Bert Mondays: Bert's Wild Side

One thing that's lovely about Bert is his passion for things regular folks might consider to be odd. Bert loves pigeons and paperclips and bottlecaps. He also relishes a day sitting in his chair reading boring stories. His favorite meal is oatmeal, adorned, I'm sure, with neither brown sugar or raisins. In short, he is compelled by the plainest of the plain.

This quintessential Bert beigeness is confounded a bit by his fascination with the letter W. The letter W is neither plain nor boring. As one of the pointier letters, like its cousin M, W is not easy to make, and it is often difficult to say. It also beings wonderful non-boring words like walrus, wizard, Walla Walla, and, well, wonderful. In fact, the very nature of the W, with its reckless upside-down-Mness, invokes images of wild abandon. Indeed, you should note that other members of the National Association of W Lovers include the wacky Harvey Kneeslapper and Ernie himself, by no means wallflowers.


You might argue that Bert's love of the letter W is thus out of character for our normally staid and sensible saddle-shoe wearer. I submit, however, that Bert's devotion to W hints at a deeper part of Bert: that driven-to-the-edge Bert who finally loses control after endless minutes of Ernie's pestering and gives in completely to the wacky plan of the moment with even more enthusiasm than Ernie. Yes, Bert has a wild side.

Sing Saturdays: 1971

I was watching Sesame the other day (shocking), and on came a montage of some awesome folks singing the quintessential Sesame Street song, "Sing." Inspired, I decided to devote the next few Saturdays to various incarnations of the song, sung by various Sesame denizens and guests. Sorry if you end up crying.

Traveling Today

Today is for post-Thanksgiving travel, so a quick one about a chicken salad sandwich.

Happy Thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. Nothing makes me appreciate Thanksgiving more than being with my family after a ridiculously long drive through the rain and muck. And nothing makes me appreciate my family more that the fact that they understand me and appreciate my, um, more childlike qualities. Thanksgiving started off great for me with a surprise from my sister.

She found this hat in her closet. It was mine when I was a wee one. Thankfully, it still fits, so you know I can't wait until it gets cold enough to need to wear warm hats this winter. The best part about her finding it and returning it to be was the fact that no one blinked an eye when I wore it the rest of the night.

Also, the hat prompted my aunt to ask my little tiny cousin cousin to give me a special Christmas present.

I love these people. And vegetarian stuffing. Happy Tofurkey Day!

We're Always Counting Apples

Anyone who has ever had a boss or a client is well aware of the experience that I am henceforth naming, "Counting Apples." You might find yourself engaged in counting apples when you get an assignment. Although that assignment might have been given with no perceivable scope or due date, as a good drone, you follow up, asking for more details about what your boss wants. You ask when she needs to see a draft and when she would like the final version completed. If you are persistent, you might get a date; you might even learn that she wants a memorandum.

Then the counting apples begins in earnest. The next day, your boss tells you that the client needs the memo that night and not next week, as she told you after you forced her to give you a due date. When you work yourself to death to turn out something less than stellar but finished, she tells you that instead of a memo, the client wants a chart. Well, obviously, you cannot convert it to a chart by the new due date, but you shouldn't worry because your boss will soon tell you that they don't need it until Friday. You breathe and then begin converting your memo into a chart. On Thursday, boss says that it instead should be a detailed outline with three charts explaining the outline, but you can work on it over the weekend. So there goes your weekend, but by Monday morning, you have a beautifully detailed outline complete with three color-coded charts. When you hand it to your boss, she tells you, with no apparent sense of irony, that the client changed his mind and no longer wants anything. Counting apples.

Teeny Tiny's Travel Tuesdays: Rome

Sometimes, I get ahead of myself. I get all worked up about something and pull some stuff together, and before I know it, I have mixed up everything, and created a disaster of all of my carefully prepared plans. Today's post is an example of that phenomenon. You will see, when you read below, that I was supposed to publish this post last Tuesday. Instead, I forgot to do so and published pictures from the Vatican. It's not a terribly big catastrophe, but I'm forcing myself not to edit the contents of this missive to be consistent with the actual timeline. The risks to the space-time continuum aside, I wrote some things below that I wanted to share, so why should I make things all accurate and consistent by pretending that I didn't mix up the posting dates. I leave it to you to pretend that you read this thing last Tuesday, and that today you are enjoying pictures of the pope's house.

