Category: Month in Review

On Monsters — October 2024 Month In Review

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Don’t stop me if you’ve heard this one before

In lieu of my regular month-in-review post, I’m resharing something I wrote in May of 2023. Monsters are on our minds these days. November shall be reviewed in my usual nonsense way.

In the heart of the Muppetverse, amidst a tapestry of vibrant characters and whimsical narratives, stands a beacon of childlike wonder and boundless optimism, a giant whose iconic blue exterior conceals a tale of profound transformation and existential introspection. Few in Hollywood have the talent and range to achieve a level of stardom where one name suffices:

Streep.

Pacino.

Grover.

And he’s cute, too.

We meet at a trendy bistro in Williamsburg, eager to delve into his illustrious career that spans from humble beginnings in local theater to soaring exploits as a beloved superhero. Grover’s polymath talents have propelled him into the ranks of America’s elite artists. However, the journey from his nurturing roots at PBS to the esteemed shores of HBO was far from effortless, strewn with challenges that made success anything but elementary.

As we settle in for an intimate conversation, I ask about the delicate balance between the broad humor of Sesame Street and his infamously meticulous approach to zaniness. Sipping his cucumber lime spritzer, Grover ponders the question. “It is always a quest to find the heart beneath the punchlines,“ Grover shares, an unexpected surge of static electricity passing between us when his hand brushes against mine. “Every joke I tell, every lamppost I fly into, I strive to capture a truth, a moment of connection that transcends the silliness and connects with the human condition.”

It is evident before we finish our burrata and heirloom tomato salads that, while Grover’s on-screen persona is a bundle of joy, his off-screen persona can be enigmatic. Grover’s career isn’t just a litany of roles; it’s a manifold reflection of his ability to become and play

I steer the conversation to Method Acting. “I believe in authenticity,” Grover says. “Whether I am donning the cape of Super Grover or showing viewers the exquisite agony of working as a waiter to a fussy customer, I strive to bring truth to every character. It is all about connecting with the audience, being loud and soft. Do you know the difference?” Before I answer, he cries. “LOUD!” It is transcendent, a performance matching the ethereal mastery of Tilda Swinton’s shape-shifting in “Orlando.”

Indeed, from taxi driver to flight attendant, Grover’s preparation is exhaustive. “I do the research,” he says, his head gently tilting from side to side — one of his charming idiosyncrasies. “I have driven the cab. I have worked in restaurants, and I have sold ears door-to-door. If I want the audience to believe it, I have to live it.” Grover believes that his career isn’t just a list of roles; it’s a chronicle of his metamorphoses.

But this transformational zeal, while laudable, is the stuff of gossip on set. Some costars find his relentless process admirable, others roll their googly eyes when he refuses to break character and wears his Super Grover cape around all day.

Gentle giant Big Bird groused, “Grover is… intense. Sometimes, too intense.”

Pathological hoarder Oscar the Grouch shared, “Grover always had this existential itch, questioning the very fabric of his felted existence. It made for some interesting trash can conversations. Now scram!”

Pigeon fanatic and confirmed bachelor Bert added, “Grover spent an entire week engrossed in the study of prepositions for ‘Over, Under, Around, and Through.‘ It’s a level of commitment to something really tedious that I respect.”

Then there were those rumors of a rift between Grover and Count von Count, suggesting that their divergent approaches to performance caused tension backstage. Lines were drawn as Muppets aligned themselves with either the chaotic charm of Grover or the methodical precision of the Count. Both Grover and the Count deny this (“No! No! No! That’s three nos!”) although they acknowledge there were heated discussions. Grover explains, “That is about the work, man. It is not personal. It is like the Dadaist feud between Marcel Duchamp and Francis Picabia. Ultimately, it is the children who benefit.”

As we discussed his background, it is clear he grapples with profound questions about the role of some unseen hand in shaping his identity. Over plates of Wagyu beef carpaccio, Grover regales me with tales of his early aspirations as an actor. “I attended the School of Muppet Dramatic Arts, a place where the alphabet was recited in iambic pentameter. I sipped from the chalice of the greats there.“ For his senior performance, Grover presented an original piece entitled “BLUE GOD,” showcasing his groundbreaking jazz kazoo skills.

That early work paid off. Grover’s Monsterpiece Theater performances have been lauded for their depth and breadth. There’s something hauntingly beautiful about him tackle a Shakespearean monologue, unblinking and unconcerned with emotional regulation.

