How will you celebrate my birthday?

It’s the biggest, worldwide party every year and you’re invited.  You may call it New Year’s Eve, but let’s face it, it’s my birthday and that’s why you’re celebrating.

When you think about it, calendars are pretty arbitrary.  Why is January the first month of the year?  The old Roman Julian calendar put New Year’s day on March 1st.  Think about the names of our current months.  October?  “Octo-” Latin for eight.  Which made October the eighth month of the Roman year, not the tenth.  Same goes for December.  “Deca-” Latin for ten.  December was the Roman’s tenth month not the twelfth.  Somewhere along the way, we switched them all around to the current Gregorian system.

A calendar is no easy thing to change.  The French tried to use a metric calendar (along with a metric clock) after their revolution in 1793.  It failed miserably and was abolished in 1806.  Nevertheless, there are dozens of different civil and religious calendars in use today.

Personally, I like the proposed calendar that has 13 equal, 28-day months.  Every month starts on a Sunday, so every day falls on the same date.  Plus you get a couple of extra leap days or “party days” each year.  Plus, New Years Day would fall on the Vernal Equinox.  That makes more sense than some arbitrary day in January.  Squeezing lunar-based months into a solar-based year has its problems.

As we move out among the stars and settle other worlds, our Earth-centric calendars will have no relevance to the stellar pioneers.  I wonder when New Year’s Day 2107 will be for the colony on the second planet from Epsilon Eridani.  (If you leave a comment about Star Trek because of that last sentence, it’s a foregone conclusion you have no date for New Year’s Eve and are probably living in your parents basement.)

But enough about calendars.  This is about me and my birthday.  Here’s the part where I slip in the PSA and encourage you to drink responsibly, but you know what?  I don’t care.  Drink until you puke on your date’s shoes and pass out.  As long as you don’t drive, I don’t care.  If you wake up in a strange mobile home, married to some hairy dude name Rufus, that’s your problem not mine.

Since you probably won’t be the one who gets my special, midnight New Year’s kiss, I’ll leave it to your imagination to dream of me while you’re kissing the one closest to you.

Tell me how you’re going to celebrate my birthday.  Gifts are completely optional.

The Sick and the Dead

Perfect timing.  I went to bed Friday night in prefect health and woke up Saturday morning, the first day of my Christmas vacation, sick as a cat.  The fire in my chest and head are the harbingers of Christmas this year.

The odd thing is, I rarely get a cold or flu or what ever this burning sensation is.  I guess my system is just too toxic to sustain any real disease.   Hopefully, this will clear up enough so we can all enjoy the day.

In my delirium, I still had to run to the grocery store (sanitize those cart handles, kids).  I threw a couple of game hens in a cart.  It wasn’t my cart.  I turned around twice, wondering why my hens had escaped.  Then I realized I may have stolen someone’s cart and/or randomly thrown poultry around the meat department.  These better be the best birds ever.  I feel like I really hunted and gathered.

JIT for Xmas

 I started out to write a piece about the real, historical St. Nicholas, 4th century Bishop of Myra.  Quickly realizing the volume of research material made me think twice.  After all, books have been written on the topic.  But I decided to give my brief treatment a slight twist and ended up with Santa Claus Punched Me in the Face. 

What to do with the leftover research? I had enough material for at least 2 more articles, but decided to write just one making a correlation between the traditional symbols associated with St. Nicholas and modern Christmas practices.  Do you know why there is an orange in you stocking?  From St. Nicholas to Santa Claus: Connecting the Symbolism might reveal a few things you didn’t know about Christmas.

Either way, Merry Christmas.  And if you are one of those that is offended by the use of “Xmas,” I may just have to write an article about what the X really means.  It is not an attempt to take Christ out of Christmas.  But that is for another time.

