Shaving is the pits. No, not the armpits, which is just one of the numerous body parts we crazy humans shave. The pits. As in the worst. It’s a waste of time, and if I could do away with that particular chore forever, I’d be ecstatic.I can’t do away with it though, so instead I’ll just complain about it.Most boys spend their pre-teen years longing for the day when they’ll have whiskers. It’s a sign of manhood, I suppose, although most boys who try to grow mustaches look more ridiculous than they do manly. Facial hair usually doesn’t decide to grow in the same place at the same rate at the same time, so most teenage boys who try to grow facial hair end up with a patchwork of hair that’s different lengths, thickness and color.Then at some point—and I’m not sure when—we begin shaving. And no matter how dumb we are with our half-assed, peach fuzz mustaches, we somehow become even dumber when we begin to shave.Is there any bigger waste of money in the personal hygiene business than shaving? (Okay, maybe men’s liquid body wash, but that’s a topic for a different post.)Go to the shaving aisle and look at the selections. Reusable razors with disposable cartridges have come to dominate the shaving world over the past couple of decades. And the companies who make them are like crack dealers. They give you the razor and one cartridge for ten bucks or so. “That doesn’t seem too expensive,” you think, so you buy the razor.Then they have you. There’s no going back.You can only use their particular cartridges on that razor, and they know it. So when it comes time to buy more cartridges you have no choice but to pay $35 for five cartridges. We’ve already spent the money for the razor, so they know we’ll pony up.And the worst part is, they’re making fools of us. Every few years they’ll come out with a new cartridge, for which a new razor is required. “The revolutionary five blade system provides the closest shave possible.” Yeah, until two years from now when they miraculously come out with a six blade system. Bastards.In the very first Saturday Night Live episode ever there’s a parody of a shaving commercial. The product they’re pitching? A razor with three blades! And they pitch it exactly how the razor companies pitched it twenty years later. The first blade grabs the whisker, the second blade cuts it, and the third blade cuts it again. Your face will be as smooth as a billiard ball they claim.The tagline? “The Triple-Trac. Because you’ll believe anything!”We’re such idiots.Shaving gel is another ripoff. The commercial for that should say, “We want you to pay three times as much for shaving gel as you do for shaving cream, because we know you’ll believe that it’s better for your face.” Then, at the end of the commercial they’d whisper, “We know you’re an idiot.”Men don’t have a monopoly on shaving idiocy though. Women somehow have been fooled into believing that they need a special razor as well. Something softer, more delicate, with a thicker handle, and if at all possible, pink.The only reason the world needs one razor for women and one razor for men is for the bottom line of the razor companies. They can sell twice as many razors and we’re none the wiser.Well the jig is up! We’re wiser now.So what to do? The best thing to do is not shave at all. But best is a relative term in this situation, and it’s entirely possible that the special lady or gentleman in your life won’t like that solution.So if shaving is a must, then I suggest going with the old school double-edged razors. I got one a couple of years ago and it works great. The razor is expensive—around $35—but the big shaving companies don’t make them, so you get to experience the feeling of stickin’ it to the man! Also, the blades are like $.50 a piece instead of ten or twelve times that amount.One warning though: you might accidentally cut yourself really bad and bleed out.By the way, if you like what you're reading here, you should like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes.You should subscribe to this blog, don't you think? That way you'll never forget to come back. Forgetting is bad. So why don't you just type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. I'm not going to send you a bunch of junk, and you can ditch me any time you want.
