The countdown is on: It’s only a few short weeks until the start of daylight-saving time, when we’re so excited about the days being longer that we all fall collectively asleep at our desks, our heads hitting the keyboard with such force that old muffin crumbs lodge themselves in our jowls.
It’s the great daylight-saving time irony. We should be celebrating the end of that period when the only light outside after 3 p.m. comes from the glowing embers generated by the smokers. Instead, though, we spend the day reeling over that one lost hour, like the sleep-deprived people in your college psychology textbook who started speaking gibberish and thinking they were Mao Tse-tung.
If you think I’m exaggerating, check out how the car accident statistics go through the roof for the first Monday after the time change. It’s bizarre, given that it seems to me you can lose an hour of sleep any other time and it’s no big deal - for instance, I recently stayed up an hour late to watch the end of "Eight Legged Freaks" on cable, with no noticeable effects other than a new respect for David Arquette. And yet that one lost hour every April turns all of society into the old guy asleep at a stoplight in Coral Gables.
For the rest of this week's AT LARGE by Peter Chianca, click here.
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