Come and Waste Another Year.

I am 100 percent positive (nice AP style there, huh?) that if Daylight Savings was a national holiday, everyone would remember it. The world over. Those not of our nation included. People who want to sleep in regardless exclusive.

Obviously, you don't need to remind everybody of both of them. I'm always pretty excited about and latch readily onto “falling back;” it's the “springing forward” that activates the selective memory sections of my brain (read: all of it). Also, the names are either deceptive or I am slow to understand. “Springing forward” sounds so exciting, so thrilling, like a burst of new energy. Be not deceived as I, fellow-citizens; it is not.

So I guess what I'm trying to say. Make today a national holiday and we'll all remember it. Okay, actually it's always between Saturday night and Sunday morning, isn't it? Well, then we will have to make the Friday before and the Monday following both national holidays. This is the only reasonable solution. And reasonable it is. Get on it, Congress.

What's It Like?

What's up, morning? Oh it's a beautiful you! Oh it's a beautiful day! I've got a wonderful feeling, that tonight's going to be a good night! There you go, team. Black Eyed Peas-folk music mashup coming at you. I'm taking it on tour next weekend only. Get your tickets now.

I don't have anything to say. No, I know I've said that in the past and I've ended up with something to say, or at least with something being said afterward, but this time I really mean it. There's nothing to say. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Zero. Double-"n" triple-"z." Doesn't exist. Syntax error; does not compute. Not. A. Thing.

Anybody else go to bed at night thinking the next day is going to be just so productive, and then, contrary to your real expectations, it is?

Raise Thy Voice.

This one's going out to my dear friend and roommate, the one with documented aviation proclivities and unproven (though unasserted) communist sympathies. The one with the good hairstyle that cursed his peers by making them wish they were more outdoorsy and their head shapes more inclined to scruff and a shaved head. The proto-typical sunshining woodsman of the dark. I found out he on fact reads my blog and receives all notifications as posts by email. What a peach, team, what a pair. Indeed, the title of "pear" is the highest honor that I, the "peach" can bestow upon his readership. Let the woodsman speak: does he accept my appointment, yea or nay?

In other news, I have not failed to convince myself not to marathon all three Lord of the Rings movies' extended editions all day long tomorrow, as background work while we go about the rest of the day. The odds are looking good, but a lot depends on whether I feel like it'd be fun. We'll see about that.

Long Time, No Birthday.

I don't know about you (I don't know about you!), but I'm feeling twenty-six. I feel like I've finally hit the age where there are no more excuses, and I have to buck up and start playing video games without walkthroughs, or tweet without ironic hashtags. Not all it's cracked up to be, I'll tell you.

Here's wishing me years of life numbering infinity times ten: orders of magnitude beyond the impossible. What do you think about that, Buzz Lightyear?