Leap Year Day, Coronavirus

This could really be a red-letter day for someone, being the leap year date squeezed into the calendar every four years. It's one of the oddest days there is, so odd there's nothing else quite like it. Maybe your birthday. But they add a second or take away a minute every once in a while when the orbit of the planet goes out of whack or the sun exerts enough extra oomph of gravity to pull us closer to the inferno. And the same thing goes for days.

On that last point, it was just in the news that we had either one or two new moons enter the earth’s orbit, which was or were very small. I saw the headline on a video that one of them was about the size of a volleyball, but on the news they said it was about the size of a Volkswagen bug. Either way, it’s not enough to make my backyard a lot bigger, but it’ll be a bastard if it somehow hits the house. I've always heard that a penny dropped from space could go through your head and continue its path about 3 foot in the ground. Twice as deep as the neighborhood cat that died and I buried.

But enough about the disasters this date might bring. I’m going to focus on the pleasant, the happy, always trying to put a smile on your face whether you deserve it or not. Leap Year Day always reminds me of the one or two kids in school who happened to be born Feb. 29. And these things -- what they were able to say -- didn’t happen very often, obviously, because in another four or eight years we’d be in middle school or high school.

I do remember, though, two kids -- can’t remember who they were -- saying, “I’m only 4” (or 8 or 12.) And giggling like it was a riddle, how’d they do it? what could they possibly mean? I believe scientists knew, but to the rest of us it was mysterious. So ... this one day pops up once in a while like the rare pimple before puberty. Wash your face and maybe it won’t happen again.

I wanted to get to Leap Year Day this year, with the Coronavirus disease, a weird sprouting thing from certain strains of Chinese food, weather, livestock, or something. The Chinese are pretty smart. If you’ve ever seen their parades, they don’t skimp on exactitude. If anyone could come up with a super killer, it’d be them. And in fairness, if they set their mind to it they could come up with something that would benefit us all, like an antidote right now.

So, what if a few of us die on Leap Year Day from the Coronavirus? It might actually be one of the things that would redeem our lives, giving the survivors something to brag about: "Derek’s been dead four years and it’s been a tough year since his passing." They’re like, “What?” It was almost four years, but it’s much fresher because he only died a year ago...

It could be a benefit politically too, which might not be that great. But it’s true. A whole bunch of people die of Coronavirus on Feb. 29, say it’s a million. They could spin it quite easily, “A million, yeah, that’s bad, but it only averages 250,000 a year, typical.” An even better spin would be this: “Look at all the Leap Year Days since the bubonic plague hit big-time in the 14th century -- killing 50 million. There’s been around 570 Leap Year Days since then, so, hell, that’s not even 990,000 a year, next to nothing when you compare it to cigarette deaths. And if people choose to smoke bubonic that’s their business.”

Anyway, Happy Leap Year Day. I hope most of us make it. There’s a few, of course, no matter what day it is, the Twelfth of Never, who'll never make it.

Rest In Peace 1911

Part 24 of 30 -- Speaking Ill of The Dead

I recently came across this graphic and didn’t recognize it, never saw it before. I have a whole room of hard drives and computers and there’s no telling what I might find. But a few years ago some guys who read my blog came over and were helping me catalogue a ton of clip art. Then we had a falling out, because there's zero nudity in antique clip art beyond the New Year's baby's butt, and they became disinterested. The cataloging process was halted and nothing more done.

But going through it the last few days, this one hit me. I was struck by the sudden realization that I never actually heard that the year 1911 passed away. Of course all of us know at a certain level that past years are no more and future years are still to come. But when we think in those terms — if ever — it's generally years we've lived through, and we have stark memories of them, for instance 1999. I remember buying a cassette boombox in 1999 in case the computer grid went down (Y2K), so I'd have something to hear emergency news on.

The truth is, I’ve been through most of the years of my life in detail, so I’m familiar with each one starting and ending. The other years I've heard of and am generally aware that they ultimately met their fate. Grandma was born in 1903, so I’m squared away on it. And Grandpa had his year, my various aunts, parents, and friends all had their years, as I’ve conscientiously observed: “Those years are no more. There's no bringing them back from the brink. They’ve shot plumb over the edge into the bottomless pit. A brink no longer looms, it’s attained.” Brinksmanship all the way. But somehow 1911 — miraculously? — sailed past my notice! Making me think it sneaked past me with an enemy's help. Which I'll be looking into, because I have some very clever enemies.

