Waking with the rising sun is for the birds, says SP columnist

Early birds. What are they up to? Can we trust them? What makes them tick?

I’m vaguely suspicious of early birds, those people who are up at dawn, ready to take on the world. How do they do it? Where do they get the energy? I prefer to let dawn get up on her own and make coffee. I’ll join her later, if I have to.

According to a trusted source — movies — nothing good happens at dawn. Whenever there’s an early morning scene in a movie, this is what it looks like: There’s an overhead shot of a deserted suburban street. Only the milkman is out, silently driving from one house to the next. (As if anyone has a milkman anymore, but movies make their own rules). There’s a close-up of milk bottles being plunked down on a doorstep. Clink. Then the camera pulls back and drifts toward a vacant lot. The music turns ominous. The camera tracks slowly through the long grass. Sustained low note. Then, of course, we see it — the dead body! Suddenly, the name of the movie makes sense: Lactose Intolerance. That’s what you get for getting up early.

But I hate to waste things. And this time of year, with sunrise occurring at 5 a.m., the thing I waste the most is light. It’s there every morning. To ignore it doesn’t seem right because you know it won’t last. I’m in awe of the people who waste the least amount of light: Morning radio hosts. They’re up and at ’em hours before I hit my snooze button. I imagine them driving in to work through an empty city, unlocking the door to the office, making coffee in a silent building, doing some vocal warm-ups, feeling like total crap. MEE-MEE-MEE, MOO-MOO-MOO, MAH-MAH-MAH. Then they’re on the air, bright and shiny as a newly minted coin.

They do this day-in and dayout without complaint, which is why I’m not a morning radio host. I’d start every day with “God it’s early, what’s wrong with you people?”

Not them. They’re preternaturally chipper. They have your weather, they have your news, they have everything you need to get on with your day. I’m not ready to get on with my day, not when all I can think of is how wonderful just five more minutes of sleep would be.

And lo and behold, it’s not just the radio host who’s up. He’s got The Mayor with him. Another superhuman. The Mayor is not only awake but he’s forming complete sentences while listeners text him questions. There’s a whole world going on out there and I still have only one eye open.

Maybe I’m missing out. I can see the benefits. Garage sales, for instance. You’d get first crack at the good stuff. Nothing is more depressing than a late-afternoon visit to a garage sale when the only things left are novelty salt and pepper shakers. Novelty salt and pepper shakers make me want to die.

And during the week, no traffic on the way to work, other than all those milkmen. And you’d be done early, like 2 p.m. But what then? What are you going to do with the rest of the afternoon when you’re too tired to do anything but give in to self-destructive habits like napping for three hours and watching Dr. Phil?

Then by dinnertime, your day is practically over and you have to go to bed while the sun is still up. I’d feel like a child again, but not in a good way. I can hear myself whining to my wife, “But I’m not tiredddd.” And she’d have to threaten to take my toys away if I didn’t settle down.

So I guess I’m going to continue to waste the extra morning light. On the bright side, we’re only a month away from the days getting shorter again. I’ll be leaving my sleep mask on until further notice.