Yet, as the shadows of middle age crept up, a yearning restlessness tugged. “I hit rock bottom in Season 19. I was unable to connect with the show or the characters. Maria and Luis got married. Elmo’s World took off. And where was I? Where was I going?” Grover struggled with a well-publicized problem with huffing fabric glue but traveled the world, got clean, and eventually found renewed purpose in his Global Grover segments.

What’s next? While he has no plans to leave Sesame Street, Grover gazes toward new horizons in brooding glory. “I am open to exploring opportunities to do prestige shows at HBO.” Grover then revealed, “I auditioned for the role of Roman on Succession. The control issues, the exploration of exotic fetishes — it would have been a good fit. I know what it is like to feel you are someone’s puppet. Like you are a version of yourself waiting to happen, but your story has not been written yet.“ He paused, allowing the profoundness of his words to sink in. “The Monster at the End of the Book? It is me. It is all of us.”

Flat Stanley Tomatoes and Optimal Speedo Coverage — August 2024

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August, once a month of idle heat, is now a hot press.

This, all of this, used to be contained within early September, but September bursts backwards now and here. Now August is a month of asynchronicity, denial, and frenzy, trying to be all things in the moment and in preparation. In that way, it is motherhood, it is a career, there’s never enough, we’re doing it wrong, something always gives as the calendar never ceases demanding and trying to suffocate not just with heat but with anticipation.

I no longer irritatingly wax nostalgic about starting school the Tuesday after Labor Day. They don’t need to hear that when it’s 96 degrees when I pick them up after the first day and the twins’ August birthday is lost in the whirlwind of first days of school and its adjustments and expectations.

I don’t tell them about pouring over the back-to-school issue of Seventeen with its plaid skirts and matching heathered sweater and knee socks if you were into that preppy thing.

And in 2024, I fought hard to go with it. Be in the moment and be utterly prepared for the deluge of emails that ask in some sort of wide-eyed incredulity “Can you BELIEVE it’s back to school? Can you BELIEVE we’re almost, nearly, sort of at the beginning of the end of August?”

Can you BELIEVE life is grabbing you by the shoulders and spinning you like it’s your turn at Pin-the-Tail on the Donkey? And yes, you’re blindfolded. And yes, you’re probably also the donkey?

Yes. I can. And still, I am astonished.

Which is why:

  • We went for more celebratory scoops of ice cream than I can say without shame to mark sweet (sometimes gleeful) goodbyes and tentative hellos.
  • I picked up knitting again, unsure if it’s to mark days, to leave a little something behind, or just enjoy irregular and occasionally ill-fitting accessories. Still, the repetition allows for bursts of creative energy and a renewed supply of cuss words, both well-established and original. (Thanks, Accidental Creative).
A knitted hat on a table.
  • I’m excited to be writing reviews on Reedsy, and why I’ve been waiting for the kids to go back to school to begin.
  • Opportunities have to present themselves before I realize I want them.
  • My husband and I became experts on things like “over-rotation” and “shotput form” and “optimal coverage levels for Speedos” from our very comfortable couch while we watched the Olympics.
  • My family played too many games of poker and laughed to tears when one child played several hands without even looking at his cards. And won.
  • We bent the rules of Scrabble a bit, leading the never-to-be-topped, entirely gonzo playing of “oabunwad.”
  • I’ve let go (almost) of the stress of packing for vacation, releasing the need to compensate for the time both boys, much younger, forgot to pack pants. Or the year I left the swim bag at home, the one with the suits they’d actually remembered to pack.
  • This was the Year of the Traveling Tomato, so labeled because we’d purchased a tomato, a perfect specimen, before our annual end-of-summer trip. We didn’t eat it, so we brought it along, where it sat, untouched, only to be brought home again — sort of juicy, red, hard-to-mail Flat Stanley that didn’t go anywhere. Which makes it nothing like Flat Stanley, I suppose.
  • I will always keep the playlists we make every year for this same trip, although I may quietly remove my husband’s choice of a rousing version of “I’m A Little Teapot.”
  • When, on the beach, my son, taller than me, called out to me in his deep voice, “Mom! Watch me throw!” as he played frisbee with his father, I lived every parenting moment ever in that second. Past, present, future.
  • My heart struggled to find rhythm again when they went back to school, just as three months earlier my brain struggled to find a rhythm when they finished school. No fear, though, because we got a call from the school nurse about 0.3 seconds after school started.
  • I am overwhelmed and underwhelmed.
  • There will be no counting of how many summers like this remain. Here, things will always be counted in empty ice cream cups.

Here are some splashes of marvelous from August, 2024

Great commercial or greatest commercial of all time? 