1911. It's a year I know nothing about. I do not know one historic thing that happened in 1911! But it was surely a year like any other. There were big cities, there were smaller towns, there were villages, farms, communities of people with hopes and dreams as real as my own. Back then one of their dreams might’ve been to imagine what 2010-2020 would be like, our current time frame. I suppose they imagined us in buildings that float, people with personal planes for getting around, and grocery stores where there aren’t pesky lines. Maybe the next 100 years will bring hovering buildings.

Anyway, 1911 died, awww, sad. So speaking ill of 1911, I can certainly say it is a nondescript year, fairly anonymous, and maybe shouldn't have wasted everyone's time. Just skip from 1910 to 1912. But let’s raise a tankard of JR anyway along with the old Father Time, an Englishman, and the semi-nude New Year's baby. It's 1912! 1911 is finally gone, may it Rest In Peace and in our precious memories with its ups and downs, the good and whatever evil it so maliciously cradled and nursed.

February -- Got the Moves Like Dagger

Note: This is largely a fictional account of what I'd love to see happen to February. Yes, I'm trying to destroy February as a month, but, no, I don't (necessarily) want to accomplish it by violent means. Still, how satisfying it'd be -- one of those wish fulfillment things -- if my peaceful values could be just slightly different, and I could see a palace assassin plunge the dagger in, and watch February writhe in pain on the floor and finally die. Am I right?

The council of months was underway at the palace, high in the atmosphere somewhere, the various lords and ladies of time in the large courtroom awaiting their annual decisions. Decisions pertaining to how the kingdom would measure time for the year. Would it be as it had been for the last 10,000 years, with no variation, or could this be the year there might be a change?

As a lowly guest, being an acquaintance of a friend of a day in January, I stood behind a curtain in the very back, straining to hear, wondering, Might February be out? I had no reason to hope, but, being a hopeful guy, I couldn't help whispering a slight prayer to that effect. The same prayer I'd prayed the last 4,000 years.

Trumpets sounded, meaning the Council of Months' business session had ended, and they'd be returning to the court and to the great round table. The table itself was a matter of some controversy, true story. The vote had been 11 to 1, February outvoted again, who, inscrutably, always agitated for a rectangular table. My opinion, February would do anything to change the subject, to give us a reason to think of anything else but its shortcomings. And that's true, when you're misshapen in some way -- say you've got only 28 days to your name -- you tend toward strange eruptions around your betters.

So the months gathered before us and we listened for the announcement. There would be no change to the calendar. The vote was almost unanimous, 11 to 1, and the predictability of time had been maintained once again! February shifted uneasily in his chair, then in a pique slammed his fist to the table. Obviously he had lobbied for more days. I muttered to myself, "What a disgrace..." The other months were rolling their eyes and showing signs of irritation with yet another of February's many annoyances.

It had been widely hoped, not just by me -- like one of those impossible dreams -- that at some point the other months might just vote February out entirely, then divvy up its days between themselves. I'd long hoped they'd keep a kind of stump month, say with 10 days of the old February, and for those days to be a time of revelry and cussedness. I think it'd be good for society -- rife with criminality as it is -- to get it out of its system all at once.

Little did I know we were closer to that happening than I ever had reason to expect! For behind the scenes, behind the curtains, the plot was already in motion. An assassin from a violent group called the Coterie of Devils (represented in the picture as a literal coterie of devils) lurked. We didn't know a thing about it. But all of a sudden, in a flash, this big burly guy with no shirt and the hairiest back I ever saw sprang from a hiding place and plunged a dagger into February's back. There was an unbelievable gasp in the room, many exclaiming, "Conspiracy!", and I myself distinctly gasped the following words, "Well, hush my mouth!"

But what could anyone do? The guy was a stabbing machine, going like speed typing, and the other months, weighed down in their royal robes, and not being trained for defense, were motionless. February took at least two dozen lightning thrusts. Then the assassin, in one last act of boldness, mounted the table, dropped his pants, and mooned in the general direction of February's bloody dying form. This daring gesture accomplished, he leaped to the floor and ducked quickly behind the curtain and was gone.

