A Love Letter to Jason Segel

Dear Jason,

I have loved watching you since "Freaks and Geeks," a show that, obviously, resonates with all current and former freaks and geeks. When I was in high school, we in the theater department referred to ourselves as "freaks" with pride. I'd arguably been a geek - smart but awkward - since early childhood.

But, before I enjoyed watching your work - indeed, before you were born - I loved the Muppets. It is not possible to overstate how much I love the Muppets, how much I love anything created by Jim Henson. The vastly underappreciated film "The Dark Crystal," anything born in the Creature Shop - I love them all.

"When I was eight years old, I discovered the Muppets. I came across Sesame Street on TV, and was delighted, even though I was years older than their intended audience. It was the beginning of a lifelong love affair with all things created by Jim Henson.

I was too old for the instruction on letter sounds and such, but I was captivated by the wittiness of the segments. Since I had a much older brother and sister and had listened to their music, when I heard a Muppet sing, "Letter B," I knew it was derived from a Beatles hit. It was charming and funny, and I felt very much "in" on a secret, since I was sure that preschoolers wouldn't know the original. Anyone who's watched any Sesame Street knows how often those moments crop up.

The musical segments were probably my favorites, but close behind came Kermit the Frog's roving reporter. As he'd show up with his news cap and microphone to report on fairy tales, something always went wrong, and he'd come unraveled. The poor hapless diner always ending up at a table served by Grover had my sympathy. And I felt for Big Bird back in the days when he was the only one of the gang to see Mr. Snuffleupagus.

The idealized neighborhood really appealed to me as well. I've always thought that reality should look something like that – everyone knew and liked everyone else (well, OK, everyone except Oscar), no one cared how old you were or what color or what species. Nobody cared about how much money you had, or what you wore or anything else superficial. And occasionally, everyone would break into a beautifully choreographed song and dance number. It was grand."(from the essay "Come on Down! You're the Next Contestant!")

"The Muppet Movie" and "The Muppet Show" spoke to me, a kid in the theater department, in even more ways.

The fact that I was in the theater department was nothing that I had ever anticipated. In sixth grade, my first year in middle school, I wanted to take art. I had always felt like an artist. My mom and I spent hours on crafts. But, my school wouldn't let sixth graders decide on a single elective; we had to take a class that gave us a single grading period of a number of electives - art, theater, choir, foreign language - so we could try them all out before we chose. At the time, I thought it was ridiculous. Ever since, I've been very glad.

I wanted to be invisible, unnoticed, anonymous as a child. A stage was the last thing I sought. I discovered a few things in that single grading period of theater: a stage wasn't an entirely terrifying place to be, there were jobs besides being onstage, and all of it was as close to actual magic as it's possible to get.

At the end of the year, I stared at the class signups for the next year for a long time - then I signed up for theater. I was never again without a theater class, for the rest of my years in school.

The idea of enthusiastic, scruffy misfits putting on a show spoke to me. And the wit level was off the charts. ("I'm on my way to New York to break into public television." "They don't look like Presbyterians to me.")

It was a great perk that it seemed like everybody wanted to work with the Muppets, between Sesame Street segments, film cameos and weekly TV guest stars.

When I had children, they started watching Sesame Street from pretty much the very start of their lives. OK, actually, they joined me in watching.

Then, the terrible thing happened; Jim died. I was an adult - I had a husband, a mortgage, two children, and I was just undone. You have no idea, Jason; I was beyond devastated. My dad was 56 on the day I was born - I was not prepared for otherwise healthy people to die in their 50s, except maybe in some kind of crash.

His funeral was televised, but I couldn't watch it. I knew the basics - the public was invited, bright colors were encouraged, paper butterflies flown, Harry Belafonte sang - but I was unable to face it. I was unreasonably angry that Big Bird sang "Rainbow Connection." It was Kermit's song, and I could not face hearing anyone else sing it.

(It took me twenty years to be able to watch the funeral. It was just beautiful; I still cried all the way through.)

Aside from the pain of losing Jim, and losing all of the projects he would have developed, I feared losing all of his characters - Kermit, Ernie, Dr. Teeth, The Swedish Chef, Rowlf... I could not handle the thought of losing them all. But, as Frank Oz told a reporter who asked (rather indelicately, I thought), "Can you imagine being Bert to anyone else as Ernie?", he could not imagine it.

Some time afterward - long enough that I was sure they'd run out of pre-death footage, but soon enough that my nerves were still raw - I burst into tears during Sesame Street. For the first time since Jim's death, there was new footage with Ernie. It was a huge crowd scene, and all Ernie did was sing and dance on the back row, but it undid me.

