The Existential Angst of the Monkey Copywriter

You sit at your desk day after day and you type and you type but you never really write anything.

It’s just meaningless words for a meaningless catalog that people only look at for the pictures anyway.

You type and you type and your head hurts from the sheer volume of products that you have to write about.

You lose track of individual sentences and paragraphs and you find yourself drowning in a sea of meaningless phrases.

“A must have”
“A must see”
“An incredible deal”
“An amazing bargain”
Great for doing xx”
“Ideal for xx”
“So tremendously f–king satisfying at accomplishing xx”

The words and the products and the information all jumble together so your head can no longer sort them all out.

Can you look for typos, read for content, verify the product information, and check to see if the pricing makes sense all at the same time?

You sit at your desk and you type and you type and you don’t dare get up because there is work to be done and you must do it.

There is always something else to write, always another deadline to meet, always another mess of words and information that you must somehow stitch into a Frankenstein monster of a catalog.

You dig and you beg and you borrow and you steal and you do the best you can to put the words together. Then you hope for a lightning bolt of creative inspiration that will somehow bring this creature to life.

And just when you think you’ve got things under control, just when it seems like your creature will live and breathe and speak to your customers, then pages get cut and products get dropped, and rules get changed.

It turns out that what they really want to do is send out a catalog that is half the size but has twice the products.

And thus the carefully stitched monster of spare parts that you have somehow managed to breathe life into is hunted down and torn apart by the mob.

And thus you must return to the graveyard of your thoughts.

You must once again dig up the same rotten words and moldy sales phrases, drag them back to your cubicle laboratory, clean them off and stitch them together. You must once again hope for the bolt of inspiration that will bring them life.

And you must once again wait and watch in helpless agony as the mob hunts down your wretched creation and tears it apart.

Things I Don’t Care About

I don’t care about Facebook and Youtube videos and writing blogs and Twitter accounts.

I don’t care about Linked In and Monster.com and networking for jobs.

I don’t care for job recruiters.

I don’t care about new social media trends and online networking and “going viral.”

I don’t care about fantasy football and keeper leagues and knockout drafts and online gambling.

I don’t care about ESPN.com and college basketball rankings.

I don’t care about diversifying my 401K plan and investing in real estate and cutting costs by eliminating unnecessary expenses.

I don’t care that the price of a cup of coffee adds up to $15 a week which is $60 a month and $1,800 a year.

I don’t care that my math is wrong in the above example.

I don’t care to do the right multiplication.

I don’t care about reconnecting with old friends and text messaging and RSS feeds and getting email on my phone.

I don’t care about high definition sports and on-demand programming and live streaming video.

I don’t care about the NFL Red Zone channel because it jumps around too fast.

I just don’t care about all this crap no more.

The Man at Work Who I Hate

There’s a guy at work that I hate.

He sits right next to me and talks my ear off from the moment I get in until the moment I leave. He crowds my personal space, interrupts my work,  and compromises my productivity.

I try everything I can to get him to stop his relentless yammering. But on he goes. “This job is pointless.” “This place stinks.” “What are we doing here anyway?” “Why do we bother to get up in the morning?” “I’ll never amount to anything.”

I try everything I can think of to block him out. I glare. I shake my head. I roll my eyes. I turn my back. I put on headphones and try to drown him out. But still he keeps talking.

It’s like this every day from 8:30 a.m. to 5 p.m., Monday through Friday. This guy never calls in sick, he never takes a vacation, and he never has a day when he just doesn’t feel like talking.

How am I supposed to work in an environment like that?

I know, I know. I should pay a visit to human resources, or talk to my supervisor, or ask to switch seats.

We all have work to do, and it’s not fair that I should have to put up with a constant stream of abuse all day.

I mean, this is the 21st century.

We have codes of conduct and standards and ethics that we have to uphold.

We cannot verbally harass our co-workers.

There is no gray area here.

I am in the right.

There’s just one little problem, however.

That guy is me.

The Grumpiest Monkey Goes to Ghost Town

Ghost Town (2008)
Directed by David Koepp
Starring Ricky Gervais, Greg Kinnear, and Tea Leoni

Let’s face it: Ricky Gervais is one funny human being. The man has great comic timing, a natural ability to make a written line seem like a throwaway statement, and a mischievous grin that is always charming even when he’s playing a complete jerk.