I sensed the mood was a bit weird, like the usual miasma that goes with shock. Sure, no one liked February, but having him stabbed by an assassin? That's damned tough to endorse. But I decided to go for it, and stood strong on the table, waving a bloody napkin from February's place at the table, and shouted, "Let this be a day of independence for the progress of time and its descendants!" And what's this? The bastards booed me down, and I had to slink out of there in total disgrace, excoriating myself in no uncertain terms, "Too soon, stupid, what the hell were you expecting, you stupid idiot?" 

February -- Stimulant or Depressant?

Among the great questions meant to draw a distinction between two equally true points of view, the classic example is the chicken and the egg, which came first? Further examples are then multiplied: fried or poached, white or brown, original recipe or extra crispy. One choice is as good as the other.

It's not my purpose here, obviously, to examine and answer all the questions man has had over his tortured existence. To do so would be beyond the skills of even me, which is not to say it should not be attempted. The question would have to be Why?, if it can't be done, which is a question for another day. What drives me today, much like the prophets of old, is something much more vital in world debate: February -- Stimulant or Depressant?

When it comes to everyday stimulants and depressants, chemical interactions come into play that settle any debate. We take the substance -- such as sugar -- and examine its interactions in consumption. These are studies, incidentally, that I personally conduct everyday of my life, candy, popsicles, or just straight from the cane. So far, I can say it's all good.

When it comes to the month of February, of course that's a marking of time, different from sugar. Assuredly it's not a chemical compound, subject to the lab. Still, the question is a good one: Is it stimulative or depressing? When we answer that huge question, we will have arrived at the truth.

If the reader will permit a shortcut, just let me say that I haven't asked anyone their opinion. But just looking around the room (I'm at the public library), I'll simply guess that half the people here would say it's a stimulant, half would say it's a depressant, and the rest wouldn't understand the question. Many of them are children; in this day and age I'd be afraid to even talk to them. (Has it ever occurred to you that parents now are the same kids first tethered to dog lines to keep them safe? Naturally they're touchy.)

I have said all that to say this, that I shall be the tiebreaker. For me, February is a depressant. It is well known that I don't like the month, having publicly advocated against it. I've openly sought to have it destroyed as a month, with most of its days then being added to other months, with a 10 day period made up of renegade February days leftover as a kind of no-man's land in time. All kinds of weird things could go on in that period, zombie parades, human sacrifice, Mardi Gras, horror movie marathons, with prayer and fasting (Lent).

For me, it's not just that February tends to be a downer in terms of weather; it's winter's halftime. It's just that I don't like it. The name February reminds me of burrs, or being cold (brrr), or having fur stuck in my throat. I'm choking even now as I write this, trying to hack something up, something not even there. That was also one of my ideas, to rename one of the 10 remaining days of February Dry Heave Day.

Frankly, I'm not even the kind of guy to get down, depressed. For me everyday's a new day, a day of wonder, a day of opportunity, except -- and this is huge -- when February gets in the way. So to say it's a depressant is really to say something; I'm despairing of life itself!

On the other hand, I've been standing boldly, loudly proclaiming my opinion, and even holding forth on the street corner protesting February for most of the last month. And I don't know that I've ever felt better, perkier, and on top of my game. To that extent then, ironically, February has been a stimulant! But the key distinction to be made, before anyone declares victory for the month, is that I can't see myself year after year stimulated while acting for its destruction. Any worthy goal, the success of which is forever in abeyance, for me becomes a depressant. I was late growing pubic hair, so I know what I'm talking about.

The predictable conclusion is that for some people February is a stimulant and for some a depressant. Maybe it's this, maybe it's that. For me, however, and this is where I hold sway, having the final word, February is a major depressant, that needs to be destroyed, now, if not sooner.

February -- We Barons Confer

The beginning of February brought with it a meeting of the various barons of society. I was eager to get together, being consumed with the issue of February and its continuance as a month on the calendar. To which I am opposed.

It's always quite an assemblage of power brokers, myself the Baron of Blogging in conference with the Baron of Politics, the Baron of Business (not pictured), the Baron of Industry, the Baron of Banking, and the Baron of the Church. Our overall mission is to keep society on track, nudging here and there where it seems appropriate. The Baron of the Church asked the Baron of Heaven's blessing, then we went into session.

Among the items on the agenda was the February Question, a hobby horse I often ride. Naturally, I came in for some good-natured ribbing, the Baron of Business saying, "What about Groundhog Day? The people need it to brighten their dreary lives, being, as they are, little more than boils on the backside of existence and, worse, knowing it." I pointed out, logically, that groundhogs would still exist without February, and sought the Baron of the Church's acquiescence to that point. He seemed to consider it an inscrutable question.

