His name is Monkey and he stands on a little desk in the corner of our dining room surrounded by bric-a-brac. There’s a votive candle with the face of Steph Curry printed on it, a box of colored pencils, a few expired medicine bottles, a little metal cat, framed photos of our son’s youth basketball teams, a dish with three desiccated lemons. There’s an unopened pack of Tops Bubble Gum with Michael Jackson trading cards, a plastic container filled with toothpicks, loose change. Monkey presides over this little realm, always standing in the same old spot, grinning his crooked grin, accumulating dust on his slowly fading fur. He’s resided on this desk ever since his arrival from Japan sometime in the Nineties. Even Monkey can’t remember exactly when he got here.
Many other toys have disappeared over the years, and I’m sure my wife would have banished Monkey to the Salvation Army if I hadn’t intervened, unable to let him go. He’s long been a guy who’s good for a laugh. He’s raised my spirits and I have too much affection for him. When visitors used to come to the house and we’d have drinks around the dining room table, I’d frequently bring out Monkey. Monkey can copy anything anybody says with his funny voice while marching straight ahead at high speed. If you’re too verbose he’ll march right over the edge of the table, and it’s always surprising that such a cute little monkey can have such a dirty mouth.
But things change. Styles change. Humor gets less scatological. We don’t have so many visitors. Months can go by between Monkey’s gigs, and it may be that Monkey’s act has gotten a little old.
We take it for granted that funny people are happy people. They’re “the life of the party” we say. But it’s hard not to notice that funny people can be prone to emotional difficulties, and I think funny people can often be quite lonely. In fact, the funniest people might really be the loneliest people around, and maybe the funniest monkey is really the loneliest monkey among all the monkeys in the world.
It must be hard to maintain that goofy grin, keep up the same level of enthusiasm and the same silly voice. I worry about him.
My wife used to teach academic drawing at the college level and lately she’s been giving drawing lessons to my son. He’s learning perspective, proportions, scale, convergence angles, how to draw shadow and cast shadow with charcoal. They draw drapery, and more recently they’ve been sketching manga figurines that she sets up on the dining room table.
Why don’t you guys draw Monkey? I asked them the other day. It’ll be fun. Drawing Monkey might open up new insights. Sketch him loose or render him tight, he’s a three-dimensional object that will make you smile. It’s odd how I can never convince my family members of anything.
Yesterday I drew Monkey on my iPad, and I’m excited to report that he stands really still and his expression never changes. His body posture is consistent and his demeanor is always amusing. His texture makes things interesting for the artist and helps to transcend his inherent cartoonishness. I think he does an excellent job at modeling, and maybe there’s a future in it for him.
At least I hope so. I hate to think that Monkey is lonely and bored, standing day after day amid the same old bric-a-brac with nothing new to mimic or capture his attention. Now that he’s an artist’s model the little metal cat might respect him more. The basketball players in the photos might take him less for granted. And if Steph Curry asks him what he plans to do after he retires from comedy, he’ll have something of his very own to talk about.
I keep wondering if anyone listened to the audio.... I thought it was pretty funny.
Aging and forgotten stuffed animals make me sad. In the drawing he's so ridiculous though, I can't help laughing. It's that mouth. As if he's about to say, "Who farted?"