Labor Day, Hello, My Old Friend.

Labor Day, the birth of Winter, or the death of Summer, or just a Monday holiday. Maybe all three for some people, maybe just another damned Monday for others. Not everybody gets to take the day off and get paid. I am one of the lucky ones, one of the lucky millions probably.

I'm not sure who decided to make the first Monday in September a paid day off, or why. And, I don't really care. It's a day off, with pay, that I didn't have to ask for. It doesn't carry the emotional obligations of Memorial Day, the patriotic fervor of July 4th, or the spiritual demands of Thanksgiving. At least I don't think it does. I could probably look it up, but why bother?

There are several hummingbirds that have breakfast with me on the weekends. I sit on our patio drinking my coffee and they come along and drink their nectar. When they finish they buzz off to somewhere. It seemed, for a brief time I should try to find out more about them, but decided against it. I enjoy them, I probably couldn't enjoy them anymore than I do. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, after all. I just snap their photos, say good morning and they move on. I know everything I need to know about some things, Labor Day is one of them.

Not knowing much makes it makes it easier to assume that someone, due to laziness or lack of funds, or even a minor speech impediment shortened it from Don't Labor Day. Because I don't really labor all that much, I might mow the lawn, and trim the hedges, but that's about as laborious as it gets, and if I can keep my wife distracted I will probably fall short of that modest goal.

Normally Labor Day ushers in  more civilized weather, less heat, humidity, fewer unbearable, sweaty, sticky days. You might need a jacket, oh blessed be the mornings you need to layer. It always leads to trouble, though, when the morning is cool, and the afternoon warm, a migration of coats to work, a pile on the shelf by the printer, loved and cherished early in the day, forgotten on the way home. Life on the edge, the struggle is real.

And there is always Swapper's Day, in Johnstown, an event not to be missed. A trip through time and space, at least times and spaces I have occupied. 8 track tapes, fishing equipment, vendors everywhere, selling everything, within fairly wide limits. It is crowded, hectic, cramped, and noisy. The ground is uneven and hilly, and the whole thing is difficult.  But, just going is fun. For $5.00 you can take a trip through another world. Elon Musk can't compete with that.

So, hold on, Labor Day is coming to save us. I will see you there. If we make it.

Today's song o' happiness comes from a different time and space, where Funk was King.  Don't forget to vote in the Life Explained Happiness Poll, coming soon. If anybody knows how to create a poll in Facebook, please send me the instructions.

Time, the Enemy of Reason.

Tomorrow is the Day. Today is the day before the Day. Yesterday, of course was the day before today, but that doesn't really matter for the sake of this post. One thing that should be pointed out, though, is yesterday was Tuesday. Since Monday was Labor Day (Labour Day if you live in New Zealand, thanks for the information, Trina) Tuesday seemed an awful lot like Monday. Which makes today, which is Wednesday, have the general texture of Tuesday. Having Monday as a holiday is fine, great in fact, Monday as a blessing, but having Tuesday turn into Monday and throw the rest of the week into chaos is just not acceptable.

To make matters worse, if that is at all possible, I am leaving at 11:00 AM sharp tomorrow for Lake Hope, just my wife, our kayaks, and me, and a bottle of Pinot Noir, and possibly a bottle of Malbec. Not because of any great attraction to these two wines, but we happen to have a bottle of each on hand. Not that the wine really has anything to do with this post.

Let's recap, since we seem to have taken a wrong turn somewhere.

Monday was a holiday, which forced an atmosphere of Monday onto Tuesday. This, of course, pressed hard into Wednesday, making it feel frighteningly similar to Tuesday. I am taking a day off on Friday, making Thursday my de-facto Friday, and since it has to serve as Wednesday, and try to pull off some semblance of Thursday as well, and it will have to do it in 4 hours, since I am only working half of a day.

You can see my problem. I am dealing with a week shortened on both ends, and the chaos of trying to cram a weeks worth of obsessing about the passage of time in 2 1/2 days. The pressure is almost unbearable. I don't want you worrying about this, though, it is my job. Just go about business as normal, and I will get this straightened out.

Have a nice Wednesday, or Tuesday, or Thursday, or whatever the hell day it is. It should be a nice day, the weather in Fairbanks AK is mid sixties with a slight chance of rain. If you don't live in Fairbanks let me know, I always thought you looked like a person from Fairbanks. It's a small world.

Since we are going kayaking and I could not find any good kayaking poetry here is a nautical poem, short, sweet and full of imagery.

Sea Fever

BY JOHN MASEFIELD

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;

And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,

And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

 

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; 

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

 

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

Days, not all of them, of the Week

Sunday, a day of reckoning. A gauntlet that must be endured before you can face Monday. A test to see if you are adequately equipped to endure a week of work, toil, drudgery. When Gandalf fought the Balrog in mines of Moria it was his Sunday. He came through, stronger, better suited to deal with the Monday facing him in Mordor. After a while, though, Sunday starts to take its toll. 

