Monday, Monday. Morne Plaine.

I am, betimes, an imperceptive soul. It took me until I was in my early twenties to realize that my father, immigrant, bricklayer, gardener and dreamer, didn't like to go to work. Especially, he didn't like to think about going to work on Sundays. One evening we were sitting on the porch as the sun set, listening to the robins and the meadowlarks. He gave a big sigh. Someone asked what the sigh was about. "I don't like Sunday evenings," he said, "It means I have to go to work in the morning."

He wanted to be a farmer. He became a bricklayer. Damn good one, too. I can still drive around the area and point out the brick work he did. Still, he didn't like to think about going to work on Sundays. Neither do I.

Another Monday song. I'm getting depressed. So on to the social commentary. This video is so '70s. The lights. The soft focus. The awful, awful hair. Then there's the Mamas and the Papas -- so sixties, right down to the minimalist set -- I kept waiting for Krusty the Klown to emerge to begin discussing the modern labor movement with George Meaney -- and the goatee.Whee, looka mee, I gotta goateeee. And the little Nehru jacket. This man is too cool to be kept anywhere but the freezer.

Don't whine. I love the M&P and the Carpenters. It's just odd looking at this stuff and thinking it passed for cool. Grampa Simpson was prophetic:

"I was with it, then they changed what it was. Now what I'm with isn't it, and what is it is weird and scary. It'll happen to you!"