Greetings all leaplings and leapers. You know who you are. Hope you're prepping for one helluva birthday party since you only have them -- well, legitimately -- every four years. Wednesday, Leap Day, is all about you -- and, of course, keeping the solar system in sync -- but birthdays are just so much more fun than astronomy. With all due respect to Galileo.
A leap or intercalary or bissextile year -- credit Wikipedia, the current source of all knowledge with supplying the more obscure terms -- comes every four years as you know. That extra day doesn't seem to upset our routine in any major way, but imagine if we followed the Chinese or Hebrew calendars that add an entire month. If it's a month like February, which always seems to drag on, it would be torture. On the other hand, if it's a month like July, filled with fireflies, warm sunny days and barbecues, the crowd would roar.
Typically romance is involved in a leap year. In some cultures it was the only time women could ask men to marry them -- sounds pretty dated now, doesn't it? And in Greece, leap year marriages were considered unlucky. Unfortunately, pretty much everything in Greece is unlucky these days.
So if you have a leapling or leaper friend, do something special for their birthday this year. They won't have another one until 2016.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Happy Presidents' Day?????
So it's Presidents' Day weekend. While you won't hear me complain about having a day off work, I'm just not sure what this holiday is all about.
When I was a kid, we drew pictures of log cabins and tall men with beards for Lincoln's birthday. Our finger paintings were barely dry when we shifted to the young Washington chopping down a cherry tree. Two bank holidays within days of each other undoubtedly made for a bit of a stop and start work flow, so someone got the bright idea to combine them.
Should I feel cheated? We have one holiday less on our calendars and our holiday tally is already a bit sparse compared to some countries. By law, Europeans get a minimum four week vacation -- many take the month of August off -- yes, the month -- and get a lengthy Christmas vacation as well. You have to work at many American companies for years to accrue that much time off.
But that's another rant. Back to the holiday at hand.
So it's one day. Fine. Live with it. But is it Lincoln and Washington we celebrate or is it all presidents? And how exactly are we to celebrate? When someone says "Happy Presidents' Day" I feel like there should be balloons and confetti -- maybe a small red, white and blue gift of some kind. There are no traditions to generate the "happy" part.
Perhaps we could initiate a national pilgrimage to Mt. Rushmore where we contemplate what democracy actually means. Sounds a tad too PBS though. Add a concert, a brutal competitive sport, scantily clad cheerleaders, a barbecue and beer to broaden the appeal and we may be onto something.
Meanwhile, until we can pull it off, go shopping. Whether you're a president, a veteran or a descendant of St. Patrick, it's how we celebrate most holidays anyway. Get out there and buy something.
When I was a kid, we drew pictures of log cabins and tall men with beards for Lincoln's birthday. Our finger paintings were barely dry when we shifted to the young Washington chopping down a cherry tree. Two bank holidays within days of each other undoubtedly made for a bit of a stop and start work flow, so someone got the bright idea to combine them.
Should I feel cheated? We have one holiday less on our calendars and our holiday tally is already a bit sparse compared to some countries. By law, Europeans get a minimum four week vacation -- many take the month of August off -- yes, the month -- and get a lengthy Christmas vacation as well. You have to work at many American companies for years to accrue that much time off.
But that's another rant. Back to the holiday at hand.
So it's one day. Fine. Live with it. But is it Lincoln and Washington we celebrate or is it all presidents? And how exactly are we to celebrate? When someone says "Happy Presidents' Day" I feel like there should be balloons and confetti -- maybe a small red, white and blue gift of some kind. There are no traditions to generate the "happy" part.
Perhaps we could initiate a national pilgrimage to Mt. Rushmore where we contemplate what democracy actually means. Sounds a tad too PBS though. Add a concert, a brutal competitive sport, scantily clad cheerleaders, a barbecue and beer to broaden the appeal and we may be onto something.
Meanwhile, until we can pull it off, go shopping. Whether you're a president, a veteran or a descendant of St. Patrick, it's how we celebrate most holidays anyway. Get out there and buy something.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Take a Seat, Please
My current nomination for most challenging job? Designing a one-size-fits-all-behinds chair. This after a recent visit to a coffee shop where I lost a battle with what appeared to be a perfectly decent looking piece of furniture.
