There are two major events going on in the world about which I could write. I could either tackle yesterday's time change, or I could get funky about the baseball season starting up. In either case, the only loser is you, the reader. With that in mind, I say I shoot for the stars and go for both.
Time changes are sticky wickets. For the first 18 years of my life, I didn't have to worry about them because I knew my parents would make sure I was operating on the same clock as everyone else. That worked out well since I was relatively sure they weren't going to pull a trickaroo on me. Even if they were, they'd pick something a lot better than neglecting to change my alarm, like renting out my room to a puma breeder. Once I got to college though, I had to handle the time changes on my own. My friends, knowing how hopelessly incompetent I am at real life, would always warn me beforehand. The conversations would go something like this:
Friend: "Hey Cody, watch out for that time change tomorrow!"
Me: "You too, man!"
Friend walks off.
Me: "Wait, what just happened? Did you say something was happening tomorrow?"
Disaster was an inevitability in these situations, and I'd either forget to change my clock or I'd get all flummoxed and start changing it the wrong way. One year, I was operating on Greenwich Mean Time for a month and a half before someone corrected me. This gets me to a larger point, one that I feel very strongly about: we should have no time zones and no time changes. We wouldn't even have to use numbers for the time, we could just make up whatever time we wanted. For instance, right now, I could declare it is 15 Underwears past Tangerine o'clock (for those of you in the military, that's 27 Underwears past). I don't know if this would accomplish anything or not, but I'm tired of getting treated like a rented mule by Father Time. Drastic times, meet drastic solutions.
Now, baseball. Baseball has been dead to me since they started pitching overhand.Posted by Cody at April 5, 2004 6:10 PM