Ooh, this one ought to get him drummed out of the sodality: Alex Tabarrock shamefacedly admits that he is not that-all opposed to--no he actually likes--having the jackbooted thugs in Washington shackle us with the crime of daylight savings time. In a frantic rearguard attempt to retain his street cred, Alex does say he would have opposed it when first introduced but that kind of coulda woulda shoulda is hardly the sort of thing that will impress the pure in heart.
Alex fails to press the inquiry one more step, however, to ask: why should the gummint get its cotten pickin' hands on things like time-setting at all? Why can't we perfectly well solve this problem by private agreement: I'll meet you when the abscissa of the cosine of the shadow of my hoe handle touches 43" south latitude (as defined by the wholly voluntary recommended-south-latitude standards advisory committee)?
No word yet on whether Grover Norquist thinks daylight savings time worse than the holocaust.
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