This morning Wifesy woke up and said, “I feel weird.”
“Weird, how?” I asked.
“Well, it’s like yesterday was super-short or something.”
“Hmm, and it’s pretty dark outside right now,” I answered. “Maybe daylight savings time was last night? Is that possible?” I asked.
“No,” said Wifesy. “I usually hear people talking about it beforehand.”
And that’s how we came to discover that it actually WAS daylight savings time. Like a retarded Sherlock Holmes and Watson we denied it and then when the proof was unassailable, we acquiesced.
It was Wifesy’s old fashioned wristwatch that did it. You know, those old fashioned things that strap on to your wrists and have two hands – one for minutes and one for the hour? Her old fashioned thing was displaying the old time, the time of yesteryear. Now, typically, in my past worlds, this kind of discovery would’ve illicited a panicked Keystone Cops re-enactment with Wifesy and I running around screaming, “Feck, Feck, I’m late for work. Where are my keys? Just throw the coffee at me. Just throw it in my face. I don’t have the time. No, I don’t need pants. I need a raise anyway!”
But, Wifesy and I have two of those new fangled phones that we also use as alarm clocks. These new fangled jobs will remember daylight savings FOR YOU and wake you up accordingly. I hear they’ll even make you breakfast, if you download the proper app.
This whole daylight savings mishigas (sorry, I’m from NY originally) got me to thinking of a daylight savings gone by. The year was 1997, I was about a year out of college – around 22 or 23 years old – and a friend of mine had invited me to the movies. I arrived at the theater a few minutes late and there he was waiting for me. We bought our tickets and walked inside. The move was Gattaca. We walked into the theater and the movie had already started. I was, after all, a few minutes late, so this did not seem strange to me. Now, as an avid movie watcher from the age of birth onwards, I’m pretty talented at catching myself up with a storyline if only a few minutes have gone by. However, on this particular day, my friend and I sat there bewildered. I just couldn’t figure out what had happened. I couldn’t believe the amount of story that must’ve been told in only the first few minutes. After about a half an hour struggling with the intricate plot-line, my friend looked at me with tears in his eyes. “Should we get some air?” I asked, resigned to the fact that something had gone horribly, irreparably wrong. It was only after talking with the ticket girl that I realized it was daylight savings time and we had walked into the movie over an hour late.
Soon after that my friend would become a meth addict and I can’t help, but believe the two incidents are correlated somehow.
You see, daylight savings f*cks with the sensitive minded. I believe it was originally created in order to deal with some sort of harvest. The farmer-people needed more light. I was also told this is why we’re off from school in the summers in the United States – to deal with the harvest. Now, I don’t know about you, but I have NEVER dealt with a harvest in my entire goshdarned life. I have dealt with a drunk, but never a harvest. I don’t know where this harvest is and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it if I were to ever stumble upon it. People often discuss a “harvest moon” in my presence, I don’t know what this means either, but I’m pretty sure it has something to do with Halloween. I believe the harvest moon also helps poverty-stricken sailors who can not afford a gps get back to shore or to know when a storm is coming – or is that the northern light and a mackerel sky? Dear God, I’m so confused.
Having recently re-located, I feel out of sorts enough as it is. There are NO seasons – here – in California. Coming from the east coast for most of my life, this has thrown me for a loop. Is it Winter? How will I know? We don’t need a jacket and people are still using the pools. Is it Fall? Shall I go rake the leaves? No? The groundskeepers do that. The who? The why? Oh, the woe. The utter woe.
I have some OLD friends here in southern California from back in my New York city days. You see for performers (comedians) and writers there is a direct line between New York and Los Angeles, so a lot of us know each other. I called up one of these old friends, he’s a good guy, a funny guy, a real talent. I said something to him about wanting to touch base or reconnect with someone and he answered, “Yes, but then people have to remember…Okay, I know Sweet Mother from where? Who was I then? And at what point in my life was that?” So, now I’m so old that I’m forcing people to “remember” things like an exploding pressure cooker would for a Vietnam veteran. Ay yay yay.
Thankfully, that’s not the whole of it, just yesterday I received another email message from an old friend saying, “Hey, I just got back on stage after 9 years. And it got me thinking. It got me remembering about the good old days back in New York and it got me thinking about you…” It seems like she doesn’t mind remembering. I’m guessing because with her, much like with me, she likes who she was then as much as she likes who she is now. I most certainly feel that way about myself. I have evolved, that is for sure. But, at my core, I am me – the same good-hearted, funny, girl that I was when I was 5. I’m proud of that.
So, you can NOT do my head in daylight savings time. You’re not the boss of me. As the saying goes, “The more things change, the more they stay the same.” Or as they say in the original French, “Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.” Because, you see, that astute phrase was originally coined by a French novelist and not by Kurt Russell in Escape from LA – no matter what your ingnorant, old, yankee, friends say. Understand, whether I be 5 or 35, I would’ve quoted both the English and the French just then because I’ve always enjoyed the joie de vivre of other languages and cultures. Though it would’ve been far more difficult to find the French translation when I was 5. It would’ve involved an encyclopedia or phoning a French friend. Not to mention, my phone never would’ve acted like a real life Mary Poppins, back at age 5, and woken me up at the proper time AND cooked me breakfast. Such is life. Such is progress. Someone let me know when the next harvest is. I’ll be here, blissfully ignorant of it all.
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