Writing

Where this Monkey Stands

What I’m for:

  • Hard work
  • Surfing
  • Kindness
  • Music
  • Good television
  • Real breasts (size be damned)
  • Guitar
  • Patience (even though it is a struggle all the time)
  • Sunshine
  • Dogs (especially Southern rescue mix dogs)
  • Leaf peeping
  • Spotify (for music selection)
  • Tipping
  • Did I mention surfing?
  • Surfing in case I didn’t mention it

What I’m against

  • Organized religion
  • People who cut in line
  • People who don’t hold doors
  • People who don’t clean up after their dogs
  • People who don’t walk their dogs
  • Fast food ( 95% of the time)
  • Fake breasts (chicken or otherwise, see above)
  • Coffee with sugar
  • Country music
  • People from the Northeast who wear cowboy hats and/or boots (see previous)
  • Flourescent lights
  • The Northern Lights (more like the Aurora Boring-alis, am I right guys?)
  • Reality TV shows (unless about surfing)
  • Spotify (for poor artist compensation)
  • Best-of-the-year album lists that trade coolness for listenability (Pitchfork can you hear me?)
  • Ads on YouTube that you can’t skip after 5 seconds
  • ESPN
  • Greyhound racing
  • Greyhound busing
  • 24 hour news network
  • Local news
  • OK, pretty much any televised news unless there is an actual emergency taking place
  • No, a 6″ snowstorm is not an emergency
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Writing

In Which Your Humble Monkey Loses a Battle to the Sweat Monster

After the winter we had this year, with all of the snowfall and the freezing and the ice dams and the transportation hassles, your Monkey would be of poor character to start complaining about the recent hot and humid weather that has plauged the Boston area.

But here goes….

What’s with this heat, anyway, am I right? I mean seriously. By seven in the morning your Monkey has already worked up a full sweat. By eight he is on the verge of heat stroke, and by 9 am most days he is fully engulfed in flames! By 10 am it’s a g-damn nuclear inferno and by noon a white dwarf star has formed in his cubicle.

For the love of all that is holy, how about some relief?

Ok, perhaps your Monkey is being a tad overdramatic. It’s a little warm and a little humid, but it’s not even at “make sure to check on old people” hot.

The problem is that your Monkey has to work in a professional environment every day, and being sweaty and professional only works if you are a boxer or a televangelist (am I right?)

Here’s how it goes once the temps go past 80 degrees. Your Monkey will start off the day with a clean, dry shirt and respectable pants. But by the end of the day, things will be quite different.

Let’s start at the base level. The boxer shorts will be sweaty all the way through, while the white undershirt will be soaked beyond recognition. The fabric of the undershirt itself, long sense battered beyond recognition as cotton-polyester, will start to lose all resemblance to an actual shirt and act more like a sad white jellyfish that one has to peel off the body. (After a long week of work one can usually find five days worth of traumatized T-shirts huddled together on the floor like the survivors of some shipwreck. The wreck of the U.S.S. Monkey, perhaps?)

And then there’s the dress shirt itself. There’s nothing like soaking through your the armpits of your shirt before you even arrive at the office. And then spending the day alternately aiming the office fan at your pits to cool things down, or lifting up your arms at your desk to check how things are going and risking embarrassment and ridicule from your co-workers. Or walking into a meeting and keeping your hands down low so that no one spies the rapidly spreading horror underneath your arms.

Equally unpleasant is getting home from work and realizing that the entire waistband of your pants is drenched in perspiration. Or that your socks are squishy because your feet keep sweating like a televangelist at a tax audit (Callback! Remember how I brought up televangelists before?)

Why is is that some people look so cool and relaxed no matter what the heat situation (I’m talking to you, ladies, with your sundresses and pedicured toes and nice perfume), while other people (and certain copywriting monkeys) start sweating and sticking and swishing in their clothes the moment they leave the shower?

Inquiring minds deserve to know.

Shameless self indulgence

A Grumpiest Monkey’s New Year’s Resolutions

Well, that time of year has come again, my friends. When the ball drops at midnight tonight, another year will be upon us, and your humble Monkey will have another chance to make some changes in his life. Usually, your Monkey will make some outrageous claims about trying to blog every day or to exercise more, or to be a better person, but we’ve all seen how that has gone in the past.

