My friends...once again I'm reaching into the vaults for a classic forecast from nearly two years ago--January 2006. Without further ado, I present...
Monsoon Martin’s “Hello Everybodeeeee” Forecast
Tuesday, 10 January 2006
Hello Everybodeeeee! This is your old pal Grover, and I am very glad you have visited me today! Actually, it is Monsoon, who could not possibly maintain the narrative voice of a blue furry Muppet during the entire forecast. During this unseasonably mild and relatively inactive weather period, I thought I’d take the opportunity to introduce you to the inimitable, the indefatigable, the hirsute, the bright blue…Grover Monster. One of what I call the “original seven” Sesame Street Muppets (along with Big Bird, Count, Oscar, Ernie, Bert, and Cookie Monster), Grover quickly emerged as one of the most beloved figures to come out of the Children’s Television Workshop.
Grover (voiced by the incomparable Frank Oz) is notoriously impulsive, which would often get him into trouble on the show, but really Grover is harmless, utterly sincere, endlessly generous, endearingly vulnerable, and wholly gregarious. Grover (full name Grover Monster) debuted in 1969 at the beginning of Sesame Street’s run, and is 4 years old. Flawed, harried, and always open-minded, Grover helped children understand such concepts as “near” and “far”—he would come right up to the camera and shout “Near!” and then frantically scramble to the background and cry, “Far!” This would repeat until poor G would collapse from exhaustion…
Tuesday night : Increasing cloudiness. Low 35.
Wednesday : Cloudy with possible AM fog or drizzle, followed by afternoon showers. Rain will taper late in the evening with clearing overnight. Unseasonably mild. High 52, low 36.
Thursday : Partly cloudy with plenty of sunshine; continued mild. High 56, low 38. What a perfect day for Super Grover to fly around the city looking for little boys and girls to help out!
Fans of Grover and the gang could catch him away from the telly as well—as I did, with messianic zeal. He featured in a series of well-known books based on his character, the most famous of which was called The Monster at the End of This Book, starring Lovable, Furry Old Grover. Afraid because he doesn’t like monsters (ironically, since he himself is a monster), he implores the reader not to turn each page, which would bring us closer to the monster: “YOU TURNED THE PAGE! Maybe you do not understand. You see, turning pages will bring us to the end of this book, and there is a Monster at the end of this book…” He spends the book trying to prevent the reader from turning each page,
then is relieved to discover that he, in fact, was the monster at the end of the book.
He released a series of critically acclaimed albums (all right, I don’t know if they were critically acclaimed, but I loved them, and still do). One of my favorites is Sesame Street Fever (1978), which features G.M. on the cover striking a stunning Travolta-esque pose:
…and perhaps even more scintillating was the series on the inner sleeve depicting Grover executing some impressive disco dancing moves:
But the seminal work in Grover’s corpus of recorded work is 1974’s Grover Sings the Blues. (The dialogue bubble coming out of Grover’s mouth in the image of the album’s cover below says, “I am so proud!”)
The song “What Do I Do When I’m Alone” resonated with me because as an only child, I was often…alone. The lyrics, in part:
What do I do when I’m alone?
Well sometimes I sing a little song
La la la la la laaaaa
That is the song I sing.
What do I do when I’m alone?
Well sometimes I do a little dance (oh yeah!)
I jump and I hop hop hop
That is my little dance.
He goes on to admit that sometimes when he’s alone he gets a little sad, but generally he is able to enjoy being alone rather than feeling lonely. Grover’s wisdom went beyond helping a person be comfortable in his or her own company, though; one of his most memorable tunes, “Still, We Like Each Other,” is an unbridled celebration of diversity decades ahead of its time—and a lesson on diplomatic interpersonal relations from which some of us could actually benefit:
I have fur that’s blue and fuzzy
You may not have fur that’s blue and fuzzy
Still, we like each other.
I like gooey peanut butter
You may not like gooey peanut butter
Still, we can like each other.
We are friends
You and me
And it doesn’t matter what we look like
Or if sometimes we don’t agree…
‘Cause we are people who are different
People can be very, very different
But still they can like each other.
You have your looks and likes
And I have mine
But still we like each other…
Fine.
The Furry One’s most fabulous (and inept) alter ego was, of course, Super Grover, the feckless but charming “superhero” who debuted on Sesame Street with a crash in 1974. He would try to help, but would usually unintentionally obstruct, rather than solve a problem—leaving the child to figure the problem out for him or herself (and teaching an important lesson about self-sufficiency in the process):
He zooms through the sky,
smarter than a speeding bullet,
furrier than a powerful locomotive,
able to leap tall sandwiches in a single bound!
Is it an eggplant? A meatball?
No! It's Super Grover!
