Let's Just Give This Nonsense Another Try

 Happy 2023!

In keeping with the situation, I'm sure.

Drunkards, I haven't posted here in almost a year and a half, and I'm really, really sorry about that. Surely I'm more sorry I haven't written a post than you are that you haven't read a post. I get that. 

But because I should care more about whether I'm writing than about who might possibly read my words, I need to get back at it. And here in the year of our arbitrary timekeeping mechanism 2023, I'm going to try.

To start off, just a brief anecdote. 

My Precocious Daughter, who was in, I think, the fourth grade when I started this blog, graduated from high school third in her class and is now a graduate student in a Very Large City. I'm so freaking proud of her, you guys, and I miss having her around. She's been home for the holidays, which has been wonderful. (More on me being an empty nester in a future post.)

Lol, the eggs have long since fled this nest, though.

When she got here, shortly before Christmas, she still had one final paper to write, which she banged out over a couple of days, with all the frenzied energy of a graduate student who has left their final paper to the very last moment. Although I never went to grad school, I remember the energy required to make those deadlines as an undergrad. I remember actually having that energy. Wild.

Anyway, although PDaughter is working on a degree in High-Tech Whizbang Stuff (the actual name in the catalog, I believe), she also is taking film classes, being a film junkie of the highest order. Her final paper was in this area. She let me read it when it was finished.

Damn.

My kid can write.

Like, she's a better writer than I am.

The paper was a review of a movie I feel confident few of you have seen, by a director I feel confident few of you are familiar with, in the context of a critical framework I feel few of you have considered. I'm not being condescending to any of you amazing readers, I'm just saying that this paper was...niche. But PDaughter nailed it, and it was interesting and informative even to me, who felt pretty much in over her head while reading it.

I am delighted that my kid is a talented writer. I'm also fucking mortified that I've allowed age and stress and discouragement and alcohol to turn me away from the one thing in my life that I've ever been good at. 

Other than composing for the theremin.
Wait, that wasn't me.

So I'm going to give this blogging thing another shot. Please be patient if I start off slowly. There might even be a few Best Of posts while I figure out if I'm capable of reconnecting to my writerly self.

Oh, and there may be poetry. It's the only thing I've written on a semi-regular basis over the last 18 months. (The one I've linked to is much older than that, however.)

And monkeys. Because I still love monkeys.

And I love all of you. Let's do this.

Discuss

 As of this week, I'm fully vaccinated against COVID-19. Technically, I'm still in the "two weeks before the vaccine is fully effective" phase. But I've been jabbed twice.

My side effects were minimal. A sore arm both times. That's all. I feel fortunate.

Precocious Daughter also got her second jab this week. That makes me happy. Coincidentally, she finished up her junior year of college on the same day she got the shot, and I now have confidence that she'll be able to enjoy a mostly normal senior year. The last fifteen months or so have been tough on her, far more so than on me. In fact, the biggest hardship I've suffered as a result of the pandemic has been watching her struggle and not being able to provide much help.

As an aside, when I started writing this little blog PDaughter was just starting fourth grade, and now she's about to be a senior in college. I can't process that right now, other than to marvel at how much she's changed while I've merely transitioned from early middle-age to somewhat later middle-age.

Anyway, I'm not really writing about any of those things today. I'm just putting them down here so I can deal with them later.

In fact, I'm not really writing about anything today. I'm just making a list of things I might write about later. I'm giving myself permission to do that, because my concentration isn't great this morning. Maybe that's a side effect of the vaccine, after all. 

So here are some ideas I might flesh out later. Comments are welcome.

1. I bought some temporary wallpaper a couple of months ago in hopes of creating an accent wall in my apartment. I've been hesitant to put it up because it will likely be a comedy of errors. That could result in an entertaining post and a really crappy-looking accent wall. Is it worth it? Discuss.

2. I got a small raise at my IRL job this week. I earmarked most of it to increasing my 401(k) contribution. My life is just that dull. Also, this might allow me to retire nearly a month earlier than I originally planned. FML.

3. Last week I commented on one of Maureen McCormick's tweets, and she liked and replied to it. Marcia Brady, you guys. I plotzed. Also, the tweet I replied to featured one of the best gifs I've ever seen:

4. Have you seen those commercials featuring people who were born in 1996, saying that that was the last year comprehensive Internet regulations were passed? Those people are 25 years old and have never known life without the Internet. Meanwhile, 1996 was the year I established my first personal email account and created my first online presence, which eventually morphed into this very virtual rag you're reading now. For the record, I support updating those regulations, and also I am old.

