Leap Year 2020

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Okay, ladies and gentlemen!  Brace yourselves — because there’s no way to sugar-coat it.  Tomorrow doesn’t exist; you are about to enter a man-made time warp.  As of midnight tonight, what you think is the present is actually the past, and the future won’t begin again for another 24 hours.  Deep, huh?  Don’t be scared, though; it happens every four years.  (Not really, but it’s too complicated to explain*.)  It’s called a Leap Year, or Leap Day to be more precise, and we need it because the universe doesn’t care what time you want to go to work.

The Universe, Mother Nature’s boss, doesn’t get involved in the affairs of humans.  It’s got better things to do.  We humans, Mother Nature’s most precocious children, have never quite understood that.  We think that if we make a couple more scientific discoveries or sit naked on a mountainside for a couple of years, we’ll get this whole universe thing figured out.  It’s not likely, but nobody ever accused our species of being humble.  The Universe actually rolls on without us, asking neither permission nor forgiveness, and nothing we say or do is going to change that.

Despite what old hippies and serious dope smokers will tell you, Time is not an artificial concept.  It exists, and people have always measured it.  Way back in caveman days, there were only two times — dark and light.  This is an extremely accurate measurement which most species on this planet still use.  However, as our species got busier and busier, we discovered that minor Time (major time is beyond our grasp) had recurring themes.  The sun travelled across the sky, the moon got larger and smaller, and familiar clusters of stars moved in elliptical patterns.  All these things happened with incredible regularity.  Therefore, it was simple for primitive humans to figure out that there were usually twenty nine suns between each full moon.  Not only that, but our ancestors also found that if they persistently watched the night sky, the movement of the stars corresponded to the seasons.  For example, in the Northern hemisphere, what we call Orion’s Belt first appears in the southwestern sky in early January, soon after the morning sun is lowest on the horizon.  Thus, by noting when Orion’s Belt first appeared in the sky and counting the number of suns until it reappeared, early sky watchers discovered a complete earthly cycle — or a year.  These two rough and ready measurements (or something similar) are the basis of all early calendars.

Unfortunately, as our society got more and more sophisticated, these primitive tools didn’t keep pace.  There’s an inconsistency between the months and the years that causes nothing but problems.  Essentially, 12 lunar months equal only 348 solar days — which leaves a 17 day gap in the celestial year.  As the years went on, the seasons were slowly getting out of whack.  No less a light than Julius Caesar saw this and devised a new system called The Julian Calendar that remedied most of the problems – for a while.  However, 1600 years later, these problems were back — with some extra added attractions.  Not only were the seasons out of place again (they had moved twelve calendar days in the centuries since Caesar) but the highest holiday in the Christian calendar, Easter, whose timing is based on the Spring Equinox was disappearing into seasonal winter.  Pope Gregory XIII decided rather than let the Universe figure it out, he would fix it.  After all, he was the infallible head of the Roman Catholic Church.  He set his minions a mission: devise a calendar that would work for all time and keep Easter in the spring (where it belonged.)  They came up with the Gregorian Calendar which added an extra day in February every four years (or so) to even out the imbalance.  Gregory’s new calendar was proclaimed in a papal bull on February 24th, 1582 and is now in general use.  Problem solved.

Which brings us back to the time warp that is tomorrow.  Tomorrow doesn’t exist because Gregory’s extra day was inserted for time already past.  Here’s the deal.  As our earth moves around the sun, it takes 365 days, 5 hours, 49 minutes and 12 seconds to made one full circle.  For simple calculations, we call that a year.  That was the amount of time a year took in 2017, 2018 and 2019.  Obviously, that time is gone.  However, in our burning need to realign the Universe, here we are with a whole extra day to make up for it.  But the reality is that day is over.  We’ve already lived those hours, minutes and seconds.  In the great metaphysical scheme of things, this is borrowed time.

So take tomorrow off, kick back, throw a ball, read to your kids or just lie elbows deep in a pillow, contemplating the infinite.  If anybody asks, blame it on Pope Gregory.  He’s the guy who thought a little time management would be good for the Universe.

*A Leap Year is every year that is exactly divisible by four, except for years that are exactly divisible by 100.  However, the centurial years that are exactly divisible by 400 are still leap years. For example, the year 1900 was not a leap year but the year 2000 was.

Originally written 2012 and gently edited.

What’s In A Name?

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As the 21st century evolves, nationalism is becoming a dirty word.  Pride in one’s country is considered déclassé at best and downright racist at worst.  What a crock of crap!  Since when did self-esteem became synonymous with hostility?  God, we live in useless times!  Yet there are tons of people who want to do away with these “stereotypical labels.”  Yeah, yeah, yeah!  We’re all God’s children, artificially separated by imaginary political boundaries.  [Heavy sigh!]  The last time I ate that pie-in-the-sky, I was twelve.  Since ancient times, people have identified things by the places they come from — things like Persian carpets, Greek fire and Mongolian barbeque.  It’s jargon.  It gives us tons of information.  It’s doesn’t carry a judgement call.  Let me demonstrate.

When I was a kid, there was a cool joke that swept the neighbourhood.
“How do you make a Venetian Blind?”
“Poke his eyes out!”
This is a funny, but it simply doesn’t work with any other city.  There are all kinds of things like this.  For example:

A German Shepherd is a dog, whereas a Swiss Shepherd is Heidi’s grandfather.