A Man's Miss America Recap
In case your Sunday night didn’t include watching the 2015 Miss America pageant, I’ve done the dirty work for you. Thank me later.I missed the beginning, so anything that happened before the swimsuit competition gets a free pass. Everything that happened after that practically wrote this post for me.First, who taught these women to walk? For most of the competition they’re in some sort of dress, so I don’t think their abnormal gait is noticeable. But during the swimsuit competition there’s little to hide behind, so we see just how ridiculous they look when they walk. Their feet swayed back-and-forth so much, and their hips jerked side-to-side with such gumption that if I saw someone walking like that in public I’d refer them to a reputable chiropractor I know.And, by the way, does the high-heel/bikini combination occur anywhere else besides beauty pageants and in between rounds of boxing matches?Now to the contestants. Oh my goodness, the contestants. Like I mentioned before, I missed the first part of the show, which means that I missed more than half the contestants. I’m not too happy about that. If the women I saw were the best-of-the-best, then I really regret not seeing the rest of them.The first person to catch my eye was Miss Kentucky. During her evening gown traipse they played a voiceover of her saying that she wanted to be like Audrey Hepburn. Fine. But I’m pretty sure Audrey Hepburn wasn't known for side boob.Miss Ohio. I’m no fashion expert, but the lapels on her dress were hideous. If even I know that something fashion-related is ridiculous, then it’s way out of bounds. Seriously, search for a picture of her. Bad.Miss Oklahoma. What the hell? What follows is a direct quote from her voiceover: “This gown accentuates my giraffe-like qualities.”For the love of God, what does that even mean? It shows how you can eat sticks from high trees? We get a good view of your ten-inch vertebrae?I began to feel bad about making fun of Miss Oklahoma for that statement, but then I watched her do some interpretive dance. I looked for giraffe-like qualities, but really all I wanted was for a lion to appear on stage.During the talent competition, little bubbles appeared on screen with fun facts about the women.One of Miss Arkansas’s pieces of information stated that she likes giraffes. Is Geoffrey from Toys ‘r Us running this thing? What’s with all the giraffe lovers?Miss Massachusetts made no mention of loving giraffes, but she played the piano in a gown that accentuated her long neck. Coincidental that the woman who actually did sort of look like a giraffe made no mention of liking giraffes? Probably not.Although she didn’t like giraffes, she did say that she was once attacked by a cheetah in Zambia. (See what I mean about this post writing itself?) After her performance her dad enthusiastically waved some sort of light saber in the audience, like a wannabe Luke Skywalker.Most of the talents were rather lame. Miss Ohio—she of the really bad lapels—had the best of the night. She sang Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious as a ventriloquist. So she’d sing a few words and then her dummy would sing a few words. It was actually quite impressive. A cynic would say it’s not surprising that the best performance involved a dummy with a bunch of fake parts.I wouldn’t say that. A cynic would.Miss Florida’s first fun fact stated that she slapped a shark as a child. Her second fact said that she loves Waffle House. She won the “Fastest Transformation from Interesting to Boring” part of the competition.My favorite fun fact appeared while Miss New York performed. The bubble said she “loves anything Jane Austin.” I’d love to know if Miss New York or the person typing the bubbles isn’t aware that the author’s name is Jane Austen, not Austin.Because I don’t like to just pick apart things without offering ways to improve them, I have a couple of ideas.First, some contestant should find a way to wear a thong for the swimsuit portion. Picture this: a contestant walks out on stage in her bikini, does her little twirl, and then out of nowhere rips the fabric off the bottom of her bikini, revealing a thong. Can you imagine? Whether she won or not people would know her name and her state, and the Miss America pageant would become must-see TV every year forever.Second, they should tell each of the finalists they’ve won and then judge them on their crying face. I have no doubt that if the judges saw the face Miss New York was making after she won they wouldn’t have awarded the crown to her. Yikes.And by the way, I don’t believe the contestants’ oft-repeated claims of “These women are so great” and “I’ve made such good friends” and “Any of them would make a great Miss America.” Someday one of those women—probably the runner-up—is going to shiv the winner.By the way, if you like what you're reading here, you should like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes.You should subscribe to this blog, don't you think? That way you'll never forget to come back. Forgetting is bad. So why don't you just type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. I'm not going to send you a bunch of junk, and you can ditch me any time you want.
What Does Never Forget Mean on 9/11?