Teeny Tiny--and a good portion of my family--have expressed irritation that I have yet to share my pictures from my recent (ahem) trip to Italy. "It takes time to organize," I protest feebly in response, but I don't think they are assuaged by that excuse any longer. Luckily, Teeny Tiny has decided to take control of the situation and devote Teeny Tiny's Travel Tuesdays to his take on our Italian journey.

Last week's shot of Teeny Tiny in the Colosseum revealed that our trip began in Rome. Rome is a city of layers, and each layer is filled with unbelievable art and story. Teeny Tiny's favorite part of Rome was the place where those layers are revealed all at once, like one of those cutaway elevation maps: the Palatine Hill and the Roman Forum. Right next to the Colosseum are these archeological labyrinths where you can see Etruscan ruins under ancient Roman temples under classical Roman architecture under the remains of the medieval church.

Teeny Tiny loved this part of Rome because no one was looking. He was able to climb all through the old stone and marble without risking getting yelled at by museum officials or Swiss Guard. He did it for archeological purposes only; just don't tell anyone.

Bert Mondays: The Emotional Turmoil of Paperclips

Another one of Bert's obsessions is his love of paperclips. Mondays, the days I feel most like Bert, are often full of paperclips. What better way to organize all your boring papers than with some nice paperclips? Some days I wonder what Bert would do if he encountered binder clips. Can you imagine what emotions he could explore with Jon Jon then?

Special Guest Star

In the early days, Cookie Monster and Ernie used to hang out a great deal. Cookie Monster often came over to the apartment to eat cookies. Or pillows. Or whatever might be around. The Ernie-Cookie relationship made Ernie a much more rounded character than the fun-loving, annoying guy we first encountered. Ernie was often a mentor to Cookie; he taught him many things about non-monster society and tried to guide him in social mores as best he could. Indeed, Ernie acted as a sort of Bert to Cookie Monster, and with Cookie's playing the role of Ernie to Ernie's Bert, I think Ernie gained a little more perspective on and compassion for his old buddy. It must have been wonderful for Frank Oz to pester Jim Henson the way Henson got to pester him in almost all of their scenes together.

Sadly, Ernie and Cookie don't have much screen time together anymore. I understand why that must be so: when Henson died (sob), the Ernie-Cookie relationship was probably sacrificed to make Oz's transition to occasional muppeteer seem less drastic and to preserve as much Ernie-Bert interaction as possible. I'm sure there were also some pedagogical and marketing reasons, but I wish those had been ignored.

In honor of the good old days, I devote this day to Ernie's old pal, Cookie. Please be amazed by the monster's anticipation of future phenomena.

Fishing

During my first year in college, one of my friends got very sick, hospital sick. I have a great many memories of her fight with meningitis, but the strongest image I recall is the below video. My friend was in intensive care for several days and so could not have someone sit with her in the room (until her mother arrived from Texas). We were allowed occasional, brief visits, however, and we were a bit too freaked out to leave the hospital, so we camped in the ICU waiting room, which was just down the hall from the unit.

It was a standard hospital waiting room: vinyl chairs, old musty couches, a coffee table, a hospital television mounted near the ceiling, worried people, fake plants. I recall sitting on the floor of that waiting room, sandwiched between the coffee table and couch, with my Latin homework spread before me and Sesame Street on the television. By fortuitous chance, the Sesame repeat gods must have known that I needed cheering because the Ernie and Bert segment that day was the following:

Here Fishy, Fishy, Fishy!

Bertus Interruptus

One of the classic Ernie-Bert tropes is what I am from now going to call, "Bertus Interruptus." Usually these scenes begin very pleasantly, with Bert settling in to read a book or count his paperclips. Chaos soon ensues when Ernie arrives, full of the vigorous desire to play a game or sing a song. Bert is never initially interested; he would much rather spend his afternoon in peaceful contemplation. Ernie never has much time for the contemplative life, however, so he goads Bert. He starts the game. And he pushes. And pushes. And pushes. Finally, Bert caves. Let's face it: Ernie's enthusiasm is too much to resist. Pushed to the limits of his patience, but full of love for his best friend and not completely unwilling to give in to silliness, Bert embraces the game wholeheartedly. Then, just as Bert is fully exploring his wild side, Ernie's done.

Bertus Interruptus.

Teeny Tiny's Travel Tuesdays: Vatican City

Last Tuesday, Teeny Tiny shared with us some of his favorite pictures of classical and ancient Rome. This Tuesday, he wanted to share day two of his time in Rome: Vatican City. The Vatican is of course full of glorious treasures, from the ancient to the modern, but the Swiss Guard make it difficult to capture the more interactive photographs that Teeny Tiny prefers.