5. Also, on the topic of adding to my apartment decor, I'd like to add to my collection of decorative bones. My last addition was a monkey skeleton (fake, but realistic). What should I get? Discuss.

6. My balcony-garden spinach is growing like gangbusters, thanks to a combination of sunny days and seasonal rainstorms. I'm still not posting pictures because I don't want to jinx it. But if I ever get to harvest any of it, I'll write 1,000 words on the joys of a really fine spinach salad.

7. Last but not least: I've achieved six months without drinking, but at the same time my sugar cravings have returned after a seven-year hiatus. I'm wondering if I should swap vices. Discuss.

And here's a random picture so my link will be more interesting:

(Photo by Oleg Doroshenko)

The Price of Monkeys

 Longtime readers of this blog...

...wow, thanks, I can't believe you still come around. I'm overwhelmed.

Anyway, for not-so-longtime-readers: the oldtimers know that I'm somewhat obsessed with singerie. Basically, art depicting monkeys in clothes doing people things.

Yep, it's a whole thing. 

Over the years I've done numerous posts highlighting various singerie artists. Like this one. And this one.

Go check them out. They'll make you happy. Because monkeys wearing clothes, you guys.

Today I'm going to highlight a subset of singerie that is very cool and also totally freaking awesome to say: singerie chinoiserie.

It's pronounced "Throatwarbler Mangrove."

Chinoiserie is a French term meaning "in the Chinese style," specifically referring to embellishing Western art or decorations with Eastern motifs. Singerie, of course, is French for "monkeys wearing plumed hats." No! It's even better: It actually means "monkey trick," which is totally going to be the name of my Lancelot Link and the Evolution Revolution tribute band (look it up, kids - I can't link to everything).

But I digress. Put it all together, and singerie chinoiserie is decorative art featuring monkeys dressed up in Chinese-style clothing. This is a thing that exists, and I am here for it. In these times of global pandemic and the heretofore fucked up response thereto, monkeys in Chinese-style clothing doing people things is the joy we all need. Trust me.

This is an entire rabbit hole that can be dived into (into which can be dived...dove...forget it), so I'm going to focus on decorative figurines today. Oh, you can get monkeys painted on vases:

You can even get vases that are mostly made of monkey:

This one is by a South African artist
and will set you back 2,750 euros.

You can also get bowls to hold your lemons.

$150 on eBay; doesn't say if the lemons
are included, which seems a significant
omission.

Now, monkeys carrying bowls on their head is a notable theme in chinoiserie.

When life gives you monkeys,
make lemonade.

Don't like lemons? Fortunately, the possibilities are endless.

Believe it or not, this one is from Walmart
and sells for $178.
You OK, Walmart?

I mean, monkeys with bowls on their head is a really popular theme.

A bargain at ninety bucks.

Vintage monkeys with bowls on their head fetch a premium - this one goes for almost $400.

I'm worth it, bitch.

No matter the price, they're just cute as the dickens, and functional. They'll hold your lemons, your spare change, your weed...monkeys don't judge (of if they do, they keep it to themselves, which is a lesson some people could stand to learn).

Some monkeys prefer to hold their bowl in their lap.

While others get really creative.

Sometimes monkeys hold other things, like candlesticks.

Swanky boys.

Or tiny vases. I saw this one for 98 dollars on Etsy.

But he must suck at his job, because this very similar and more primitive example will cost you $12,500 (not a typo), and I have no idea why.

Here's a tricky proposition: monkeys holding vases that are candlesticks!

The vases are adorable.
And I'm pretty sure those monkeys are high.

This monkey is minding his own business and reading a book.

And goes for $900.
Reading is fundamental.

On the other hand, this little guy is totally putting on a show and is a bargain at $99. 

I don't really understand monkey economics.

That's enough for one day. I don't want to spoil you, and I should probably do something more productive with my day than Googling singerie chinoiserie.

Just kidding, there is literally nothing more productive I could do today. 

I hope you enjoyed the show. There will be sequel if this proves popular. And probably even if it doesn't. Because, once again, monkeys wearing clothing.

It's a thing.

Do the Walk of Life

Self-improvement is important.

All the images I got when I Googled "self-improvement"
were hackneyed, so here's a picture of a monkey.

Case in point: This week I realized that I don't look good when I walk.

My IRL workplace has a lot of glass-fronted mirrors and conference rooms. When you walk past them, you can see a decent reflection of yourself if you happen to glance that way.

And of course I happen to glance that way fairly often. Because one of these days I'm going to magically turn into Jennifer Aniston, and how am I going to know it's happened if I don't check my reflection frequently? I can't spend all day in front of the mirror in the restroom.

