Tag: Daylight Saving Time

Fall back

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 7 Comments
Whoops. …

Halloween 2025 is dead and buried, but the boogeymen remain very much among us.

And now it’s time — well, nearly so, anyway — to fall back.

This is fine, for as far as it goes, which is not very. It’s 8:45 a.m. as I write this, the temperature is a brisk 42°, and the sun has yet to pop round from behind the Sandias. So tomorrow, once Daylight Saving Time ends, it will be 7:45 a.m. and I’ll have an extra hour to dither over whether I’ll need arm and knee warmers for the day’s ride or can just let it all hang out.

Well, not all, as in everything. One must consider the neighbors. Also, the police.

In any event, getting back one measly hour isn’t going to cut it. Not this year. I want to go all the way back to Nov. 5, 2024, this time to see a different result in that year’s pestilential erection, with the Republican candidate headed for the Big House instead of the White House.

Perhaps the day of reckoning would only be postponed, not eliminated. So be it. All I know for sure is that this timeline ain’t working for me. And I’m not alone. Hell, I’ll bet a bicycle or two that a critical number of people who actually voted for this mess would like to have a do-over, and pronto.

Where’s H.G. Wells when we need him? Lost in the dim mists of Time, more’s the pity.

He I know — for the question had been discussed among us long before the Time Machine was made — thought but cheerlessly of the advancement of mankind, and saw in the growing pile of civilization only a foolish heaping that must inevitably fall back upon and destroy its makers in the end. If that is so, it remains for us to live as though it were not so.

Rise and shine

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 10 Comments

Time for coffee.

Fall back. As in, fall back into bed for another hour.

Or, you can just not get up. Which is what I did.

Herself arose as per usual. Miss Mia Sopaipilla doesn’t know from time changes, and she will parade up and down the hall giving out with “Reveille” until someone — almost always Herself — gets up, marches into the kitchen, and pours some chow into her bowl.

I’m not a morning person, no matter what time it is. I like this bed. I paid for half of it, and I’m gonna get my money’s worth, thank you very much.

As long as someone feeds the cat. Jesus. Sounds like Marjorie Taylor Greene and Louie Gohmert doing the nasty out there.

I got your Daylight Saving Time right here

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 25 Comments

“Am I late for church? No, because I am a cat,
and thus the congregation must come to me.”

Miss Mia Sopaipilla finds our temporal shenanigans irksome.

“Go away at once. That you find it necessary to fiddle with your timepieces is of no concern to me. I will let you know in no uncertain terms when your services are required.”

Getting clocked

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 23 Comments

The oven clock is missing a knob and any adjustments must therefore be made with pliers. Or, perchance, a hammer.

Fuck a bunch of Daylight Saving Time.

Take my column. Take the White House. Take my girlish laughter.

“Time is a social construct,” says the notoriously antisocial Turk.

But please, don’t take that hour of sleep from me on a brisk Sunday morning in March.

No, goddamnit, I mean it this time. I refuse to participate. I will be an hour late for everything until the nation (save for Hawaii and parts of Arizona) comes to its senses.

You don’t see the Turk getting up an hour early just because the tyrannical feddle gummint controls the nation’s time zones, do you?

You do not, and I have the photographic evidence to prove it.

• Extra Credit Tales of Daylight Saving Time in Crusty County and Elsewhere: And you think you had it rough, resetting your bedside alarm, oven clock and wristwatch. Harrison Walter has a whole room full of clocks that require his attention.

Boogers, bikes and beans

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 12 Comments

I don’t know whether it’s Daylight Saving Time, the death throes of my 2-week-old case of Snotlocker Surprise, or simply a matter of cranking out too much velo-journalism in too few hours, but I’m whupped.

Today I did manage to slip out for a short ride between chores, however, and it was delightfully refreshing. Sixty-something and sunny, with a light wind. A nearly perfect day, and it gave me a Madison sling to the finish line of this latest deadline cycle.

Back at the ranch, while finishing a column and cartoon for Bicycle Retailer and Industry News, I cooked up a pot of beans, pintos in chipotle chile, and with the roasted spuds in red chile that I made yesterday they will make a fine accompaniment to the chicken enchiladas in green chile that I will make tomorrow, right after another ride — a much longer, more leisurely outing than today’s.

The next two days I’m largely free of pressing responsibilities, a rare thing indeed lately, so I intend to take full advantage. I’m talking highs in the 60s and 70s, another unusual occurrence come March.

Now if I can just remember where I left my legs. Pale, thin, hairy … yes, two of them. They were here just a minute ago. …