I was then surprised when each baron spoke against February.

The Baron of Banking said that a short month makes their bookwork more complicated, especially with the occasional Leap Year. "That one damned day every four years makes Y2K seem like a godsend." The Baron of the Church nodded in silent affirmation, and said, "The Lord likes balance and is put-off when it's missing. Plus the Church could use more Sundays in the year, not fewer. But with February, I don't know if there's two or three Sundays at the most. It's something to pray about."

The Baron of Business, always more brusque, took the side of the businessman. "Let the Church fend for itself. It has a Higher Power. We've got the bottom line. For us February cuts both ways. Yes, if we had more days to work with, we'd make more money, a huge plus. But factor in this, that if we don't meet our goals, February is our biggest excuse: 'We ran out of time.' See? We put the goods out and we open the doors, but we're not in charge of time itself!" I pointed out, rightly, that he should work more closely with the Baron of Politics.

The Baron of Politics, seizing my opening, cleared his throat and took the floor. "Baron," he said, addressing Business, "I do have the power over time, as in the principle of Daylight Savings Time. If you're willing to get up a few days earlier, I could make it January again right now, February be damned! We just need to work more closely together. You put your hand in mine." At this point Church shifted uneasily before admonishing, "No sir! Put your hand in the hand of the man who stilled the waters!" Politics, knowing he'd overstepped, smoothed troubled waters, saying through clenched teeth, "Point well taken."

The Baron of Industry, a man of action and few words, gave his opinion another way. He took his jacket off and flexed the bicep on his right arm. We watched amazed as a brief tattoo video showed raw materials being delivered to a factory. He shook his arm and the second video showed the factory manufacturing goods, all so harmonious. The final time he shook his arm it showed a fleet of trucks taking goods away for delivery. I interpreted his point for the group: "Destroying February, if that is our goal, is a step by step process." 

Concluding then, as host, I gave the summation: "Gentle Barons -- Banking, Politics, Business, Industry, and Church, as the Baron of Blogging I am a man of letters. In my work, I must know the great rhetoric and logic, the prose and poetry, that have graced mankind's history. For example, of the five of us, none quotes Shakespeare more than I. Who said, "A rose by a totally different moniker would waft out a scent as pure and sweet." Proving one truth, "Yes, February is a month, the other months are months, but it is entirely inferior, yielding a noxious stench. Simply put, it must be destroyed here and now or this conference will have been a failure!"

The meeting went quiet and I was embarrassed. But the merciful Baron of the Church took the gavel from my limp hand and dismissed us to a time of coffee and sharing how our wives are doing. Since I'm unmarried I could only listen with interest and envy.

Bright Future -- No More February

As January comes to an end, we're on the verge of something big having to do with February. The stubbiest month, hallelujah, at long last is going down! To defeat! Once and for all, forever, to be purged from our calendar. Dead and buried in an unmarked grave. Let us rejoice!

But wait! Having said all that, let me also say -- this is regrettable -- that even as I sense its destruction, I also sense an inexorable shadow over the proceedings. The vision's hard to pin down, but I see looming just ahead, in my consciousness, that our 28-day foe may still have few tricks up its sleeve. Will it be brought down so easily? Of course I hope it will, but I feel we must proceed cautiously.

There's definitely something being unleashed, OK? Even now as I write this, I see the light. And yet, the shadow also grows, impinging on the light of January. Of course we know in a few days January will go away for another year. But what follows it? That's what we're trying to influence. This year, yes, we know it has to be February. The calendars have all been printed, passed out by the banks. And the banks more or less run things. Screw with their calendars and they'll keep our money. Basically the shadow says this: "February has many friends, not just enemies."

I don't want to discourage anyone reading this, far from it! But this spot, this shadow is becoming bigger in my mind's eye. Could it be a tiny bit of sawdust, something in my eye, that always looks bigger up close? No, this is not a physical thing. This is like the shadow of evil itself! Telling me, and cackling about it even, that February thinks it shall have the final victory! I know what you think I should say: "Not over my dead body!" But I'll stand back, because I don't keel over so easily.

