Friday, November 18, 2005

IRONY IS A BITCH

So my last big post includes a whole conversation with me and my doctor Fish about what a fucking hypochondriac I am. Twelve hours after posting such post I am stricken with the worst stomach flu/food poisoning of my life. Sunday I am admitted to the hospital and put on a an IV bag full of morphine, dialauded and antibiotics. I was released Tuesday night and have spent the last three days in my bed. Today is the first day I have eaten food that doesn't have bread or jello as its main component.

There is little funny to say on this experience.

Yet.

In lieu of a new post by me, I give you my first guest post--the identity of the author to be found below...

Thank you for your patience.

Management


BROTHER WHERE ART THOU...NOT AT THE RED LOBSTER

As we all know by now, the infinite monkey keeps banker’s hours. It just so happens he works at a bank that is only open every other Thursday, from 3:47 p.m. until 4:14 p.m. The bank has approximately eight customers, all of whom must provide the monkey free meals (sushi) for the opportunity to give the monkey their money. Banking attire is all things with an elastic waistband, formal wear prohibited, and shoes with bright colors and athletic insignia preferred. Banking business may never be conducted more than 2.5 miles from the monkey cage in order to ensure the monkey’s presence, unless special treats will be provided.

In fact, if Harvard Business School were to conduct a case study on the monkey’s productivity, the data would be quite . . . er, informative? Metrics based on Josh’s throughput, yield, and man hours spent watching Tivo compared to the number of units sold would make the U.S. Postal Service look like the General Electric Corporation in comparison.

To my astonishment, however, despite living the motto of “the only things really worth doing in life are those that you should procrastinate from doing,” the infinite monkey has never missed a deadline -- not counting the technical, bureaucratic (and arbitrary according to Josh) deadline set by USC Film School for meeting graduation requirements. More amazing, and important, is during banking hours the infinite monkey is able to produce meta-level quality work and a voice to his writing that is second to none (the definition of none obviously excludes the Koepps, Mamets, and other more successful writers than Josh).

Due to the oppressive working conditions foisted upon the monkey – the very same conditions Cesar Chavez fought for years to eradicate (obviously to no avail) – the infinite monkey must take frequent, but long, respites from the bi-monthly posts on this albatross of his. . . er, I mean blog. But true to the Hollywood work ethic, when one needs a rest from this type of grueling schedule, he just taps his elbow that is exhausted from typing and calls for a relief blogger/guest host.

That is where I come in. I am coming out of the blogosphere bullpen to write a few innings of relief for the big-right handed monkey. During my short stint today, I thought I would type a little chin music by answering two of the most pressing and unanswered questions that have gripped those who read all things monkey.

First, and foremost, how in the world could our beloved infinite monkey risk committing career suicide by limiting his writing opportunities to only those jobs borne out of meetings involving free, high-end fish?

As with most acts that appear on their surface to be dangerously self-destructive, one should peel back a layer (or ten) of the onion to fabricate a rational reason for such conduct. The answer here has its origins in the years when the infinite monkey was but a wee, occasional monkey. During those formative years, there was an event that changed the monkey forever, setting in motion a chain of events that has led to his current understanding that his opposable thumbs are good for two things and two things only: Hitting the key board space bar and providing lower support for the chopstick grip.

I take you back to circa 1981, when the occasional monkey was fourteen years old. His dad came into the monkey’s room early one evening and the conversation went something like this:

Dad: Come on I’m taking you and your brother monkey out to dinner.

Monkey: Nah, I’m really into this book Jaws and am looking forward to my twelfth consecutive dinner of Mac’and Cheese.

Father: It’s a meeting just with the Friedman boys to talk about our future. Let’s go! Put down that book and put your pants back on.

Upon entering the parking lot to the restaurant, the occasional monkey’s primate survival instincts kicked in. He had been able to survive the jungle warfare that raged on the mean streets of Boulder, Colorado during his youth by having a honed awareness of every nuance in his environmental surroundings. He could sense the slightest imbalance in the ecosystem, which would immediately touch off alarms in his mind and scream danger ahead. On this occasion, the monkey’s nostrils’ flared instantaneously, and he started into a high-pitched screech while bouncing up-and-down in the car seat (that seat being the backseat having lost one-hundred-and-two consecutive calls for “FRONT SEAT” to the monkey’s younger brother).

Monkey: DAD, DAD, this is not a Chinese or Mexican food restaurant. What the hell is going on? AAAAAARRRGGGHHH!!!!!

Dad: Don’t worry son, everything is fine.

Monkey: Liar, goddamn liar, it’s a trap!!!! AAAAARRRGGGHHH!!! Run for it brother monkey . . . save yourself!