Consequently, he got no photographs of himself climbing on a Bernini (and he sensibly stopped his traveling companions from climbing on any other pieces of artwork).

He had a marvelous time exploring the nearly endless art-filled passages of the museums. He saw Egyptian and Greek sculpture, including the marvelous Laocoon.

He contemplated Raphael's School of Athens and paused with the masses to wonder at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel and Michelangelo's Last Judgment.

He kept running into people in the Gallery of Maps. It took much persuasion to get him to leave the gallery of the gods because the sculptures were the least teeny tiny things he had ever seen.

When we left the museums, he took a moment to mail some postcards.

Teeny Tiny's next stop was St. Peter's Basilica, again, not so teeny tiny. He climbed to the top to take in the vistas of the seven hills.

He needed a break or two, but he proudly made it, and his stature helped him maneuver amongst the multitudes of people who decided to pack themselves around the lantern at the same time.

Inside the cathedral, he marveled at the Pieta, a bunch of dead popes, and the remarkable movement of fabric captured in marble.

Teeny Tiny ended his day in Vatican City as all days in Roe should end: he found himself a spot in the square to sit and watch the people. A small boy chased a pigeon, and the smallest of Ernies thought about his old buddy Bert. It was a good day.

Bert Mondays: What Makes a Monday Exciting?

Excitement on a Monday is generally hard to imagine. I suppose a court date could make Monday exciting, but a court date means working all weekend, thus making Monday not even a Monday, but a sort of evil Wednesday in an extra-long week. On a regular Monday, I find it hard to muster excitement even for the most interesting task. The Ernie in me would love a circus or a birthday party, but, as my most Bert-like friend would say, "this is a place of business." In a place of business, you only get birthday parties on Fridays, and circuses are rarer, I suppose, than cats who don't wake you up by sitting on your head and begging for food.

Bert's sense of what makes a day exciting is very well suited to Mondays and very appropriate for a place of business. The only thing more apt is his love for paperclips, which we will discuss some Monday in the future.

Sunday Football

As I prepare to watch the Colts wallop the Patriots tonight, I reflect on the U.S. pastime of devoting fall weekends to American football. With all of the lovely things available for us to do on our days off, we find it difficult to resist the urge to grab a pile of snacks, sink into the couch cushions, and while away countless hours watching young men pummel each other over possession of an oblong leather ball. Given the choice, I am sure most football fans would rather be at the games in person, but when attendance isn't an option, high definition is the next best thing.

Today was a different kind of football day. It was an unusually beautiful for November. After a week of nonstop, hurricane-inspired rain, this Sunday was sunny and in the low 70s. On a surprise beautiful day like this in college, the whole campus spent the day outside, and you couldn't walk across the quad without dodging three or four frisbees. In grown-up world, unexpected spring days aren't much different. As I walked across town to claim some delicious falafel, I saw runners, folks playing tennis, kids on the basketball court, skateboarders, bikers, soccer games, and many people tossing around a football and pulling together pick-up games. Every bar I walked past on 18th Street had football games blaring but very few patrons watching those games. Today is one of those days that makes Ernie pester Bert with extra vigor.

I love the fact that Ernie cannot comprehend why Bert won't go outside to play football with him. It's so unfathomable to him that he concludes that Bert must have the Hungarian measles. That's what today felt like: if you didn't spend at least some time outside, there is no doubt in my mind that you were suffering from some horrible plague. I hope you get better soon.

Origins

Last summer, the greatest museum exhibit in the history of museum exhibits stopped at its home base at the Smithsonian International gallery: Jim Henson's Fantastic World. The exhibit showcased the journey of Henson's limitless imagination, from his days discovering puppetry at the University of Maryland, through his snarky and wonderful early work in commercials, to the heights of his genius with Sesame Street, The Muppet Show, Fraggle Rock, and his magically bizarre Dark Crystal and Labyrinth. The exhibit was full of sketches, early videos, notebooks, muppets, costumes, and all things that build an engaging history of a genius.

Sometimes, even in this great city of free museums and brilliant traveling exhibits, I end up missing something I really want to see. Work, life, and the complacency that can set in when you live in such an easy museum place tend to combine to make four months go by as quickly as a weekend. But nothing in the world could have prevented me from visiting the Jim Henson exhibit. And nothing--not even the multitudes of people with strollers in the tightly packed exhibit space--prevented me from absorbing every little bit of Henson wisdom offered by the exhibit.