Because of his supreme natural talent, Gervais is the main reason why Ghost Town is such an enjoyable movie to watch.

Ghost Town, for those who haven’t seen it, is the story of a cranky, humanity-hating dentist Bertram Pinkus (Gervais) who has a near-death experience during surgery and wakes up with the newfound ability to see ghosts.

The ghosts that Grevais sees aren’t gouls or spectres. In fact, there’s not one scary moment in the film. Instead, the ghosts are lost souls who aren’t sure what to do with themselves. They turn to Gervais for help because he is the only human who can see and hear them. But Pinkus wants nothing to do with them. He just wants to be left alone.

One particularly persistent ghost (Greg Kinnear) promises to keep the other ghosts away from Pinkus if Pinkus will help him break up the pending marriage of his widowed wife (Tea Leoni). Pinkus reluctantly agrees, and comedy ensues.

That’s pretty much the premise. You’ll see where it goes from there.

In this Monkey’s opinion, Ghostown is remarkable for what it doesn’t try to do as a modern romantic comedy. Namely, it doesn’t try too hard on either end.

There are no over-the-top comic set pieces, no real sidetracks into grossout humor for cheap laughs, and even the plot itself isn’t twisted and turned through the predictable machinations of a romantic comedy just so we can arrive at the same ending we always get to.

Sure, there is a little bit of conflict here and there. But the filmmakers wisely realize that you don’t have to spoonfeed the audience every step of the way.

It would be interesting to read an original draft of the script to see how much Gervais added to the role, and how much was there on the printed page.

Screenwriter & Director David Koepp has taken his share of abuse from movie fans in the past. (Most recently for his role in writing Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull).

But here his work is tactful, understated and suited perfectly to the cast and the material.

Here’s the trailer for the film. If you watch it, let this Monkey know what you think.

Four Things That Make This Monkey Grumpy (Oct. 12 edition)

1. Red Sox fans who can’t accept that maybe the team wasn’t good enough this year. It’s not the manager’s fault or Papelbon’s fault or the umpire’s fault. This team just never really had that spark. It’s OK. We won two since 2004. We aren’t going to win them all.
2. Columbus Day traffic jams: Why is it that on a holiday with no school and most businesses being closed, the roads get clogged up worse than a regular commuting day? Come on, traffic gods. If you have to work on a holiday, you should at least get a smooth ride home.
3. The NFL’s ridiculous pandering to the Latino community during tonight’s Jets-Dolphins game. Apparently the league thinks that adding Gloria Estefan to the MNF opening and calling out the first penalty of the game in Spanish is enough to convince an entire race of people to start watching American football. That’s just insulting.
4. Glenn Beck has another book out. Enough said.

The TLC Freak Show Continues with “My Monkey Baby”

As a member of the primate community, your Monkey is saddened but not surprised to see that TLC has once again sunk to a new low in reality programing.

Gone are the glorious high brow days of “Toddlers and Tiaras”, “I Have an Embarrassing Medical Condition” and “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant.”

Now we have “My Monkey Baby,” a show in which people treat their monkey pets like babies. They dress them up, they paint their nails, they put on makeup, and they spoil them like children.

Since most Monkeys can’t speak for themselves, let your humble Monkey narrator weigh in on behalf of my fellow primates.

We like climbing trees and swinging from vines and munching on bananas and hanging around with our monkey friends in the jungle.

We don’t like wearing dresses and riding in strollers and accompanying you on errands and generally being the only interesting thing in your otherwise boring and miserable lives.

If the only way you can stand out in life is by taking a creature that’s not supposed to be a pet or a child and forcing him/her into that role, than maybe you should take a deeper look inside yourself.

Leave us monkeys alone*

* P.S. TLC: Maybe if someone at your network had a soul you guys could do a documentary series on the capuchin monkeys that are trained here in Boston to help out paraplegics with the tasks they can’t do in everyday life. That program has tremendous value and the bonds formed by those relationships are truly moving. Visit them at MonkeyHelpers.org.