I can’t think of another day of the year that’s known simply by its numbers. 9/11. Every other day in which we pause to remember has a name. Memorial Day. Veterans Day. Thanksgiving. Christmas. Even the casual reference to Independence Day frames it in the lyrical 4th of July, and not 7/4.Maybe we call it 9/11 because there’s no other simple name for it. Unlike Pearl Harbor the events of the day weren’t confined to a single location. Sadly, we can’t just say the Terrorist Attacks, because there have been other attacks on other days in other places. Or maybe 9/11 has stuck because of the resemblance of that second number to those two towers.Whatever the reason—and for many reasons—9/11 is a day like no other.On the thirteenth anniversary we’ll see a constant stream of remembrances. Politicians will go to events, news organizations will air special programming, and practically everyone with a social media account will post something with a version of “Never Forget” attached to it.Never Forget began appearing almost as soon as the attacks happened. I don’t remember where I first saw the phrase, but since that was before Facebook (Crazy, huh? A world before Facebook?) I probably saw it either on a bumper sticker or in an e-mail forward. And actually, at the beginning I think it had mostly vengeful connotations.A lot has happened since then though. What does Never Forget mean now? What does it mean after buildings have been repaired or rebuilt, after the man responsible for the attacks has been killed, after the man who planned the attacks has been imprisoned, and after the people whose lives were directly affected by the attacks have lived almost 5,000 days since then?What aren’t we forgetting? And are we remembering, or just not forgetting?Do we mean we’ll Never Forget how we felt when we first heard the news? Or when we watched the plumes of smoke? Will we Never Forget how scared we were? Or how confused? Or how worried?Or do we mean we’ll Never Forget the victims? We knew some of their names in the months after that day, but do we remember them anymore? Do we only think of them on this day? Will we Never Forget the people on those planes? Or the people at their desks? Or the people who faced a desperation we’ll likely never face? Or the people who went in to help and never came back?And what about the people left behind? Will we Never Forget the babies born after their fathers died? Or the wives and children who witnessed that exact terrible moment? Or the parents whose children didn’t outlive them? We can say Never Forget, but they really can never forget.It shouldn’t become a cliché. How often do we say “I love you” without really thinking about it? If we’re not careful it becomes trite and devoid of meaning. We run the same risk by just saying Never Forget, without actually taking time to remember something or someone specific.In Spring 2012, we took a family vacation to Washington, DC. On the way there we stopped at the Flight 93 National Memorial in Pennsylvania. It was a late March Saturday, cool, foggy. Just off of U.S. 30 we followed the winding park road a couple of miles over and around rolling hills. We parked and got out of the car, and I immediately noticed the silence. The site is in the middle of nowhere, miles from the nearest road or town.A path leading from the parking lot to the memorial is enclosed on one side by a short wall at a 40 degree angle, signifying the angle of the plane when it crashed. At the end of the path 40 large pieces of white marble each contain the name of a crash victim. The marble stands along the side of a path of black granite, which marks the flight’s path. At the end of the granite a ceremonial gate leads to the crash site. Visitors can only look through the gate at the large boulder noting the impact site 400 feet away.
Because of the weather, and by mere chance, we were the only people near the marble panels and the ceremonial gate for ten or fifteen minutes when we visited. My oldest daughter, who was four years old on 9/11, and so understands the importance of the memorial, looked around, read the names. My wife, as she so often does, took poignant pictures. My youngest daughter, just a year-and-a-half old, walked around without a care. And I stood with my sons—aged five and seven—and tried to explain why the memorial existed, and why we were there.And just like that day in 2001, nothing I said made sense. To them or to me.You should subscribe to this blog, don't you think? So why don't you just type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. I'm not going to send you a bunch of junk, and you can ditch me any time you want.
