Why.

You’d think that after 37 years on this planet I’d be used to this by now. But I’m not. My life is about to be thrown into a turmoil in which it’ll take me a month to recover from.

Daylight Saving Time begins this weekend.

For as many years as I’ve had this blog (I think it’s almost 5), I’ve complained about Daylight Saving Time. My body doesn’t like it. My mind doesn’t like it. It throws me out of synch with the planet’s natural rhythm. I’d rather fly to Hong Kong and back and endure the jet lag than deal with this time saving nonsense.

I’m always amused when people say we have Daylight Saving Time to make the day longer. “The sun is out longer”, people sometimes say. “Ring ring”. Here that, it’s the clue phone? People. The day is still 24 hours, the sun has not slowed down it’s path across the heavens. We just monkey around with the clock so that it seems like it’s light later.

“The farmers love it because their crops get more light.” To that I say, “shut the fsck up you idiot.” First of all, farmers hate DST as much as I do because Bessie and Henna Hen can’t tell what time it is and they get impatient. Milk and egg production actually goes down for a bit. Secondly, the corn field has no idea what time it is and as I mentioned before, it’s the same amount of light in the overall scheme of things.

So now I’ll have to drive to the Central Time Zone as much as possible to feel back to normal for the next several months. And don’t get me started on that whole Indiana time zone mess that’s going on.

I apologize if I sound cranky. My alarm clock is going off right now because it thinks it’s Monday.

At a previous job I was pretty much the only non-Catholic in the office. Everything was Catholic, Catholic, Catholic. I would purposely eat a Whopper on Friday just to prove that I’m not Catholic (I was baptized as a Methodist.) Now I feel that anyone is free to honor their spiritual beliefs in any way that they see fit. But there’s some things I just don’t get about the Catholics.

I don’t get the “can’t eat meat on Friday” thing.

From what I understand, back in the day if you ate meat on Friday you went to hell. Then it was decided that the no-meat edict only applied during Lent. Well what about the people that had already gone to hell for eating meat on Friday outside of Lent? Did someone decend to hell and say “Whoops! Our mistake! You can go to heaven now!”

I didn’t think so.

Apparently now it’s o.k. to eat meat on Friday during Lent if St. Patrick’s Day falls on a Friday.

What?

Isn’t that like saying “Sorry dear Lord, I know we honor you by not eating meat on Friday during Lent, but I’m really jonsing for some corned beef on St. Patrick’s Day. So we’ll set aside the whole honor thing while I chow down on some corned beef and green beer.”

Again, I fully believe that anyone can honor and engage in their spiritual beliefs in anyway that they feel is appropriate. If you want to bow before a lilac bush, then bow before a lilac bush. If you want to dunk your head in a bathtub when you reach age 25, then dunk your head. Whatever makes you happy. But if you’re going to do it, do it all the way. If your beliefs include no meat on Friday during Lent, then no meat on Friday during Lent it is!

From time to time I rant about the apparent degradation of the English language. Of course, there are probably many Brits that think we’ve destroyed the ‘real’ English, and they’re probably right. But it seems that as time moves on, the use of proper grammar is becoming more and more rare.

I’m not perfect. I’m not a perfect writer. I’m not a perfect speaker. I make mistakes everyday when it comes to my use of language. But here’s some chestnuts that I’ve heard or read in the past 24 hours that would have me tearing out my hair this morning if I had any hair to pull.

“You’re going to regret your decision. Mock my words, I’m telling you, you’re going to regret it.” Should the other person have responded with “neener neener neener” since he’s mocking his words?

“Go ahead and unplug it. After it has resetted, you should be all set.” Ugh.

“I’m going to go to my supervisor and conversate with her regarding this.” Why conversate when you can converse? Which leads me to…

“I have to orientate him tonight.” Sounds kinky.

“The ‘puter went broke.” I hung up on the customer calling that trouble in. Let someone else deal with his ‘puter. I should have asked how the ‘puter went broke, bad luck on the casino websites?

Then we have the daily loose/lose and desert/dessert confusion going on. People! “I need to lose a few pounds so my pants will be loose.” “I’ll have two desserts when eating in the desert.”

I’ve complained about this before. I know I have. But hopefully someone, somewhere will read this blog entry and say to themselves, “perhaps I can speak English more goodly.” Then they’ll do something about it.

I was led to an interesting advice column by my blogger friend Thom. In a nutshell, a woman wrote in because of a gay couple that live next door. Apparently they were the model neighbors, helping out in the neighborhood, renovating their home beautifully and always friendly to everyone. Then they (gasp) kissed and hugged each other before leaving for work (double gasp) and the writer, so upset by this, went to church to ask her minister what to do. The minister told her to write a letter or get the others in the neighborhood together to sign a petition (surprise, surprise) asking the couple to stop this unnatural, offensive behavior. Now the writer is very surprised that the couple no longer acknowledge the presence of anyone else in the neighborhood. What to do?

I was happy to see the columnist zing right back at the writer with this response:

You’re lucky that these gentlemen merely choose to ignore you.

Your neighbors could respond to your hospitality by hosting weekly outdoor “gay pride” barbecues and inviting all of their friends to enjoy life on our quiet suburban street.

I can hold out hope that they will choose to do this, but I’m spiteful in that way. Your neighbors sound much more kind.

Good for her! Full article at this link.

So my friend Shirley and I were busy working this morning at 9:15 or so when we turned behind us and noticed that our co-worker had stepped away from their desk. With their coat. And their briefcase. And they had left their pager and parking pass behind. And their computer off. Apparently this new employee was not happy here and decided to leave, without so much as a goodbye or a “this job isn’t right for me”. Considering it’s now five hours later, it’s pretty safe to say they’re gone for good.

Coward.