My children, like most children, were fairly oblivious to anything that did not directly involve them, but this, they noticed. "What's wrong, Mom? Are you OK?" I couldn't tell them that seeing Ernie made me cry. I forget what I did say.

When "A Muppet Christmas Carol" came out, I was skeptical. Aside from Luke 2, "A Christmas Carol" is my favorite Christmas story, so I've rarely met an incarnation that I didn't embrace, but this would be the first production of any kind with the new voice of Kermit. I wasn't sure if I should be delighted that we still had him, or angry that it wouldn't be the same. It would be the first film undertaken without Jim; would the magic remain?

When I realized, midway through the film, that I had spent a full 15 minutes just watching, without comparing Steve Whitmire to Jim, I knew it would be OK.

And it was.

"Muppets Tonight" was fun - and who doesn't love Pepe? - but it didn't seem to grab the population the way the original show did.

Then, the Muppets all but disappeared. Fewer people understood why I'd respond to, "It's a myth" with, "Yeth?"

You know this, Jason. Because this is where you come in.

I was a bit leery about "The Muppets." The setup didn't entirely delight me; I'd preferred to think of the gang as doing dinner shows at a beach resort somewhere, or doing nightly cruise ship shows, not as broken up. And, let's face it, you and Walter do not look like brothers.

It was probably about the time you sang, "Yes, it is!" instead of coming up with an obscure rhyme for "fish" that I was hooked. It was witty. It was heartfelt. It was earnest. (As an aside -  I live in Reno, I recognized the casino exterior used as Fozzie's employer, and I'm OK with good fun poked at my city. We even took visiting family out to dinner, saying, "This is the casino from 'The Muppets!'") It had a fantastic cast and great cameos. I even enjoyed the fun poked at the fact that all of their celebrity fans were from years past. (I mean, Mummenshanz, anyone?) And who doesn't love Amy Adams?

I cried, Jason. I just bawled. If I hadn't already been weepy, the photo of Jim hanging on the wall would have done it.

(When you sang, "Am I a Man, Or Am I a Muppet?" I knew what my answer would be - for myself, I would answer, "Muppet.")

That wasn't even the best part. Do you know what was? The Muppets were COOL again, and they were everywhere. Yes, occasionally they're a little too self consciously hip - look at us, we can make drug, sex and alcohol references! Seriously, they never needed anything more than a little nudge and wink, so I hope the whole "it's a new century, we can push those boundaries" thing doesn't overwhelm them. Because they're still funny, still dorky, still bickering and still family.

The fact that they're on commercials, on newscasts, making guest appearances - THAT'S the best part, Jason. You made them cool again. You could lose your mind from here on out, your career could tank, and I'd still have a warm spot in my heart for you. Yes, because your work is good, Jason. But also, because you gave the Muppets back to me. It's no small thing.

It's always time to play the music. It's always time to light the lights. For the lovers, the dreamers, and me.

Thanks,
Sharon

The Frog vs. the Chicken

If you know me fairly well, you know of my love for anything ever created by Jim Henson. I adore the Muppets. I regularly cry while watching them. Their stuff is genius, pure and simple. I also value their contributions to society in the form of lessons on how to treat one another: size, shape, color, origin, housing etc. are unimportant. Always be nice. Share your things. I also support their current CEO's right to believe and act as she sees fit, and to direct her company without interference.

 I also like Chik-Fil-A products. They're tasty. I also have always been impressed by the company's choice to monetarily support things that are important to me, such as public television. I support their current CEO's right to believe and act as he sees fit, and to direct his company as he sees fit.
...
 I find it ridiculous that I am now being asked to choose which company I will support, with my money and my approval. I find nothing contradictory in supporting them both.

 I realize that their CEOs have recently aligned themselves with groups having opposite opinions on a divicive issue. All laws of God and all reasonable laws of man allow them to do just that, and should allow them to do so without fear of attack, verbal or otherwise, by fellow humans.

 The last time I had a similar conversation with someone about this very issue, they assured me that there was no middle ground, that they could not possibly tolerate the view that opposed their own. I held that opposing opinion. "You realize that I find your belief to be immoral and dangerous," they said, trying to explain why they just could not be civil about this issue. My answer: "Yes. Yes, I do realize that. Do you know how I can be sure? Because I find YOUR belief to be immoral and dangerous. I am STILL willing to support your right to hold and express that belief."

 If people want me to get behind them and their rights to have and espouse and act on beliefs that I find wrong, immoral, offensive or otherwise unacceptable, those people MUST (must, must) be willing to stand behind me and my right to have and espouse and act on beliefs that they find wrong, immoral, offensive or otherwise unacceptable. If they're not willing to support someone that they think is wrong, they have NO right to ask me to support them when I think they're wrong. NONE. (And the thing is, I will still support their rights, because it's the right thing to do.)

