I’m back again – sorry for the radio silence. It’s been, in short, a crazy month, and it looks as though the next will also be intense, albeit for very different reasons. But, the good news is, the busier I am the more my procrastination skills really show themselves off, and since one of my favorite methods of procrastination is ‘avoiding boring stressful work by doing other, interesting and fun, vaguely work-esque things’ (like blogging), it’s possible you’ll be hearing a whole lot from me. It’s also possible that I will stumble home every day with eyes red from looking at session sheets, an ear sore from having a phone pressed against it, and a brain utterly fried with attempting to keep straight about twelve different shows that we’ll be working on, and fall in front of the television to find respite in an old episode of ‘How I Met Your Mother’ and a giant glass (read: bottle) of wine, to wake up hours later drooling on myself and abruptly shouting ‘THE SIDES ARE ON SIDES EXPRESS!’. I guess we’ll just have to see.
But, speaking of that thing called employment, I have been spending my days in our giant equity calls for one of the shows we’re casting. And for those of you who don’t know what that is, it means that anyone who belongs to equity can come in and sing for you, and sing pretty much whatever they want. Which means that in a given day you will probably hear about twelve renditions of ‘What More Do I Need’ and five of ‘Carried Away’ (note to auditioners: don’t sing that song. It’s not actually a funny song, so you’re left sort of floundering with broad material and you often end up coming off as unfunny yourself. True!). A few days ago, though, someone came in to sing the song ‘Happiness, Miss Piggy’, and I tell you, peeps, I sort of wanted to cast him just for that.
Ever since, I have had it solidly stuck in my head, so much so that I finally tracked down the clip itself on youtube. And let me tell you, it does not disappoint:
But it also made me think of something else.
I am a fan of self-defining quizzes; I love the idea of choosing a bunch of options, or picking my favorite color, and being told my psychological profile. I’ve taken tests from what my shoe style says about me to the Myers Briggs, and I love it. And yet, sometimes I think that the simplest and most effective psychological profiling question is simply ‘who is your favorite Muppet?’ Because everyone has one, and I think that it always says a lot. There are the Kermit lovers, kind and honorable leaders, and the secret-anarchist Animals. Gentle nurturing souls tend to go for Big Bird or Snuffalufagus, people who secretly wish for unleashed ids love Oscar the Grouch. Everybody loves Stadler and Waldorf, but nobody really loves them best – their brilliant snarky humor is brain candy, but doesn’t hit the heart. Nobody’s favorite is Fozzy, although nobody wants to admit that – there’s something about his yearning perpetually-failing jokes that is a little too cringeworthy to want to identify with.
As for me, I always secretly wanted to be Miss Piggy – the ultimate diva, who waltzes into a room and just assumes that she is the most beautiful, glamorous, wonderful thing in it, and has the wit to cover when this proves not to be true. But she wasn’t my favorite. My favorite, always, was Gonzo – a peculiar oddball creature not quite identifiable, always trying a little too hard, but ultimately eminently lovable for it. And although I am not the most self-knowing of people, I would say that ‘A Gonzo with Miss Piggy Envy’ is about as apt a description you can get of me.
Although I am TOTALLY still going to wear a crown of sparklers, even if I’m not actually a full Miss Piggy.