Author Archives: Jayson Gallaway

It’s About Time, Yet Again.

After the revolution, on my first day in office as President, or Sexy and Benevolent Leader, or Illustrious Potentate, or whatever of the United States, I will outlaw the observance of Daylight Saving Time.
A recent poll of random adults at the bar waiting for a table at Red Lobster in northern California revealed that 90% of all Americans think daylight saving time is an outdated and pointless exercise in arbitrary adherence to tradition.  The other 10% are idiotic twats.
I have never understood how so many allegedly intelligent, free-thinking people could be so-easily convinced to do something so fundamentally silly.  For four decades now, I’ve been listening to people embarrass themselves trying to explain their adherence to this absurdity, patiently enduring their assaults on logic and reason as they slowly reveal that they themselves don’t really understand this nonsense either.
There seem to be three basic arguments these pedants of chronology employ.  to wit:
  1. Benjamin Goddamit Franklin, may God rest his sweet, patriotic soul, invented daylight saving time just like he invented electricity and he was obviously a genius and how dare you or any other non-genius fuck with Uncle Ben’s ideas.   They didn’t put your ugly ass on the hundred dollar bill now, did they?  Alright, look…you need to remember a couple of things.  Absolutely, Ben Franklin was a genius.  A great many of his inventions propelled America and mankind into the future that we enjoy today.  However, Ben Franklin lived in a world without electric light and climate control.  His nights were lit solely by candles and oil lamps, and even though his idea of shifting the clock around was pretty clearly meant as a joke, and he had likely been into his cups when he wrote this letter, it did make some bit of sense then to suggest that opening business an hour earlier during certain months of the year would reduce candle usage. American businesses haven’t relied on candlelight or oil lamps in more than a century.  Even candle shops now use electric light and computers.  The position of the sun no longer has anything to do with when we can and cannot work, play, cook, read, et cetera.   If B.F. were alive today, I suspect he would want to pimp-slap all those who have mindlessly remained allegiant to daylight saving time.  He invented his stove to more efficiently heat houses: he would certainly acknowledge that central heating and air is a vastly more safe and effective method of climate control, and would likely insist on having it in his house.
  2. It will save energy and money.  Poppycock.  Patently untrue.  In fact, the exact opposite holds true: hundreds of millions of dollars are lost every year due to employees arriving late for work, conference calls and meeting missed, and overall productivity lost.  Doctors tell us that dicking around with the clock and one’s sleep schedule increases the chances of heart attack significantly, leading to hundreds of millions of more dollars lost in medical expenses.  Sleep loss, the disruption of the Circadian rhythm, greater susceptibility to illness…all of things lead to lost productivity, lost money, and ultimately increased energy resources. And having citizens in the work force arrive home at the hottest part of the day ends up using significantly more energy than would be used otherwise.  Just ask Arizona.  They ignore DST (as does Hawaii) and they do just fine.  In fact, neither of those states have nearly the same number of rolling blackouts during the summer as California does.  We have them regularly throughout the summer, during DSL.  There has never been a rolling blackout during Standard Time.
  3. The farmers need daylight saving time to order to harvest their crops and get all their work done during the summer.  I can’t even begin to understand this one.  And I think that’s because this one falls in to the very strange category of many of the other lines of rationale I’ve heard to justify the menace of DST: people seem to actually think that DST adds an hour of time to the day.  Like we ACTUALLY get an extra hour of daylight or the days are ACTUALLY an hour longer than they would be during Standard Time.  To these poor souls I can say only that I will include you in my nightly prayers and hope that you aren’t a registered voter.  Farmers go to work when the sun comes up, and they don’t spend the day watching the clock, waiting for 5 o’clock so they can knock off.  Hell no.  They quit work when it’s so dark they can’t see what they’re doing.  They don’t give the slightest of damns if you insist it’s 5:00pm or midnight: just stay out of their way.
The practice of hourly timekeeping only began in the United States once train travel began: people needed to know when the hell they needed to be at the station to catch their train.  Fair enough.  And today’s world is governed by the clock.  Fine.  But let’s just settle on what time it is and then Leave It That Way!
Uncle Ben's Wild Ride
N.P.: “I’m With The Band (feat. Beck)” – The Black Keys