I must admit that those thoughts jumped through my head quite a few times when I started at my job. I had a lot of doubt of whether I was smart enough, whether I could handle the tasks and if I really wanted to do what was required of me. At no time, however, did I ever entertain the thought of just abandoning the job and leaving the company high and dry.

That’s just rude.

Eons ago I was working at a temp job when my co-worker said that if we ever met outside of the office he’d want to shoot me through the head because he didn’t like people “like me”. Since I was young and insecure at the time, I didn’t say anything to management. I didn’t know if others were thinking along the same lines as he was. It was a kick to my already wavering self esteem at the time. Did I leave the job? Yes, after I finished the day and took the time to tell management that I would be requesting another assignment since I didn’t feel comfortable in that position (something about not being able to wrap my head around the job, I hated that job to begin with and this was just another kick to send me out the door). But I never thought of abandoning the job.

So now the search begins to add another member to our merry group at work. Two and a half weeks of getting to know someone, down the drain. Here we go again.

I found this newspaper clipping on one of my daily “must read” blogs, which is maintained by Boston blogger Karl. Though no picture is included, I’m sure this woman brings new meaning to the words “Fright Night.”

As I sit here and eat a relatively healthy lunch whilst I blog, for some reason I’m thinking about the kids that are in school today. Perhaps it’s because a school bus tried to run me off the road on my way home. Whatever the reason, I got to thinking that most likely the kids in school today are not eating a healthy lunch. They are eating junk food in their school cafeteria. This is sad.

Back when I was in school, a monthly lunch menu was handed out at the beginning of the month. (As an aside, in my school district it was my mother who typed the menu and she would filch a few advance copies for my sister and I. We were like gods with this knowledge.) Listed were all the meals that were to be served for lunch that month. There were few choices. A typical day would be like “Tomato or Chicken Noodle Soup, half of a PB&J or turkey salad sandwich, milk, choice of cookie.” During the Carter administration, peanuts accompanied at least two meals per week. Said lunch was made by a dedicated staff of cafeteria workers who actually cared about the food they were serving up. They were basically cooking the same stuff they cooked at home, just for a really big family. If you didn’t like what was on the menu that day, you brought your own lunch.

Nowadays, soda and snack vending machines populate school cafeterias and kids are bypassing the traditional lunch line and heading for a bag of Doritos and a bottle of pop. Still hungry? Have a candy bar. And if you do go through the cafeteria line, there’s a really good chance that you’re eating an over-processed, pre-cooked, preservative laden ‘meal’ that was nuked especially for you. There’s a wild assortment of food including tacos, burritos, pizza, pre-made submarine sandwiches, chicken nuggets, french fries; the list goes on and on. Small wonder we have hyper, unfocused, belligerent children in our society today.

What is sad is that funding to our schools has been cut back so much that they have to resort to corporate sponsored food in order to keep the school going! “The band doesn’t need the money for the all-star trip, they can boost their income with the loot from the Sugar-Pop machine.” Boo! “We can’t afford to send the football team to the dome for the playoffs, maybe they can get some money from the Cavity Candy machine.” How horrid is that?

What happened to the days of a “home cooked meal” at school? Is it really too expensive? Too time consuming? No one cares but me? I find that last one hard to believe.

All I know is that when I eat junk food, I get an excellent energy rush for about an hour and then I feel tired and lethargic for the rest of the day. I don’t feel like learning. I don’t feel like being productive. I don’t even feel like moving. How can we expect a child to sit up and learn the history of the world after eating a generic Big Mac?

I don’t know why I’m thinking about this today. We don’t have kids. My mother doesn’t type the menu anymore. I’m not bucking for a spot on the Board of Education. Maybe I just wish that the kids in school today could have the same quality lunch that I had at Pulaski Academy and Central School.

I just awoke about a half hour ago with one thought screaming through my head.

“I don’t want to go to work.”

It’s Monday. It’s snowing. I’m in a very calm, relaxed, kicked-back mood from doing very little this past weekend. This morning I have to jump into it with both feet and endure a week of on-call.

I’ll go to work this morning. I’ll even smile when I get there. But I can’t wait for it to be over.

Back when I was still in my single digits, we used to play around with our cousins once removed that lived down the street. Looking back on that sentence and arming you with the knowledge that I grew up in farm country, I suppose the term “play around” is a little odd and conjurs up thoughts of something kinky. We used to hang around with them, there was nothing odd about it. Now that my mind is out of the gutter, why don’t you join me?

Anyways, these family members used to play this game that I still haven’t figured out over 30 years later. If a person said “What?” in response to anything anyone said anywhere, they would say, “You have five minutes to get rid of that word.”

I could never get rid of the word (assumedly “What”) because I didn’t know what on earth they were talking about and I didn’t know how to do it. I would invariably become upset and frustrated. Even today I don’t know what they were talking about and if it was a game that other kids played in the mid 70s, like “punch bug” where you slug the person next to you when you spotted a VW Beetle. I don’t know if this damaged my psyche in any way, and I haven’t the foggiest idea why I thought of that today, but there it is.

What?

You have five minutes to get rid of that word.

* My more “proper” cousins insisted we play “Fruitbasket” (right up my alley?) where they would yell out a random fruit and if you were it you had to jump on the bed. I found it incredibly boring.

Tacky Holidays!

Originally uploaded by macwarriorny.

Sears and Roebuck Co. (are they still called that anymore?) succumbs to this ridiculous controversy of “Merry Christmas” vs “Happy Holidays”. Their solution? Print “Merry Christmas” with the Sears logo, using a generic font and plain paper on a black and white laser printer to add a little “ps.” to their holiday decorations.

The sign pictured above was actually the best looking display of this merriment in our local store, the other signs were hung with shipping tape next to the “now hiring” and “this door out of service” signs.

Happy Holidays!