But we all know that you just like to put pathetic people in front of a camera so the rest of us can point and laugh and gawk at them. We all know we’re going to get this sad and exploitative crap

P.P.S. ABC News: Good job covering this as a legitimate story. Peter Jennings would be proud.

ThinkGeek :: Blogging Poster

ThinkGeek :: Blogging Poster

Posted using ShareThis

Your Monkey is trying to up his hipness quotient and his social media skills by reposting things that he likes from the web directly from the site, rather than cuting and pasting code like he does for YouTube videos.

I like this poster and this site, thinkgeek.com, which has lots of cool stuff.

I think this poster might say it all about blogging and bloggers and how seriously we take ourselves.

(Present company excluded, of course).

5 Reasons Why You Shouldn’t Talk at a Folk Concert

Following up on your Monkey’s post from this weekend, in which he was gnashing his teeth over the overtalkative crowd that ruined an otherwise great performance by the Great Lake Swimmers at the Middle East in Cambridge Friday night.

1. It’s Rude: It’s rude to the performer who is trying to play his songs, and it is rude to the people in the audience who are trying to listen but can’t hear themselves think because you are jammering in the background. Even if you don’t like the music, have some sympathy for the musician as a person and the audience as your fellow man.

2. It’s an embarrassment to us as music fans. What does it say about us as a town (Boston/Cambridge) that we can’t stop talking long enough to listen to music? Your Monkey was embarrassed to be part of a crowd filled with immature jackasses who were too busy thinking about themselves to realize that they were ruining the night. We are the birthplace of the folk revival movement of the late 1950s, a proud tradition that includes Joan Baez and Bob Dylan. Don’t lets ruin it with our selfishness.

3. It Makes You Look Like An Ass: You may be a perfectly nice person 98% of the time, but when I see you talking during a show my blood starts to boil and soon I hate everything about you. I hate the way you look and the way to stand and the way you hold your drink. I hate the way to talk and I hate the way you check your phone and I hate the people you are talking to.

4. It’s Bad for Business: I wouldn’t blame the Great Lake Swimmers if they didn’t want to come back to Boston to play here again. And I’m not sure I would go see them again in the same setting because the audience is just too distracting to have a good time. What does that mean for the next quiet acoustic singer-songwriter who rolls into town? Should they not even bother showing up here? Should I not get a ticket for the show because I don’t know if I’ll be able to hear the music?

5. There’s always a chance the Monkey could snap. Your Monkey is not a violent person. But he has to admit that his blood was boiling and his back was sweating and it took all of his self control not to turn around and start screaming at all of the people who wouldn’t shut up during the performance. It would not have been pleasant for anyone involved. And there may have been others like him in the crowd who were reaching the same level of frustration and aggravation. Just be nice and respectful and other people will treat you the same way.

So people, please. Tell your friends, your colleagues and your coworkers. Save your conversations for before or after the show. if you have to shout because the music is too loud, maybe it’s time to stop talking.

Thanks — that’s enough on this subject for now.

Great Lake Swimmers at the Middle East (or, let’s all talk through a concert!)

Your Monkey is feeling grumbly and scowly today after heading out to the Middle East in Cambridge last night to see the Great Lake Swimmers.

The musical performances were great to see, but the night was really ruined by a shamefully rude crowd who insisted on talking through the whole show.

What a bunch of jabberjaws.

Your Monkey’s heart was breaking for the performers in the Swimmers and opening act Wooden Birds. He would be surprised if either group could hear themselves think on stage.

Your Monkey also felt genuinely bad for all the nice, respectful people at the show who were trying to hear the music but could barely hear themselves think.

At least one person was bold enough to ask the crowd to quiet down, but it didn’t do any good.

Your Monkey was not expecting some kind of church-like silence during the show, but this chatter went above and beyond.

Seriously, people. Why are we paying $12 bucks for a show if we don’t even care enough to listen to what the band has to play?

What is wrong with us as a society if we can’t stop talking for an hour or so?

Are we so convinced of our own importance that we don’t care if we’re rude to the band and the other people in the crowd?

Or are we so self-absorbed that we just don’t notice?

