When asked who should be cast as a monkey at his birthday party, my buddy Ethan immediately identified me (thanks, pal!). The party was a lot of fun, but the ancillary insight is a little harrowing. In researching the role, I found myself wondering if I really am a Bobo.
I’m pretty sure that’s not me, but I’m buying the book to make sure. If I’m buying it used, does that mean I’m a Bobo? If I’m typing this on a sweet black MacBook, does that mean I am? If I find myself doing internet research to prepare for a nonspeaking role as a mischievous spider monkey, does that mean I am? If my daughter wears thrifted, borrowed hand-me-downs, but rides in a top-end carseat strapped into a Japanese car, does that mean I am? If her favorite toy is her very own (RED) Motorazr (made in China), does that mean she is? Oh, man.
I hate demographics– they are so dehumanizing.