This year, your Monkey is committed to making some realistic resolutions that will actually make a difference in his life. So without further ado, here are his resolutions for 2015.

  • To appreciate being so outrageously good looking and uncompromisingly successful
  • To tone down a little bit of my rugged handsomeness and raw animal magnetism
  • To stop being so dynamite in the sack
  • To let someone else get the girl for once
  • To have a few less madcap, sexy adventures
  • To accept complements with grace and good cheer, rather than smirking and saying “Yeah, I know”
  • To finally give the world that novel they’ve been demanding
  • To write some Harry Potter fan fiction that doesn’t end with a gangbang at Hogwarts
  • To stop having outrageously torrid affairs with the older ladies at work
  • To stop working at the nursing home
  • To stop giggling at car accidents
  • To stop using my illegal stock market profits to prop-up the campaigns of ultra right wing candidates
  • To stop printing out and posting leaflets accusing my neighbors of being sex offenders
  • To stop hunting endangered animals for sport
  • To stop hunting the homeless for sport
  • To stop buying gerbils from the local pet store and firing them off the roof with my custom-made gerbil catapult
  • To stop recording and transcribing every episode of the 700 Club, and then re-enacting the show with my houseplant, “Pot Robertson”
  • To stop trying to grab the mailman’s hand when he puts letters through the mail slot
  • To shoplift a little less
  • OK, to shoplift a lot less
  • To stop rubbing against people on the bus
  • To stop rubbing against people at the bus stop
  • To stop rubbing against the bus driver
  • To stop calling strangers and moaning softly into the phone
  • To stop calling my parents and moaning softly into the phone
  • To stop calling  the bus driver and moaning—well, you get the idea

OK, my friends, that should do it to start 2015. An ambitious list, right? But one that feels, smart, realistic, attainable, and truthful to the Monkey I want to be. Wish me luck—though it’s not like I’ll need it.

Shameless self indulgence, Writing

Possible Reasons Why I Haven’t Posted in 101 Days

Your humble Monkey has been lax beyond description when it comes to this blog, my friends. It has been a whopping 101 days since the last time he posted, which is enough time for flowers to bloom and die, stars to grow into massive red giants and then collapse into white dwarfs, entire civilizations to rise and fall, and Herb Moskowitz of Brookline, Massachusetts to renew his license at the Massachusetts RMV (I guess what I am saying here is that the lines there are super long, LOLZ).

Who knows what bizarre new developments have arisen and what strange new worlds have come to pass since the last time your passive primate tickled the plastic keys of his keyboard?

You may have been wondering what your Monkey has been up to all this time. Was he called into service by a top secret government organization? Did he play center field for the Kansas City Royals during their playoff run? Was he instrumental in giving Republicans control of the House and the Senate?

The answer to all those questions is, sadly, no.

But here are some possible reasons why your Monkey has not posted in such a long time:

  • Crippling self-doubt and anxiety has made it impossible for your Monkey to think about adding new content to a site that no one seems to like in the first place
  • Empowering self-confidence has made it possible for your Monkey to find validation in his personal life, rather than in the impersonal world of blogging as a pretend Monkey
  • Skyrocketing banana prices have forced your Monkey to take on extra part-time jobs, thereby taking away any free time he could have spent on his blog
  • Plummeting banana prices have forced your Monkey to rethink his retirement plan
  • The sudden realization that anyone and everyone can have a blog has made your Monkey feel like his contributions to the world wide web are both insignificant and unwanted
  • Extra recovery time following cock-lengthening surgery
  • Extra recovery time following cock-reduction surgery
  • Unrest in the Middle East
  • Extra rest in Spain (those lucky bastards take a siesta every day!)
  • General malaise
  • Expired mayonnaise
  • A sudden, unassailable conviction that life should be lived in the moment
  • The sad realization that most of your Monkey’s moments are quite dull
  • Fantasy football
  • Fantasy foosball (much harder to find players to draft, but you get a lot drunker watching games)
  • Barre classes
  • Bar classes (in other words, getting drunk while gambling on foosball)
  • Ruben Stoddard
  • Ruben sandwiches (Sauerkraut and cole slaw? Come on, bro!)
  • Clay Aiken
  • Claymation (those California Raisins give me the creeps!)
  • Taylor Swift
  • Swift tailoring (thanks for getting my pants hemmed so fast, bro!)

