Sunday, April 3, 2011
The post where you wish you were me
In 3 weeks I am going someplace so very, very awesome it's going to make you want to punch me right in the nose.
"No way," you say.
"Hyperbole!" you thunder.
Friends, I'm headed to somewhere so wonderful, so jaw-droppingly exciting I can barely squeak the words out.
I'm going to Sesame Street.
That's RIGHT! Me! On Sesame Street! Well, not "on" Sesame Street - I'm not performing. But after years of begging and pleading and whining and harassing, I finally managed to snag my very own Golden Ticket. (A fella I know is a puppeteer on the show. He's also a fine director and a hell of a guy, if you're hiring.)
For the record, there will be no playing it cool. My ability to feign indifference went out with Y2K. Most likely I will spend my allotted hour either A) welling up, or B) trying to weasel my way into a writing job. And for those who are wondering, no, Owen doesn't get to go with me. Kids aren't allowed on set until they're 4, and honestly, I'm not sure I'd want to spoil the illusion. There are so few years where things are magic.
But back to me.
My Visit To Sesame Street Wish List:
- Meet Carrol Spinney
- Peek inside Oscar's trash can
- Sit on the steps of Apartment 123
- Exchange words with my personal favorite, Telly Monster (note: this is a wish list)
- Convince the writing staff to add more human characters. Preferably redheaded ones.
And if you think I'm not going to try to touch Grover, you don't know me at all.