I can’t decide whether it should be comforting or stressful. I’m talking about the little clock on the bottom right side of my computer monitor, which has been serving me—informing me of the time without hesitation—for several years.
However, less than two weeks ago, it suddenly fell an hour behind. It now reads 10:42 p.m., instead of the correct, and preferable, 11:42 p.m. that it is.
This is what I can’t decide about. For one thing, it’s sort of
relieving; feeling that I still have an extra hour left in my day. But
on the other hand, it makes me feel anxious, knowing that I don’t
really have as much time as I think.
It’s sort of a two-faced situation.
This raises a couple questions. First, why is my computer suddenly
having so much trouble comprehending the correct time? Second, did you
catch that the phrases “on the other hand,” and “two-faced situation,”
were clock-related puns?
What bothered me the most was that I am running on the Windows XP
operating system, which was introduced after the whole Y2K Failed
Computer Glitch Scare, which means that, when it comes to the date and
time functions, my computer should be completely compatible with any
changes.
Yet here I sit. An hour behind schedule.
It’s not that I haven’t tried to reset it. I have, several times. Then,
for the remainder of the day, my screen reads the correct time, and I
have the false sense of security that I have complete control over my
technology.
Obviously, I am an idiot. Because the next time I turn my computer on, suddenly I’m back another 60 minutes.
I finally realized a few days ago what the problem was. Someone forgot
to inform my computer that we were switching to Daylight Saving Time
early this year.
But this got me thinking even more, which isn’t good because the more I
think, the more apt I am to write columns about fairly pointless
topics. Anyway, my thought was, what’s the purpose of Daylight Saving?
The concept was first mentioned by Benjamin Franklin in a letter to the
Parisians in 1784. I respect Ben, really, I do. He had some of the most
incredible insights I have ever read, including, “He who lies down with
dogs will probably sleep poorly if the dogs are small lap dogs that yap
incessantly.”
But even the greatest of men can have poor judgment once they get
cocky. Take Napoleon Bonaparte. He was well on his way to world
domination, but then he went and blew the nose off of the Sphinx, and
do you know what happened to him next?
Me neither. I wasn’t paying attention that day in history.
My point is, no matter how philosophical and foresighted Benjamin
Franklin was, he was also the man rooting for the turkey to be our
national bird.
So now, thanks to the early change, my computer is confused. As I
mentioned earlier, I’ve tried to change it. I’ve tried to talk to it
nicely, attempting to coax it to just read one hour later. I’ve even
tried to bribe it with cookies (just a little computer-related humor).
None of these methods worked. After all my pleading and prodding, I’m still an hour behind.
My car is also an hour behind. My girlfriend is the only person I know
who has figured out how to change the time, and right now she’s in
Texas. But that’s the least of my car worries at the moment, because I
think it’s falling apart.
I drive a 1994 Camaro. I named it Max, after the character Max Klinger
on the TV show “M*A*S*H*.” Like Klinger, my car has a big nose and
wears a bra. But I digress.
Among my main concerns right now is that Max is apparently leaking oil.
This little incident, as far as I know, is not related to the “M*A*S*H”
Max, however he did attempt to eat a jeep in one episode.
My other problem right now is an unknown sound in the back of the
vehicle. It occurs when I turn corners at speeds greater than a snail.
If you would like to hear it, hold this sentence up to your ear:
ka-CHUNK.
This was pointed out to me when I managed to squeeze myself, four
friends and a box of fried chicken into the small interior of the car.
I usually ignore the sound, because I have come to the conclusion that
if my music is cranked up loud enough, I can’t hear any bad car sounds
and therefore nothing is wrong. So now I have a car with leaky oil,
mysterious trunk sounds and fried-chicken crumbs in the back seat.
It’s about time I call a mechanic. I’ll be an hour late.
* * *
UFO: The 17-year locust spends 16 years and nine months of its life underground.
Don’t ask why.
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