Russian Roulette is a game you don’t really wanna play, but if you have enough money, regular roulette can be kinda fun.

I don’t think the Beatles song Norwegian Wood would have had the same impact if the refrain was “Isn’t it good? / Yugoslavian wood.”

The French are particularly good at just stealing stuff and saying it belongs to them.  Things like French toast, French manicure, French horn, French press, French braids, French beans and, obviously, French fries.  None of these are even French, BTW, but the entire world knows them by that name.  Remember when the Americans tried to change French fries to Freedom fries and came off lookin’ like total idiots?  And, of course, there’s the French kiss which, I can tell you from experience, is probably French, cuz it involves an awful lot more tongue than most people are used to.

Plus, some words are just shorthand.

People drink Scotch, not “a blended malt liquor from the northern part of the British Isles.”

For Christmas dinner, you trot out the good china, not “the very best dinnerware.”

And when you and the boyfriend are off to the beach you wear a Bikini, not an “obscenely skimpy, two-piece swimming costume.”  Meanwhile, he’s wearing Bermuda shorts, not “frumpy dad pants that make his ass look tired.”

A Singapore Sling is a drink.  A Chicago sling is probably what you use when the loan shark breaks your arm.

A Brazilian Wax is a cringe-worthy beauty affectation, but English wax is just what’s left over after the candles burn down.

Turkish Delight is a delicious snack you want to put in your mouth. America cheese? – not so much.

And it goes on

There are animals: Shetland ponies, Labrador retrievers and Bengal tigers.  Drinks: a Manhattan, Long Island Iced Tea and a Moscow Mule.  Foods: Belgium Waffles, Swedish Meatballs, Greek Salad, Baked Alaska and Chicken Kiev.

Did you know the Ebola virus was named for the Ebola River?

This stuff is everywhere.

But here is one example that categorically proves just how important national distinctions are:

American Football is two teams of large men wearing helmets and extensive padding, playing a game with a ball, using a standard set of rules.  Australian Football is a couple of street gangs in short pants, running around a pasture, trying to murder each other.

I rest my case!

Martha Stewart And Me

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I love dessert.  No, not the regular lump of vanilla ice cream trying to drown a soggy slice of apple pie.  The desserts I love are works of art that take half a day to create and are just too elegant to eat.  The problem is I’m no damn good at them.

Let me explain.

First of all, I can cook.  Well, not really.  I can put the fire to various food items; you can eat them, and they taste alright, but….  Basically, I’m a little bit more than a frozen food microwave chef, but quite a bit less than someone who’s completely competent with pots and pans.  Therefore, unless I really have to, I restrict my culinary adventures to KFC – except dessert.  I love dessert.

Secondly, like most people who don’t have to do it every day, I look at gorgeous food creations and think, “How hard can it be?”

And thirdly, I’m a Never Say Die type of guy.  Show me a lost cause, and I’m in there like a dirty shirt.

So what happens is, Martha Stewart shows up on YouTube with a Banana Cream/ Hazelnut Torte on a field of Bavarian Chocolate with Mint Sprigs, Almond Slivers and Caramel Swirls, and I say to myself, “Hell, yeah! I can do that.”  But I can’t.  And we all know why.  Cuz Martha has a fleet of Bavarian elves who bake the torte, sliver the almonds, swirl the caramel and bring their own chocolate.  All I’ve got is a naïve belief that Ms. Stewart is America’s Sweetheart and not an evil crone who hates me.  Three hours later, I’m knee deep in a nine obscenity barroom brawl.  There’s a glob of brown something in the oven, defying Newton’s 3rd Law of Thermodynamics, a half a bag of spilled almonds under the fridge and a boiling pot of – “OMG! Caramel isn’t supposed to do that!” — on the stove.  (And I haven’t even discovered I bought the wrong kind of chocolate — yet.)  Time to surrender, slide this mess into the trash, and swear by all that’s holy to never ….  But then it happens again.  Martha’s made a Gingerbread Stonehenge with jelly bean Druids and a lemon zest, orange icing sun.  Gingerbread’s easy — right?  WRONG!

Over the years, I’ve made any number of after-dinner disasters, including a butterscotch butterfly that melted back into her chrysalis, a flock of chocolate birds that flew in all directions when the balloon exploded, and a strange frozen layered thing that slid into the sink when I wasn’t looking.  I’ve carved pears, sectioned oranges and made watermelon stars – and none of them looked anything like the picture.  I’ve combined, folded, melted, simmered and boiled.  I’ve cut diagonally, rolled vertically, pinched, poked and prodded with a fork.  I’ve sliced and I’ve iced.  And all to no avail — because nothing I’ve ever done has turned out the way it does in Martha’s videos.

But don’t cry for me.  Don’t weep for my defeats.  I may be beaten and bent, but I’m not broken.  I’m still standing.

“Do you hear me, Martha Stewart?  I’m still standing.  I’m still here.  And as God is my witness, one of these days, one of these days, my stuff is going to look like yours.  That’s right, Martha Stewart!  I’m coming for you.  I’m coming for you, and I’m bringing Hell with me!  You don’t scare me with your perky professionalism.  I’ll take you and four more like ya.  And Snoop Dog, too, if he wants a piece.  So get ready, Martha Stewart: I’m coming for you because I love dessert, and not you or any of your perfect videos are ever – ever — going to take that away from me.”