Because I'm not accepting thee vision, not now, not ever. Instead, I feel that we have the power of light on our side, which shall drive out every shadow. As in days of old -- eternity -- the darkness cannot comprehend the light! Am I right, high five! Woo woo! Would everyone here kindly step to the rear and let a winner lead the way! We've got this bastard, bastard! Feb-RU-ary! You gonna be ruin' the day you ever set foot in this world, for you shall see your ruin! Pack your bags, Joe, hit the road, Jack, and don't look back. (A little trash-talkin' always makes me feel better.)

And yet, the darkness grows, exasperating me to no end. I stomp my feet, it's there. I hold my breath, it continues to loom. I'm turning blue, about to pass out, but I feel I cannot give in. How can such a short month stand against my powerful will? I'm getting consternated. That could be it, the key to my victory. Will and anger, consternation! My tantrums have never been known to fail. Must remain defiant, with confidence and faith, and all will be well.

Still, just to be on the safe side, I'm nudging my declaration of just yesterday, that by Feb. 3 we shall glimpse success against February. Playing it safe, I'm now saying we shall surely glimpse success over it, much more likely, by Feb. 6. We're ceding only three days! And what's three days, when our suffering has gone on for ... so many dark years...

The swift demise of February is still assured!

Chipping Away at February

It feels great to be taking a stand on an important issue. I indeed have finally stepped out and accepted my calling in life. And I hope I have your full support, for then our common goal will be so much easier to accomplish. That is, destroying the "month" of February, and finally having a calendar we can be proud of.

Of course I know it's a huge step. And if the critics are right, it's a huge challenge. Although I'm extremely confident it won't take that much. I'm honestly thinking that as early as Feb. 3 we'll probably glimpse ultimate success. Mere days away! But there's a lot of work to be done, if we're going to not just glimpse success but grasp it. For me, putting that knife through the calendar was a real rush. It did something powerful for my resolve, having taken such a decisive step. And now, once the knife's in, there's no turning back!

As I said, the critics see "a huge challenge." Which, as I recall, is always the way with critics. It's probably "a huge challenge" for them to tie their shoes, especially since their hands are always so busy wringing themselves! Frankly, if we left life up to the critics, we would've never evolved beyond the slime. They would've been slime oozing from a bit of moss, clinging to their precious comfort zone. While the rest of us were looking to trade in our gills for a set of lungs and get on with the damned thing.

Part of the challenge with February, as I understand it, is that the world's had too much history with it to dump it now. People were born in February, they commemorate anniversaries, their loved ones died in February, the calendar appears set in its ways, etc. Well, check the history of the calendar. It's changed a lot over the years! September through December are named for the numbers 7-10, but obviously they're known by different numbers now. I can't remember why they needed to add August, but they wanted July for a place to put July 4.

My current proposal is that we add a number of February's days to January and March, then leave, say, the last 13 days of the old February as a mini-month. That'd be like crazy time. Like a desert on the earth, a time of desolation. Lent's usually about then. We'd squeeze it into 13 concentrated days of ashes and mourning. Any new births in that 13 days would have their birthdays reassigned to the happier months, as would happen with existing birthdays. Eventually the word February would be synonymous with sticks in the mud, the sorrowful, the unhappy, and of course the deranged.

I think we could shame prisoners even further by reassigning their birthdays to those 13 days. It'd be like a hot brand they could never overcome. They probably already do this on some other more intelligent planet, so we'd just be keeping up with them by switching. Having said that, I would not leave the word February in the mix. To give those days the ultimate shame, thus making us more reflective, we would need to go beyond the old with something completely new. What would it be? Right now I'm in destroy mode, so I can't think of anything. Scorpion, Lizard, Dry Heaves?

Friends, I said I'm confident, and that is true. But there's still things that could go wrong. And yet -- All praise to the native god in the photo! -- I'm sticking to my prediction. February 3 sounds just right as the day that I believe we will glimpse our ultimate success. Meaning, if you want to share in the credit of this seismic shift in time, you'll need to jump on board right away. Our deliverance is less than a week away!

My Birthday Schedule 2015-2023

The big day's coming, just a couple days till January 16, my birthday! I can hardly wait for the celebration part, even though I'm not that crazy about getting older. But that's OK, too. Because I can't do anything about it, I may as well put a positive spin on it.

I love being a January baby -- "January baby, full of grace," all that, and also because I don't have to wait as long for my birthday to roll around. The old year ends, the new begins, and wham! there it is. Technically it's as early as January 7, even though I don't know the next time that will happen. I haven't looked that far ahead.

