Sunday thoughts

I did not realize that he had not heard the song before. The car stereo displayed the name of the song as the music leading to the song started playing. He looked at the name and announced he liked the song already and when the verse came on, he claimed this to be the best song on the planet. He stretched out his hands and started singing "Tell me why I don't like Mondays" every time the verse came on. This was the anthem that he was waiting for.

Who loves a Monday morning? Not many I am sure. In a way, I believe this is an anthem for almost every school, college and office goer. I think it is ironic that I write these lines on a Monday morning. Fortunately, I am not looking at this Monday morning as another Monday morning. So a few lines jump out of my head on to this page.

I did not care for the lyrics of the song beyond the verse mentioned above. I heard somethings being sung about Telex machines and Silicon chips. So I checked the lyrics for the song and came across the page that also gave the history associated with the song. The site, genius.com says that the song is inspired by the following incident.

On the Monday morning of January 29, 1979, 16 year-old Brenda Spencer opened fire on the elementary school across the street from her family home. Using a .22 caliber rifle, she killed two adults and injured eight students as well as a police officer. Before giving herself up to the police, she spoke to a reporter on the phone regarding her motive. She said "I just started shooting, that’s it. I just did it for the fun of it. I just don’t like Mondays. I just did it because it’s a way to cheer the day up. Nobody likes Mondays."

Now, the verse "I don't like Monday mornings" has lost its innocuous frustration.

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After all these years, the art getting an effective haircut eludes me still. The situation has become worse with the advent of the trimming of the beard. I take off my spectacles, close my eyes and get myself ready for the hair cut. The person with the scissor or "machine" asks certain questions about how I desire to look at the end of the session and regardless of what I answer I never get what I want. So these days, I response alternates between 'yes' and 'no'. From time to time, I add in the word 'short'. None of it matters, for the guy with the scissor has decided what to do with my hair and beard the minute he has seen my face. All his questions are asked to give me the false satisfaction of being in control. The rules of democracy exist in the barber shop (or saloon) too.