came to my rescue and offered a proper fitted fedora (made by a tiny-headed child in China I'm sure who couldn't even imagine the monstrous beast whose head would fit into the hat hole...a metaphor for Western gluttonous culture and free trade).

It wasn't until I wore it with my black suit an tie that people started asking me were Elwood was. That joke got old real fast. Jake, I would tell them, did not have a beard. Idiots!

Hard-boiled Muppets and the End of the World

I recently finished a novel by a Japanese author, Murakami, that got me to thinking about a few things. In general, Muppets. Though the novel had nothing to do with Muppets or yarn-haired foam puppets of any kind. The connection exists only as the completion of the novel and failed conversation (one-sided I might add) about Muppets overlapped . . . cognitively within the confines of my own mind or subconscious reality of my own creation (read the novel to find out more). But I digress. On to Muppets.

I asked my co-worker Troey which was his favorite Muppet to which he replied Kermit. Mine is Animal (An-ee-mol!). He then recanted citing Cookie Monster as his true favorite. This then brought up the obvious question: How does one define Muppet? As you probably know Cookie (if you grew up during the 70s and 80s or were raising children at the time) Cookie Monster is part of the Sesame Street universe. Within the lax "rules" of that universe the creatures there-in are referred to as "monsters". Not referenced only by outsiders commenting or criticizing the universe but within the universe itself. Elmo, Telly, Cookie Monster, etc are monsters. Bert and Ernie, however, are not. What, then, are they? The most logical answer would, of course, be Muppets. I think this is inaccurate for several reasons which I will discuss. But still the question remains: If not Muppets, what, then? Maybe we will come to an answer together.

Let's first look at the difference between traditional Muppets and Sesame Street monsters and other characters. If we go back in time, 1969, the debut of Sesame Street pre-dates the Muppet Show (1976). However, like I mentioned before, the term "Muppet" was not used within the Universe of Sesame Street but rather "monsters". In 1976 The Muppet Show debuted to mediocre reviews despite being semi-hip. Of course Sesame Street is still on today. The term "Muppet" was popularized because of the show. These characters, of which Fozzie Bear and Animal, among others, are a part, were collectively dubbed as Muppets. Could it be, then, that the term was retroactive? That all characters created by Jim Henson, past and present, fall under the category of Muppet only because the same person created them?

True sometimes monsters and muppets have crossed the fourth wall separating them and interacted within each other's universe. The difference is that Sesame Street is an island in itself while the Muppets share a universe with us human-folk.

I believe that at some point Henson just accepted the fact that everyone was referring to both entities as Muppets, the collective consciousness' lexicon as its most lazy, and allowed the blending of universes and the term to cover all his puppets, including the bastardized version of both known as Fragle Rock; a failed Muppet/Monster incestuous offspring that, thankfully, perished some time ago.

So we have Muppets. But does Big Bird, or Elmo appear in the much beloved animated Muppet Babies? No. Though certain characters seem to have access to both universes.

Another key difference is the audience for each show. Sesame Street, is clearly for children (and makes no apologies for it). The Muppet Show, on the other hand, is much more of an adult program. This key difference makes the citing of all these creatures as Muppets uncomfortable.

But let's face it, the term has been used to describe any Jim Henson creation of the puppet variety. Similar puppet type creatures of the same era could also be considered Muppets if not for the fact that Jim Henson had no hand, yarn, or googlie eyes, in their creation. For example: the universe of Sid and Marty Croft entered in such interesting creatures such as HR Puff 'n' Stuff. No one makes the mistake of naming this genius as Muppet. Maybe because the title character was really a guy in a suite much like Barney or Yo-gabba-gabba of today: both of which I would not call muppet. A small victory for Muppets (the original Muppets that is).

The result of this collective nomenclature of Jim Henson creatures is a loss, in some part, of the Muppet identity. I imagine Gonzo sitting alone in a park feeding pigeons asking to no one in particular "Who am I?" Gonzo, you are a Muppet. Not a monster. Elmo you are a monster, not a Muppet.

I have no problem with the interaction of the two factions. But maintaining a separate identity that is unique and culturally significant is important for any race, imagined or not. Perhaps this assimilation of sorts is a metaphor for continuing globalization and the loss of self. At any rate a unique identity is important. It helps promote diversity, individualism, and self-expression. It's too late for the Muppets, they lost their identity in 1976, and have been riding the yarn and foam coattails of the Sesame Street monsters ever since.