This may be the 2nd most favoritest song of mine

Being a large, bulbous object myself, I have always loved this song. It mentions two of my favorite things: Jean Luc Picard and stupid people. I love stupid people. I love bald people, too. Is it me or is the lead singer the bastard child of me, Sean Penn, Brendan Fraser, and Angus Young (check the foot work)? I mean, I’ve never even met any of those folks, let alone had some freaky exchange of DNA with them, but still, this guy morphs between a younger, slimmer me and Sean, Brendan, and Angus so easily. Enjoy.

It’s not less than easy to hear the lyrics, but just in case, here’s a recap:

Just how far down do you want to go
We can talk it out over a cup of joe
And you can look deep in my eyes
Like I was a super-model.

[here I have to say, I have the prettiest cornflower-blue eyes. There's a blemish in the right, lower quadrant of the left, but it just makes me more endearing.]

Uh huh.

Well it’s just you and me, baby
No one else we can trust
Well say nothing to no one
No how or we’ll bust
Never crack a smile or flinch or cry
For nobody.

Uh huh.

So give your ID card to the border guard
Your alias says you’re Captain Jean Luc Picard
Of the united federation of planets
Cause they won’t speak english anyway

Everybody knows that the world is full of stupid people
So meet me at the mission at midnight
Well divvy up there.
Everybody knows that the world is full of stupid people
So I got the pistol
So I get the pesos
Yeah, and that seems fair.

Well put the sugar in the tank of the sheriffs car
Well slash the deputy’s tires
They wont get very far
When they finally get the word that theres been a hold-up

So give your ID card to the border guard
Your alias says you’re Captain Jean Luc Picard
Of the united federation of planets
Cause they won’t speak English anyway

Everybody knows that the world is full of stupid people
So meet me at the mission at midnight
Well divvy up there
Everybody knows that the world is full of stupid people
So I got the pistol
So I get the pesos
That seems fair

So What is Real Life Like

I’ve been asked a few times this week, possibly because of this suicidal rant, “Are you like this in real life?” I translate this question as, “Do you have no shame? Do you just say whatever pops into your head out loud? Would you say these things to someone standing in front of you?” I’ll answer this with a true-life account.

Exactly two Thanksgivings ago, the following transpired. No names have been change because I am the only guilty party.

November in Alabama isn’t known for its cold weather. This particular Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving was no exception. It was tolerable. Long sleeves were appropriate for dress. Short sleeves if you were exerting any energy. My new neighbors were expending their energies.

This young couple only knew me as the helpful guy who owned the house next to the one they purchased 2 months ago. He and I had talked, but she and I had only waved. This left her unprepared for that Wednesday when I returned from work to find her holding a ladder and him stringing Christmas lights on their virgin home.

I whipped into my driveway, slammed my car door loudly, checked my mail loudly and marched single-mindedly down the sidewalk and up their driveway to announce loudly, “Hi! I’m not only your neighbor, but I’m also with the Neighborhood Watch Committee. I MUST inform you, the rules of the neighborhood FORBID the hanging of Christmas lights before Thanksgiving. I know y’all are new, but I must INSIST you take these lights down. I’m happy to help you take this all down, if necessary.”

Her protest began immediately. “Are you serious?”

“Yes’um. The neighborhood rules are quite firm on this,” I deadpanned.

“But we’re going out of town tomorrow to spend Thanksgiving with my parents. We won’t be back until Monday and we just wanted to decorate before we left.” Her husband was sliding down-ladder like a sailor onboard a ship. His motion was an involuntary, instinctual movement brought on by stifled laughter.

“Honey, I think he’s kidding,” he said trying to hang on to his hammer.

“No. This is a serious offense. We can’t let the neighborhood get out of control,” I said as he and I exchanged glances.

Her confused and questioning eyes darted between her husband and her new, obnoxious neighbor about half-a-dozen times before we men could not contain our smiles any longer.

In answer to the question, yes, I’m just like that in real life. I take every opportunity to laugh, love and enjoy life. I believe I could make chocolate out of mud, if I gave it a good effort.