I see Jeff already spilled the beans about my Daylight Saving Time column. Let the debate begin.
I guess my befuddlement comes from all the “solutions” offered to settle this issue. Solutions imply problems, and honestly, I don’t see what the problem is. For my entire life, we’ve slipped back and forth between standard and daylight time with little more than yawning and grouchiness. Suddenly, it’s a “problem.” (And amusingly, it became a problem right about the time clocks started basically setting themselves.)
And I concede that not everyone adjusts easily. But to disrupt the very idea of standard time — standard in the generic sense — on a state-by-state basis just seems insane. There are lot of things that set my teeth on edge, but I am not advocating policy solutions for them.
Maybe more people need to spend a year in Iceland. That’s on my travel bucket list, and admittedly a long shot, because it’s kind of pointless, but I’d love to spend a winter month there. See how life is lived in near-darkness. I expect fairly happily. We could learn from that.
OK, since it’s Sunday, and a Sunday that truly lives up to its name — 81 degrees and extremely sunny — let’s be less-serious this late afternoon/early evening. (Which is still very SUNNY, because DST!)
“The Handmaid’s Tale” kicked off its fourth season this past week, and I for one am…unimpressed so far. Margaret Atwood’s original idea has been built out to the point it’s now collapsing on itself, and I fear the show runners are going to try to rescue it with slow-motion photography. Every time Elisabeth Moss walks purposely, she does so in slo-mo. Also: Moody lighting. Also: Torture, which I am totally not here for. (I’ve seen two Kathryn Bigelow movies, and I do not need to see any more.) They need to figure out how to get this story into port very soon, or I’m jumping overboard and swimming to a less torture-y beach.
This happened today:
That is, an impromptu lunch at a Mexican dive bar across from the notorious Zug Island, the scariest looking now-shut steel plant you ever saw. I gave up my menudo virginity and can report: Meh on menudo. A nice spicy broth, but the tripe left me cold. I kept thinking: I am eating stomach. I am putting stomach in my stomach. But as I said before, the day was glorious and breezy, and it was a fine day to see people outdoors and eat tacos (and menudo).
Those are my tragic arms, yes. I swear, there is muscle tone underneath all that slack flesh, but evidently this is how my stupid body has chosen to show its age. Sigh. But as we often say: Consider the alternative.
Into the week, then! Hope yours is great.