I had a question from someone about when my birthday was, prompting me to sketch it out for the next several years, up into 2023, which is so far away it sounds like science fiction. Space 2023! The last frontier, as man breaks the bonds of earth and makes his way to the stars! Bye bye, have a great trip, I'll be right here when January 18th rolls around, having a great birthday. Although by then I might be in the nursing home, since I'll be exactly 70-years-old! Hmm, 70... Grandma died when she was 70...

Having the chart is great, because it makes it just as handy for me as it is for any of you. Because even I can't be expected to remember when my birthday is year to year. It's complicated. But having a chart really simplifies things. I need to send a copy of it to my family and loved ones, and real life friends, who might like to send me a card or gift, if they only knew when the big day is.

There's a few simple rules I go by that limits when it can be. As I said above, the earliest it can be is January 7. I never want it exactly around the New Year, since that would detract from the glory of the day. There's also a religious reason. January 6 is Epiphany, when the Wise Men came and did what they did at the manger. I will not horn in on the end of Christmas!

From the day I was born, I never actually wanted to be born on a single digit date. But I've found that allowing the periodic appearance of the 7th, 8th, and 9th does have a value, putting me in a thoughtful mood -- a little blue -- which I use it to enhance my feelings for the rest of the year.

I'm glad also that I was not born on one of the oddball days of the year. Like February 29. There was always some idiot kid running around school going, "I'm only 4 years old!" I never understood the fascination with being 4. Another thing is, I don't like February period, so every date in February is oddball to me. It's more or less a shorter month they stuck in to fill in the rest of the year, but they put it second so it wouldn't look like a last ditch effort. Because of February my other limit is January 29. I don't want anything in the 30s so close to February. Avoiding the taint of February is a big thing with me.

Oh, the technicalities of life! The things we do to honor ourselves on the day of birth, that one special day we look back on when our mother gave us birth. And hopefully there was a father around, as well, to provide for us. My dad said he was my dad. And since I look just like him, I half believe him.

See you January 16! Happy birthday!

December's Real Day: Christmas

Yesterday was December 2. Tomorrow is December 4. And so on. Whoop de doo! Big deal...

The truth is, and everyone knows it, the only real day in December is Christmas Day, December 25. Everything leads up to it. And everything after it is a letdown. Nothing is redeemed until January 1.

We see the big number -- 25 -- and it tells the whole story of December. We always think, "How many days till Christmas? Get us there!" We might ask how many more meaningless days till the suffering's over and Christmas finally gets here. At the beginning of the month it's quite a few, over three weeks, three boring weeks, three weeks of days that may as well not even exist, except for one reason, no one's figured out what to do with them.

A guy hates to say three weeks of his life is simply worthless. Because those days, arguably, could be real life, life and potential that you shouldn't wish to hibernate through just to get to Christmas. That doesn't seem like how we should live. My instinct is to say that every day of my life should be meaningful, worthwhile, and lived to its fullness. But when you have a huge day like Christmas looming there, like a black hole, it sucks in everything around it, even three weeks out. We go inexorably toward it, then afterward we start breaking free of its gravity, and we wonder what happened.

It's amazing then that we have to crawl to December 31 just to get started again with normal life. Even as it itself is something of a semi-holiday, existing as it does right on the cusp of January 1. December 31 and January 1 are like parts one and two of the same thing. Like Christmas Eve -- to a lesser extent, because of the magnitude of Christmas -- and Christmas Day are sort of parts one and two. I like Christmas Eve for this reason, because Christmas isn't over; it's just beginning. But I have something of a problem with Christmas, because it gets here then slips through our hands ... just like that.

We hear how people are very depressed on Christmas. I know how that goes. It's because we tend to shrink in size (mentally, psychologically) the more magnificent our surroundings, in this case the day itself. Then, for all its magnitude -- and this in part is in the nature of the shrinking -- it's still slipping away like any other day. We're anxious! Have we done with the day what needs to be done? Have we done it properly? Are we anything like the Christmastime observers of old that we know from songs, cards, artwork, and memory? So many of us feel like total failures.

Now, of course none of us asked for this. We may not want it to be this way, but there it is. There's nothing we can do about it. The years, the decades, and centuries have set Christmas in place, the dominant day of the month, the black hole at the heart of it, and now the entire holiday complex it's become orders our lives as the month arrives and proceeds. Everything aims toward it, and the residue is full of Christmas leftovers and aftertaste.

