silence on the air waves

I haven’t been holding up my end of the conversation. Blogging, Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr…it’s a lot to keep up with. Everybody talking at once; it’s hard to think under those conditions!

I don’t blame you, Kermit

It’s been three years since I stepped into a movie theater, but last night I went to see The Muppets. I was not expecting any Jim Henson brilliance…nothing will ever be as good as The Muppet Movie (or The Muppet Show or The Muppets Take Manhattan or The Great Muppet Caper). The new version had some good moments, but here’s the central problem: too many humans.

If you are not made of felt, you should not have more than five lines. Cameos are cool (James Carville answering phones for the Muppet telethon? Yes!). Shlocky song-and-dance numbers: not so much (although I did like this opening song).

I get that this whole revival was conceived by this Jason Segal fellow…I think he’s famous or something. And so he needed to inject himself and his little love affair with the cute Amy Adams (nice legs for dance numbers, but her purposeful hamming it up was not worthy to share a stage with the incomparable Piggy). But you know what the world has too much of? Human rom-coms.

It’s not like I wasn’t glad to see Kermit and The Gang. And there were some funny moments…Jack Black was particularly amusing playing the Muppets’ hostage. And kudos to the prop people: AMAZING job with the Muppet artifacts. But humans acting silly for the camera gets old fast. Muppets singing about rainbows is ever-endearing. Felt actors just have a lot more leeway.

Through it all, however, The Muppets remain blameless and unblemished. They can not help their Disney-fication. And they still do their best to make me smile even when they are forced into duets with lesser human actors.

My last thought: Jim Henson was taken far too early. Far, far too early.

The Turkey Trot

I just got back from the 5K Turkey Trot here in Parentville (aka Newburyport, MA). It’s sponsored by the Winner’s Circle — a bar in the next town — so I went over there last night after I arrived from New York to sign up for the race. My dad and brother and I did the same thing last year, so it’s obviously now a tradition. And they give you free beer tickets when you register!

Or so I thought. That didn’t happen this year. Come to find out there was some sort of separatist movement and there are now two Trots (and no free beer)! One at the ancestral Maudsley State Park — one of my all-time favorite places — and this new/old one in West Newbury. I asked my dad, who is a big-time reporter for the local paper, to get the scoop.  He said it was his day off. Hrmpf.

A short fun run is good for a person like me, who generally does much longer events with much fitter people. I’m usually the slowest racer, but today, I passed some people! Granted, they were mostly under the age of 12 or looked like this was the only running they did all year, but why put too fine a point on it? It took me 36 minutes (give or take some seconds), which is pretty fast for me.

In other, unrelated, Thanksgiving news, did you all know K-Mart is open all day today? And lots of other big retailers — Target, WalMart — are opening doors at 9pm or Midnight? It’s, like, the earliest ever. So much for this being the non-commercial holiday…

Dogs on stage

Did you know a stage dog can make more than an Equity actor? I didn’t either, but then I wrote a story about it.

The first Christmas trees

Christmas is my favorite holiday, which is why I am adamant about not starting too early. Please do not bombard me with “Holly Jolly Christmas” before December 15 (or, um, ever). Do not push me under the mistletoe in November. And, as much as I love glitter, don’t try to sell me sparkly garlands while the leaves are still changing.

I saw the first Christmas tree in someone’s window today…to each his own, I guess. And the first stand selling Evergreens on 110th and Broadway. Next week, when I get back from Thanksgiving in New England, there will be trees for sale on every corner and skidders driving through the city late at night. I sort of like that part, actually…the trees smell good and I am always wishing I could ride through New York on top of a pile of Christmas trees.

But, please: NO HOLLY JOLLY CHRISTMAS. I don’t want to be sick of my favorite holiday before it even begins.

Give me the Sharpie

I just signed up to volunteer at the NYC Triathlon next summer. I’m also racing, but want to make sure I’ll be guaranteed a bid in 2013 — I guess I’m thinking ahead on this one. I got a sweet assignment: body marking in Riverside Park on Saturday afternoon! Five hours of writing on triathletes’ biceps. Plum!

Flashbacks

On Friday I went running in Central Park … a quick 3 mile loop (including the bit to and from my apartment). I went in the late afternoon, essentially procrastinating until the last hour before dark. It was a fine run and the park is lovely these late autumn days, but there was one thing I didn’t bank on: gym class.

More than one gym class actually, with high school-age students running laps, doing sprints, and stretching out in circles in the grass. I know, I know, it’s a public use park. I can’t expect to have it all to myself. But seeing hoards of 15-year-olds in sweatpants (or short shorts, depending) doesn’t make me appreciate our shared space, it just gives me flashbacks to all the horrible PE classes I endured in my younger years.

The whistle is the worst. Some coach — younger than me, by the looks of him — making that shrill sound to start the next set of sprinters up the hill. Back in my own high school days, I would inevitably be the last person in the line of runners and, as I recall, it was not a coveted position. The whistle makes me want to sit down in the middle of the dirt path and cry. Or at least refuse to go another step.

Of course, I instantly relate to the students at the end of the pack. I wonder if I should sidle up to that last runner for a type of “It gets better” speech, but maybe she doesn’t care. She might be just thinking of getting done and getting home to gchat with her boyfriend. The whole weight of 15 years of being the “weak link” on whatever sports team or the last one picked for dodgeball is not on her mind. Anyway, I can’t catch up; she’s faster than me.

Sprints — agility training, as my brother calls it — are important to fitness. Probably I’d be faster if I did them (generally I haven’t cared much about my results, but I may set my first time goal for the 2012 NYC triathlon), but I hate the pressure and I loathe the whistle! And the yelling. Sometimes coaches — or even other well-meaning athletes on the trail — yell as a motivating factor. (Seriously, that’s happened. One guy in particular yelled “PEDAL! PEDAL! PEDAL!” when I was doing bike loops last summer.)

All that just makes want to scream: I AM NOT PLAYING! STOP IT WITH YOUR INCESSANT NOISE. Why doesn’t anyone just ask nicely? Or perhaps a little bell would work? Or some awesome music so it can be like freeze sprints: sprint while the beat goes on, rest when it goes off.

Or maybe I just need better headphones.