If you were a Muppet, which Muppet would you be? Granted, this is a relatively bizarre question, but there is something so appealing about the species which Homer Simpson described as "not quite a mop, [and] not quite a puppet."
It's also a question that is probably better suited for those born a decade earlier. We're from a generation which postdates "The Muppet Show" (1976-1981) and the two classic Muppet movies, "The Muppet Movie" (1979) and "The Muppets Take Manhattan" (1984.)
Sure, we had "Muppet Babies," which had the bulk of its run during our elementary school years, but the animated series merely touched on the cast's quirky behavior. Besides, any incarnation of the Muppet franchise that doesn't include Statler and Waldorf just doesn't count. This is also not meant to ignore the short-lived "Muppets Tonight," an attempt at rekindling the magic of the '70s variety show that failed to connect with a modern audience.
Yet somehow, the vast majority of pop culturally-inclined Tufts students can identify with these anthropomorphic characters. But if you had the choice, which Muppet would you be? Or even better, which Muppet are you now? As philosophical and religious tracts have already been written about "The Simpsons" and "The Matrix," it's high time the Muppets got their due.
Let me preface this rather ridiculous and inane discussion by saying that my inspiration came from the "Muppet Show" poster hanging above my desk. I'm not sure whether this fact helps or hinders what follows, but here it goes.
While we always bemoan the lack of a raging party scene at Tufts, it isn't as if any student here is a human version of Animal. His raging and destructive behavior just wouldn't fit in here: people would probably mistake him for a townie. Our frat brothers are much more like Gonzo, if anything. But while they may share the long-nosed creature's affinity for daredevil antics, I can't see them, or anyone at Tufts for that matter, playing the hopeless romantic.
When you think about it, there really are no loving "couples" amongst the Muppets. For the most part, the same is true in college. Miss Piggy loves Kermit, but the frog won't make the commitment. Gonzo is in an on-again, off-again relationship with a chicken. There is no Mrs. Fozzie Bear, although it would be rather frightening if there were. Dr. Teeth looks like he'll pimp Janice off to Rizzo the Rat any day, at any time. Are there any "Sows in Space," or is it just one large sausage fest up there, literally? And what's with the guy with the fish fetish?
For the most part, Tufts students are like Scooter, the brainiac of the Muppet tribe. It should be made clear that Skeeter, the female version of Scooter, was most likely added to the "Muppet Babies" cast as a way of showing that women can be smart as well. But she is not a true Muppet, and thus does not factor into the discussion.
The engineers can probably consider themselves a part of the Dr. Bunsen/Beaker dynamic duo. The diminutive doctor - sans eyeballs of course - represents the analytical mind of engineers, while his fiery-haired companion speaks their same language - gibberish. Beaker's cloudy gender identity, and his questionably close relationship with Dr. Bunsen, should compensate for the Scooter/Skeeter problem.
Statler and Waldorf are my two favorite Muppets; their antagonistic banter insulting each and every character warms my heart. They're the cynical critic inherent in every college kid. We love to decry the state of social life, classes, politics, you name it; it's rare when we do something about it. Statler and Waldorf are old geezers - what's our excuse?
Another crowd pleaser, the Swedish Chef, is something of an enigma. His unintelligible accent distracts from what the Chef is really all about: food. While Nick Boyd may think he has this character locked down as Tufts' most notorious Swede, methinks he's more like Sam the Eagle, the patriotic and stoic avian. I see the Swedish Chef in Hodgdon's burrito rollers and in the campus center's crazy steam-operated sandwich makers. For the epicurean in all of us, it is a "goot-goot" thrill to watch the Chef in action.
Fozzie Bear, of "wakka, wakka" fame, and Rowlf, the jazz loving canine, mirror the artistic crowd at Tufts. Fozzie is the comedic, theatrical ham who haunts Aidekman, and Rowlf is the New England Conservatory double degree student. Both have hearts of gold and an undying love for their craft. While Fozzie's horrible puns and poor comedic timing aren't reflective of the relative talent of Torn Ticket II's performers, his earnestness is admirable. Each crowd has its artist; the Muppets have these two guys, and Tufts has its theater and music majors.
These silly and absurd Muppet connections don't really amount to anything. It was pretty much my excuse to rant about my love for the furry and animated inanimate objects. Just be happy I didn't present a thesis on how the Fraggles are an allegory for capitalist America.
