8 hours/day
Apr 3, 2013 2:00:22 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Apr 3, 2013 2:00:22 GMT -5
Good morning to you all! 'The Guardian' leads today with some editorial comment in praise of … getting your eight hours: Marx was wrong: capitalism did not die of its internal contradictions, but because the people running the show are knackered. The crisis of capitalism is five years old, yet it took until Tuesday's 'Guardian' for its prime cause to emerge. The answer, clearly, lies in how early chief executives get up. Some of the world's top managers claimed they rose at 5.45am, "5am, sometimes earlier" and – suspect in its vagueness – "usually early". How do these industrial titans spend their sleep dividends? They hit either email or the gym. 'The Guardian' concludes thus:
I propose some toast: to Karl Marx, 'Das Kapital' and sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub; for in that sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause: there's the respect that makes calamity of so long life; for who would bear the whips and scorns of time, the oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, the pangs of despised love, the law's delay, the insolence of office and the spurns that patient merit of the unworthy takes, when he himself might his quietus make with a bare bodkin?
Who would fardels bear, to grunt and sweat under a weary life, but that the dread of something after death, the undiscover'd country from whose bourn no traveller returns, puzzles the will and makes us rather bear those ills we have than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; and thus the native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, and enterprises of great pith and moment with this regard their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action. - Soft you now! The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remember'd.
" ... Marx was wrong: capitalism did not die of its internal contradictions, but because the people running the show are knackered, and pointlessly busy. Goya could not have a painted a more gruesome hell than a FTSE chieftain going full pelt on a cross-trainer – one eye on CNBC, the other on his iPad. We've seen sleepless power before: think Thatcher at her cockiest, Brown at his weakest. Their bad decisions arose partly because they didn't get a full eight hours' kip. So, Mr AOL and Ms Mediacom, give yourselves (and us) a break: hit that snooze button."
I propose some toast: to Karl Marx, 'Das Kapital' and sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub; for in that sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause: there's the respect that makes calamity of so long life; for who would bear the whips and scorns of time, the oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, the pangs of despised love, the law's delay, the insolence of office and the spurns that patient merit of the unworthy takes, when he himself might his quietus make with a bare bodkin?
Who would fardels bear, to grunt and sweat under a weary life, but that the dread of something after death, the undiscover'd country from whose bourn no traveller returns, puzzles the will and makes us rather bear those ills we have than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; and thus the native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, and enterprises of great pith and moment with this regard their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action. - Soft you now! The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remember'd.