Sunday, May 29, 2005

Sundays are weird, huh? As a kid, I always hated Sundays. They were the weekend's death rattle. I'd just think about how school was the next day and how I'd have to wait another 5 days before FUN could occur again. Plus, church was boring and the NBC "Sunday Night Movie" usually sucked - excluding their spectacular 1992 presentation of "Tremors" (thank you, Warren Littlefield).

In case you were wondering, this feeling can also be filed under: "The Feeling You Got When Target Started Airing "Back to School" Commercials in Early August" or "The Feeling You Got When Dusk Approached on a School Night." You know how it goes. Dread and melancholy. And loneliness, too? How'd you get in there?!

Sundays, however, do hold SOME warm memories for me. Between the ages of 5-7, I would sit on my mom's lap and we'd read the "Sunday funnies" together. My mom - being clever and identifying opportunities to encourage youth literacy - would often get me to read aloud my favorite comics. I remember one time, Linus (from "Peanuts") was trying to get Charlie Brown's attention in class and went, "Pssst." I, of course, sounded it out and accidentially read the word aloud as "pissed." Boy, did mom and I laugh at that one!

But all in all, Sundays sucked and everybody knew it.

Not anymore though. Since I'm a "grown up," school-on-Mondays are dead and I can do whatever I want. Like tonight? I'm getting together with friends and watching "Revenge of the Nerds" AND "Revenge of the Nerds Part 2." I'll probably even eat pizza. And ice cream. And I'll take my evening bath when I'm good and ready, goddamit.

But... y'know... "school-on-Mondays" isn't really the issue here. The dreariness of "Sundays" still remains. Just not on Sundays. And in a different form.

It's like... ? Okay. In third grade, my hatred for Sundays was so strong that I'd actually start dreading it by Saturday night. Instead of just enjoying "Saturday Night Live," I'd be thinking about how much it would suck to watch "60 Minutes" at the dinner table the next day. And how that big ticking "60 Minutes" clock would mock me, reminding me that time was passing and there was nothing I could do about it.



A couple months ago, I was bitching about this to a friend. And he - providing helpful advice - cited the Japanese and how they don't mourn the transitory, but find beauty in it. And how maybe I could do that, too.

But I doubt the Japanese even watch "Saturday Night Live."

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