Why do people hate Mondays? I don’t exactly like it like I like strawberries, but I don’t not-like it either.
Is it because the weekend is over and you have to get back to work and you have to wait a whole five days before you can even think about putting your feet up?
If you ask me, the real culprit is Sunday. Who would you hate more, the annoying old man who bangs on the door to break up the house party or the one who helps you through your hangover the next morning? (And by “one” I don’t mean “annoying old man”)
Yeah… Sunday is a cranky old neighbour.
Sunday signals the end of the week, ergo the end of the weekend. Sunday is a harbinger of work to come. Sunday says, “Tomorrow is Monday, dude!” Sunday carries a sense of dread and foreboding, knowing what’s around the next corner.
Monday brings no dread or at least it shouldn’t, because all the dread would have been used up on friggin’ Sunday!
Monday doesn’t really say anything. Monday just is. As are Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. But Friday… ah, Fridays are always something special.
Sunday was always the day I hated most. As a schoolboy, Sunday was first and foremost, church day. Later in the day, Sunday was the day to take the clothes to be ironed. I had to skip down to the laundry guys’ place with a bundle of Dad’s shirts and trousers and sets of my school uniform. The laundry guys were right next door to this dude who always had an Alsatian running in and out his front door. So I had to time my walk in and out of the launderers so I always missed the great beast. As would be expected, it didn’t always work. I hated Sundays.
Sunday was also the day to catch up on homework. In school and for years after, Sunday remained the only day of the week “available” for completion of journals, readings for which were obtained by hook or by crook. Failing which, they were beautifully invented. Assignments due always reached fruition well past midnight on a Sunday, as did the realization of forgotten ones.
Although I have little or no experience of Sundays off in a professional sense, Sunday was always the day at work, which brought the most customer traffic with it, leading to extended hours and shorter breaks. Customer service is a bitch.
All in all, there was rarely a Sunday that served up peace of mind and freedom to lay back.
So, my inference is that all the bad press about Monday is just a case of mistaken identity. The blame is laid on the shoulders of a Monday only because it is the first day of a prospective tumultuous week, whose arrival was heralded by Sunday to begin with. Sunday is the one who says, “The honeymoon is over and that thing you’re looking into is the barrel of your new father-in-law’s new hunting rifle...” By the time Monday comes around, the firing has already begun and any day could be as bad as the next.
If you’re the suicidal kind who’ll impulsively slip a nasty note under the boss’ door after work on Friday, drink yourself silly that night, wake up in surprisingly good spirits on Saturday afternoon and find yourself in the mood to party till 4 a.m. Sunday morning, don’t worry. You’ll still have 20 hours of Sunday left to wallow in regret and worry about the shit you’re going to be in on Monday morning.
Stay with me now.
Which of these days would be the worst? To die a thousand deaths on a Sunday of anxiety, or survive the tantrums of a portly, megalomaniacal fifty-something on Monday?
Well, to each his own.
Listen to Vanessa Paradis’ Sunday Mondays.
“The sea was angry that day my friend, like an old man trying to send back soup in a deli.” – George Costanza on Seinfeld.
Urge Overkill – Girl, You’ll Be A Woman Soon
Pulp Fiction!! This song has been haunting me with the image of an OD-ing Uma Thurman.
Roy Orbison – I Drove All Night
I know last week I put in the Cyndi Lauper version, but I love the original! And that video… Jason Priestley and a young Jennifer Connelly; what more could you want?
Aaaand, because this song gets me more pumped than Guerrilla Radio or Song 2 ever could, I’m just gonna post the lyrics to Killing In The Name Of.
A cautionary notice for those of you who dislike explicit lyrics like you dislike two headed snakes, you may take a walk now.
Rage Against The Machine, like groups such as U2 and more recently, Greenday, use their music to covey their political sentiment, as can be plainly seen. Ok, enough talking.
Killing in the name of!
Some of those that were forces are the same that burn crosses
Some of those that were forces are the same that burn crosses
Some of those that were forces are the same that burn crosses
Some of those that were forces are the same that burn crosses
Uggh!
Killing in the name of!
Killing in the name of!
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
Those who died are justified, for wearing the badge, they’re the chosen whites
You justify those that died by wearing the badge, they’re the chosen whites
Those who died are justified, for wearing the badge, they’re the chosen whites
You justify those that died by wearing the badge, they’re the chosen whites
Some of those that were forces are the same that bore crosses
Some of those that were forces are the same that bore crosses
Some of those that were forces are the same that bore crosses
Some of those that were forces are the same that bore crosses
Uggh!
Killing in the name of!
Killing in the name of!
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya, (now you’re under control)
And now you do what they told ya, (now you’re under control)
And now you do what they told ya, (now you’re under control)
And now you do what they told ya, (now you’re under control)
And now you do what they told ya, (now you’re under control)
And now you do what they told ya, (now you’re under control)
And now you do what they told ya, (now you’re under control)
And now you do what they told ya!
Those who died are justified, for wearing the badge, they’re the chosen whites
You justify those that died by wearing the badge, they’re the chosen whites
Those who died are justified, for wearing the badge, they’re the chosen whites
You justify those that died by wearing the badge, they’re the chosen whites
Come on!
Yeah! Come on!
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me
[start the screaming, baby!]
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me!
Motherfucker!
Uggh!
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