Learning In Spite of Myself
I like to think that I’m a smart guy. I mean, I’m no Einstein (as in Albert), but I’m also no Epstein (as in Juan, a Sweathog on Welcome Back, Kotter). On the stupid/smart continuum I think I lean a couple of notches toward smart.However, there are a few things that I refuse to learn.Okay, maybe refuse isn’t the right word. It’s not that I refuse to learn these things, it’s that I can’t learn them. No matter how hard I try, no matter how many examples I have, I just don’t grasp the concept.Now, I’m not talking about difficult stuff here, like Japanese, or quantum mechanics, or why the Cubs can’t get a two-out hit.I’m talking about normal, everyday stuff that most people appear to have figured out, but that I have a tough time with.Actually, when I put it that way, maybe it isn’t that I can’t learn. Maybe I do just refuse to learn. That’s stubborn of me.(No it’s not!)For example, I like to cook, and I’m pretty decent at it. The stuff I make tastes good most of the time, but every now and then I make something so horrific that I have to make myself choke it down. (God forbid I waste a morsel of food, even if it does taste worse than those bits I scoop up from the kitchen drain!)And usually the culprit of such culinary ineptitude is the stove. Or more accurately, the flame.No one has yet succeeded in explaining to me why I can’t cook something at twice the heat in half the time. If I can cook a burger in 6 minutes at 300 degrees, then shouldn’t I be able to cook the same burger in 3 minutes at 600 degrees? Simple mathematics says yes, but the wiseguy who controls meat doneness says it doesn’t work that way.If I can write those words, then why can’t I turn the flame down, wait a few minutes, and end up with a good burger? (That’s not a rhetorical question. I really want to know why I ignore my experience!)Example number two is time-related also. If I have to be somewhere at two o’clock, and I know it takes twenty-five minutes to get there if there’s absolutely no traffic, then why do I always assume there will be no traffic and leave at 1:35, only to end up arriving ten minutes late?I think that has to do with my general perversion of time, which manifests itself in a variety of ways.If there’s a household project, I’ll evaluate what needs to be done, figure out how to do it, and then come to a conclusion as to how long it will take to complete said project. It will inevitably take longer than I thought, yet when it’s done I’m actually surprised that it took so long.“Wow, I really thought I could paint that entire room in 90 minutes. I can’t believe it took the entire day.” I should believe it, especially since it probably took me all day to paint the damn thing the last time I did it!Perhaps the most maddening thing that I’m slow to learn is the relationship between a low fuel gauge on my car, and running out of gas. I’ve written about this before. I understand there’s a problem. But still, I continue to push the out-of-gas boundary.(Although, in my defense, I will say that I have running out of gas down to a science. The past three times I’ve run out of gas I’ve actually made it to a gas station. So there’s that.)So to what do I attribute my inability to learn these simple lessons? If I have obvious evidence pointing me in a direction, then why can’t I bring myself to act on that evidence?I’ve spent a lot of time pondering that question, and the conclusion I’ve come to is that I’m asking the wrong question. I shouldn’t be asking, “Why can’t I learn this or that?” The better question is “How the hell did I learn anything at all?”Your guess is as good as mine.In fact, it’s probably better.By the way, if you like what you're reading here, you should like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes.You should subscribe to this blog, don't you think? That way you'll never forget to come back. Forgetting is bad. So why don't you just type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. I'm not going to send you a bunch of junk, and you can ditch me any time you want.
Dear Monday, Nobody Likes You
Dear Monday,In general, I try to follow the common rule of not saying anything at all if I don’t have something nice to say. It’s good advice. However, it’s time someone told you the truth.You suck. Nobody likes you.I know you’ve been given a raw deal with your situation in relation to the work week, but that’s not my problem. Excuses will get you nowhere in life.So think of this as constructive criticism. You can’t change where you fall among the days of the week, but perhaps there are some things you can do better.First, stop being in such a rush to get here. Take your time, stop and smell the roses. Most of the time it seems like I’m enjoying a nice quiet Friday night, and then ten minutes later it’s Monday morning. What the hell?Follow Friday’s lead. That’s a leisurely day if I’ve ever seen one. Everyone in the world is waiting for Friday to come, but that doesn’t make Friday come any faster. Friday goes at its own pace. It takes its time, strolls through the park, has a cigarette, eats a big Italian lunch, and makes its appearance only when we can’t wait any more.And we love Friday, right? So maybe if you wouldn’t be in such a damn rush to get here all the time, we might like you more, too.Since you’re named after the moon, maybe it might be helpful if you acted like the moon every now and then. Pay close attention here…The moon is always there, but there’s only one night a month in which it completely shows itself to us. And actually, even on that night