You have probably all heard the news by now of the JetBlue flight attendant Steven Slater, 38, who wrapped-up an in-flight argument with a passenger upon landing by getting on the intercom and emphatically cursing the paying customers, grabbing a couple of the airline's brewskis and escaping down the emergency exit chute, en route to a few quiet moments alone before being briefly thrown in the pokey.

The news of Slater's legendary meltdown, which has spread through media outlets like wildfire, is amusing but not surprising to me - as I explained in a phone conversation earlier this afternoon with an official of CNN's Headline News as part of the Your Views segment of their daily news program. The station was asking viewers to comment on whether Slater is a working-class hero or if he went too far? My opinion: Slater is a hero in the same way that you would applaud a patient for going to the doctor to achieve early detection. Kudos to him for bringing attention to the serious condition of widespread workplace misery that is swallowing up the masses in epidemic proportions.

Job satisfaction is at an all time low in this country, and truth be told, many of us are commonly corralling the temptation to toss in the towel with similar shenanigans. Yeah, Mr. Slater gets a "10" for style points, but the no-frills fact remains that the overwhelming demands and stress associated with a living labor-based existence (5 days of work and only 2 days off; 50 weeks out of a 52-week year; sunup to sundown) has most of us pulling our hair out, if there is any left at all. Slater's actions are merely symptomatic of a diseased work-first system that is in need of treatment leading to an ultimate cure. A work system that promotes more fairly balanced lives for its citizens is that cure. Until we get a higher dose of "me-time" we will continue to see guys and gals go from bubble to boil in the workplace - Slater style!

So . . . my 5 yr. old daughter who goes to gymnastics camp walks into my bedroom this morning to find me fetally fending off the morning light under the covers. Unphased, she asks me for assistance, "Daddy, can you help me pour a bowl of cereal?" she asks. I poke my left eye out from the covers, never lifting the right side of my face from the mattress. "Of course, honey" I tell her, "but how is it that a girl who made me watch her do 300 one-handed cartwheels last night can't manage to pour herself a bowl of cereal?