snufalupagus

Out of curiosity, I consulted Google for the correct spelling of Snufalupagus, the lumbering, oversized mammoth on Sesame Street. (These things happen when you're home for days on end, the languishing victim of a contagious, foreign bacterium – see earlier blog).

As expected, when I typed in "snuffaluffagus" I got the reassuring "Did you mean Snufalupagus?" Yes, Google, that's exactly what I meant, thank you. But suddenly it occurred to me that I've never questioned the spelling of this creature's name or even why a simple children's character should have such a lengthy, complex, and inexplicable moniker. I mean, Snufalupagus? How the hell did they come up with that one? Even more disturbing is how I never thought twice about it until now, at the age of 33 (and only now out of boredom due to my weakened and feverish state caused by a contagious, foreign bacterium – see above). It's almost like I've been in some kind of Sesame-Street-induced state of hypnosis, just floating through life as if Snufalupagus is a perfectly normal thing to name a TV show character, never questioning any of it, like some brainwashed Stockholm syndrome sufferer. What does that name mean? Is he even a mammoth? Why doesn't he have tusks? And why do I still like him so much in spite of these inconsistencies?

I'd like to name this condition the Snufalupagus Syndrome. Thanks to Snufalupagus and his motley gaggle of costumeers, I have no faith in my own brain's ability to decipher the logical from the absurd.