At Least I'm Not Living In A House With Chicken Legs

Here is what I think about daylight savings:

It's dumb. But only insomuch as the older I get, the harder it is to adapt to it. That just seems backwards to me. Aren't children the ones who get used to a schedule and then are thrown off when it changes? Am I saying I'm childish? Probably.
I was JUST getting used to falling back and now here we are springing forward again.
It's a vicious cycle.

Here is another thing that I think about daylight savings:

It is a conspiracy started by Sunglass Hut.
Sunglass Hut CEO went to whoever the president was that was around when it became law, or whatever, (Wilson? I think it was?) and they said "Look. Mr. President. Sales are down right now. We've got this really great idea, though, that would really boost them and we'll give you a cut if you make it look congressional. Or something."
And it came to pass that therein was a law created which enabled the sun to be in your eyes going to and leaving work everyday. Whether you're heading north, east, south, or west. It's some sort of horror of nature. Or something. And just when it gets to a comfortable level again, time to change friends. Boo.

And that, boys and girls, is how Sunglass Hut paid for the president's vacation abode, Camp David.

In completely different news, I was looking at the stats for this blog the other day. Most of my readers are from the United States, which was a big duh. But second on the list of most readers is RUSSIA.
To all of my Russian readers (is there more than one?) I say "Preveet!" Your country is high on my list of places that I'd like to see in this lifetime. Like, really bad, I want to go to there.
Also, Baba Yaga scared the crap out of me when I was little, as well she should have.
My dad lived in Russia for 2 months while I was in the 4th grade. I don't know what the heck he was doing over there but it had something to do with spreadsheets because it seemed like that was all he was ever doing. Making spreadsheets, I mean (the Russians that he worked with over there called him Electric Light Bob, because they thought "Bob" sounded like "bulb"? Weird, I know, but he seemed pretty proud of the nickname). After he came home, bits and pieces of Russian crept into our everyday language. We started saying please and thank you in Russian (that's how I learned that adding bolshoi onto the end of spasiba took "thank you" to a whole new level of "thank you very much").
My only request to him, for a souvenir, was a picture of the Bolshoi Theater. I was in the midst of my ballet "career" and I understood just how awesome that place was so I wanted a picture. He came back having taken about 30 of them, but I also got a matryoshka (which I canNOT open anymore, for the life of me! It's really heartbreaking.) and a really pretty, hand painted box, both of which now reside just above my TV. You'd think I'd have them in some better place of honor, but there's only so many places to put pretty things in this apartment.
Also, I had a stuffed animal of a white cat one time, and I couldn't think of a name for it so Dad suggested "Kalinka" because that's Russian for snowbush. Or snowberry? I can't remember, but I went with the name because it sounded cool and foreign.
What ever happened to that cat....?


(Kishi Island is one of the places I'd REALLY like to see!)