Monday, May 17, 2004

The past few weeks have seen a Renaissance in the blogging landscape, gentle reader, and it’s truly a sight to behold. Witness the outpouring of content, the changing of storefronts, even the wholesale relocation of journals–it’s a certifiable orgy of literary and aesthetic proportions.

One quote that caught my attention addressed the practice of skinning Muppets, an act made seemingly heinous when these creatures die in the name of tacky furniture. It’s a sordid topic, to be sure, and that’s why it’s imperative I shed light on darkness, fact on myth. If you would make yourself comfortable–no, not on my Gonzo-hair settee, you ignorant wildebeest–and sit on the floor, we can begin.

Any rube in the industry will tell you, with little guile and with even less tact, that not all Muppets are valuable. If you were to skin-n’-scalp Miss Piggy, for instance, your net yield would be a plateful of pork rinds. Don’t gasp, I’m telling you truths. By the same token, “fraggling” Kermit would get you a fat roll of frog skin, and we can safely conclude that this would appeal only to slavering Francophiles.

Do you see where I’m going? At the end of the day, Fozzie’s pelt is simply bearskin (and we all know how interior decorators cry out for bearskin), Beaker has more hair than hide, and that creepy green doctor whose name I can never recall? I certainly wouldn’t touch him, knife or otherwise.

That leaves Gonzo, which brings us to the metaphorical meat of the problem. It’s common knowledge that Muppet babies provide the supplest pelts, so let’s look at the nominative television show. What exactly does Gonzo contribute to the long-running series? Absolutely nothing, that’s what. He’s a classic cock-up unmatched in his ability to twist Nanny’s striped stockings in a bunch. In the furniture industry, however, he’s purple gold, what one of my advisors described as “walking velvet chic.”

I’ll leave you with this parting thought: tacky furniture is only tacky if it’s made with imitation hair. I’m glad we had this talk.

Friday, May 7, 2004

Secondhand Rants will return on May 17, 2004.

Thursday, May 6, 2004

A while back I mentioned that the Professor, along with all his fictional cohorts, might make a grand return. I’ve been thinking about how best to exhume the characters gracefully, especially since I’d made it pretty clear that the story was dead.

Perhaps there really is no way to do this gracefully, come to think of it. A couple of months have passed, gentle reader, and because of the elapsed time we’re way past the “premature burial” stage. It’s like tossing your Aunt Mildred into the grave while she was napping and then returning to find her, almost half a year later, after backpacking across Europe and spending a drunken evening at a Bavarian hostel. And I’m speaking from experience here.

I’ve thought about collecting suggestions from the few souls who actually want to see these characters return, but that would require a massive undertaking. I could also wander into a convenient patch of forest and seclude myself, waiting for inspiration–or a big brown bear–to strike. Let’s be honest, though: it’s not like there’s a Pulitzer committee member eagerly awaiting the next chapter, eyes glued to the screen and fingers stained bright orange by Cheetos. I’ll just do this the old fashioned way, I suppose, which is to say I’ll forget about it until I collide head-on into a lamppost.