I usually rise early on Sundays and make the trek over to St. Patrick's for my Sunday obligation because the 7:30 service is fast with NO singing.  Then, I grab some gas station coffee, come home, begin my assistant editorial duties, and brace my body for the transition from drunk to hungover.  This morning, I stumbled down the sidewalk to Mass at what I thought was 7:30 AM, but was in fact 8:30 AM.  When I arrived at the empty church, I feared I had been "Left Behind" because of my drunken and lascivious ways, but a kindly old lady appeared and said "You know it's eight-thirty dear."  "Oh, I must have overslept," I attempted to enunciate with my swollen tongue, but she explained that Daylight Savings Time began today.  The horror of it all!  I had to wait until 9:00 for the next Mass to begin at which there was a full choir.  Combine a pounding headache, gnawing hunger, awful hymns and my Catholic guilt, and you can imagine my extreme dislike for the people that did this to us three weeks earlier than usual.  Only Dante Alighieri himself could have devised a more diabolical punishment. -KD