My demands for a comfy chair are simple. I would gladly sacrifice "soft" to be able to lean back and still have my feet touch the floor. As a short person, I can attest that 'tis a rare chair that offers this basic human right.
The chair in question was designed by the same guy who gave us the rack. If I sat back, my legs actually, well, dangled. Since the edge of the seat was rounded like a pizza crust, if I sat forward I felt like a canary balancing on a perch.
I fidgeted like a two year old and contorted like a Cirque acrobat trying to settle in. Surely this chair had it in for my backside.
I was mentally designing my body for next lifetime --- long legs, please --- when all became right in the cafe world. One of the big overstuffed armchairs called to me and I pounced. Well, maybe pounced isn't the right word since by then I'd lost all feeling in my above mentioned dangling legs.
Perhaps throwing your newspaper at the chair with a cry of "dibs" violates proper coffee shop etiquette but my tush and I were desperate. Ahhh, now this is a chair!
My demands for a comfy chair are simple. I would gladly sacrifice "soft" to be able to lean back and still have my feet touch the floor. As a short person, I can attest that 'tis a rare chair that offers this basic human right.
The chair in question was designed by the same guy who gave us the rack. If I sat back, my legs actually, well, dangled. Since the edge of the seat was rounded like a pizza crust, if I sat forward I felt like a canary balancing on a perch.
I fidgeted like a two year old and contorted like a Cirque acrobat trying to settle in. Surely this chair had it in for my backside.
I was mentally designing my body for next lifetime --- long legs, please --- when all became right in the cafe world. One of the big overstuffed armchairs called to me and I pounced. Well, maybe pounced isn't the right word since by then I'd lost all feeling in my above mentioned dangling legs.
Perhaps throwing your newspaper at the chair with a cry of "dibs" violates proper coffee shop etiquette but my tush and I were desperate. Ahhh, now this is a chair!
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Word Origins for $200, Alex
'Word Origins for $200, Alex' would certainly have put me in the minus column guessing the etymology of "funk".
Based on no information whatsoever, I just assumed "funk" -- as in low, depressed mood -- came from the counter culture of the drug addled sixties. Scored some bad stuff, now am in a funk. One little syllable that simply exudes description.
Well, I was at least a hundred years off the mark.
I'm an avid fiction reader. I like to get lost in a contemporary novel or two, then read a classic just to keep things balanced.
I'm currently reading Flaubert's "Sentimental Education", a morality tale of modern Parisian life in which the unheroic hero tries to fit into upper class society. He earns a few francs, loses a few. He loves her, loves her not.
Not a great story but I'm invested now and won't put it down until I find out what happens to the protagonist.
You may think I digress, but it's because of this novel that my thoughts went to "funk" at all.
During one of these hard times, the hero admits to being in a funk. In the next chapter, his friend asks him what he's going to do about getting out of the funk he's in.
Funk? A novel published in 1869 using words right out of the Haight Ashbury? The ol' synapses were immediately askew. Off to my trusty dictionary I went to find that people walking the cobblestone lanes of Flanders originally coined the word.
I know the Flemish produced some famous painters. Now I can thank them for their contribution to the American vocabulary as well.
Based on no information whatsoever, I just assumed "funk" -- as in low, depressed mood -- came from the counter culture of the drug addled sixties. Scored some bad stuff, now am in a funk. One little syllable that simply exudes description.
Well, I was at least a hundred years off the mark.
I'm an avid fiction reader. I like to get lost in a contemporary novel or two, then read a classic just to keep things balanced.
I'm currently reading Flaubert's "Sentimental Education", a morality tale of modern Parisian life in which the unheroic hero tries to fit into upper class society. He earns a few francs, loses a few. He loves her, loves her not.
Not a great story but I'm invested now and won't put it down until I find out what happens to the protagonist.
You may think I digress, but it's because of this novel that my thoughts went to "funk" at all.
During one of these hard times, the hero admits to being in a funk. In the next chapter, his friend asks him what he's going to do about getting out of the funk he's in.
Funk? A novel published in 1869 using words right out of the Haight Ashbury? The ol' synapses were immediately askew. Off to my trusty dictionary I went to find that people walking the cobblestone lanes of Flanders originally coined the word.
I know the Flemish produced some famous painters. Now I can thank them for their contribution to the American vocabulary as well.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)