Believe me, you’re not that interesting.

This Monkey certainly isn’t that interesting.

Nothing we have to say is that important that it can’t wait.

Grumble.

Despite the poor reception they got last night, the Great Lake Swimmers and the Wooden Birds managed to deliver great performances.

Here is a Great Lake Swimmers song for your enjoyment.

To get the roughly the same experience that this Monkey had last night, turn the television on, find Fox News and crank it up to full volume behind you before you play it.

The Cave Singers Crush It Live in Boston (Cambridge)

Your Monkey is still basking in the afterglow of one of the best nights of live music he has seen in a long time.

Four bands played at T.T. the Bear’s Place last Thursday (Sept. 17) and absolutely killed it live.

The Cave Singers, Lightning Dust, Mean Creek and Old Abram Brown played four taunt and memorable high energy sets that filled this small venue with amazing sound and made (at least) a couple of lifelong fans.

It’s rare to see a concert that features not one or two or three but four (!) high quality acts.

Your Monkey would be remiss if he did not thank them for a great show and try to spread the word. Let’s begin at the beginning, shall we?

Old Abram Brown

Opening act Old Abram Brown was a true revelation. This group from Nashua, New Hampshire is hardly out of high school (if they are at all) but they played a professional, polished and engaging opening set.  Carson Lund, their charismatic lead singer and keyboard player, reminded this Monkey of an even younger Zach Condon from Beirut, especially when he pulled out a trumpet to add some wavering horn riffs to songs like “Mountain Lions” and “Will Our Garden Grow.”

Here’s a link to the band’s myspace page. Play “Mountain Lions” already, will you?

Mean Creek:

Mean Creek was the second act of the night. This Boston band may have suffered a little bit from being the interim act between the openers (Old Abram Brown) and the more established acts (Lightning Dust and the Cave Singers). The crowd was just filling in while they were on stage.

But their uptempo blend of folk rock with male/female paired harmonies and excursions into shoegaze-style guitar sounds certainly worked well. Overall a tight band that is worth exploring further. Here is a link to their site.

Lightning Dust:

Regular readers of this blog (of which there are still regrettably none) will recognize that your Monkey is a big fan of this band, which is a side project of Black Mountain members Amber Webber and Joshua Wells.

Whereas Black Moutain is a crunchy, riff-heavy take on the psychedelic sound, Lightning Dust is a more folky and gothic. Webber’s voice is rapidly becoming one of the most interesting and compelling in rock music today, and she didn’t disappoint Thursday night. She  is just as good live as she is in the studio.

Webber tends to use a lot of vibrato when she sings, which can take a little while to get used to on record. Live and in person, however, her vibrato echoes off the walls and fills the room with an even larger, richer sound. It works great.

The new Lightning Dust album “Infinite Light” should be in consideration for best record of the year in this Monkey’s humble opinion. Here’s a link to the Lightning Dust site.

The Cave Singers:

Let’s set the stage for the Cave Singers, shall we? They were the headlining act for the show, but your Monkey had only barely heard of them before he bought his tickets. And he wasn’t too thrilled that they weren’t going to take the stage until midnight Thursday.

(Not the band’s fault by the way, the acts were scheduled to go on at one-hour intervals between nine and midnight).

Having been up late the night before, and having a relentlessly tiring day of grinding out copy the next day, the thought of being out until 1 am or later was not what your Monkey had in mind.

But he was curious. He had listened to a few Cave Singers songs, and while they didn’t leap out at him as amazing at first blush, they were growing on him.

So he decided to stay for the show.

And boy, was he glad he did.

It is hard to describe how good these guys are live. Their unique brand of upbeat, foot-stomping folk rock defies easy description. Let’s just say that they immediately captured the crowd with a melodic uptempo groove and delivered an amazing collection of songs. There was no lull in the set. In fact, each song seemed to build upon the last one to a triumphant finale.

If you love music and having a good time and dig on positive vibes (and all that good hippie stuff) then you should definitely check out the Cave Singers.

Sorry these words can’t do the performance more justice. I’m only a Monkey after all.

Here is a sampling of live Cave Singers for your entertainment. And here is a link to the band’s site.