Friday : Partly cloudy; becoming mostly cloudy toward evening. Rain developing late; could be heavy at times. High 57, low 39. You can't stay dry / And you can't have any fun / And that's when rain falls / It's really sort of neat / To hear everybody grumble and complain / When rain falls / It's kind of nice – from “Rain Falls” on Oscar the Grouch’s album, Let a Frown Be Your Umbrella.
Saturday : Rain continuing throughout the day; windy and colder as a front moves through the region. Showers on and off overnight Saturday into Sunday could mix with snow in some places, but accumulations will be negligible. High 47, low 32. Please be sure to take your umbrella!
Sunday : Partly cloudy with gradual clearing; colder with moderate winds persisting. High 37, low 27.
In 1979, an insidious little red menace appeared on Sesame Street, first as a background monster. By the mid 1980s, Elmo had begun to supplant Grover as the show’s most heavily promoted and merchandised cast member. The offenses of this evil furball are myriad and unforgivable. What follows is my list of grievances against Elmo, proving indisputably that Grover is superior to his bushy associate in every possible way.
- First, the basics: Elmo Monster is created to mimic the development of a 3½-year-old child. He is not related to four-year-old Grover Monster. They are most emphatically from different monster clans.
- Elmo speaks only in third person when referring to himself: “Elmo wants a hug!” Needless to say, this linguistic disorder sets an atrocious example for toddlers just developing their language skills. On the other hand, Grover’s language (and humor) is more sophisticated. He never uses contractions: “It is great to see you” rather than “It’s great to see you.” (Grover only suspended this rule when singing. I know not why.) What a fine example for a child—how to speak properly and respectfully, and to use first person when referring to oneself.
- Elmo began to backstab and connive to attain Sesame Street supremacy in the mid 1980s and never looked back. The new segment “Elmo’s World” is evidence of his furtive plan for world domination. His showy, pretentious, hyperactive demeanor has provided inspiration for an entire generation of emerging ADHD children.
In the sequel to The Monster at the End of This Book, Elmo horns in on Grover’s
franchise; at the end of this book (above) Grover discovers that Elmo is, in fact,
the monster at the end—and that Elmo is positioning himself to make his old pal
Grover obsolete. “Aiiieeee!!” means “Et tu, Elmo?” in Portuguese.
- Elmo is the “poor man’s” Grover—the far inferior “new kid on the block.” His incessant, raspy whine is incredibly grating. Whereas Grover had authentic, natural rapport in his unscripted conversations with children, Elmo is consistently patronizing and screechy in such interactions.
- Grover’s alter ego, Super Grover, can fly. Elmo cannot fly, nor does he have any superpowers whatsoever.
- Elmo frequently visited the Rosie O’Donnell Show. This is perhaps as damning an indictment of Elmo’s shrillness and nefariousness as there is.
- Blue state, red state. Grover, Elmo. ‘Nuff said.
- Grover has never allowed himself to be adulterated by the marketeers at Children’s Television Workshop. Stuffed animals, cups, linens, clothing…but never did Grover consent to be used for a ridiculous moving or singing doll. No shucking and jiving for Grover. Elmo, on the other hand, has been made into all manner of horrid mechanical toys, beginning with Christmas craze Tickle Me Elmo in the 1990s. The litany of Elmo’s minstrelsy has included Rock & Roll Elmo, Limbo Elmo, Hokey Pokey Elmo, the controversial Lambada Elmo, and the ill-fated Tackle Me Elmo.
- Elmo means “conniving” in Italian and “discordant” in Dutch; Grover means “noble” in Latin and “endearing” in German.
- OK, I made those up. Really, Elmo means “worthy to be loved” in Italian and “protector” in Latin; Grover means “a gardener” in English and “dweller in the grove” in Old English. But I like the other translations because they fit into my argument about Elmo’s worthlessness and malevolence more effectively.
- For my final point, I will pose an old-school SAT analogy question to illustrate the fact that Grover is authentic and classic, while Elmo is the inauthentic pretender to his wooly throne:
Grover:Elmo as
a) Led Zeppelin:Lenny Kravitz
b) John Coltrane:Kenny G
c) Walter Cronkite:Anderson Cooper
d) Allen Funt:Ashton Kutcher
e) All of the above ☺
Notice that Elmo is surreptitiously seeking to sabotage the plane’s tailfin,
then parachute to safety—and with Grover out of the way, realize Muppet supremacy.
Monday 1/16 : Partly sunny and seasonably cool. High 42, low 30. Sunny day / Sweepin’ the clouds away / On my way / To where the air is sweeeet / Can you tell me how to get / How to get to Sesame Streeeet?
Tuesday 1/17 : Cloudy with some passing rain showers possible, particularly in the morning. I’m keeping an eye on this system, as it could bring us some significant rainfall. It appears at this point that warm air will still be entrenched in our area at this point, keeping all the precipitation in the liquid phase. High 43, low 33.