In your twenties the worst part of Monday is the pain from ill spent Sunday evenings. Headaches pounding on temples, roiling stomachs protesting hunger, and then food. Too little sleep, too much light, every noise an explosion. Monday evening and all you can think of is sleep, until work is over, and then a few drinks, some spicy food, and a lazy evening of televised re-runs and low level complaining.

Thirties and you start worrying about Mondays, all the weekends work in a big traffic jam on your desk, clogging up your inbasket, this was before email, piling up right behind your door. "Surprise!" It shouts, as you walk in, bashing you with to-do lists, envelopes, folders, orders that seem insurmountable, and overpowering. As soon as you wake up Sunday you start dreading Monday. Monday, the bane of Mankind, and Womankind. Alarm clocks, Mondays, television evangelists, and politicians, the modern day plagues.

Then you hit fifty, rapidly closing in on sixty, and Sunday becomes Monday's evil ally. Email brings evil reports, armies on the march, time running short. Monday is waiting, club in hand to bludgeon you with tasks. You are stuck in a programming loop, If Sunday, then Monday, repeat. Endless, infinity, no escape, no surrender.

Of course, if you can only hold on, Friday is coming. A reward for making it through the week, a glorious vacation before the weekend. Maybe things do workout.

See you on the other side, friends, together we can do this. Send me your best Monday or Friday picture and I will highlight them in my new movie. "Days of the week, explained."

Fishing and Other Monday Problems.

While Tim is off taking a class on Self Editing it seemed like an ideal time to stop by and tell you how much he needed a class on Self Editing. He could use it as a writer, and as a person. Get a couple of bourbons or even a couple of cups of coffee and he can go on and on about the minute differences between the hazards of flying and the danger of commuting.

After a while I was afraid to get in the car. I didn't say anything about it, because he has some startling statistics on the number of pedestrians involved in accidents. There is a small folder sitting inside his pedestrian collision folder detailing the number of people who had collisions with cows while walking. It seems most of them were walking in fields, but he says that counts, and it is his folder.

And don't even get him started on luxury cruises. Unless you have the time, inclination and nutritional requirements to set through the Power Point presentation. He seems to believe the Bermuda Triangle is actually more of a sphere, from one pole to the other and covering every body of water, including Lake Maloney, in North Platte, NE. It is one more reason to hate climate change.

It is hard to imagine the good he could have done if he would have worked that hard in school, if he would have used his power for good instead of evil.

Well, my day is almost done, the parts have been cut, and assembled, the bills have been posted, and the sunshine is calling my name. I am off to the Lake for a little fishing and relaxing, thank goodness I am the world's worst fisherman, it is a lot more relaxing if you don't catch anything. Don't believe everything you read, unless you read it here, would we lie to you.

Monday, How I've Missed You.

Monday, my old friend. I am so glad to see you, at least this time of year. Weekends are filled with torment, and the grief of yard work. Buried under flowers that need planted, lawn treatments that need spread. Grass seed, grass clippings, grass everywhere.

Yesterday my wife and I went to the local warehouse style hardware store. A huge building, filled with impossible to find home improvement products. They are impossible to find because the building is huge, and the employees would rather not help you. They would rather not talk to you. If cornered, though, they will give up a quick "try aisle 27," pointing off toward the vanishing point at the end of the center walkway, and marching away quickly, their back firmly turned toward your expression of loss and confusion.

In front of this huge building is an enormous parking lot. So big it should have it's own zip code. This time of year almost half of it is consumed by pallets of mulch. Shredded, dyed wood, bagged, put on pallets, shrink wrapped and carted off to cover the parking lot of the store in my neighborhood.

Inside the store was madness. People lusting after lawn mowers, gluttonous for gas grills, greedy for the intoxicating power of electric trimmers, it was the seven deadly sins played out in front of me. It was Sodom and Gomorrah with pruning shears. I was almost ashamed.

Walking slowly by the shelf next to the garden center I was amazed at the variety of things that occupied a lawn and needed to be killed. Pests ranging from army worms to white slugs. Weeds from crabgrass, to yarrow. All ready to do battle. My lawn did not stand a chance, but here on this sturdy shelf were enough boxes of powder, sufficient jars of liquid, and delivery systems sprayers, battery powered spreaders, to destroy them all. "I am become death." Certainly no mortal should have at his disposal so much destructive force. The air grew cold, and the lights dimmed.

But, only a few, insignificant steps away were the magic, life giving elixirs. Covered with shiny
pictures of healthy flowers, tomatoes too beautiful to eat, a smiling, happy gardener digging and glowing and beaming with pride.

