Monday, May 13, 2013

Oh Yes It Can!

Those of you who stopped by in the wee hours of this day may have noticed that there was no new post here at Chant du Départ with which you could start your day. Mea culpa.

Today, for those of you who are retired or perhaps not occupying the same time-space continuum as the rest of us, is Monday. (Perhaps "was" if you're reading this on some other day of the week. If that's the case, pretend it's Monday. I know, it hurts, but you can do this. Just think of your worst nightmare, then multiply that by ten. There ya go. Feels like Monday now doesn't it?)

So Monday is the day I arise at about the same time the songbirds in our neighborhood start their raucous cacophony sweet singing. That is roughly 4 AM. Oh-dark-thirty. The butt crack of dawn (as the WSO likes to say). You know, freaking early. Too damn early. So early that even my cats are half-awake and have this "WTF" look on their wee feline countenances.

My Monday morning routine is to wake up. Knock everything off of the night stand as I hunt for the alarm clock with all the grace and poise of a tranquilizer-darted rhinoceros. Semi-fall out of bed and then stagger around like some newly-risen zombie. Pull my clothes on. Reverse the shirt to its proper orientation and then head to the bathroom to perform the 3 S dance. (Shower and shave are vital parts of the 3 S dance. I leave what the other "S" stands for to your vivid imaginations. An imagination which even now you are desperately trying to turn off. AAUUGGHH! TOO MUCH INFORMATION!)

Once I have done the 3 S dance, I haul a week's-worth of clothing to the automotive conveyance, trying desperately (but with zero success) to not awaken the Missus Herself. I can move with the silence and grace of a ninja when I need to. No I can't. Who am I trying to fool? I move with the noise and clumsiness of that rhino I mentioned above. Once the tranquilizer has started to take effect. (Or is it affect? Damn. I am just too lazy to look that up today. I mean I use that damn word every week. You'd think I wouldn't have to look it up by now, wouldn't you? But I'm pretty sure it's "effect". At least this time it is.)

Once all that's done I inform the cats that "it's time for breakfast." I'm not sure why I announce that to them, they know it's time for breakfast.

How do they know? Because a) they haven't eaten yet and b) a human is awake to feed them. My arising at 0400 on Monday does tend to confuse them a bit. But as long as the criteria given above are met. They will eat. Of course, they will promptly go back to sleep once breakfast has been consumed. After all, they're cats. They don't have jobs.

I, on the other hand, do. (Have a job, that is.) And Monday is when I travel to the "job site". I'm once again traveling for to earn my daily bread. Not a huge deal though. The duration will be short. Promises have been made. People have been taken at their word. (Yes, I can be overly trusting. After all, that fellow who sold me those magic beans at the gas station wouldn't lie to me. Would he?)

So whoopee. It's Monday. Again. One of the smart things the French did during the French Revolution was re-invent the week. It had ten days and was called the decadi. Brilliant. That would've meant a Monday every ten days, rather than every seven days. Fewer Mondays in the year. Like I said, brilliant.

But they couldn't stop at that, no. They intended the decadi to have ONE day off a week, er decadi. Being bloody revolutionaries I guess they figured the bourgeoisie needed to be kept busy. Avoid counter-revolution I suppose. Of course, the original revolutionaries would be sitting around coffee shops the entire decadi thinking of things to better "all mankind".

Okay, lowering the frequency of Mondays was smart. Increasing the number of workdays, not so much. Unless you're a stockholder or something. High finance confuses me. No. It gives me a headache. (I know what's all that got to do with high finance? You're asking me? I already told you I don't understand high finance. I just figured that if it involves something I don't like, then it must involve 
high finance. Or not. Hell, I don't know...)

At any rate, I was going to rail about 
this today. But as Mr. Avrech does a better job of it than I would've, I send you to him. He is good at it. So go read it. Take notes. Yes, your government is currently run by a largish group of nasty idiots. I expect the decadi to be announced any day now. But with this lot, all the days will be called "Monday". (If you're still trying to figure out the title of today's post, read Mr. Avrech's post again. Think about it...)

(Wanna buy some magic beans?)

Oh yeah. One more thing. (Done with a Columbo voice. Old TV show. Starring Peter Falk, yeah, yeah I know. Get to the point.) We have yet another new member to welcome aboard. I'll re-use the graphic from the other day. Because I like it.

Amazingly enough, Eric is also a blogger. And a techno-wizard of some repute. And a raiser of stray cats. And a general, all-around nice guy. His blog is here. Lots of techno-wizardry and cat stories there. Good stuff. It gets the Old AF Sarge Seal of Approval. (Which I need to get to work designing and awarding. Everyone else is awarding stuff to other bloggers, I wants me some of that action. Why, you ask? Uh, because, because... Ah Hell, I don't know. Because I can? And as Little Bit might say "I want to.")


  1. I don't think our gummint would change to a 10 day 'week'. It would be only 8, they would announce that the conservatives covered up what the Founding Fathers had intended - an eight day week with a 3 day weekend. But by having seven day weeks, it kept the working man down...related to 'high finance'. I aint got all the details, but I read about it on the interwebs, so its gotta be the truth.

  2. Heh. You only get up at 0400 hrs on Mondays? Slacker. I got up at 0400 every danged day in my last gig and was on the first train out of Dublin/Pleasanton at 0500 every single freakin' day, five days a week and on most Saturdays, too. Which is prolly why I only did that gig for two and a half years... it got to be just a little much for an Ol' Fart. (I DO miss the money, though. Just sayin'.)

    1. Yup. Color me slacker. Also note, for that 0400 get up, I drive the train. No kicking back and observing the landscape, or the insides of my eye lids. But yes, it's only one day a week. There is that. Such as it is...

  3. Peeks out from under a pile of buzzing furballs to wave hi...

    1. Sees something not covered in fur, recognizes Eric, waves "hi" back...


Just be polite... that's all I ask. (For Buck)