All the shoving and noise and small children running into my knees were worth it when I got to the early concept sketches of Ernie and Bert and the stories that went along with Henson's and Frank Oz's creation of the characters. And then, in a display case in the middle of the final exhibit space, were Ernie and Bert. The Ernie and Bert. My Ernie and Bert. Well, okay, they weren't mine (and they weren't going to be mine, despite the museum heist my colleagues and I planned but wisely chose not to enact). In fact, the exhibit made me realize just how much they belonged to everyone: I was not the only one with tears in my eyes upon discovery of the glass case, and I'm sure I was not the only one planning a great muppet caper.

Sadly, the exhibit left my town, but it may be in yours. It still travels to Seattle, Pennsylvania, Mississippi, Massachusetts, Fresno, and Chicago in the next two years. Don't miss it.

I've Got a Song

Some things need no introduction.

Meddling

I'm a fan of meddling. I don't mean emotional meddling or meddling in people's actual affairs. I am mostly in favor of meddling in people's homes or offices when they are away. Again, I should clarify: the meddling I mention does not involve thievery or destruction or even invasion of privacy. It is always Ernie-approved-type meddling. Such meddling might involve monkey lamps or giant stuffed hearts--anything that lets the absent inhabitant know that I have been thinking about him or her and that I appreciate the trust placed in me to water the plants or feed the cat.

The test of a good meddling varies. Sometimes you want it to be a slowly revealed surprise, like when your friend looks in her seldom-opened drawer two or three weeks later to discover the ridiculous stuffed blowfish you left in there. Other good meddlings involve volume: a tiny plastic monkey in every egg cup, hiding in every pillowcase, and hanging from every light fixture. Also excellent is the discover-immediately-upon-arriving meddling that causes loud and spontaneous laughter.

The accompanying picture is an example of the last type. I had no hand in this event, but it was truly so Ernietastic, I had to commemorate it. When the owner of this office returns from his much-needed vacation, I hope to hear his guffaws two floors away.

Breakfast for Dinner

Despite all appearances to the contrary, I very much enjoy life as an adult. One thing I like about being grown up is having the ability to eat whatever I want whenever I want to eat it. Of course, it is sensible and mature to eat healthy, well-balanced meals at appropriate mealtimes. I strive to adhere to those mores of consumption, but sometimes I cannot avoid having breakfast for dinner.

I was not the best eater as a child. My mother's excellent culinary skills aside, I was simply not moved by beef stew, pot roast, and the countless other protein and vitamin-filled staples of my Midwestern diet. I became skilled at hiding most of my meal in my napkin or sneaking it into the dog's bowl or just dumping it in the trash when no one was looking. My parents, however, were determined not to let me starve myself: I was not allowed to leave the table until I finished my dinner, but generally I was not interested in consuming the food on my plate. So nearly every night turned into a battle of wills. I refused to eat; they refused to let me leave the kitchen. Then came bedtime, and someone had to surrender.

Not every night turned into a mealtime stand-off. Every so often, as the sun set during the grey Indiana winter, Mom pulled the electric skillet out of the cabinet, and we knew we were having pancakes. Pancakes for dinner! Are there any more welcome words that one can hear?

A rare and celebrated treat during childhood, breakfast for dinner is a staple of my adult life. Sometimes I pull out the griddle for pancakes or french toast. Sometimes I scramble some eggs or make an omelet. On other evenings, I'll make biscuits with veggie sausage or fake bacon. Last night I had Golden Grahams. Occasionally, me even have a soft-boiled cookie, with a glass of cookie juice on the side.

Happy 40th, Sesame Street!!

Also, this.

Teeny Tiny's Travel Tuesdays

In my house, there may or may not be a number of Ernies of all shapes and sizes and genres. It is important to distinguish among them, for despite emanating from the one, the Ur Ernie, they all have distinct personalities. The smallest among them is aptly named Ernie Teeny Tiny (thanks, Dave). Teeny Tiny is a bit of a patriarch among the Ernies and a sort of a Renaissance chap. His first job was driving an ice cream truck. After his partner, Bert Teeny Tiny, left for places unknown, he branched out and decided to broaden his mind and experiences. He's written two Senior Theses, a Master's Thesis, and a good portion of a Dissertation, on varying subjects in American literature, history, and religion. More recently, he's become an excellent legal researcher. I don't think, however, that he likes being a lawyer because he recently "misplaced" his glasses and can no longer contribute to the more scholarly pursuits of the household.

