Samsung: still confused about the seasons

According to my cell phone (in particular the screen saver which is in calendar mode) it's May. And apparently, in the estimation of the cell phone programmers at Samsung, the onset of the next ice age is not only imminent, but has been definitely scheduled to occur in the month of May. This month. Yes. Something is going to happen. And if you saw my cell phone right now, you'd have to agree. It just doesn't look good for the month of May.

Samsung has yet again led me to seriously question their sanity due to the calendar screen saver feature on my cell phone. If I am to at all believe in the natural progression of the seasons (or at least the fictional progression of the seasons as seen on TV and in greeting cards) then Samsung is in desperate need of a reality check. I admit that there is nothing wrong with the calendar itself, (the numbers are all there and are mostly accurate) but the background images are senseless. It's getting to the point where I'm beginning think that this this calendar is in no way based on the seasons.

And that blows my mind.

Back story: You might recall that February's screen saver was a winter scene so grim that it necessitated the use of my land line for much of the remainder of that month. Admittedly that image was not all that off base. February is a winter month. And that was a winter scene. Extreme and hard to shake, yes, but it isn't Samsung's job to tip toe around the truth about winter. I concluded that the people at Samsung were realists. I had never read their mission statement, nor explored their company (beyond looking closely at the screen saver). And I thought perhaps it was high time that I did.

But this became a moot point. February turned into March. And as the two were compared (at first involuntarily, then later with much scrutiny), it became apparent that realism was not the issue. As March was so very unreal. I was aghast. March, with it's sudden and profuse mass of red tulips, and what appeared to be mild weather with a cloudless sky, was quite a shock. Though this interpretation of March was wrong and outrageous, it did lead me to think well of Samsung. Maybe they were a little idealistic or naive. And that was ok. I liked their innocence pertaining to the weather. And, if nothing else, March was good for a laugh.

Then with April came a seasonally non-specific goldfish. Which I chose to ignore. Which may have been my first mistake. The goldfish was a little too forgettable. Suspiciously unremarkable. And it lacked any dynamic quality. It looked not like a fish that was swimming in a pond so much as it looked like a fish thawing on a plate (ready to be lightly seasoned with salt and pepper, and placed into the broiler). And as a subject, I must say that the goldfish was situated rather carelessly in the page. In a method that suggests that the concept of composition was a non-issue to whomever took the photograph. In the end, I didn't give the goldfish much thought. And I think it was due to the overall benign effect of the goldfish that I was able to let down my guard. As by the end of April, I had forgotten all about this Samsung nonsense.

Until now. May. And I'm afraid that Samsung's intentions are again highly suspect, and need to be immediately put back under the microscope (so to speak, I don't actually have a microscope). Here May accosts the cell phone viewer with an icy mountain. Just a mountain covered with snow that is so white, so impossible, that it boarders dangerously on the ethereal [in a Large Marge voice: ..and so their fates were sealed that winter on the mountain with an icy kiss ..as one by one they alternately froze and starved to death ..then went quietly up to Heaven ..all of them ..like so many puffs of smoke ..gone ..forgotten]
And this two months after the relentlessly summery interpretation of March. No. Any casual viewer of this screen saver would have to agree: there are NO people on this mountain. It is frozen. Solid. And probably has been that way for a millions of years.

In fact, the only sign of life, or sign that this mountain is part of Earth's landscape (as opposed to being a photograph of any mountain from any number of moons), is the presence of an intense, seemingly unstoppable sun. The kind of sun that blinds a person (either from the sunlight itself, or from the snow's reflection of it, it doesn't matter). The kind of sun that no doubt shines uninterrupted into the farthest reaches of outer space (thereby seriously misinforming any intelligent life that might exist in outer space about the life or warmth of this particular mountain). No. Believe me. I'm looking at my cell phone right now. And there is No life on that mountain.