This year, speaking for myself, I'm going to try my best ... not to fight back, that's not the word ... but to try to redeem those other days. I might go about it like this. "Christmas Spirits, past, present, and future ... I know you're listening and watching, and want me to maintain my allegiance to your day. I promise I will! But until then, please let me give these other days of the month some small attention. Perhaps, with your leave, I shall read for an hour, then burrow down again in hibernation. Would that be so much? You'd surely agree that's honoring time as well as honoring Christmas. Because I'm letting Christmas approach in its own time, not rushing it, not delaying it. Hoping for your approval,  your humble servant, etc., etc. Amen."

I hope that works out, because for once in my life I want a December that I can remember having lived, apart from Christmas Day. Which is a great day -- Spirits, don't get me wrong! It's just that I'm getting so old and want the other days of my life to be good, too, each one.

30 Days Hath September

I came out of my self-imposed hibernation to wish everyone a Happy 30 Days Hath September Day!

This is one of the first days most of us ever heard of. When I was growing up, learning about the days of the year, no lesson would be complete without mentioning it. And thank God, because it rolls around every year.

Other than that, there's not much to say about it. Although, just giving it a minute's thought, wouldn't it be wild to have your birthday on September 30? As many people do, no doubt. Since no one can help when they're born. It's all up to their mom and dad. Still, let's say you were born on Sept. 30, and they were teaching you the calendar and your birthday and "30 days hath September" were the same day! You'd never forget it.

Is Christmas Always On Sunday?

I'm glad the paper answered this important question today, because there's probably lots of us who've been wondering the same thing, without having the courage or drive to write in.

I can truthfully confess, I've celebrated many Christmases, all of them in the past, without now remembering the day of the week they were on. But if I'm to be completely honest, I have to say I don't think they were always on Sunday.

Unlike the questioner, I was already more or less aware that Christmas is always on Dec. 25. More or less? I can actually be more definitive than that: I am very sure Dec. 25 is always Christmas Day! But, still, it's nice to see it in print, and to know it wasn't just a figment of my imagination.

So, thank you, newspaper! You've done us all a great service. If it weren't for the help, who knows, the questioner might have had to look at a calendar! Or googled multiple calendars for multiple years, which would make it a lot more complicated. And obviously not every calendar says when Christmas is, like little calendars. Plus, sometimes it's tough to know if the calendar is showing Sunday or Saturday, since sometimes they just say S M T W T F S (my emphasis).

I hate to gripe about the "Sound Off" column today. But if I could complain just a little, what's the big gap of white space for? If they had that much room, they could have elucidated with a few more details. Like how to reconcile the odd fact that Easter is always on Sunday.

Here's why I think that is: The church gives payoffs to calendar publishers to make it happen. Why the publishers aren't open to payoffs at Christmas is anyone's guess. You'd think they'd be more open, so they could afford more Christmas gifts. But you'll have to ask them.

Maybe "Sound Off" can get to the bottom of it! I'll write in! Why do calendar publishers accept crooked payoffs from the church to reserve Sunday for Easter, but when it comes to Christmas they turn and say "Bug off!"?

The New Valentine's Day -- Adolf Hitler's Birthday

If you like Valentine's Day on February 14, enjoy it while you can. Because I see a day coming -- and the way the world is going, with lots of hatred, etc. -- when everything might change!

The problem, like I said, is hatred and love together. They're getting mixed up. Or maybe it's always been that way, but people have been too dishonest to say so. They certainly don't love one another. They don't even like one another. It's sad but unfortunately very true. Not everyone, but many.

OK, Valentine's Day, Febuary 14, is a day for telling your supposed love one how you really feel. But, according to the new honesty, you might say, "I really don't love you. It's all been a sham." It's harsh, I agree, but the advantage of saying it on Valentine's Day is that the general spirit of the day, a day of love, cushions the blow. She or he thinks, Maybe it's a fluke, maybe it's a joke. But, no, it's no joke, as you reiterate the negative sentiment, with finally a torrent of hate-filled invective pouring forth from your mouth, by now a non-stop stream of poison.

You can see what would happen if enough people did that -- and they're aching to, for sure. It wouldn't take long until the cushioning effect in general was worn away, because the day would be known for so many break-ups. By then, the spirit of the day would have changed entirely. It would become a day known for domestic crimes, murders, harshness, people flipping each other the finger, and so forth. If it happens it will give the phrase "St. Valentine's Day Massacre" a whole new meaning!