we only see one side of it. The dark side is always hidden. But anyway, the full moon only comes once every twenty-nine days or so. The rest of the time we only see part of the moon, or sometimes, none of it at all.You should start doing that. Every twenty-ninth appearance you can stick around for 24 hours. The rest of the time, don’t show your entire self. Limit your appearance. Can you imagine how much more beloved you’d be if we knew that sometimes you were only around for three or six or fifteen hours? Remember what they say about absence’s effect on the heart!Also, it’s about time you took some responsibility. Let’s face it, you’re the beginning of the week. It all starts with you, which is why there’s so much animosity toward you. The claim that you’re actually the second day of the week only makes things worse. Sunday isn’t first. You are! Own it. Accept it.Haven’t you ever heard the claim that it’s not the crime that gets people in trouble, but rather the cover up? It’s the same with you. Trying to dodge the responsibility of beginning a new week and deflect it to Sunday is just scandalous. I don’t know whether you’ve heard or not, but Saturday and Sunday are the weekEND. It’s difficult to be both the end and the beginning of something. So go out there and claim the beginning of the week. Stop being a shyster about it. People like honesty.You’re still facing an uphill battle though, Monday. There’s a deep history of distrust and dislike toward you, and just doing the things that I describe above probably won’t be enough. Most people probably still won’t like you.True, you throw us a few bones every now and then. Lots of people like Monday Night Football, and Memorial Day and Labor Day are pretty awesome, but that doesn’t account for very many Mondays, so good luck. You’re going to need it.You remember that old Bangles song, Manic Monday, don’t you? Well it’s a little known fact that they actually wanted to call it Motherf@#cking Monday, but the record company wouldn’t allow it. But even with the tamed down version, it’s still an awesome song and sums up how everyone feels about you.Thanks for understanding, Monday. I hope you take this advice to heart and try to do better. We’d all be better off if you sucked a little bit less.By the way, if you like what you're reading here, you should like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes.You should subscribe to this blog, don't you think? That way you'll never forget to come back. Forgetting is bad. So why don't you just type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. I'm not going to send you a bunch of junk, and you can ditch me any time you want.
Joan Rivers: Her Critics Missed the Larger Point
If you believe Joan Rivers—which I do, because, well why not?—Johnny Carson never spoke to her after she landed her own late night talk show on Fox back in the eighties. Supposedly he felt betrayed, and evidently he held a grudge.And he could take a joke!Usually people who respond to comedians in such a manner are people who miss the larger point of a comedian’s work.Although Joan Rivers was a comedy icon who had plenty of success throughout her career, and made a small fortune by using her cutting wit and aggressive manner to not only attract attention, but to make people laugh as soon as she got their attention, the laughter often morphed into criticism.She was criticized for going too far in some of her jokes. I read an article where one of her friends said that days after 9/11 she asked him if he wanted to meet for lunch at Windows on the Ground (a reference to Windows on the World, the restaurant at the top of one of the World Trade Center towers). It’s hard to think how a joke could go farther out than that.Unlike the 9/11 joke, which she told in private and didn’t get criticized for, she did receive criticism for telling jokes about the Holocaust, Nazis, and kidnapping victims, among other things.Some criticism should be expected when joking about such subjects, so it shouldn’t be surprising. However, given her long career, and the free-flowing, almost nonstop stream of humor that she produced, she deserved some slack.But more importantly, she recognized something that many people forget: comedians are supposed to make fun of things. We want them to make fun of things. The better a comedian is at making fun of things, the funnier they are. And of course we want them to funny. (Is there anything worse than an unfunny comedian?)There is no shortage of people to tell us how dreadful, frightening or sad a situation is. All we have to do is turn on the evening news. After a while, it gets exhausting. I like to keep abreast of current events, but even I have to tune out sometimes because there’s just too much killing, sickness and tragedy. Bad news.Joan Rivers did many things very well in show business, but my favorite thing about her is that she realized that if something is funny, it’s funny, no matter who gets upset. When she told a joke her primary goal wasn’t to offend, but to entertain. We know the stories of all the bad things, so if someone can find even the smallest morsel of humor in the most horrible news of the day, then I think we should embrace that.Perhaps the reason she was so good at finding comedy in tragedy is because she faced some of her own. Her husband of twenty-two years committed suicide when she was in her fifties. She took some time off, but during her first show back she told jokes about his suicide on stage.Self-deprecating humor formed the foundation of her early career, and she continued to