November 3, 2018
In what has become custom, we expect autumn with a pumpkin-spicèd admixture of relief and dread. We feel relief that short pants, sandals, and other obscenities are safely hidden from discerning eyes. And we feel dread that we must endure the annual bleating about daylight saving time.
We shan’t heap more excrement on to the debate. The most insipid of cretins (and we know many, gentle reader) understands why daylight saving time is stupid. You wouldn’t slice a cubit’s worth from the Bayeux Tapestry and affix it to the opposite end “because farmers” would you?
Or maybe you would.
No we shan’t heap at all. Instead, we rouse from our butternut squash to offer you but a thimbleful of correction.
It’s daylight saving time. Not daylight savings time.
However one feels about the futz-with-the-clocks charade let us at least agree on semantics. What is meant by saving is “reserve.” Like a soufflé to be consumed later (“We were saving that for company”), daylight saving time reserves an hour of morn for “use” later in the day (“We were saving that for little league practice/a brighter commute/middle America”).
Your use of savings, conjures to our mind a trust of pure sunlight. A vault of golden light, its beams compounding annually, attending necessity for the next rainy day.
Poetic perhaps, but utterly wrong. Fall thee not back on this habit, and spring forward with us to the more correct future.