Having never been there, the restaurant was a breeding ground for all things the monkey did not trust. It was dark, filled with families whose kids were smiling, and the menus had pictures on them. The urinal puck was shaped like a turtle. Monkey needed to confirm his suspicions that his father was up to something and monkey was in grave danger.

Monkey: Dad why are we here? There is only fish on this menu and you always say that ordering fish in a restaurant is wasting an opportunity to taste flavor?

Monkey Brother: Fuck, there is no shrimp cocktail on this fucking menu.

Dad: Don’t worry about the food. I brought you two here to talk.

At this moment the monkey positively knew something potentially life-altering was afoot or his father was a chimera. The monkey’s father proceeded to tell the monkey and the monkey’s brother that he and the boys’ mother were having some rough spots in their marriage, but it had nothing to do with the monkey boys. Monkey’s father went on to say that he was going to sleep away from the house for a short while until things settled down. In an unprecedented sharing of emotion, monkey’s father reassured monkey and monkey’s brother that he loved the monkeys and would always be there for them – no matter what happened. At that moment, he made the monkeys feel the illusion of safety in the face of family tumult and horrific, cheap seafood.

Need I say more? Some of us find security in routine or rituals and others find safety in numbers or creature comforts. Then, there are those of us who feel indestructible shoving spider roll after spider roll down our gullets – FOR FREE! Where would one duel with the devil if one could chose? Nozawa with chopsticks in hand makes as much sense to me as anywhere.

Having answered question number one for all of those who follow the monkey’s slow and plodding movements, I now turn to the second pressing question asked by almost all of the readers (I counted two). Does the infinite monkey indeed have a brother simian? Of course he does. How do I know this to be a fact?

I was there at the Red Lobster -- circa 1981 -- sitting next to my brother, the infinite monkey, searching unsuccessfully for my shrimp cocktail.

Josh feel better . . . Your bro’.

31 Comments:

Blogger fadeup said...

you two were very intuitive in your early years. I didn't realize Red Lobster was the Denny's of seafood until I was twenty.

brother, slip the old boy some fatty tuna. he needs his strength.

and by the by, that wasn't an inning of relief. you're a closer, shelly.

11/18/2005 7:56 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Thank Christ it wasn't mongolian barbeque.

11/19/2005 12:21 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Not sure why, but the phrase "wee, occasional monkey" totally cracks my shit up. Heh.

11/19/2005 5:02 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

i am a freelance musician who hangs out on the monkey blogs because the screen monkeys are the guys who have the same industrial love/hate/art/cynicism conflicts about their work that i do. . .thanks for the insight thing monkey bro' and to josh . . .work, illness, tivo, what ever, i always find the fresh blog to be worth the wait. soon's a new one's up the "jeez, nothing yet" moments have faded and the adventure is again on. . .

11/19/2005 9:44 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

i don't get it.

11/19/2005 2:04 PM  
Blogger Dan Culberson said...

Anonymous said...
i don't get it.

Simple. "Josh" is a scam, and it's his BROTHER who's the real Hollywood monkey!

BTW, e-mail me for the dirty "scoop" on the real Josh's hypochondria. (I heard it from Noel's wife.)

11/19/2005 2:48 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

A gaggle of monkey brains to the Monkey Bros!

11/19/2005 4:41 PM  
Blogger anthony vieira said...

on behalf of what i hope is everyone, i wish the infinite monkey good health, and rapid healing. (sushi's bad, dude...not that you were eating sushi, but in general, sushi's bad)

11/19/2005 9:00 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

You're keeping the posts coming. Good boy!

11/20/2005 1:29 AM  
Blogger Jared said...

Surely a gathering of monkey brains constitutes more of a giggle than a gaggle?

Or a scribble?

But certainly not a gaggle.

11/20/2005 5:59 AM  
Blogger Julie Goes to Hollywood said...

Bowfinger meets Adaptation. Josh, I am happy to hear you are surrounded by family at this difficult time. So is the Anonymous chick who keeps wanting to have cyber sex with one or both of you.--JGTH, "THINGS THEY WON'T TELL YOU IN FILM SCHOOL"

11/20/2005 9:10 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Josh...
Get to feeling better.

Josh's brother...
Struck out the side. Well done.

11/20/2005 9:24 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Wait a minute... since when does Red Lobster NOT have shrimp cocktail?

11/21/2005 6:43 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I knew it! Ordering fish in a restaurant IS wasting an opportunity to taste flavor.

Regardless. I remember similar events in my own youth. Thanks for bringing me down. Its already fucking monday. Fuck it.

11/21/2005 6:59 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

God forbid that a Zookeeper should could along to help out our poor Monkey.

Bless you, Monkey's Brother. You are welcome in our cage anytime.

11/21/2005 9:50 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Man, why did I not hit "preview"?