A store employee, whose worn, stained and tattered apron clearly indicated he had been dispensing sage lawn care advice for several years, was explaining the benefits of a small bottle of liquid that killed weeds, and did not harm flowers to a middle aged woman. Her t-shirt read "I am a bad influence." Oddly enough, the white shirt was almost spotless, and I had to wonder how anybody who keep a white cotton shirt so clean could ever steer anybody down the wrong path.

"First time they have ever combined the two in one bottle. Been selling them separately for seven years, and now they are both in one bottle. It is a real bargain, weeds and feeds, all at the same time." He said, clearly impressed by this.

She began to cross examine him about the effects on the vegetables she planned to plant in close proximity. He faltered, buckling under this unexpected turn. He stuttered, looked at the shelf, and then his watch. Clearly trying to by time, eventually he had to turn the bottle over, and before he could answer my wife summoned me with her "come on, would you?" expression.

I tried to signal, using hand motions, that things were heating up, in fact the woman who was proud to be a bad influence may have moved onto her end game. Her opponent was squirming uncomfortably under her assault. But that is a hard message to convey when your angel is waving her hand. Even when I explained it to her she didn't seem all that interested. Maybe I didn't tell it right.

We got home with bags of dirt, bags of seed, buckets of powder, and other things I am not sure about. It was too late to start the season long battle for the reclamation of our lawn. But, this morning I looked at it all piled up, ready to be used, and I said, Thank you, Monday.

I made a new friend.

This morning, I went to the kitchen, and as is normally the case, I emptied the dishwasher, and made coffee. On the counter was a cup, turned upside down. Thinking maybe somebody trapped a spider underneath it I just left it alone. Grappling with a spider is no way to start your week.

Attached to the coffee maker, though, was a note, "Don't move coffee cup, an ancient, evil demon of the Moloch variety(the abomination of Annon, the devourer of children, and the innocent) is trapped under there. I accidentally released it opening recently discovered artifacts. I will dispose of it first thing Monday, Bob, Archaeology." Helpfully, it had an arrow drawn that was pointed in the direction of the overturned cup.

That was quite a relief, it wasn't a spider.

"Hey," I asked, "how's it going under there?"

"It's OK, I thought by now you would have better drinking vessels, this is not much of an
improvement from Babylon, though the high gloss finish would make it easier to clean, I suppose. And I love the decorative, contrasting rings, they really add a nice touch." He answered very politely.

"Oh, and that is bigger than the average coffee mug," I assured him. "It is Pamela's, she works in Customer Service, and it is quite a trip from the kitchen to her cubicle."

"What's a cubicle?" He asked.

"Oh, it is like a little room, with short, movable, carpet covered walls. It gives the illusion of privacy, and significance without providing either. We have hundreds of them on every floor, and people come and occupy them every day, working at various tasks. All designed to advance the greater good of the company, and provide profits for the shareholders and upper management."

"Sounds like hell, and I would know," He said and we both laughed.

"Hey, do you want to see one?" I asked.

"No, I told Bob I would wait here. But, if you could put one of those donuts under the cup I would be very grateful, I haven't had a bite to eat in over 5,000 years."

"Sure," I said, sliding a donut under the mug. "Hey, if you get out, I am on the third floor, down at the west end of the building, I am the one doing all the work, you can't miss me, my name is Tim."

"If Bob has time we will swing by and see you in action, Tim, Thanks for the donut."

You know, sometimes Monday is not so bad.

Monday Blues, on a Sunday

It will not be an easy way to start the week. An early flight to ***************** for a business meeting. Try to convince the brass at the ************ we have the best armed autonomous killer robots in the world. Actually we don't have to convince them we have the best armed autonomous killer robots, we only have to convince them we have the best armed autonomous killer robots for the price.

It really isn't that difficult, everybody in the defense contractor business knows what everybody else is doing. It is similar to a bunch of old women waiting at the doctor's office, talking and gossiping and carping about ailments real and imagined. So we know what General Dynamics, and Boeing, and Lima Tank Facility are going to ask for we can come in a lot cheaper, the real profit is in "cost overruns." We say "we can build you the best killer robots in the world for a certain amount of money." And the government says "Hey, that's great thanks."

Then we say "oh, we need more money, we made a mistake, and we need a lot more money, sorry we should have been more careful." 

And the government says "sure, here you go. Oh, if we double the money can you add some glitter and sparkles? Don't hesitate to ask if you need some more, we have tons."

Then we have to rush back to the office for the Monday Trash Ball tournament. It is a new game we invented where you take a coffee beans and a politely worded note to the recent past and shoot it out of a compressed air cannon into a man made space time eddy that has been floating around the facility since that failed instant coffee experiment. Anyway, when it spits out the coffee ground coffee covered wad of paper everybody tries to get out of the way. Whoever gets hit first has to buy donuts, and pay for the dry cleaning.

