That’s because you’re still 100 feet from the shore. You’re thrashing around in the water, trying to make it to dry land, but the creature’s fin slicing the water behind you is a reminder that nothing ever goes as planned. Just a few more feet, you say to yourself. Just a few more feet to safety. Your mind runs through the dates for Brian Wilson as your toes finally scrape bottom. You struggle up on to the beach as the mighty beast breaks surface, his gaping jaws opening behind you, only to snap shut upon thin air. You’ve made it. You’re safe!

But only for a moment. For just as you emerge from the surf and walk up onto the beach, members of Congress appear out of nowhere. Senators, representatives, and their ilk, such as lobbyists and special interest groups, mass between you and the parking lot. Look! There’s Tom DeLay. He wants to put the hammer down. And look over there. It’s Ted Kennedy! He wants to take you for a ride. Meanwhile, Big Oil wants to lube you a good one, and the ACLU wants to sue you a new one. But you’re not worried. Your thoughts about The Allman Brothers Band, Wilco and The Black Crowes shield you from their outstretched hands as you reach your car, unlock the door and climb behind the wheel. You’re inside. Sanctuary!

Not quite. As you drive down the street, the living dead appear out of nowhere. Flesh eating zombies, their arms outstretched, they move out into the street, blocking your car. Your foot presses on the accelerator. With your pedal to the metal, your mind races through the schedules for Drowning Pool, Elvis Costello and Paul McCartney as your vehicle plows into the zombies like a bowling ball smashes into its target, resulting in an explosion of zombie flesh. A quick glance in the rear view mirror shows zombie hands, feet and heads scattered on the roadway behind you. You’re finally safe.

But that just goes to show you that it’s a dangerous world out there. A world where terror and horror await your every move as you wander through this crazy thing we call life. And even though you managed to beat the odds one more time, even though you’re safe, and all that unpleasantness is behind you, you’re reminded of the two things – the two guarantees in life that are just as certain as death and taxes.

The first guarantee? It’s simple. Thinking about concert tours, like the ones by Mudvayne, Pearl Jam and Bruce Springsteen, is the only thing that will protect you when the going gets rough. That’s a solid, carved-in-stone fact. That’s the first absolute.

And the second? That’s easy.

Mondays always suck.