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.

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Of Mudslides, Slip and Slides, and Summertime Thrill Rides

Your Monkey is feeling misty and nostalgic for the Fourth of July weekend that was, with its bright sunshine, frozen drinks, and easy living. It was a refreshing change of pace from the grinding monotony of the work week.

For once, Your Monkey’s summer resembled one of those nostalgic portraits that the people at Country Time Lemonade were so good at cooking up.

The weekend was also a nice mental break from worrying about jobs and writing and trying to figure out where Your Monkey is in the grand scheme of things. There was no need to make the most of every free minute.

But the drab reality of everyday life did not take long to assert itself this week, as a nice traffic jam cost your Monkey an extra hour of his precious free time last night, and a pouring rainstorm soaked his pants and delayed his train on the way home today.

But your Monkey has made it through tough work weeks before, and he can do it again.

At least for the moment he has some fond memories of summertime slacking off to brighten his day a little bit.

If we all had one frozen drink and took one trip down the slip and slide each day, the world might be a better place.

Here is a collection of commercials from the 1990s that features a Country Time lemonade spot at the 30 second mark or so (no one seems to have isolated one ad for easy viewing).

These commercials painted quite a nostalgic picture for a product that is basically glorified lemon dust.