 So will eat my Chik-Fil-A products while I watch my Muppet entertainment, and I will not feel bad about it all. Who's with me?

Come on Down! You're the Next Contestant...

This essay is six years old, but it's been on my mind lately, as the Muppets release their new movie. Right now, I'm thinking a lot about how and when I first fell in love with the Muppets.

So far this winter (where's wood to knock on?), I haven't been really sick yet. A friend has antibiotic resistant strep: there but for the grace of God go I.

One thing on my bucket list is a visit to Egypt. I've heard horror stories about infections from ancient mold in tombs shutting down people's lungs, and my kids frequently point out that West Nile virus is named after the Nile River. "You cannot go to Egypt!" they say. "You'll get sick!"

My husband is more pragmatic. "We're not going anywhere where we might be shot just for being American."

Mark my words, one day, I'm buying a plane ticket to Egypt.

Until then, I'll be glad that the Muppets are back in movie theaters.

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

I have a cold again. Sometimes it feels as if I'm always sick. So many of my childhood memories involve lying on the couch in my pajamas, swaddled in a comforter. When you're looking at life through a fog of misery, it's hard to remember feeling any different. The memories that flood your brain are of fevers, headaches, sore throats, sleepless nights. I had a lot of those as a child.

Depending on what was wrong with me at the time, I'd have a tissue box and a wastebasket for my tissues, or I'd have a garbage bag lined trash can next to my head to throw up in. I might have a continually refilled glass of water, or my throat might hurt too much for me to swallow.

I came down with strep throat or tonsillitis at least once each winter. My stomach has always been fairly temperamental, and I'd get the stomach flu at the drop of a hat. Then there were all of the colds and flu that are inevitable. Still, it took me years to realize that I was sicklier than most people. If the schools would have had the attendance policy then that they had when my kids were attending, I would have failed several grades.

My dad retired when I was only a few months old. Both my parents were home with us until I was about five or six. Then, my mom took a part time office job, and worked from 9:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m. That left my dad in charge of me during the mornings when I was home sick.

Dad worried like crazy, but he wasn't very hands-on with children, especially sick ones. Even when I was very small, I could predict how the morning would go. After my mom left for work, my dad would pace around the living room for about fifteen minutes. Then, he'd say, "You OK?"

"Yeah, I'm OK," I would say.

"Well, I'm gonna go down to the Block S for a cup of coffee," he'd say. The Block S was a coffee shop type of business downtown. He'd meet up with his buddies there every morning, and they'd hang out, talk and drink coffee for about an hour or two. It was a very predictable routine.

"OK," I'd say, and off he'd go.

Even as a small child, I was not a boundary pusher. I wasn't going to use the time to play with matches, raid the wine or play with the guns. I'm a rule follower by nature. I never even left the couch unless I had to use the bathroom. No one ever worried about me being by myself while my dad was at the Block S, including me.

My oldest daughter always felt extraordinarily anxious if she was left alone in the house. She even felt anxious when she was babysitting her siblings. I never really understood that. She's home from college now, and if she gets home from work while the rest of us are out, it upsets her. When we came home recently, she ran from the other room to greet us crying, "People! People! Yay!" That's an improvement from her usual angry greeting of, "Where have you been? I've been here all by myself!"

As a child alone, I didn't worry about robbers breaking in, or kidnappers, or natural disasters, or fire, or anything else threatening my safety. I know now that such fears are very common. The only reason I could think of to worry was if I felt that my health would take a precipitous turn for the worse, and someone would have to be home to rush me to the doctor. Since such a thing had never happened and I felt sure it wouldn't, I felt completely comfortable being on my own.

My oldest child, one of my closest girlfriends, even my husband have always been the kind of people who equate being alone with being abandoned, unloved and in peril. I have always found it to be totally relaxing. It was the one time I knew I could relax completely. I didn't have to listen, talk, pay attention, interact or do anything else that took energy. I could just exhale and be.

I read and I watched TV – mostly game shows, never soaps. Since this was in the days before remotes, I often fell asleep with it on. That would be my day – watch, sleep, watch some more, sleep some more. I'd eat something if my stomach could take it; my mom made me lots of Jello. I'd spend all day or at least most of it lying on the couch. Then, at night, I'd go across the house and lie in bed. The thing I find most frustrating about being sick as an adult is that you have to keep up some level of functioning. You can't just sleep all day and all night. I'm sure I'd get better much faster now if I could sleep more.

I'm glad I didn't get hooked on soaps. Game shows may not be highbrow, but at least I was thinking.