We would have scheduled the meeting for Tuesday except that is when we have the Pirates from the Past luncheon. Nobody wants to miss that.

Monday is coming, you can handle it.

Monday is coming, a treasure of agony and pain. But, we need to face it with a unified front. Stand fast against the tyranny of the work week. Don't show weakness, Monday senses fear. 

Here is the plan, just get up when the alarm goes off, you can hit the snooze button once, make every effort to not hit it twice. Whatever you do, don't smash your alarm clock with a hammer. This is particularly true if you use your smart phone to wake you. Monday will only grow stronger watching you weep openly over the loss of a beloved electronic member of the family.

Drink your coffee with a smile. If possible drink it without cream and sugar, you don't need the extra calories to slow you down. Mobility is the key. If Monday gets you trapped in a corner, and starts hammering away at your soft, creamy, sugar filled mid section... well lets just say you don't know what will happen then.

Hop in your car, listen to something that will make you forget your troubles. Maybe some music, it might be a good idea to make a playlist tonight. Or pick a pod cast. Something that will take your mind off driving and the driving of others, something immersive, and consuming. Well, not completely off driving, you still need to pay attention to where you are going. Once, while listening to Time Out Of Mind by Dylan I drove past my exit, past the city limits, and ended up in Dayton. Thank goodness Highlands isn't any longer or I might have ended up in Indianapolis. Oh, Monday would have loved that.

Then at work, smile politely, nod appropriately, and do as little as possible. Activity is the breeding ground for mistakes. A miscue is almost impossible taking a nap in the boiler room, on the boxes of furnace filters stacked behind the lift apparatus, all toasty, warm, and comfortable.* Monday thrives on typos, errors, and malfunctions. Don't feed the beast.

Monday is coming, there is nothing we can do about it. But, preparation is key. There is no reason you should not be ready, Monday is brazen, it doesn't even try to hide its arrival, taunting you with the coming torment. But, you can be ready, we will help.

*Not that I would know anything about that.

Monday, and the week begins, but it could have ended.

Monday is not normally a very good day here, at Life Explained. Everybody is either cranky and irritable about being back at work, or euphoric about the wonderful weekend they just experienced. A toxic, volatile combination.

Since it so difficult to make people who are so angry feel happy again, we tried, we decided it would be much simpler to make everybody angry.

Step number one, we transferred the weekend janitorial staff to Monday security. They are drunk with power and harass everybody. Plus the offices are a mess, and trash is everywhere.

It worked pretty well, too. Unfortunately, it made the already mad people even madder. So we now had an army of homicidal workers bent on retribution versus an force of people who felt pretty good, and had the rug pulled out from under them. Believe it or not they were more dangerous.  Feelings of betrayal drive a very a passionate response.

We were stuck in the Executive Kitchen, and at the east door, were a group of furious employees, banging and pounding and screaming for blood. On the west side a contingent of outraged, uncontrollably violent associates who screaming for revenge.

It was a terrifying situation. Splintering doors, and smashed barricades, pushing closer and closer to the center of the room. It looked bleak, and we were making ready to initiate the "final protocol."



If it hadn't been for bell signaling the morning break we may have had to destroy the planet. After morning coffee and some sweet rolls everybody was ready for the work week. Smiling, whistling and ready to sav2e the world, in their own manner.

Wednesday, It Isn't Weekend, But It Isn't Monday, Either.

Today is Wednesday, and that means something here at Life Explained. It means the week is half over, and we have put the bad days (Monday and Tuesday) behind us. Monday stinks, positively reeks, you are faced with the prospect of 5 grueling days of toil, and labor, with no hope of escape. Tuesday is Monday without all of the pleasant afterglow of the weekend, so Tuesday is pretty smelly as well. But, Wednesday, that is a different beast.

Wednesday, the antechamber to the weekend. On Wednesday the coffee is a little crisper, and the air is a little cleaner. If you look hard enough you can see the weekend "ship of liberty on them iron waves so bold and free"* steaming in to your rescue. We love Wednesday. Too bad it only comes once a week, and we have to suffer through the hardships of the early week to get there.

One fine day, as we were drinking the tasteless, tepid coffee of a Monday, and trying to choke down the bagels of an oppressive work week, Bob, from R and D burst into the kitchen. Shaking with an excitement not normally seen until at least noon on Thursday, he said "I have solved our early week issues!"

"I have taken the digital clock from the rec room, wired it to the reactor core in the sub basement, and ran the whole thing through the time clock. Every Monday when the clock hits 9:00 AM, the whole company will shift to Wednesday, at 11:00."

"Why Wednesday, and why 11:00 AM?" Someone asked. The question was sincere, but the happiness at the prospect of skipping Monday and Tuesday was noticeable in the voice.

"I chose Wednesday, so we could have time to plan for the weekend, and 11:00 so we would have time to plan for lunch." That made perfect sense.

