Winter came to NYC this weekend, and I'm really unhappy about it. I know for sure because when I woke up this morning, the light coming through my window was so grey it actually sucked all the color (red) out of my room, making my morning ritual look not unlike a scene from Eraserhead (minus the baby). Actually, this morning wasn't so bad, since I've taken to showering and shaving at night. So the morning ritual only involves brushing my teeth, making lunch, and putting on pants (the cruelest cut of all).
And along with winter comes Daylight Savings Time, which began last weekend. There has been a lot of argument about the efficacy of DST, and whether or not we should have it in a god-fearing country such as our own (I personally believe that it's an affront to logic and decency, and that's is probably a mid-western plot to pad the bottom line of farmers. Not unlike the farm subsidies that pay farmers to not work the land) but I'm not here to talk about its wide-reaching effects. I just wanted to mention my own personal battle with Daylight Savings Time this weekend, and how I came out the loser.
The reason I bring this up a week late is that for some reason, is that's how long it took me to notice that we have a clock in our apartment that isn't connected to the internet. Allison and I both have Treos 700p, which obviously update their time properly thanks to the fine people at Verizon Wireless. My MacBook updated its time properly, but lagged Allison's MacBook Pro by about 3 minutes. Sting (MacMini) also updated itself, and my Linux box Glamdring *would* have if I knew how to configure ntpd to properly read /etc/localtme, which I don't, but since there is no monitor attached to it anyway, I seldom use it to tell the time.
Where was I? Oh yes, so the microwave oven in our kitchen didn't update by itself, and despite the fact that I have a graduate degree in electrical engineering, I am utterly stymied by the time setting mechanism on a $49 microwave.