I’m not sure if I like the turn this blog is taking–this isn’t what I had in mind. First the gorilla, then Elmo and now … more Elmo. But though a series of links I stummbled on kottke.org today and found (first) this beautiful piece of nostalgia:
I’ve always held a special soft spot for Mister Rogers because, once, when I was about 4, my mother helped me write a letter to him, and he wrote back. There was no autopen involved in this, let me assure you. If I was a good blogger I would show you that letter, which is tucked away safely in my childhood scrapbook. But I brought no such nostalgic luxuries with me to NYC. That’s another thing I’ll write about soon – what was brought, what was stored and what will forever remain a mystery (box of raw beef, it is you I speak of).
Then, on the same website, I saw this:
I was certain at first that the preview would reveal a sordid backstory–a man who turned to the soft interior of a red muppet to cope with his raging cocaine addiction and mild Asperger’s. But no. And thank god.
This all brings me to several points:
1) If you have been hung up for years on the fact that your mother didn’t breastfeed you, stop. The real question is, “How early were you exposed to PBS?” Seriously. I think there are studies.
2) I said it last time, but now I really mean it and I’m including a link: PBS deserves some money.
3) All of this is timely and relevant because Jim Henson would have been 75 last Saturday. Google even honored him with a Doodle.
4) It is further relevant because Sesame Street has been on my mind a lot since moving to New York City. My conception of NYC and urban life was shaped, not by Sex in the City, but by Sesame Street. The very first apartment Jeff and I looked at was on Union Street between 6th and 7th Ave., right in the heart of Park Slope and a stone’s throw from the Park Slope Food Co-op. We sat on the stoop of the brownstone waiting for the realtor while friendly young people walked by carrying baskets of flowers and walking their dogs. I looked and Jeff and I said, “This is Sesame Street–we could live on Sesame Street!”
It turned out we couldn’t. It seems there are a lot of complications the muppets don’t go into, like rent stabilization regulations and out-of-state guarantor problems. But no matter. We found a place not too far away that is much nicer, and on a regular basis I still feel like I’m living on Sesame Street. I even have my own muppet.