Future weather : Look for highs generally in the 40s and lows in the 30s—not balmy like this week, but still milder than normal. For those of you who are pining away for snow days and/or delays, I think we’ll be waiting until at least the end of January for any such respite; there are no major snow events in the reasonably foreseeable future. So sorry!
Grover has a special place in my heart not simply because of his shenanigans on Sesame Street, and not merely due to the fact that his initials are the same as mine; Grover was (and is) a grizzled, well-worn, integral part of my family. I can recall having my Grover stuffed animal as early as age three. I was (and would remain) an only child, so playmates were typically scarce. We were inseparable. When I first got him, you see, Grover’s fur was shiny, and his posture rigid. Of course his coat had a deliberate tousled look, considering that one of Grover’s charms was his slightly scruffy and usually clumsy manner—but this was, in the language of collectibles, a near-mint condition stuffed animal.
And then it happened. One fateful evening when I was about 6 years old, I put on my footy pajamas, crawled in between my Peanuts sheets (Snoopy and Woodstock were playing a rather unconventional but quite spirited game of tennis on these linens, I can recall vividly) and green blanket, snuggled up to my Grover stuffed animal, and drifted off into a pleasant slumber. Then: Was it an undercooked pork chop? An excess of American cheese? A touch of the flu? These details are lost to me now, but what I am most certain of—what shattered the serenity of my six-year-old existence—is that I vomited. Copiously. And neither sheets, nor peejays, nor green blanket, nor most tragically Grover Monster, was spared the cruel trajectory of my prodigious regurgitation.
My father rushed in with the basin (a pale yellow vessel that became ubiquitous when one’s stomach was upset)—dear Father! Had not the damage already been done?—and he and my mother set to assessing and scrubbing away the remnants of my vesuvian disgorgement. Soon an emergency load of laundry was agitating away in the basement, in the wee hours of the morning, and newly bejammied and feeling better, I feel quickly asleep.
The next morning, my parents approached me like they had to tell me of the death of a favorite uncle. (I didn’t like any of my uncles, but it’s a simile.) “Glen,” my normally reticent father intoned, “come downstairs to the basement.” On the way outside, then down the steps, my father explained that although the care tag on Grover’s bum had said explicitly DO NOT WASH, they had in fact put him through the most delicate of cycles in an effort to rescue my friend from his pukey fate.
When we entered the dark, dank basement, the atmosphere was that of a postmortem. My mother was standing by the clothesline which ran half the length of the basement, looking grim and obviously bracing herself for my tortured histrionics. Two wooden clothespins held Grover’s miserably flaccid frame. Grover hung there, almost apologetically, like a prematurely wilted flower. His once-rigid neck was now hopelessly limp; his majestic, lustrous fur was now forever matted and dulled; his clear, bold pupils were now severely flaking. Though he was now barf-free, Grover Monster was in a sorry state indeed.
Grover was released from his clothesline intensive-care perch and placed tentatively in my waiting hands. I was in something like shock just now. I held his torso and wanted to look into his eyes—to search for any vestiges of my best friend. To my horror, his head lolled decisively backwards; I screamed, tossed Grover into my father’s arms, and ran upstairs, utterly beside myself with grief. That, I ruminated, had been one fateful hurl.
Thankfully, despite this rocky beginning, I quickly came to regard Grover as affectionately and enthusiastically as I ever had. In fact, I began to view Grover’s rough-hewn appearance with pride; he had weathered a good deal more than most of his stuffed animal contemporaries, and had emerged battle-scarred, but far stronger on the other side. My Nana would observe nearly every time she saw poor Grover: “He looks like he’s been through the war!” (Nana, my mother’s mother, was my favorite blood relative—not just because she was one of the few with whom we had regular contact, but because she was always on my side. When I would misbehave—which was seldom and usually trivial—she would tell my mother, “Oh, it’s just kid fashion.” I miss her.)
On one occasion, circa 1984, I thought it would be super fun to dress up Grover as international pop sensation Michael Jackson. Essentially I clad my furry friend in paper mockups of all the cool clothes I was sure I’d never be able to wear: leather pants with zippers on them, a sweet “V” jacket, oft sported by MJ, wristbands and Converse sneakers (I know MJ didn’t wear Converse typically; I guess I was conflating my desire to be a cool pop star with my desire to be Darryl Dawkins or Dr. J). I think you’ll find that in the picture below (taken by me in my bedroom, cutting off the top of Grover’s head; nice rug, huh?) is virtually indistinguishable from a picture of Thriller-era MJ:
Today, Grover is an indispensable part of the Martins’ lore. The pupil in his left eye is almost completely gone, which I attribute to cataracts. He is pathetically floppy, and his fur is matted and nearly covering his thin red lip, but he’s still, and always, Grover. He went to college and graduate school with me; he has gone on many vacations with us (see picture below of Grover hanging out on the balcony at one such location); he is my true and unwavering friend.
This forecast was brought to you by the letter G and the number 6 (Grover’s favorite number).
Monsoon