As a child, I was a big fan of The Muppet Show.  I’m going to go ahead and revise that statement, as that’s not entirely true: I am still a very big fan of The Muppet Show.  There were so many things I loved about it: Fozzie’s “I Got Rhythm” song, “Pigs in Space,” the guest artists (Rita Morena singing “Fever” with Animal? Paul Simon singing “Scarborough Fair” with Miss Piggie? What could possibly be better?).  Perhaps my favorite part of The Muppet Show, however, is Statler and Waldorf’s heckling.  For example:

Waldorf: That seemed like something very different.
Statler: Did you like it?
Waldorf: No.
Statler: Then it wasn’t different.

The problem, though, is that sometimes, when it comes to my thoughts about my writing, I feel as though I’ve internalized Statler and Waldorf.  Every poem seems flat, every idea seems tired, every word sounds like the word before it — I find myself as cranky and irritated with my own work as those two Muppets, heckling from the stage left balcony.

I’m usually very frustrated with my Statler/Waldorf periods, but I wonder if there isn’t a worth to them, after all.  I mean, after all, it’s in these times of deepest frustration, when I’m sick to death of the sound of my own voice, that I tend to take leaps and risks and jump as far outside of my box as possible, just to quiet Statler’s complaining.

Perhaps the most relevant Statler and Waldorf quote, then, doesn’t begin and end with a Boo! after all:

Waldorf: Well, you gotta give them credit.
Statler: Why’s that?
Waldorf: Well, they’re gonna keep on doing it till they get it right.