Eventually, then, the day being completely ruined for love and becoming a day representing total hate, those who still want a day for love will cast wide (and fervently) for another day. But what other day is there? They're all basically occupied by something, and you can't have too many holidays right in a row. You need a buffer space so each holiday can have its own niche. Certainly the adherents of other holidays won't want to yield to the orphaned idea of a day of love. Christmas? Arbor Day? Columbus Day? Never! So there will be troubles all the way around.

Then someone will think, what about Hitler's birthday? That's a date, April 20, that's long been more or less kicked off the calendar. I know when the day comes around, there's a lot of hushed tones. Everyone goes, "It's Hitler's birthday, damn it!" No one calls in sick because they want an appointment with the many therapists out in force that day, counseling those who have terrible issues with Hitler. So they decide, Why not rehabilitate Hitler's birthday? It's not good for anything anyway. We could have Valentine's Day then!

In fact, it's perfect! It's long been known for the hatred of its namesake! Why not claim it as the day of love, and completely turn it around? With the hearts and candies and everything that we used to associate with Feb. 14 simply transferred over. I know, it's close to when Easter sometimes is. But Easter, being a nomadic holiday, is always going to be in the way until it finally settles on when it wants to be.

So that's it. That's the future. It sucks, yes, to have to change. If everyone decides to keep Valentine's Day a day for love -- and drop the honesty business -- then maybe we can avert this alternate future. But if you actually do feel like pouring out your true feelings -- I hate you, darling -- then just know we have a fallback date for the true lovers.

Now it's known as Hitler's birthday -- BOO! -- but it wouldn't take much to make it a day of love!

Did Anyone Predict The End Of The World Today?

It's one of those significant date days, 09-09-09. It seems like someone somewhere must have predicted the end of the world today. But I don't know if they did or who it could have been.

If they did, they're probably sweating it out, standing in their backyard with no belt, no metal, just a tie rope holding up their pants. I could have done it but I didn't think of it. And it's too late now. But there's always 10-10-10, next year.

Really, think about it, 10-10-10 next year could be the end of the world. It's three 10's. In bowling there's 10 pins and if you get them all that's a strike. Then in baseball, if you get three strikes you're out. So perhaps sports is pointing the way. The message to the world, "You're out!"

The problem with predicting the end of the world on a particular day is ... the next day always comes. Then there you are sitting there looking like the complete idiot you are.

And yet, what an existence you've lived in your time here! Always looking to the end! To you, the end can't get here soon enough, so that, What? You can be up in glory going, "Hey, this is the first time I've ever really enjoyed anything!"

Maybe enjoy your life here, because chances are, it's not really our destiny to be clamoring for the end. I think we're supposed to live life to the fullest while we're here, not be begging to leave. But what happens? You're miserable for one reason or another. Your dreams never worked out. You didn't get the girl of your dreams. You've got a mind that says purity is preferable but all around nothing quite meshes with your psychology. You're trying to escape your sins and your own shadow rather than understanding them. I know how it goes.

Learn from the past. Wishing and waiting for the end of the world doesn't make it happen.

The scientists say it's definitely going to happen someday, at some point between 5 and 25 billion years from now. So what year would that be? Will we still be figuring years the same? It seems like it. Why would we suddenly quit?

Let's say it's 10 billion years from right now, because I can add 10's really well. Also, let's skip 2009 and go with 2010 for this exercise. So ... 2000 + 10 + 10,000,000,000 will be ... the year 10,000,002,010. Did I get that right? I think so. That'll be wild, won't it? All those numbers in the year. But we'll have had several billion years of experience to get used to it, so it won't be any big deal.

Now, here it is, in the future, 09-09-[10,000,002,0]09. By then they're releasing the Beatles remasters on iTunes, so everyone's eventually happy. Except, and this is a big except, the world is going to end on 10-10-10, that very next year. Global warming has shrunk the world to the size of an asteroid. You wake up everyday with your blankets on fire because the sun's right in your face. Everyone knows by then the world's coming to an end.

You've got an asbestos suit and boots (asbestos being re-legalized because the excruciating heat is a lot worse than lung cancer). You're holding your pants up with an asbestos rope. You're out in your backyard. There's a solar flare, it consumes you. The end of the world has come!

You're finally happy!