People!

Get it through your heads! There is no year 0!

We can sit here and banter logical arguments both for and against the existence of a zeroth year until we get sick and die, but the fact is that in our calendar, it simply doesn't exist, and logic (or not) be damned. Why? Because the people who invented our calendar, the early Christians, didn't have the concept of the number zero to begin with, so they surely weren't going to use it in their reckoning of time! Arabic numerals, remember? Invented by... well, by people who weren't Arab, if I recall correctly, but regardless, not imported into our part of the world until years, years, YEARS after the start of the Christian calendar.

When it comes to us, we reckon our own ages the same way. Before I was born, we were in the era BC (before Connie!). After I was born, we entered into the first year of my life. The anniversary of that blessed event was my first birthday, whereupon I began my second year of life.

Oh, and the common era? It kinda begins with the presumed birth of Jesus. Yeah, I know, the odds of him actually having been born when old tradition apparently held is beyond tiny, but all the same, the guy didn't die when we started our calendar. That'd be rather inauspicious, wouldn't it? (Except not, because his death was a good thing, even though the people historically* considered responsible for that deed (yes, I mean you!) were considered *bad* for helping this *good* thing to occur, which Jesus had already said would happen, implying a predestination... Theology's clearly not my strong suit.)

*I've never understood *that* part either. Even if I accepted that you could be blamed for something you, personally, hadn't done (and I suppose that once you accept the concept of original sin, it's not that big a stretch to accept that every last Jewish person alive at any point in history was to be personally blamed for Jesus dying), wouldn't the blame go on the Romans or something instead? In this case, it's not, I think, theology that's not my strong suit, but prejudice. Which suits me just fine.

So, you know what today is...

My grandmother's birthday. (Fooled you!)

She's in the hospital, broke a bone. Fact is, we don't know how long she's... well... *shrugs* She could be like Bonpapa and hang around another decade or so. Or she might not. I just want to get out to California to see her soon. My grandfather, each time he got sick, he'd recover at the last minute, so I didn't go out there the last time he got sick, because, why? He'd just get better! And he didn't*, and I don't want that to happen again.

And then there's everyone saying "Well, she's had a long life, and she's done a lot", which is all *true*, but it seems so... awkward to say. There's no life so long that there's not people thinking it could've been longer.

*_{Not to be flippant, but this is probably just as well. Visits by me to Bonpapa consisted largely of smiling vaguely, reading, and not talking much because neither of us really had anything to say. And I strongly believe that he agreed with me that this was something we could do perfectly well over the phone. It's not a very sentimental thing to say, but it's true. However, I can't talk to my Bonnemaman over the phone, because I don't understand her over the phone.}

Today's haiku, sorta....

Time for the haiku
Alas, it was not to be
I can't think of one.

*headdesk*

Wonder where rich Canadians go when they are sick? They cross the border to America for health care.

What American, if he were really, really sick, would voluntarily go to Canada, Germany, France or Sweden? Keep health care in America private.

What about poor Americans? Where do *they* get to go when they are sick? Nowhere, that's where. Not that this seems to matter.... I see no problem myself in having a public health care system alongside a private health care system, as we do with the schools, but I'm really a bit ignorant on the subject.

Anyway, some Times articles....

On colic, and remedies thereof

( Trigger warning? )

On the return of standards from the Revolution

( Read more... )

On being French, and other things

( Read more... )

Oh. Wow. COOOOOOL!

This is enough to make me wanna be a seven year old again. In England. With bad manners. *swishes around an imaginary wooden sword* Swish. Swish. Snicker-snack!

What the everlasting FUCK?

People can't be reading this right. They simply can't. This must be an early April Fool's joke. Or yellow journalism gone astray. Or something.

*shakes head*

Three more fucking years. That's all I'm giving it. Then I'm moving, and not to fucking Atlanta. Somewhere out of this damned country. I have friends out of the country. You can just be sitting around expecting a long-term houseguest until the world goes sane again.