make fun of herself for decades. Some people try to hide the fact that they had plastic surgery, but she used it as material.I’m no fashion expert, but sometimes I tuned into her Fashion Police show with my wife and daughter just to see what outrageous thing she’d say. More than once I wondered if she’d get in trouble for something she said. And the one-line assessments of some star’s outfit (“It looks like a decorative toilet seat cover” or “It looked like Prince’s old prom dress”) were as on-the-mark as they were funny.Some criticized her for her commentary, but she didn‘t care. She got great ratings, was wickedly entertaining, and correctly pointed out that the people she commented on made an effort to display their outfits. To suggest that she was being mean for evaluating fashion choices made by people who want to be judged by their fashion choices is laughable. If we can say how great some actress looks in one dress, why not say how ridiculous another actress looks in a different dress?If I was as talented as she was I’d put some joke here about her being dead.Unfortunately, I’m not as funny as her. Few ever were.By the way, if you like what you're reading here, you should like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes.You should subscribe to this blog, don't you think? That way you'll never forget to come back. Forgetting is bad. So why don't you just type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. I'm not going to send you a bunch of junk, and you can ditch me any time you want.
It's Time to End Labor Day
Well, since no one else is willing to say it, I guess I’ll go ahead and be the bad guy. It’s not going to be popular, I know, but things that are necessary sometimes aren’t. So here goes nothing.It’s time to put an end to Labor Day.I know you’re probably thinking the same thing, but in case you’re not, hear me out. It makes so much sense once you put it all together.First of all, why are we giving labor its own holiday? I mean moms already have Mother’s Day and their own birthday, so just how many damn holidays are we going to give them? And doesn’t each mom already celebrate Labor Day? In fact, my wife celebrates four Labor Days each year; what’s a child’s birthday if not an acknowledgement of labor?Can’t mothers just be happy with what they have without asking for more, more, more? They like to make a big deal about how kids always say, “Can I have…” all the while they’re pushing for another holiday.This shouldn’t be surprising though. You moms have become more demanding in recent years. Don’t believe me? I’ve got two words that end the argument in my favor right away.Push present.You want a present for pushing out a baby? Isn’t the baby a present? What kind of lesson are you teaching your precious bundle of joy by insinuating that you need to be compensated for giving birth? Must we commoditize everything?This is just part of a larger moms-as-swindlers trend that has grown in the last decade or so. It begins shortly after the wedding. The new bride has that fancy (two months pay, right?) engagement ring and wedding ring on the left hand, and to balance things out someone came up with the idea of a right hand ring.Are you crazy? I must have missed the rash of falling injuries that occurred from these poor, delicate women falling over from the extra weight on the left side of their unbalanced bodies. And, of course, the only way to fix that unbalance is to get a ring for the right hand as well. Shysters!But as usual, we gentleman give in to the demands made by our women. Since their happiness is always foremost in our thoughts, this should be no surprise.I do have one suggestion though, if we’re going to have Labor Day, then we should have a corresponding day for men. Maybe we should call it Pacing in the Waiting Room and Then Passing Out Cigars Day. That sounds fair, right?And maybe that will makeup for the gross inequity we experience between Mother’s Day and Father’s Day. Talk about a raw deal. Dads are supposed to pull out all the stops for Mother’s Day, and then be happy with some hamburgers and hot dogs for Father’s Day. Not to mention the fact that teachers help kids create some cute gift for their mothers, but by the time Father’s Day rolls around the kids are out of school and we miss out on the hand-drawn refrigerator magnet.One last thing, which I wasn’t going to bring up, since fashion and clothing is usually the purview of mothers, not fathers, but enough is enough. What’s with this rule that people can’t wear white after Labor Day? If my lovely bride is in a position to celebrate Labor Day, then it seems as though she should have stopped wearing white long ago according to wedding traditions.So what do you think? Are you ready to give up Labor Day? It really does seem like complete nonsense. Let’s put an end to it so we can concentrate on important holidays, like Valentine’s Day. Which reminds me, if you want to have a day celebrating labor, maybe we should change it to November, which happens to be nine months after Valentine’s Day!Wait. What’s that you say? Labor Day isn’t about giving birth? It’s about something else? Well in that case, read this.By the way, if you like what you're reading here, you should like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes.You should subscribe to this blog, don't you think? That way you'll never forget to come back. Forgetting is bad. So why don't you just type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. I'm not going to send you a bunch of junk, and you can ditch me any time you want.