 

Writing

In Which Your Grumpy Monkey Protagonist Battles Evil on the Way to Work

The following events took place during your humble Monkey’s commute to work yesterday morning.

5:30 a.m. Alarm goes off for first time. Sleepy Monkey stirs momentarily, tries to figure out why he set the alarm so early, then presses snooze.

5:40 a.m. Alarm goes off for second time. Monkey presses snooze again.

5:50 a.m. Alarm goes off third time. Monkey takes panicked look at other side of bed to see if girlfriend has been roused by the incessant ringing. Girlfriend often yells at Monkey for setting alarm too early and hitting the snooze button, though Monkey continues to set it early in the vain hope that he will leap out of bed and immediately achieve some sort of PRODUCTIVITY before leaving for work.

But Monkey is too tired for productivity, in all uppercase letters or otherwise, and sets his alarm to go off at 6:30 a.m.

7:00 a.m. Monkey stirs and wonders why it is so bright outside all of a sudden. Mother fuck! How did it get to be seven already? Why didn’t the alarm go off again? He shut it off? When did that happen?

7:00-7:30 a.m. Despite assuring himself that he would be quick in the shower, Monkey’s mind starts to wander once the hot spray comes down, and he is unable to shake the shower’s siren song. Mother fuck again! How did that shower take a half hour? Dog still needs walking and coffee still needs to be made.

7:30-7:45 a.m. Dog gets a quick once-around the block and Monkey runs out the front door with ice coffee in hand. Sprints all out to top of the street to catch the bus.

7:50 a.m. Half-full bus blows by the bus stop on its way to subway station. Sadistic driver grins and leers at poor, trembling Monkey.

8:00 a.m. The next bus, packed to the brim with people, limps and gasps its way up the street, creaking to a stop at the curb so Monkey can cram inside and join the roiling, ill-tempered mass of humanity within.

8:00-8:30 a.m. Bus completes 15-minute drive to the station in a tidy and efficient 30 minutes. Monkey’s personal space has been violated so may times during the ride that he no longer knows where he stops and other people begin.

8:35 a.m. Monkey enters subway car along with remaining population of city. Car is so crowded that he ends up pressed against the glass like an aquarium-cleaning sucker fish.

8:40 a.m. Monkey listens as incredibly cranky subway driver barks orders into the intercom about “standing behind yellow line” and “allowing passengers to exit the train before you enter.” Monkey assumes that people will not follow these orders, and Monkey is correct. Service is delayed for the first of many times.

9:00 a.m After endless delays due to crowding at each stop, Monkey finally arrives at his station. Upon exiting the train, Monkey’s path to work is immediately blocked by a sinister mass of slow moving people, each of whom walks in center of the corridor so there is no polite way for desperately late Monkey to pass them.

9:15 a.m. Monkey finally arrives at work, taking guilty glances in all directions as he sneaks into his office. Monkey hopes that no one has noticed his late arrival.

9:15 to 9:30 a.m. Monkey reads headlines from the local newspaper, conveniently sent by email to his work inbox. Feels guilty for not starting work right away. Feels extra guilty for arriving late.

9:30 a.m. Monkey resolves to spend the rest of the day engaged in productive, nose to the grindstone work. Genuine productivity. The toil that made his Monkey forefathers proud. Monkey knows he is lucky to have a decent job in a tough economy. He is not a Chilean miner or a prison guard or the employee of a cruise ship. He has a better than average chance of making it through the day without getting trapped underground, stabbed with a shank or stricken with the norvovirus. All he has to do is focus on WORK.

9:35 a.m. Monkey checks Facebook on his phone.

Uncategorized

Sorry I Haven’t Posted for So Long, But I’m a Monkey for Crying Out Loud

Hello members of Money Nation. It’s been a while. I feel like we never talk anymore. I know that some of you (OK, none of you) are wondering where I have been.

Where are those bad puns that you have never craved? Where are those music reviews that you didn’t want? Where are those Grumpy Monkey fiction blocks that you never read?

Well, have no fear. I am happy to report that your humble Monkey is back on the case, and ready to get back to doing what he do.