Everybody started scurrying around to account for the important things, like cancelling any vacation requests they had for Monday or Tuesday. No point in wasting them. And the coffee was tasting smooth.

Time travel, even in short, repetitive bursts, is tricky. Have you ever recorded a macro in Excel and thought it was beautiful. Taking the contents of several scattered cells, summing them and placing the total in a separate sheet, adding a touch of formatting for flair, and then printing it out. Life would be so much easier. Only you forgot to click the little "relative cell reference" box. Every time you ran the macro it added the same numbers from the same cells, making you and your computer look like complete morons. Time Travel can be like that.

So Monday, at 9:00 we moved to Wednesday at 11:00 and feasted. Using all of the lunch money we had saved from Monday and Tuesday to really make pigs of ourselves.  Then on Thursday, at 9;00 we ended on Wednesday, (the day before, not the next week, we think) at 11:00! This really screwed up a lot of vacation plans.

So, we disabled the digital clock, and the time clock, and our big plans, and suffer through the painful, dreadful days of the start of the work week. We gave Bob a little bonus for trying, but revoked his rec room privileges, he cost us a digital clock, after al;t
.

*From "Caribbean Wind" by Bob Dylan, Dr, Dawg says give it a listen.

Monday, time to get serious.

Monday, the day that starts the week. It is time to roll up the sleeves, and get to work. Shoulder to the wheel, nose to the grindstone, and all.  Though, most of us no longer have to put our shoulder to a wheel, wheel turning is probably almost completely automated these days. What kind of job requires an associate to put his nose to a grindstone, though? That sounds awful! There must be an amazing compensation package for anybody to accept that position. It has to be a very short career.

Anyway, the work week is here, and it is time to start getting serious, no more messing around.  In the words of David Byrne of the Talking Heads;

"This ain't no party, this ain't no disco,
This ain't no fooling around,
No time for dancin' or lovey dovey,
I ain't got time for that now."

Now is the time to start planning for next weekend.  There are only five days left, and you can't waste a minute. Before you know it Saturday will be here, and you will be adrift in a weekend without an itinerary, or as we, here at Life Explained, like to say, "up relaxation creek without a paddle, like an idiot," or something like that.

Time is wasting, man, (here, I am using the term "man" as a neutral, all inclusive designation that encompassing all people, men, women, aliens, supernatural beings, anybody who needs to start thinking about the coming weekend) you don't want to get left behind. Put down the phone, drop the pen, let go of the mouse, or keyboard, or pen like stylus, and start thinking about the glory that awaits in only 4 days 4 hours, 17 minutes, and 29 seconds, approximately.

One thing on which most relaxation experts, and we have a whole staff of them, agree, "don't try to take on too much on the weekend," Try to keep it simple, something achievable, something that will allow the building of self esteem, like watching a movie on television.  Plan a little break in there, so you are not overwhelmed, you're not superman, after all.  Safety first, that is our motto.

Monday, a day of... well you decide.

We survived another weekend, and made it safely through to Monday.  It wasn't easy, and there were several close calls, but we are all back, safely, at work, here at the Top Secret Life Explained headquarters. Now that we have put all of that ugly freedom, and indulgence behind us we can get back to work.

Once the lawn was mowed it was as though time had stopped. There was nothing to justify our existence. Wandering from one pleasant experience to the next was torture. A void raged across the face of our world, consuming all in it's path. Nothing but light, casual conversation, and relaxed attitudes.

A walk through the park, filled with the joyful sound of laughing, playing children, who can endure those things.  Everywhere you looked, smiling, happy youth, and energy rushing with glee from one activity to the next.  It was so distracting. No structure, no framework, no guidance.

It would not have been so bad but the weather was perfect, sunny, warm, and wonderful. It was a little sickening. Grilling some chicken last night, with a drink of tequila, and a Dos Equis to celebrate Cinco De Mayo*, sitting next to a gorgeous, charming woman was almost more than we should be asked to tolerate.

But, at last we are back to the grindstone, working, producing, taking care of things.  Under the florescent lights, sounds muffled by the oppressive expectations of working for a living. Answering the alarm clock, rising early, and going to work.  Ah, the joys of responsibility, and the pleasure of being held accountable...

Wait, what the hell is going on here!?!?!?  Hey, find out who typed that first part and send them to the infirmary.  Better yet, send them to the psychiatrist. Or, better still fire them, they are obviously a danger to themselves and everybody else.

We will now return you to our regularly scheduled programming.






*Yes we know we were technically celebrating Tres De Mayo, but a busy schedule, and the security requirements of working for a top secret research and development facility require the alteration of certain laws of time and space.**

**Not really.

Monday, It Stands Humble Before Me.

