He has lots of stories about the personalities with which he works.  My favorite, I think, involves an angry phone call in which the producer on the other end of the phone line screamed, "Tell him to stick a hot dog in his ass, you know what I'm saying Glen?!"

Last night, my sister, my cousin Zach (Glen's son), and I were sitting in my grandfather's kitchen.  I was drinking tea to calm my cough, and we were talking about collaborative creation, lonely poets, and to what extent muses participate in the art they inspire.

Glen walked in in his pajamas.  He made a few silly comments.  We all got laughing.  I started coughing.  And Glen noticed.

Glen: Yo.  I got two words for you.  Jim Henson.
Jake: What about him?
Glen: He died.

Having just written that down, I realize that that those words don't look nearly as funny as they felt last night.  Something about Glen's face as he delivers.  Luckily, I have a picture that might help.

It's from 2005, I think, from Glen's second time coming to visit me in Beijing.