I tried explaining that I was singing the first act of "Hamilton"
to make sure my hands were clean. It didn't go over well.

Or I'm just vain and insecure about my looks. FINE.

Anyway, a little while ago I began to notice that as I walked down the corridor, I looked...odd. And I don't mean my face; it may very well look odd, but only as odd as it's ever looked. No, I mean the way I was carrying myself. I've always been a fast walker, so it wouldn't be surprising to see that I leaned forward a bit as I went, or led with my shoulders, or whatever. But what I saw wasn't just a lean. For lack of a better word, I looked bent.

This would have been cool.
But is this not what I saw.

My top half was sort of pitched forward in an awkward way that didn't match what my legs were doing. I looked like someone who had gained weight and no longer knew how to carry themselves, like someone who thought they were moving attractively and appropriately but had no idea how they actually appeared to others. Like...

Oh, FUCK.

I kid you not, I looked like Trump's weird fatty-wearing-lifts posture in motion. I held myself like a gorilla with an equilibrium issue. I walked as if I were trying to imitate all the Cosby Kids at once.

Not a good look.

And this is what 40 people saw every day as I moved among them? This was disturbing.

(By the way, I totally am someone who has gained weight and no longer knows how to carry herself, and who thought she looked appropriate but had no idea how she actually appeared. That's the really disturbing part.)

So in the spirit of self-improvement, I've set about training myself to walk properly. Maybe if I had spent more time in my youth walking around with books on my head like all the girls' magazines told me to, this wouldn't be necessary. But here I am, giving myself posture lessons.

It's very strange to have to think about walking while I'm walking. To have to literally tell myself, "No, not like that! Do it like this!" every time I get up from my desk or out of my car. But until moving around gracefully without looking like a deranged orange lunatic becomes second nature, that's exactly what I'm doing.

Basically, I'm forcing myself to keep my shoulders centered over my hips as I walk and to let my legs lead the way. That inevitably slows down my natural gait, so I also have to fight the urge to walk faster. And, since I've noticed that I tend to tense up in my upper half when I walk, I have to remind myself to stay relaxed (not mentally relaxed - let's not move mountains here - just not clench my torso muscles). It's a lot to process. It feels absurdly like, after having spent my whole life pedaling a bike with my hands, I've been told I've been doing it wrong, so I'm having to teach myself to use my feet.

I really should have spent less time reading
books and more time putting them
on my head.

This has been surprisingly difficult, you guys. Whenever I practice my "new" walk, I'm convinced I look like an R. Crumb comic.

Look it up, children.

I feel as if I'm seriously over-correcting my posture and must look ridiculous. But when I pass one of those glass-fronted offices, I'm amazed at what I see. I look...normal. I see someone standing straight and moving naturally. I look simultaneously more relaxed and more confident. God help me, I look slimmer. I do understand that magically turning into Jennifer Aniston has not occurred just because I've changed the way I walk, but there really is a difference, and it's been startling to me.

Has anyone else noticed? I doubt it. I'm sure I'm far more concerned with my appearance than anyone I work with. Besides, they're engineers. The only thing they notice on a regular basis is when a sewer line has been designed three degrees off grade. Or when someone has brought breakfast tacos. That brings all the boys to the yard, way more than the posture of their middle-aged office manager.

But I'm quite pleased with the change. I still have a way to go before this becomes second nature and I don't have to silently narrate every trip to the copy room or check my reflection as I go. But I'll get there.

I'll probably keep the checking my reflection part, though. You know, just to be on the safe side.

Happy Sunday Singerie

If you've been reading this blog for more than five years...

...first of all, God bless you.

Secondly, you may remember that I have in the past written about my consuming passion for singerie, or art that incorporates monkeys dressed as and/or acting like people.

Like hentai can be a thing but this can't, right?

It's been a while since I've written about this topic that is close to my heart. Apparently I became unemployed, started a new job, got divorced, became the mother of a teenager, and other things instead.

Life is what happens to you while you're busy
saving pictures of monkeys acting like people.

But I still love singerie. So I've gathered together a whole new collection of images for you.

Please enjoy them, like them, share them.

Monkeys are amazing. Art is amazing. Monkey art is off the charts, yo.

I'll find more if you want. Let me know if you're Team Monkey Art.

Hint: I am Team Monkey Art regardless.

The Calm Instead of the Storm

It's after 6:00 p.m. on a Friday. I'm still at work.

But that's OK.

For one thing, I missed 2+ days of work this week. So I owed it to my job and stay late and catch up on the things that need to be caught up on.

