“I’d Rather Be…” Bumper Stickers That I’d Like to Make

From time to time your Monkey will see cars on the road with those whimsical “I’d rather be…” bumper stickers on the back. You know the ones I mean

  • I’d rather be sailing
  • I’d rather be golfing
  • I’d rather be in Cancun

That’s all well and good for some people, but what about your humble Monkey? He does not golf. He does not sail. He has never visited Cancun. Should he be denied the pleasure of a whimsical bumper sticker simply because his tastes are a little different?

The following are some more “lifestyle-appropriate” bumper stickers that I’d like to have made for my car:

  • I’d rather be………playing guitar
  • I’d rather be………walking my dogs
  • I’d rather be……..quilting
  • I’d rather be……..relentlessly promoting my right wing agenda
  • I’d rather be…….bankrupting America by trading mortgage futures
  • I’d rather be…….a member of an all male social club
  • I’d rather be………tailgating you! Seriously, though, back the fuck off
  • I’d rather be………carrying a loaded hangun
  • I’d rather be………operating over the influence
  • I’d rather be………stalking my ex-girlfriend from a distance closer than 400 feet
  • I’d rather be…….conducting morally irresponsible genetic experiments on identical twins
  • I’d rather be……poaching baby elephants to make tiny ivory piano keys
  • I’d rather be………transporting a minor across state lines for the purpose of sexual congress
  • I’d rather be………an unRegistered Sex Offender LOL!


Shameless self indulgence, Uncategorized, Writing

Update from Monkey Headquarters

The following incidents took place in and around Monkey Headquarters on Saturday, Nov. 26.

  • Wake up uncomfortable and stiff in sleeping bag on the floor. Wonder again why floor seems better option at night than bed
  • Suffer immediate harassment from dogs looking for food/walks/adventures outside
  • Turn on television hoping to find English Premier League game soccer game on ESPN, only to be bitterly disappointed to find that it’s Trout Fishing Hour instead
  • Watch an hour’s worth of trout fishing
  • Finally give in to relentless demands of dictatorial dogs and take them to the dog park and fitness trail
  • Return home only to head right back out again to get dog weighed at vet’s office. Have to negotiate through foot and reindeer traffic at town’s annual Santa Claus parade
  • Rake outside for an hour while listening to concluding chapters of “Confederacy of Dunces” audiobook, thus concluding a deep immersion in the book’s unique language, worldview and characters
  • Develop a sudden and intense interest in Dunces’ author John Kennedy Toole, who committed suicide decades before book’s actual release and success
  • Feel a strange kinship with the alienated and paranoid Toole, who suffered literary rejections personally and underwent a rapid physical and mental decline prior to taking his life
  • Spend a few scattered hours of trying and failing to complete a concrete task (buying a new car, finding a new job, charting a new song on guitar) before finally giving up
  • Spend the rest of the evening deeply and thoughtfully contemplating inability to complete concrete tasks
  • Decide once again to pass on the bed and fall asleep in sleeping bag on the floor
Shameless self indulgence, Writing

Memories of a Brown and White Spotted Dog on the First Year of our Acquaintance

It’s been a year since your humble Monkey was fortunate enough to adopt a very sweet brown and white spotted dog.

And OK, so the dog had some trouble with house training.

And OK, so the dog was pregnant with three puppies at the time.

Let’s not start judging.

It’s only been a year, but what a long strange trip it’s been.

Here are some random memories from year one.

  • Working a whole shift at the animal shelter after she arrived and never getting a chance to take her out. But I did walk by her cage at the end of the night and put my hand up to the door so she could touch it with her nose.
  • Sitting in the front seat of the car after getting out of the vet’s office, her placidly staring at me from the back seat while I freaked out about her unexpected pregnancy
  • Bringing her home to my parent’s house for the first time, desperate for her to make a good first impression, and watching her peacefully curl up under the feet of my brother as he worked on his Halloween costume
  • Coming home at “go time” to find all her blankets bunched up in the middle of her crate. Panicking beyond panic at the prospect of delivering puppies
  • Carrying her down the back stairs fireman-style at 5 in the morning the night after she gave birth, while she shrieked in hormonal confusion at being separated from her newborns
  • Sprinting up and down the street at full speed to burn off excess winter energy
  • Taking long walks through the snow tunnels of Medford, glancing in the windows of warmly lit houses and wondering why it seemed like everyone had a home but us
  • The morning she corralled two escaping Chihuahuas by instinctively using her body to block them. Like they were her own puppies
  • The morning we were attacked by a cat and the way she ducked and moved to avoid getting scratched
  • Breaking down on the way home from work when she was sick. Getting home hours later than I was supposed to, bursting in the door to find the crate seemingly shut and empty! Only upon further inspection did I find she snuck out the end door that I had left unlatched was sleeping on her bed in my room
  • Sitting on the sunsplashed banks of the Mystic River watching the baby ducks in the water, then barking at a surprise turtle that was climbing along the shore
  • The night (almost a year into our acquaintance) that she finally felt comfortable enough to rest her head in the crook of my arm