November 2, 2024

Got a massive flashing greenlight on the proposal I’m putting together this week, which greenlight was more sorely needed than I had originally thought.  Let’s just say my thinking about this whole project over the summer was about 50/50: it had equal chances of being massive and falling absolutely flat.  As of today, I’m thinking more 75/25.  It will all come down to the writing, of course.  Everything always does.
This means a full-court press for the rest of ’24…total focus.

N.P.: “Feel Like Making Love” – The Hunger

October 31, 2024

Happy Halloween, dear reader!  That’s it…I just decided…Halloween is now the official start of the New Year on the Gallaway calendar.  Now I must come up with an official traditional celebration of this holiday.  The reasons for this are myriad but make total sense to me.

And by making my New Year on the last day of the month, we can dedicate an entire day and night to celebrating with reckless abandon, then wake up on the first of the new month, ready to get to work on This Year’s Project(s).  Brilliant.

Our traditional celebration will have nothing to do with trick-or-treating.  Sure, I was into it as a kid, but now trick-or-treaters just annoy me.  I could do without that particular tradition.  But I’m into costumes one day/night a year, so costumes will likely be part of it.  And liquor, of course.  I don’t know…I’m going to have to flesh this out.  I’ll get back to you as developments warrant.

Did you ever decide what you’re going as?  I might have mentioned mine was a toss-up between Art the Clown and The Mad Hatter.  Yesterday I decided I’d just be Garbage.  It was just the easiest option.   I thought I was being original, but everybody that’s come to the door so far has also been Garbage.  Weird.

Anyway, something for you better than candy: 10 of my favorite books/stories to read around this time of year (in no particular order):

  1. “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” by Washington Irving
  2. “Dracula” by Bram Stoker
  3. “Frankenstein” by Mary Shelley
  4. “The Haunting of Hill House” by Shirley Jackson
  5. “Something Wicked This Way Comes” – Ray Bradbury
  6. “The Tell-Tale Heart” by Edgar Allan Poe
  7. “The Shining” by Stephen King
  8. “Ghost Story” by Peter Straub
  9. “The Witches” by Roald Dahl
  10. “MacBeth” by William Shakespeare

N.P.: “Grim, Grinning Ghosts” – Ghosts

October 30, 2024

It’s Halloween Eve, dear reader!  Which fills my heart with joy.  Had to kick on the heater last night, there’s rain in the forecast, and the nights are getting significantly longer than the days.  Tomorrow we get to get juiced and dress like dicks and menace the gentry for candy.  Then Sunday night we again abandon the foolish absurdity of Daylight Saving Time and return to Actual Time.  And I’ll have plenty to say about that when it happens.  I’m just glad it’s happening.  All of this to say that for a Halloween Eve, today was a fine day.

But it was a tad dull.  It lacked excitement.  It was certainly no 1938.

On Halloween Eve (October 30), 1938, Orson Welles scared the living shit out of the American public with his infamous radio broadcast.  Picture the scene: a nation teetering on the brink of war and uncertainty, suddenly pummeled into hysteria by Welles as he unleashed Martians upon the unsuspecting masses.

This was no ordinary Halloween prank, dear reader.  This was a full-scale assault on the fragile psyche of the American public, plunging them into the delicious pit of paranoia.  Broadcasting from the Mercury Theater on the Air, Welles and his band of mischief-makers adapted H. G. Wells’ “War of the Worlds” into a radio play that would transcend entertainment and catapult itself into the realm of mass psychological experiment.