This morning I overslept, not tragically, but enough that things were in a little bit of a bind, a little stressed, there was an undercurrent of anger thrumming through our normally peaceful morning.  No worries, a cool, calm demeanor, a little charm, a couple of well timed jokes, and everything was running like a well tuned machine.  In short, I was as cool as could be, in the immortal words of Jerry Garcia, "check my pulse, it don't change, stays 72 come shine or rain."*  As usual, everyone in the family was in awe of the self assured, calm, cool father figure in the eye of the storm.

Of course, the drive to work was touch and go, there was an accident on a freeway ramp to downtown on the north side of the city.  This has the fallout effect of sending additional commuters (interlopers) on the freeway from the north east corner of town, my route.  It is a sad reality of life, when there is a multiple car accident, cars strewn across the highway, and the first thought in most cases is "Oh man, this is going to ruin my drive to work."

No problem, though, there is enough road for everybody, almost.  And things were going smoothly, in the fast lane, cruising.  A car changed lanes, right in front of me!  No worries, it is a Volkswagon, a car from the land of the lawless Autobahn, the wild west of driving experiences, you know this guy is going to keep pace, he is going to move.  Nope, he putts along in painful observance of the posted speed limit.  Oh well, I still got to work.

But, it made me think we stereotype cars, too much.  Like the American automaker whose name sounds similar to Blue Ink.  For the sake of this post let's just call the car BlueInk.  During the commercials for BlueInk, actors are confused by the fact other actors are driving a BlueInk, because the car looks nothing like a BlueInk.  "I don't see a BlueInk," they will say, with dismay.  It is in many ways a risky gambit, in essence saying "buy one of our cars, they aren't ugly anymore."  Of course, they still look like BlueInk cars to me, but I am not a car guy, and can only recognize brands by the loge, stuck right on the front.

To end this rambling, incoherent post here is a picture of delicious, wonderful, delightful coffee.  It is too bad you can't smell the aroma through your monitor, it like a gift from Heaven.  Don't forget that next Sunday is the ultimate tea vs coffee showdown.  You should post, tweet, videotape or whatever it is that you call adding things to Facebook, using the hashtag #HOTDRINKDAY.

This is too important to leave in the hands of world leaders, who are generally making a mess of things (more on this later, maybe, if I can't think of anything more pleasant to write about).  And don't forget to vote, at Choose Coffee, all of the other choices are jokes and will send a small electrical current through your keyboard, not enough to kill you, probably.   And you can thank +Mike Raven at the The Blog of the Thog for that.   It might lead to international tension, and increased hostility, and you can have a say in it, won't that be cool?



*In an effort to receive a Triple A Bond Rating from Standard and Poors (motto, we may be standard but we sure aren't poor) I am disclosing the following, "I don't know who wrote 'U.S. Blues,' but am confident, more or less that it was Jerry Garcia singing.

Monday, Your Big Chance?

We, here at Life Explained, are going to start a new movement.  Starting now, next week at the latest, Monday is no longer going to be viewed as a curse, a despicable, reviled demonic visitor from the pits.  It is going to be welcomed as the gracious day that ushers in a beginning, a refreshing chance to start something beautiful.

Life does not often present mortals with opportunities for greatness, and Monday is the perfect chance to leave your co-workers, subordinates, and superiors in the vocational dust.  As they are holding their heads, praying for a quick end to a new day, you can embrace the challenge.  Charge into the midst of the chaos, powering through the doldrums, shining like a beacon of hope for all the company to follow.

Book 1 in the "Who needs 'em" series

Grab the biggest problem you can, wrestle it the floor, and make it plead for mercy, right in the entryway, so everybody can watch.  If sales are stagnant grab the phone, get some people on the hook, and sell some stuff, if production is flagging, grab some tools, some raw materials, and make something.  Rising transportation costs cutting into the bottom line, chewing up profits and spitting out mountains of rising debt, load some stuff up in your car, and make some deliveries. Remember, every little problem you solve is a chance to make an associate look incompetent, slow and foolish.

Use the first day of the week to rise several standard deviations above the mean.  As fellow employees trickle in, tales of two days of independence dripping from their paper coffee cups, look down your nose at them, turn your back and storm off, a trail of efficient, professional scorn settling slowly on their bewildered faces.  

Look, we just want to see you get ahead, that's all.  If the people who work with you can't see your potential that is their problem.  Don't forget our companion book, "Step all over the people your coworkers, it won't get you anywhere, but you will save a bundle on birthday gifts."

Hey, Friday is closer than you thought.

Since Memorial Day is so close and the week has been so hectic we, here at Life Explained, have decided it would be in the best interest of all of humanity cancel Thursday this week.

Sure, many of the Geochronologists felt it would be much better to just postpone Thursday until next week, feeling that eliminating a whole twenty four hour cycle could have catastrophic effects, possibly destroying the frail fabric of space time.  They warned that it could cause such rifts in our universe that it could shatter worlds, and "tear asunder the universe to such a point that the entire history of all that ever was would be wiped clean, and we would have rebooted time itself."

