Nobody will ever do anything about daylight savings time. "Hold on," you say, "that was last week. Why are you bringing this up now?" Because that's exactly why nothing will be done — because it's not an issue this week.
Sure, last week there was the usual muted bleats and impotent mutters, but everyone set their clocks back, and the entire conversation about DST died with the first cock's crow because we have the attention spans of fruit flies. We will revisit this in the spring, have the same conversation, and change nothing. Rinse, repeat.
"Hold on again," you say. "Did the shampoo companies really add 'repeat' to double consumption, or is that just an urban legend? And are there such things as rural legends, as long as we're at it? If you had a legend that arose somewhere between Anoka and Big Lake, would it be urban, rural or exurban?"
So you want to change the subject, I see. You're ashamed that I pointed out how we all obey the clock-changing law with unquestioning obedience. That's fine. There should be no shame about the subject, especially when it comes to an unpopular truth.
Some of us ... like the early sunsets.
Winter might be a time when you're out schussing on cross-country skis and you prize that extra hour of light, twinkling through the ice-encrusted branches, but most of us are home making dinner, following some instinctive need to carb-load and hibernate. The dark is a fine setting for the lights we add to the trees and the home as well, an act of defiance, of decorating the cold blank nullity of a winter night.
We hunker and wait for Dec. 21, when the long declining day stops, gathers itself, takes a breath, and starts the victory march to spring.
"All well and good," you say, "but if you have to repeat the shampooing, doesn't that suggest that the product has been watered down? Why can't it get it right the first time?"