This was recommended by a few writers/bloggers/essayists in recent weeks. For good reason.

A powerful essay on losing friendships. 

No more cicadas.

It doesn’t take much to say everything. 

How was this only days ago? 

Like most subscribers, I am a little (so very much) behind in my New Yorker reading. I just got around to the July 21 edition. This story is unbelievably good.

And finally, look, Spotify surprises me every once in a while and this popped up and now every morning I’m “ba ba ba BA ba BA babababa!” and I can no longer just look out a window and think my thoughts: 

What delights popped up for you this month?

Public Libraries, Rhubarb, and Volatile Organic Compounds (P.U.) — June 2024 Month in Review

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Starting is arguably the hardest part of anything, especially writing, where the beginning has to hook and promise and reveal enough ankle. Sometimes the Muppets might even show up.

I was going to start this Month in Review talking about how the cicadas are mercifully almost gone. (Just in time, too, because one flew into my face and then I had to consider taking a flamethrowing to my own puss.) Then I was going to wax not-exactly-poetic about the stench of them rotting by the trillions. If you want more information, check this out. However, if you want to avoid yet another closeup photo of the critters, the big take-away is “As microbes break down and digest the cicada carcasses, ammonia and volatile organic compounds are released…Ammonia has a strong odor, as do some VOCs containing nitrogen and phosphorus — which the bodies of periodical cicadas are rich in.” 

There were a lot of places in that quote where I wanted to set fire to my face again.

The whole cicadapocalypse/decomposition was going to be some sort of averagely-expressed metaphor about June.

But it just made me want to open a window, and that’s tricky these days. 

Since I was clearly on an off-gassing thematic thread, I considered opening with commentary about politics and world affairs. Each try degenerated into either something like a subtweet or a pitch for some sort of Toxic Positivity MLM.

That ain’t me, kid.

Not that I don’t believe in ripping myself open and spilling all the blood/tea, but “think good thoughts” isn’t my brand. I’m not unrelievedly sweet nor optimistic. I’m hilarious and cynical and misanthropic and ALSO a little optimistic. That’s hard to capture. 

(Also, I still write “80085” on my calculator and think it’s hilarious high art.)

(Also, I have a calculator.)

(Also, are we still using “subtweeting”? I’d ask my kids but they are still mad at me for randomly throwing “skibidi toilet” into some otherwise Quality Parenting Moments.™)

But yesterday on my social media, I wrote “I wish you all the wonderful communities of weirdos you need. If you lack one (or enough), I will enthusiastically be a charter member of yours.”

So that is also how I choose to start this wrap-up of June and the second half of the year. I will be here in a completely official capacity as part of your Weirdo Community. We don’t take a lot of selfies and there is always pastry.

Ooh, look: Weirdo! Muppet!

Here are some splashes of marvelous from June 2024

(i.e. things I enjoyed that you may also enjoy or possibly not if you are feeling contrarian and cross.)

  • For much of June, a percentage of my children were in poorly-timed camps and fun classes that made me do the precious calculation of “is it worth going home or should I stick around?” (My calculator is not used for such things, see above.) The quiet gift of this was spending time in the local public library of the town where they had these classes, and boy howdy was it fantastic. I love public libraries and all they stand for. Like most other libraries I’ve visited, I had the best, friendliest, fiercest, most welcoming people greeting me and who were very happy to tell me that in the winter they light the fireplace and people just hang out and read there. More adults need to rediscover our libraries beyond having meetings there. It brought back warm memories of Harper Library and the many happy semesters there rather than, you know, doing homework or going to class. Some things age well, like libraries. Some things do not age well, like cicada corpses.
  • We have started introducing a certain percentage of my children to Mel Brooks. Avoiding the whole non-argument about whether we could make something like Blazing Saddles nowadays, Happy June Birthday Mel Brooks! And can I just have a moment of appreciation for the glory that is Madeline Kahn?
  • I cleaned out my knitting nook. Unlike any knitter ever, I buy more supplies than I’ll use in a lifetime. It’s a bulwark against death, profound optimism, and maybe some self-delusion. I don’t knit that fast. I have the same problem with books. Maybe I can make a deal with someone in that department to keep me going until all the books are read and the wonky hats knit.
Why, no, I’m not a professional photographer OR a professional organizer. Why do you ask?

So I might not find the right way to start these months in review, but ending in cake is always the way. As Vincent said in the above link, my mind is driven towards these things with an irresistible momentum.

So, tell me about your favorite library. Or your favorite cake. Or your favorite weirdo community.