Monday, March 9, 2009

Screed or Why I Might Move to Arizona Even though it's SO Crazy Hot There

You know, when I started this thing I decided I would try to avoid ranting. The problem with a rant is that, in the history of the world, a rant has never changed anyone's mind. For example, Ayn Rand ranted via John Galt and only managed to rally up an army of adolescent thinkers for whom the only thing more awesome than their own awesome awesomeness is the awesomer awesomeness of Ayn Rand. The rest of us found it magnificently tedious*. Rants, in other words, can fire up people who already agree with you, and, really, what's the point of that?

That said, I feel ranty. I feel like a screed. Just call me Screedy McRantyPants. And, here is why: I HATE daylight savings time. I hate it with a liquid white hot passion. I hate it so much that if I met it walking down the street I would punch it in the nuts with no preliminaries. And as it lay on the ground, writhing in pain, I would laugh. Haughtily.

Here is why:

- This morning I had to wake up in the dark
- This morning I had to wake my daughter up in the dark
- This morning the sun was in a weird and annoying place as I drove in.
- This morning I sat in a conference room for 10 minutes wondering why no one in the UK was dialing into our conference call
- This evening I had to put Laney to bed while it was light out
- There are at least two clocks in this house I do not know how to change
- This July fireworks will start at 9:00 pm, at least an hour after the child is ready for full on meltdown.

I. Hate. Daylight. Savings. Time.

I heard a rumor that the president was thinking about getting rid of it since it makes no logical sense. Turns out some science types just said he OUGHT to get rid of it.

Now I'm disappointed. I wish he'd get rid of it.

* This entirely off topic slam of Atlas Shrugged brought to you by the fact that I have hated that schmaltzy book for about 15 years now since an old boyfriend made me read it and lately there's been much intertoobz chatter about all these dimwitted righty types who are waxing rhapsodic about Going Galt to which I would like to say, using my favorite eloquent farewell: smell ya later, ya big dummies, and the sooner the better.