I was never very good at "The Price is Right." Where do they get those prices from, anyway? I was very good at quiz shows, especially when the questions dealt with empirical data – what year did Napoleon suffer defeat at Waterloo, that sort of thing. "Family Feud" was a little iffier. Where exactly did they take their survey? Sometimes it seemed to be in a redneck bar after a few drinks, and sometimes in a corporate meeting room. Once I got a feel for what the "survey says," I could do OK.

After he got home from the Block S, my dad delighted in watching me play along with the quiz shows. I'd say my answer out loud, and even in the early elementary grades I often did better than the contestants. This pleased my dad immensely. "You should go on here!" he'd say. He thought I was some sort of amazing prodigy.

I thought it was because it had been too long since the adults went to school. They'd often be asking about things we had just discussed in school. I'd heard it weeks ago; the adults had heard it decades ago. My own kids often surprise me the same way. Just today, my seven year old saw a picture of a box kite. "Box kite! The Chinese invented those!" she informed me. How many adults would know that off the top of their heads?

Too, I didn't have a studio audience staring at me, bright lights in my face, and the pressure of millions of people watching. "I wouldn't do as well if I were there," I told my dad. He was sure I would. I disagreed, but usually silently, so he could be happy. One thing about my dad that you learned early – it didn't really pay to argue with him.

I loved reruns of the old Daniel Boone TV show. When I was about eleven, I watched the same actor, Fess Parker, play Davy Crockett in a movie aired while I was fighting strep throat again. That night I woke my mother in the middle of the night and informed her with wild eyes that, "The Indians want me to tell them where the gold is!"

She answered mildly, "Well, don't tell them, dear." Reassured, I rolled over and went back to sleep, saying, "OK." God bless my mom – she was always willing to sleep with us when we were sick, despite inconveniences like cold feet stuck under her for warmth, and feverish, delusional daughters waking her up to rant about "the gold." When I'd get thick, gluey phlegm closing off my throat, she'd rock me in the rocking chair in the dark. I didn't want conversation or entertainment; I just wanted comfort.

When I was eight years old, I discovered the Muppets. I came across Sesame Street on TV, and was delighted, even though I was years older than their intended audience. It was the beginning of a lifelong love affair with all things created by Jim Henson.

I was too old for the instruction on letter sounds and such, but I was captivated by the wittiness of the segments. Since I had a much older brother and sister and had listened to their music, when I heard a Muppet sing, "Letter B," I knew it was derived from a Beatles hit. It was charming and funny, and I felt very much "in" on a secret, since I was sure that preschoolers wouldn't know the original. Anyone who's watched any Sesame Street knows how often those moments crop up.

The musical segments were probably my favorites, but close behind came Kermit the Frog's roving reporter. As he'd show up with his news cap and microphone to report on fairy tales, something always went wrong, and he'd come unraveled. The poor hapless diner always ending up at a table served by Grover had my sympathy. And I felt for Big Bird back in the days when he was the only one of the gang to see Mr. Snuffleupagus.

The idealized neighborhood really appealed to me as well. I've always thought that reality should look something like that – everyone knew and liked everyone else (well, OK, everyone except Oscar), no one cared how old you were or what color or what species. Nobody cared about how much money you had, or what you wore or anything else superficial. And occasionally, everyone would break into a beautifully choreographed song and dance number. It was grand.

I kept watching Sesame Street whenever I was home sick, long after I left elementary school behind. I discovered I was not alone when I was a sophomore in high school. Karen, one of my best friends, was in the school choir, and let me in on one of their traditions. It was tradition in the choir for any sick member to watch Sesame Street and report back to the other members about what had happened that day. Heaven forbid that someone should forget – they'd face the collective wrath of teens denied.

When the Muppets branched out into The Muppet Show on TV and The Muppet Movie in theaters, I insisted on not only watching, but making sure my family and friends watched. Years later, it was a total delight to me to be able to introduce my kids to the Muppets.

When my kids are sick, I let them swaddle on the couch in front of the TV. Now, though, we have videos for them to watch if they don't like what's on our dozens of channels of satellite TV. It's a far cry from the remoteless days of channels 2, 4 and 8. Often they want to do something else, like sit surrounded by a stack of books or play on the computer. I insist on naps, too, since I believe firmly in the restorative power of sleep. Plus, for a little while, the discomfort goes away – how magical is that?

Not too long ago, I was home sick while the rest of the family went to church. I watched a wonderful biography of Milton Hershey, the chocolate king. Then I still had two hours to sleep before everyone else came home. It gave me a bit of that old comfort feeling of being able to check out of the real world for awhile and concentrate on existing horizontally – just me in my pjs, the couch and the TV. I'll bet I healed faster than I do otherwise. I'm not one to wish away my adulthood, pining for a childhood long gone, but boy, I do miss the ability to sleep through my sick days.