Maybe, and that could be bad, but Friday, and a three day weekend would be here one day earlier and that is worth a roll of the dice.

Of course, they reminded us of that incident when we traveled back in time to add another spoonful of coffee grounds to the pot we had just brewed, it was so weak it was practically undrinkable.  They were all worried about toying with events that had already happened.  Sure, the kitchen was destroyed by the monster that sprung from the anomaly in the coffee container from having beans taken so abruptly "out of time sequence," but, nobody died, sure some people are still missing, but nobody even remembers their names anymore.  Yes, the monster is still loose, and that might be a problem, but the kitchen is remodeled, better than ever, and that coffee was fantastic.

Obviously, this is not without risk, and we need to remember the consequences, but, Friday only comes once a week, and it always seems to be so slow in arriving.  And, three day weekends are so rare, and precious that a little risk is worth the reward.  If it works, we will see you tomorrow, on Friday, if not, well it has been fun, and we are sorry we brought such an abrupt end to all of creation.

Monday, Cursed Monday.

Today is the first step in our long journey down the hazardous path known as the work week.  It is filled with peril, and fraught with difficulty, and in the terrifyingly appropriate words of Bob Dylan

"Every step of the way we walk the line
Your days are numbered, so are mine
Time is pilin' up we struggle and we scrape
We're all boxed in, nowhere to escape"

Plainly, trouble waits around every corner, and the best thing we can hope for is to live until Friday, scarred, frightened, barely alive, crawling toward a painfully toward the glorious weekend.  It ain't much, but we, here at Life Explained, call 'em like we see 'em, and if we don't see 'em we make 'em up (thank you, George Carlin).

With this joyous news firmly in mind we can "hunker down," "gird up our loins," "dig in deep," and "saddle up and ride."  To make your week easier, we thought it might be convenient to have an itinerary for this trek, a guide to this weeks Life Explained, kind of like a written life preserver for your sanity, what little is left.

Monday - well, this is about it, what did you expect for a Monday?

Tuesday - a whiny, complaining recap of this years NCAA tournament, and all of the awful officiating, that cost all of my choices to lose, or joyous celebration of the NCAA tournament recounting how my teams got beat, but are so young, and have such good recruiting classes that the future is filled with immeasurable possibilities.  It depends on who wins tonight.  We are not going to mention who we are rooting for, but it is not Kentucky.\

Wednesday - we will post a short story written a while ago, and are not sure what to do with.  It is a western, with a happy ending, and a quote from Midnight Oil.  Their first album was pretty intense, and went well with beer and angst.  We hope that doesn't ruin it for you.

Thursday - we are going to cover how GM, Chrysler and Ford have trained spiders to infiltrate the fuel systems of Mazda and cause the gas tanks to rupture.  Plus, we suspect these are illegal immigrant, third world spiders, taking all of the good jobs from American spiders.  But they work cheap, so domestic automobile manufacturers are saving money any way they can, which is not all bad.

Friday - We will apologize since we will probably forget to do any of these things.  But, it is kind of difficult to be too angry on Friday, right?

Monday, the Day of Joy.

Yesterday was the Ground Hog Day, and the Super Bowl.  How are we supposed to survive that much intensity in one day.  Several people in Ohio were rushed to the emergency room because of the excitement.  Of course, the real cause for concern, and anxiety, and the resulting heart palpitations, and stress related ailments that had Ohio EMTs running without break, was the fact that Puxsatawney Phil claimed there would be 10 more weeks of winter, and Buckeye Chuck (the lesser known, but equally Marmot Rodent furry meteorologist from Ohio) said there was going to be an early spring.

In Ohio it is very bad form to malign anything Buckeye, (particularly the peanut butter filled chocolate confections that are designed and produced to look exactly like buckeyes, but are especially delicious, unlike the real buckeye nut which is inedible, and used mostly for jewelry) and everybody wants winter to end.  And, after the Polar Vortex has invaded twice, leaving a trail of frigid, icy destruction, winter is even less welcome.  But, Puxsatawney Phil is the original, he was even in a movie, and has had years to refine he weather predicting skills.  Nobody wants to bet against that kind of legacy.

Obviously, the only antidote for this kind of dilemma is a hard fought, close football game that goes right to the end and could be won by either team.  An epic struggle between equally matched opponents, decided by the skill, or athletic ability, or coaching wisdom of one team in the final seconds.  A game both teams, winner and loser, walk away from with pride...

Oops, that bowl was not very "super" at all.

Well, at least the weekend is over, and we can all get back to work, and forget all of the troubles that  plague our time off.  Now, we don't have to worry about all of that decision making, free will, now we can just take it easy and let someone else do all of the thinking for us.

