Today started too early. It was a rough one. It was still dark out, but someone wanted to get up. It's all part of the daily grind and uncertain schedules. The early morning leads to getting to work and getting everything done that needs to be done. It leads to needing to come up with what's going to be for breakfast, what's going to be for lunch and what's going to be for dinner. It leads to fulfilling the needs of those little ones who can literally do nothing for themselves. It leads to falling asleep during storytime. It leads to crankiness, to being short with your wife, to the terrifying conclusion that there's a pretty good shot that tomorrow's going to be another day just like it, maybe worse, maybe better, but quite possibly the exact same as today. Your body only partially gets used to such punishing routines. It only deals with so much before it just shuts you down and gives you a silent tongue-lashing. With or without children, this is a routine story these days. Everyone's looking to maximize their time and they're forced to work obscene hours, days that don't lend themselves favorable to much sleep, little to no quality interactions with your loved betrothed and married and no energy to do anything else. You walk around with a short fuse and fucked up, gray bags below your eyes. It's a horrible way to live. The Holidays feel for us and the band from Sydney, Australia, is giving us something to get us through these expanded days and nights of all work and no play. When you put on their latest album, "Post Paradise," you're suddenly transported to a wave pool, where the only things you hear are gleeful squeals and happiness. You're surrounded by the kinds of breezes that are kisses and you're immediately offline, unplugged, unconcerned and…my goodness…you've even gotten yourself a good tan in the blink of an eye. Everything's looking up and you've not felt better than you do right now in a long time. We're not sure how they've done it, but by golly they've done it. All of the stolen sunshine and the hijacked days, where you've worked yourself tired well past closing time, well past dinnertime, are forgotten about and you've been given a chance to head on over to that happy hour that you always miss out on.