Re: labor standards

Weekends are too short. My revolutionary chant rang exceptionally clear this morning as I ran down my pre-flight checklist to become societally acceptable; all while in an ethanol-induced haze. Beginning the workday at the usual 45 minutes late, only further irritated my angst. I fully understand the old 9 to 5, was closer to 5 to 9, just a generation ago, but we’re in the 21st century now, by all some accounts Skynet was supposed to make life easier by now.

Sure we can (and should) thank Upton Sinclair for authoring The Jungle, which is often attributed for catalyzing early 20th century labor reforms, but it seems we’re regressing back upon all our leaps and bounds in troop welfare. We have factories which can almost stamp out a nearly ready-for-the-sales-floor automobile with minimal human interaction. Yet still, an overwhelming majority of us first world-ers are forced to maneuver our physical forms, from our personal, on the grid building many miles, over a terribly dangerous asphalt and concrete battlefield at a raged pace, to sit in another on the grid building, while wearing silly clothes and sharing air with folks you likely have nothing in common with, other than a common disdain for one another.

It’s a silly set of motions we force upon ourselves. Silly enough, I’ve grown to really appreciate Timothy Ferriss’ work, most notably The 4-Hour Workweek. Even with Ferriss’ acute case of self-obsessed narcissism and a cabal of dubious friends, I like to imagine his books may hold a life altering tip or two. I enjoy holding out for hope. Maybe one day I’ll find the time to actually read them, but I always find myself back at square one: weekends are too short.