(throws sheet over spelling bee trophies)

11/21/2005 9:51 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

josh, thanks to your brother for recommending this site, my productivity is shit.
josh brother- your brother is in the hospital and you write a blog about what I'd imagine as one of the most painful psychological moments in your collective childhood- it is great to see the family come together in a time of hardship. That being said, nicely written.

josh brother's neighbor

11/21/2005 10:42 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

It appears that the monkeys have one brain between them and its pretty damn entertaining...

11/21/2005 11:06 AM  
Blogger Unsigned said...

Josh,

How is it that all of SoCal got food poisioning on the same day? A lot of the guys I work with were all out last week with food poisioning. Someone must be out to get the monkeys of the world. We look to you, Infite Monkey, to guide us through this time of ant-monkey terrorism.

Enough with the bullshit though. This was a great post. The lesser monkeys learn more about your Infinite Monkeyness as the posts come, however few and part apart they are. And now a twist, the brother monkey writes too. But is it really the brother monkey, or Josh in disguise?

11/21/2005 11:19 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Dear Sons ---

First it was Monkey-Boy's use of profanity, then his sex talk, now Monkey-Boy's little brother dredging up painful, personal experiences. When will this public flogging ever end? You guys are killing me!!!

I thought my torture would stop once you both left for college. It didn't. Then it was to end when you guys got married. It didn't. Certainly it should have ended with your fatherhood; but I see no sign of it letting up.

Can't you guys just let the old man fade away quietly, with the small bit of dignity that I thought I had left? Weren't those many years of caring, nurturing and supporting you worth anything to you? (Oh, I forgot, that was your mother).

Anyway, to set the record straight --- I was gone for less than 13 hours. Your mother was not even aware I wasn't still home. And I have been home for 41 years, 4 months, 28 days (less the 13 hours).

Love,

Dad

11/21/2005 6:40 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Thanks Father of the monkey boys, I was starting to feel sorry for these two.

11/22/2005 4:42 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Dilaudid AND morphine? That's one heavy-handed doctor. Dilaudid is, as a rule, used to ease the pain of the terminally ill. It is highly addictive if prescribed for any length of time and does a real number on the internal organs. (That is why it is used for people who are already at death's door.) Plus, it will give you nausea akin to snorting a big line of smack.

Dear Josh, as my public service to you, buy a bottle of activated charcoal for your medicine cabinet. It's cheap and it works like a charm for eliminating toxins from food poisoning and (better yet) hangovers! (Also good for pets who do stupid things like eat poisonous plants.)

Yer welcome. Feel better.

11/25/2005 8:24 AM  
Blogger PJ McIlvaine said...

You're about as much a monkey as I'm an orangutan. Feel better.

11/26/2005 7:42 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Can't you guys just let the old man fade away quietly, with the small bit of dignity that I thought I had left?
It takes balls of solid steel to sit your kids down and tell them the truth like that. Nothing to be ashamed about in the least in that post.

11/29/2005 8:11 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Twelve fucking days and still no post, and even then it was a guest monkey post at that.

Ge the fuck with it, we want some more!

No excuses about the writing for TV shows either!

11/30/2005 10:10 AM  
Blogger 4CallingBirds said...

Great post.

Feel better, Josh!

11/30/2005 1:05 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Goddamn it!
Your secret admirer here.
I am, of course, MISSING YOU and your primate prose. Please get better! We are worried.
I was happy (briefly) to find out you actually DID have a brother who, although funny in his own 'write' (right, sorry, bad), he just didn't get my juices flowing... Still, I was preparing to refocus my undying stalkerish-love-crush on monkey brother -- he at least shares some same simian similarities (aggh bad high school alliteration there) but, more importantly, he might actually be 'available.' Then dear-old DAD comes along and ruins it, letting the cat out of the bag that you're BOTH married...can't a girl get a break?

11/30/2005 4:17 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Being that time of year, the trades are full of those desperate 'For Your Consideration' pages...
On War of the Worlds' perhaps fruitless bid page (hey, i liked the movie) i couldn't help but notice that friedman's name was above koepp's.
Justice at last.

12/02/2005 7:24 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

There's a rumor going around that that Josh is dead.

Supposedly, if you play the fourth track of the new Neil Diamond record backwards, it says "Josh ate bad sushi, now Josh with Belushi" over and over.

12/02/2005 9:26 PM  
Blogger CDP. said...

Seafood dinner is a classic separation explanation dinner. If you don't believe me, read John Updike's "Separating."

If I was still a kid, I'd be very worried if my parents said they were taking me out for lobster. I'd be immediately thinking of split vacations, etc.

:p

12/14/2005 3:37 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Kuran okuyan dijital kalem fırtınalar estiriyor! En son teknoloji ürünü bu kalem bir çok kişinin kuran öğrenmesine yardım ediyor.

9/02/2013 8:40 AM  

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