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.