For all of his interests and talents, Teeny Tiny is most happy as a traveler, a discoverer of new places. In honor of his passion, I have given him the blog on Tuesdays so that he can share his experiences. Up first is his trip to Italy.

Mondays

Mondays are difficult. No one will deny that. I also think that no one will deny that in the Ernie-Bert relationship, one of the duo is more suited to Mondays than the other. In light of this obvious fact, I henceforth dedicate Mondays to Bert, more reserved but no less loved.

He's groovin' now.

Bert Is It

October was a fat month. You all know what that means: the shirts fit a little tighter; the pants are a smidge shorter; everything is just a little extra chubby. There are a couple of ways to confront a fat month. You can cut back a little bit and skip the french fries once in awhile. You might just give in and dig a little deeper into the bowl full of Halloween candy meant for all of the children who are sure to show up at your door in that secured downtown apartment building. The best way to deal with a fat month--and we all know it--is to get back into the gym.

Getting back into the gym, however, is not easy. Work gets really busy; all the best bands are playing in town; the DVR is so dangerously full that you fear Comcast will come and confiscate it before you catch up on The Real World Road Rules Challenge The Ruins. For all of the great reasons you have to go work out, there are fifty-seven things that have to be done instead. And, quite frankly, it's just easier to go to sleep.

It is this dilemma that leads me to the conclusion that we all need an Ernie in our lives. Although it might seem more fulfilling to read boring stories and organize our bottle caps, we each should have someone to convince us to get up and play tag.

Today's Post is Brought to You by the Letter L

My niece, Lydia, is nearing the age of six. She's a full-fledged kindergartner, apparently with custody of the class stuffed frog for the weekend. I fear that she's approaching that period in her life where she's "too old" for Sesame Street.

"What period?" you ask in earnest shock. Alas, it is true: for a time, all kids leave Sesame behind. It even happened to me (well, for middle school, maybe). Little ones grow, and soon they are too cool to watch the kid's shows. They're always stretching to that next grade, reaching for the older-kids section in the library, rushing to the time when they can make their own decisions about what is cool and interesting. The stoop at 123 Sesame Street no longer holds their attention, and if it does, they can't let anyone know.

The one thing that puts me at ease about the journey away from Sesame that all kids take is that it is a circular path we tread. We all come back eventually, and like reading that novel fifteen years later, we come back with wisdom and a greater appreciation for what we thought we had left behind.

Lydia is lucky, I think. She has a younger brother. She has a lunatic aunt with what amounts to an Ernie shrine. And she has one of those big little-kid hearts that grows and grows when she makes that brother or aunt smile. Because of these things, I suspect that her Sesame-free years will be brief and somewhat forestalled. I hope they are, at least, because my office needs more Ernie and Bert-inspired artwork.

Special Announcement

You are very interested in learning things from the internets today. The best way to learn is googling. Seriously, go search. http://www.google.com

UPDATE: The special google day is over, but I captured it.

The Duck

Here in the early days of the blog, I think that we need to address the duck. We all know about the duck. We see the duck everywhere. We may even own variations on the duck. It must be said, however, that there is only one who has his hands on the real duck. And the real duck is unique: he squeaks, he has a squat round body, and he jauntily looks at you from the side with his turned duckie head. All other rubber ducks face forward. Some may squeak, and some may have squat bodies, but nowhere can you find a rubber duck like Ernie's rubber duckie.

Ernie loves his rubber duckie. He takes rubber duckie everywhere. He speaks to his duckie and takes Duckie's advice. Duckie even directed Ernie and Liam Neeson once in a dramatic reading of the alphabet. Duckie is the never-failing friend. He's there when Bert's not around, and he never gets frustrated when Ernie wakes him in the middle of the night. Bert might be Ernie's life partner, but Duckie completes Ernie.

Day One

Inspired by my clever friends and the other creative ones on the intertubes, I have adopted the idea of sharing something special once a day. Because I am not artistic and so cannot give you artsy photos or funny songs, and because I don't have the time to think thoughts every day, I have decided to share the one thing that daily makes me happy: Ernie. Ernie has been my best friend since I have been of the age for best friends, and, beneath all of that fun, he can be a pretty wise dude. And so I give you Ernie--for the first time.