Things to Remember on Labor Day
This may come as a surprise, but Labor Day isn’t just the unofficial end of summer, or the last day it’s acceptable to wear white, or the day to score a great deal on a mattress.Chances are you’re not working on Labor Day, which itself is one of the greatest testaments to the holiday, and the movement from which it sprang. In fact, we owe a debt of gratitude to the labor movement for most of the benefits we receive from working.How’d you like to work 61 hours a week? That was average back in 1870 before the labor movement began. Then in the 1880s labor organizers set a goal of an eight hour workday to begin on May 1, 1886. It took years of struggle, but eventually the eight hour day became standard.Of course 61 hours isn’t too bad, because that means 21 hours overtime, right? Wishful thinking, buddy. Overtime is another labor movement accomplishment.And those two days off before Labor Day, those are called the weekend. A quick check of the Oxford English Dictionary shows ten quotes from written material using the word “weekend.” Nine of those ten came from 1870 or later. That can’t possibly be a coincidence.These days kids in America go to school until they’re about eighteen years old. A hundred years ago or so, it was common for kids to be part of the labor force. And I’m not talking about the sixteen-year-old kid bagging your groceries. I’m talking about a nine-year-old kid working in a coal mine separating impurities from chunks of coal. It took forty years for the labor movement to outlaw breaker boys and child labor, so who knows how long it would have taken without unions.Some of labor’s accomplishments are less obvious. The labor movement and unions had great influence on the Civil Rights movement, the Social Security Act, OSHA, and, more recently, the Family and Medical Leave Act.It’s become en vogue in recent decades to trash unions. They’re responsible for the deep budget deficits found in many states, union workers are lazy, unions themselves are corrupt. We’ve forgotten just how much our lives—not just our jobs, but our lives—are indebted to unions and the labor movement.Would you like to work twelve hours a day, seven days a week, for a miniscule hourly wage? Thanks to unions you don’t have to.Would you like to go to work every day and never know whether you might die because your workplace is unsafe? Thanks to unions you don’t have to.Would you like to work in a place where workers are viewed as nothing but commodities, and have no say in how they’re treated? Thanks to unions you don’t have to.Of course unions aren’t perfect. There is some justification for the criticism. Some of the leaders are corrupt. Some of the workers are lazy. But that’s not because they’re union. It’s because they’re human.For most of us, the lives we live today can be directly traced back to the people who struggled for workers’ rights. Some people died for those rights. In places like Haymarket, Pullman, Republic Steel—all of which have strong ties to Chicago—workers helped secure the rights and benefits that we enjoy today. I’m off work today because of the hard work and sacrifice they made so many years ago.So when we’re enjoying our end-of-summer picnics, and finding great deals on furniture, cars, and whatever else, we should take a moment to remember why the day exists in the first place. We should remember the people who paved the way for us to live the lives we live, the people who saw wrong and tried to right it.And it wouldn’t hurt to think of those people who still work in difficult conditions today. People who aren’t paid enough; people who still risk their lives, even with safety regulations; people who work, and struggle, and fight every single day, and still have trouble making ends meet. People who work on Labor Day.It’s called Labor Day because it was difficult, and it hasn’t become much easier.By the way, if you like what you're reading here, you should like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes.You should subscribe to this blog, don't you think? That way you'll never forget to come back. Forgetting is bad. So why don't you just type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. I'm not going to send you a bunch of junk, and you can ditch me any time you want.