Not Monday Muppets

It seemed fitting to allow Jim Henson (with the assistance of Frank Oz) to sing Happy Birthday on his own birthday.

I have been watching a lot of Star Trek lately, which is probably why I'm reminded of the following speech in remembering Jim Henson.
 
Image of Death is that state in which one exists only in memory

And that leads me to the final stop on this fragmented AV assisted train of thought.


I really wish I could pull my thoughts together a bit more eloquently, but it is difficult to articulate the respect I have for a man I never knew, and harder still for me to  explain why I mourn his loss still today.   I don't worship or idolize him, but genuinely respect him as a fully flawed person capable, with an amazing group of people, to change the world. The changes that really matter, the ones that have a lasting impact, are the small changes made by caring people, for they grow with us. He changed the world with puppets... what will you use?

Human Earworm

I blame part of my inability to be productive on a chronic case of human earworm. Put away the Merck Manual, this isn't another disease I'm convinced is killing me. Also, this isn't Star Trek. I call it human earworm becasuse it's like having a song stuck in my head, except it's a person (not literally, obviously). I become completely consumed, and daydream elaborate yet believable situations and conversations. A soap opera in my mind;  there is usually a main storyline with a dashing star, but occasionally I switch to an alternate storyline featuring a lesser character to keep things interesting. And, just like any earworm, no matter what I do, it will not go away.

It's odd that the subjects are rarely people I know, or at least know well. It follows, I guess, as the songs most likely to play on constant repeat in my brain are usually ones I don't know well either. That unfamiliarity is what provides for the, not at all annoying, endless repetition of the three bars of the song I know, as my brain trudges on in a futile attempt to remember what comes after the hook.

I'm not sure if normal people experience human earworms, or if it's just one of those idiosyncrasies that makes me so creepily weird interesting. For the sake of feeling moderately normal, I like to assume that others experience this. I am willing to acknowledge, however,  that most cases of human earworm are likely due to missing someone who was at one time an important part of the affected person's life. So, I'm still a freak.