Seriously, picture it: families gathered around their radios, the dim glow of the tubes casting eerie shadows on the walls, when suddenly: news bulletins of Martian invasions!  Alien machines!  Death rays incinerating helpless New Jersey residents!  The more gullible folk sprinted for the hills, convinced that the apocalypse was happening.  Listeners fled their homes, the highways clogged with panic-stricken masses, and the telephone lines blew up with people calling each other, trying to figure out what was happening.

This was the birth of modern-media sensationalism, a flashpoint where fiction blurred into perceived reality.  Welles, ever the anarchist, shattered the comfortable cocoon of pre-war America, and it was amazing.

So tonight we drink to Orson Welles, the man who turned a lazy Sunday afternoon into a nightmarish ride through the cosmos.  His broadcast remains a testament to the power of storytelling, and a cautionary tale of the media’s impact on a gullible and uncritical public.  Perhaps the latter lesson is the one that contemporary Americans would do well to heed.

N.P.: “Thunder Cash ’69” – Cody Parks and the Dirty South

October 28, 2024

In the moon’s cold and silvery glow,
A figure stirs in shadows below.
With eyes like coals, it prowls the night,
A specter born of endless fright.

Cloaked in darkness, it silently creeps,
Through misty woods where the night wind weeps,
Its fangs gleam sharp, a predator’s grin,
As it hunts for the life that sustains its sin.

Behind closed curtains, hearts quicken with dread,
For the vampire’s thirst is far from fed.
It whispers softly through creaking doors,
A chilling promise of blood and gore.

The village shivers beneath starlit skies,
Where once calm dreams now harbor cries.
A shadowy wraith with a timeless stare,
The vampire’s touch a silent snare.

In gothic halls where candles flicker,
Its presence lingers, the air grows thicker.
With every heartbeat, terror spreads,
In its wake, only cold and lifeless beds.

Beware the moon when it rides high,
Casting its gaze on the midnight sky.
For in its glow, the vampire roams,
To claim the night as its eternal home.

N.P.: “Vampires” – Night Club

October 26, 2024

In the heart of the night, where silence reigns,
A phantom shadow breaks its chains.
The wind whispers secrets, cold and bleak,
As moonlight shivers upon the creek.
An ancient tree, with roots like veins,
Holds tales of sorrow and ghostly pains.
A lantern flickers on the winding path,
Casting ghostly figures in its wrath.
A chilling cry splits the still, dense air,
From lips unseen, a ghostly prayer.
A figure cloaked in midnight’s shroud,
Moves silently beneath the cloud.
Eyes of darkness, void and deep,
Guard the secrets shadows keep.

N.P.: “The Gypsy Theme” – Slash

October 25, 2024

What a fine day!  Passed another belt test last night.  Woke up this morning, myriad bruises, everything hurt, and my voice was gone, but I passed.


Today is also the release date of Underworld’s new album.  I’ve been a fan of Karl Hyde for decades now…if there was a “soundtrack to my life,” it would be, surprisingly, probably be written by Underworld.  They’ve been one of the few constants in my adult life.


Six days ’til Halloween!  Shit!


For the English majors: today we’re going to pour some out for Geoffrey Chaucer who went on to his Great Reward on this day in 1400.  Back in the 14th century, where the air was thick with plague and poetry, Uncle Geoff was about to absolutely rock the English language.  He danced on the grave of Old English and came up with something quite new.

Dig if you will this picture: Chaucer, a civil servant by day, a linguistic alchemist by night, scribbling away at what would be his magnum opus, “The Canterbury Tales.”  This wasn’t just a collection of stories; Rolling Stone called it, “a full-on psychedelic trip through the mind of a medieval genius.”  They continue, “With a cocktail of pilgrims, each boasting their own tales as colorful as a peacock on acid, Chaucer has crafted a narrative that dares to expose the raw and raucous humanity of our time.”

The man had balls – he didn’t just dabble in satire: he swam naked in it.  He was the first guy to bring vernacular English into the spotlight.

Cheers.

N.P.: “Smack Yo” – Beltran