Modernism Monday: “Mr. Dabada,” Carlos Jean


Have a good weekend?  That’s nice.  Get some sleep?  Have a few drinks?  Went for a hike, caught up on your scrapbooking, maybe tagged some buildings?  Did you “kick back” and maybe even “chillax?”  Cool, cool.  You know what?  Monday doesn’t care.  Monday thinks your social life – if that’s what you call your improv classes and the occasional “Thirsty Thursday” with those holier-than-thou Levant desk officers – is about as exciting as a Bob Ross marathon.  It’s kind of cute, in a way, how you saunter around on Saturday and Sunday, feeling all pleased with yourself, deliberately choosing to forget that Monday is going to jump off the top rope and drop a knee to your lower back as soon as you crank up your computer.  Five minutes until you present your new project idea?  Printer chokes on the sides.  That thing you delegated to that new guy to do last week?  Not only did he do it wrong, but he undid some of your own work, too.  Like yogurt?  Great!  It’s now all down the front of your black dress.

What Monday doesn’t know is that you have a secret weapon: Mr. Dabada.  Your music shields are up and your phasers are set to stun.  “Hey man – what the hell you doing?!”  “I…I’m going crazy!”  

Okay, Monday… let’s dance.  


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