Thank God, for Monday!

Monday, again, survive the best you can.

Ah, Monday, my old nemesis, here you are again.  It has been what, about 7 days since our last encounter.  Don't forget what happened then.

You came in slow, stealthily, acting almost as though we were friends.  The song on the alarm clock radio was "What I Like About You," by The Romantics, the coffee was particularly delicious, the sun was smiling brightly at the cool, comfortable temperature, and the whole thing seemed like a Friday.

Soon, though, you showed your true nature, the nasty, despicable side.  Somehow, even though my coffee was on the other side of the counter from where I was making lunch, a Spicy, Tabasco, Fire, Inferno, Devil's brand Potato chip ended up in what had been one of the finest hot drinks of my long, drink filled life.  Dang It!!!!

Oh, well, one cup down there are ten more in the carafe.

"Watch out for thick patches of fog, all along the drive downtown."  The local Meteorologist said on the Morning News, but he seemed so happy how bad could it be?  "Plus, there are unconfirmed reports of scattered armies of satanic demons hidden in the fog, tearing the flesh from commuters, littering the bones all over the median, ripping up large patches of the road, and using the material to build an altar in what maybe an elaborate attempt to summon the end of the world, and possibly a tornado, or two.  Which could really have a negative impact on the flow of traffic.  For a more elaborate elaboration, let's go to Melissa Smiley, our Traffic Reporter."

"That's right, Bob.  Crosstown traffic is pure hell, today.  Even if you live you will be scarred for life.  I would avoid the whole interior of the city and use alternate routes, maybe take the back roads, to a secluded, wooded location that nobody knows about, and make peace with the Lord.  Or 5th Avenue, to Main, and go South from there.  Updating you on the latest sports news, here is Chip D'Average.  How about that game last night, Chip?"

Dang, and I am out of sick leave.

No choice, but to brave the drive, the fog, the demons, and the tornadoes, making it to work, just as the coffee I spilled on my shirt was turning unbearably cold.  I noticed the front door to the building was missing.

And, over the weekend, someone had broken in and taken all of the printer paper, even the stuff in the printer.  Painted the doors with the scene behind them so they always looked open, causing three broken noses, and a dislocated ring finger.  And, changed everybody's voice mail greeting to "Hello, I am too dumb to answer my phone."

It was a good fight, Monday, and you almost won.  Finally, around midnight I gained the upper hand, sending you running off, like a thief in the night.  Now, you are back, and it is time to lace up the gloves and go a few rounds again.  Take your best shot.  I'm ready.

"Siri, save my Monday."

Though, a proud citizen of the 21st century (that is the right century, isn't it?) it is only reluctantly that I embrace new technology.  Yes, I loved my iPod, such a wonderful, useful device, and that love led to the purchase of my beloved iPad, what a glorious, useful, and transcendent piece of electronic equipment, (kind of a big iPod) which, in time, caused the leap off the fiscal cliff into the purchase of one of the most unique, glorious tools ever, an iPhone 5 (kind of like an iPod that makes phone calls).

This morning, however, on my drive to work, (yes, it is another story about my drive to work, sorry, but it is a very important part of my day, for one thing, I love my job, and my car, and my phone, which plays music right through my car, without being attached by wires, that still kills me!) I realized a very glaring weakness in the programming of all electronic music storage devices.  The shuffle function, sometimes, goes a little "buggy" (sorry for the techie jargon, I will try to be more careful) and plays all of the wrong songs. It spits out music that is completely inappropriate for the occasion.  It should know better than melancholy, sad, depressing music on Monday morning.  It should automatically pick something with some tempo, some back beat, something to get the foot tapping, and blood circulating.

Picking up my phone and quickly realizing that the "next" (again, sorry for all this tech stuff, please forgive me) option was useless, it was just going to pick sorrow filled, tear stained music, I started looking for a song.  I had a great one in mind.  But, I was driving almost 75 miles an hour (16 kilograms in Europe) and came very close to killing myself and the person in the Ford Fiesta next to me, sorry about that, you looked like a such nice little old lady, until you gave me the middle finger salute, and I can't read lips, but, you should be ashamed of yourself.  I had it coming, though.  Deciding that picking my own song while driving was not the best idea, I am a quick learner that way, I resigned myself to listening to "This Traveling Around," by Lyle Lovett, and try to snap myself out of it with extra coffee.

Then it hit me, Siri!  She was waiting in my phone, just aching to help me.  "Siri," I said, "how about we listen to "Supernaturally," by Nick Cave?"

Siri said, "Ok, let's listen to 'Supernaturally'" and it started playing.  Technology is great.  I love it!  And I love you, Siri.  I may leave my wife for you, she never lets me pick the song.

If my wife reads this, I am only kidding, you are still the girl in all my dreams.  And your lasagna is heavenly.