It’s Monday again.  I don’t think I need you to tell me why I don’t like Mondays, and I’m not sure why Bob Geldof thought he needed to be told, either.  Maybe it was because, as a professional musician (and sometimes actor), he wasn’t really on a Monday through Friday work schedule, but he still didn’t like Mondays, and he wasn’t sure why that was the case.

Perhaps he reckoned without the fact that, though perhaps not on such a schedule as an adult, he surely was on it as a youngster, growing up in a country with a school system that ran Monday through Friday.  Perhaps he didn’t realize that, even if he didn’t have to go to work in the morning, other people did, and that might make many of them sullen and unpleasant, particularly on Mondays.  Perhaps it was that pervasive, radiant grumpiness that made him dislike Mondays.

Actually, I don’t remember what his big hit with the Boomtown Rats was really about, other than the title and the basic tune, which was certainly catchy.  When I first heard it—possibly the first of only two times that I’ve heard it all the way through—I thought he was asking why he didn’t like modern days, which to me is more thought-provoking and interesting than the actual title of the song.  That misunderstanding is partly his fault for turning the first syllable of Monday* into two notes/two beats.  But, since he played Pink in the movie version of The Wall, we can forgive him**.

This is sort of the opposite of what Jimi Hendrix did in Purple Haze, where he takes the same bit of music that in the first verse underlies the words, “Scuze me while I kiss the sky,” and on the second verse squeezes in, “Whatever it is, that girl put a spell on me.”  The first iteration has seven syllables; you could sing it to the tune of Old MacDonald Had A Farm (which is a somewhat funny thing to do…try it!).  The second sentence has twelve syllables.  Jimi dealt with that by going full Chopin and subdividing the beat into a series of very quick notes, of which he even varied intonation a bit.

The point is, I think we can all agree that Jimi Hendrix was a greater musician and song writer than Bob Geldof, but Sir Bob has done some very good things in addition to his music.  Though for all we know, if Jimi had not died young, he might have led the way to a lasting world peace of happiness and prosperity***.

Wait, that isn’t really the point.  That was just random nonsense that I was spewing, triggered by my opening sentence as I started writing this blog post.  I guess the real point is that I want to say, Happy Monday, if you can tolerate such sentiments.

I can’t, so don’t say it back, please.

It is the beginning of the Work Week of Awe, the name we**** give to the work week within which lies the birthday of the greatest being ever to live on this planet—or at least the greatest one to write on this blog.  I can’t remember which it is.  I suppose it could be both, since they’re not logically contradictory, and the term “at least” clearly implies that it could be the one thing and the other that are true.  I don’t know for sure about the other thing, but with respect to the blog post writing—to quote Spandau Ballet, now—I know this much is true.  Yes, that’s a quote from yet another song that was a hit more than thirty years ago.

It’s not that I can’t quote more recent songs, it’s just that there aren’t as many that spring to my mind readily.  But I do think one of the greatest song quotes—though it’s not really sung, to be fair—is by the much-lamented DMX, and goes, “Talk is cheap, motherf*cker.”  Those are words of wisdom that millions of people on social media would do well to remember.

That’s mostly about all I have to say on this Monday morning.  Much of it is quoted, and those quotes aren’t even from Shakespeare.  That’s fine, of course.  Shakespeare may be the most quoted writer of all time—many very common figures of speech come from Shakespeare, and most people who use them don’t even realize it—but he’s not the only quotable author.  Call me Ishmael if you must, but I hold out the ridiculous thought that, perhaps, someday, people will quote me, and not just to provide evidence of my mental dysfunction.

***

Whew, I just had a small interlude on the train in which my phone slipped out of my pocket and went down in between the seat frames, atop a duct that must serve AC or something.  It was in a spot that my hand was too fat to reach, but thankfully, the person behind me, who immediately came to my aid without saying a word, was a young, thin construction worker, and after we jimmied the phone around a bit, he was able to reach in where I could not and slide the phone out.

One of the other construction workers lent us a very long screwdriver to help, as well.  It didn’t do much, regrettably, but it was a kind gesture, and much appreciated.  It’s nice to know that there are such helpful and kind people on trains, and since trains are unlikely to be unusually attractive to nice people—compared to other places—there are probably such nice people everywhere.

It’s too bad that the assholes make so much noise; they (perhaps I should say “we”) give a somewhat skewed impression of the character of the world’s people.  Unfortunately, it being easier to destroy than to create, the assholes also do a great deal of damage along their way.  Guarding and supporting the beneficent or at least neutral people from the depredations of the maleficent, detrimental ones is more than a constant job, because entropy helps the latter against the former.

Oh well.  I have my phone back and though I have not always depended on the kindness of strangers—indeed, I try not to need to be so reliant—it’s nice when they are kind.

*Mon

**Yes, yes, he also did Band Aid and Live Aid and all that, but he was knighted for that, so he’s already been rewarded.

***It’s bloody unlikely, but it is possible.

****By which I mean “I”.