For another, it's nice here. It's quiet. I'm the only here. And somehow being-at-work alone is more pleasant than being-at-home alone. Precocious Daughter has a football game tonight, and she won't be home until 11:00 or so. When she's not around, I tend to lament her absence.

On the other hand, when my co-workers aren't around I put my feet up on the desk and pretend to smoke a cigar and act like I own the joint.

I didn't find this picture until after I wrote that description.
That's pretty hilarious. My mustache is not (yet)
that luxuriant, however. Give it time.

So I've caught up on my work, and now I'm just hanging out. Listening to music, checking Twitter, all that stuff I'm not supposed to do on company time.

Googling pictures of monkeys teasing cats, etc.

Except for a run to the pet store to pick up guinea pig supplies, I've got nothing to do and nowhere to be until PDaughter calls me to pick her up.

Yeah, I realize that's pretty pathetic. But no one ever called me a party animal. Or if they did they were wrong and possibly didn't speak English as their first language.

Incidentally, you would not believe how much
one guinea pig can eat.

My point is, there's literally one thing keeping me from hanging out here all evening.

I'm hungry.

And there's nothing to eat here except pretzels and bags of airline peanuts (which I insist my traveling co-workers donate to me when they fly Southwest, because I have that kind of power in the office. Not really. Well, maybe just one small mwa-ha-haaaa.)

So pretty soon I'll shut it all down and point myself toward dinner, the pet store, and finally, home. Read a little and try to stay awake until 11:00.

It sounds like a pleasant way to end an unpleasant week.

Thanks again to everyone who reached out to me and made me feel strong when I was feeling weak. Stronger, anyway. I can't wait to acknowledge all of you in that book I keep telling myself I'm going to write.

Gotta run.

Maybe I'll lick everybody's phone handset before I leave.

Nah.

One more monkey before I go.

Simian Lives (Even Imaginary) Matter

Here's a true story from the Baudelaire Files:

A couple of weeks ago, Precocious Daughter and I were driving home from her weekly clarinet lesson.

Totally channeling the Goodman vibe, she is.

She was driving, because ever since she got her learner's permit, I basically only drive to work and home again. Everywhere else - Target, music lessons, her dad's place, band practice - she drives.

She is actually a pretty damn good driver. I'm proud of her.

And in fact, except for her two iron-clad rules - 1) the driver picks the radio station and 2) when she's not the driver she picks the radio station - I like being a passenger. It's a novelty I haven't enjoyed since becoming a single mom.

Let's pretend any of these women are me, OK?

Back to the point, though.

We were driving on a stretch of road between suburbs where the speed limit is 50 mph. And naturally, PDaughter was taking tf care of that rather high limit as she drove us home.

And so, while driving at a pretty good clip for a city street, we both saw something in the median.

First, we saw a big-ass crow.

I mean, this thing was the size of a KFC five-piece meal all by itself.

Seriously, effing wings and thighs and biscuits and all that shit.

Second, we saw that said Mr. Crow was presiding over the body of some roadkill. As your standard suburban crow will do.

Spoiler alert: Doesn't give a sh*t whether you call it a crow, blackbird,
or grackle. Will crap on your car and stare you the f*ck down
from the median.

Here's the thing: As we whiz by, PDaughter exclaims, "Was that a monkey?"

As in, was the roadkill we just saw next to the amazingly freaking large crow...an actual monkey?

DO NOT EVEN LOOK IF YOU'RE SENSITIVE YOU GUYS SERIOUSLY

Oh, Jeebus. I'm sorry for that.

Here's the thing. I saw something in the median that Sunday morning.

I thought it was a large cat...?

Possibly a Siamese, because it was, like, tawny and had a long tail...?

But...A monkey?

What the actual f*ck would an actual dead monkey have been doing in the median of a suburban thoroughfare on a Sunday morning?

Besides something super-interesting but also
inherently very sad?

You can imagine our curiosity.

Unfortunately, the moment passed quickly.

We did not make a U-turn to confirm our suspicions, also unfortunately.

So what did we see that Sunday morning?

A run-of-the-mill carcass of a squirrel or cat that didn't make it across the road like the fabled chicken?

Or an actual long-tailed, tan-bodied, inexplicable monkey who somehow met its unlikely end along a wide suburban road in Texas, to be attended in death by a glossy black-feathered bird?

I'd like to say I have the answer. But I don't.

As far as PDaughter and I are concerned, we saw a monkey in the median along Belt Line Road between Coppell and Carrollton, Texas.

And we mourn that little guy.

The point is, every little life matters. Try to remember that as you whiz by on the roadway.

Every life.

Every one.