History Detective Does It Again - Nobel Committee Takes Note

Though the true origin of Valentine’s Day has long been clouded by indifference, personal reflection on the matter has provided uncharacteristic lucidity, shocking my doctors and putting the question to rest once and for all

In Third Century Rome, Emperor Claudius II decided single men made better soldiers than those with wives and families, outlawing marriage for young men and ensuring a steady supply of edgy, short-fused fighters for the Roman army. This severely limited the prospects for young women, upsetting them to no end, while simultaneously causing the emperor’s approval rating to skyrocket in the ‘males, age 35-to-50’ bunch.

A priest named Valentine, comprehending the injustice of such a decree, began to wed young couples in secrecy. These weddings took place in a fictional cave near the foot of Mt. Aelop (giving rise to the modern-day word ‘elope’ which translates to mean ‘right under the emperor’s big fat nose’).

Valentine’s insolence was soon made known to the emperor, prompting Claudius to call for the priest’s execution.

Valentine, understandably disconcerted by this edict, prepared to flee to the United States; which, unfortunately for him, hadn’t been invented yet. In fact, it would be several centuries before the world would take on its present globular form, and North America would cease drifting about, finally declaring itself an independent continent.

Escaping instead to France, Valentine immediately recognized the French an insufferable people and, without unpacking his bags, made for England. Upon arriving in London, Valentine set up shop as a monger of flowers, confections and pickled beets; goods that were largely spurned by the locals as frivolous extravagance.

To make ends meet, Valentine hunted wild game, having the good fortune one day of taking a goat. This ultimately proved a misfortune when it was learned that Valentine’s arrow had found one of the king’s goats—a goat, not surprisingly, indistinguishable from any other goat.

Valentine was arrested forthwith.

At trial, Valentine’s defense centered ‘round the unlikely story that a cherubic, midget had committed the crime, flying away before All the King’s Men arrived to pronounce the unfortunate goat’s demise. (It seems All the King’s Men had been occupied in processing the scene of a suspicious accident involving an egg, which may or may not have been pushed from a wall). Valentine was about to add that the midget was riding a unicorn, but could see the gullible King’s Court had already fallen for his ruse—something he could never have put over on the far more cynical French.

The king ordered Valentine’s release (forthwith) and called for an immediate round-up of all chubby midget archers… a disturbingly common demographic in those days.

Meanwhile, back in Rome, Pope Gelasius I (creator of the popular Italian treat, Gelato), for no reason whatsoever, issued a decree that established Valentine’s Day as an official holiday; the holiday originally being celebrated (at the clever suggestion of Valentine, himself) with gifts of flowers, confections and pickled beets.

And that’s the truth about the origin of Valentine’s Day.

State Department Release - Vancouver Olympics

Travel Advisory
United States Department of State
Bureau of Consular Affairs
Washington, DC 20520

CANADA

The U.S. State Department has issued the following advisories for American citizens planning to attend the 2010 Winter Olympic Games in Vancouver, Canada.

Crime:

1) A number of fraudulent Olympic venues have recently been established for the purpose of taking advantage of witless travelers. Visitors should be watchful for perpetrators of this chicanery, who often advertise sham events such as: Moose Roping, Snowshoe Racing, Loon Calling or Caribou Milking.

2) Exercise caution if you are approached with an offer to purchase time-share property. Tourists are being targeted with what would appear to be incredible offers to purchase large tracts of land in Canada’s most northern reaching territory of Nunavut. Potential investors are warned that this region is made up entirely of snow, and that climate change experts agree it will be part of the Arctic Ocean by 2012, the wet part. If solicited to buy property in northern Canada, politely tell the flimflammer that you want none of it.

3) Recent activity by gangs of reprobate bears have prompted the recommendation that you conceal the Molson’s in your locked vehicle to avoid Canada’s most pervasive crime, the smash and grab theft of beer by drunken bruins.

Banking:

1) Before departing for Canada, verify that your Traveler’s Checks can also be used as Travelers Cheques, the only form accepted in Canada.

2) Exchanging your U.S. currency for Canadian currency is not recommended. Even when exchange rates are favorable, this is an unwise practice for vending-machine-reliant travelers, as Canadian money doesn’t work in their vending machines either.

Language:

1) Canadians will readily identify you as a U.S. tourist by your foolish grin and incessant conversation about the weather. Avoid trying to fit in with the locals by adding the word “Eh” to the end of sentences. Canadians realize they do this; when you do it too, they just think you’re making fun of their impediment.

2) Do not call members of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, Dudley Do-Right. The Mounties have guns, and they know how to use them.

3) When conversing with Canadian’s from the Province of Quebec, it is acceptable (and encouraged) to pepper your conversation with regular exclamations of “Sacré Bleu!”

4) Never call a Canadian, “Hoser.”

Other:

1) Moose frequently assist law enforcement authorities in reducing traffic speeds by standing in the middle of the road. Since moose are 95% leg, motoring to Canada in a low profile vehicle will allow you to drive right under them without slowing down. Otherwise, be sure to purchase moose insurance—you’re going to need it.

2) Should you require medical attention while in Canada, you will receive the best of care, at a reasonable price, as long as your illness is related to a hockey injury or the common cold. Any other malady is best managed by a lawyer who can update your Last Will and Testament.

3) Travelers shouldn’t be alarmed by the odd fact that water draining from Canadian toilets circles neither left nor right. Parliament’s attempts to earmark funds to research this phenomenon have been frozen in committee.

4) If you lose your passport in Canada, you will be required to use the secret password to re-enter the United States. When the Customs Officer asks “How much Canadian whiskey do you wish to claim?” reply: Nunavut!

Bean Dip and Mini Coopers

The other night, I fell asleep on the couch. I was awakened around midnight by a car's headlights shining into the living room. "Yet another young couple mistaking our drive for Lovers-Lane," I grumbled as I stumbled out the door to chase them off.

I was annoyed at the understanding that I would enjoy no more sleep that night, but the evening was to become frighteningly disturbing.

As I approached the Mini Cooper, I could see four heads inside the vehicle. I thought about the make-out cars of my youth, and was feeling a little sorry for these kids as I approached the driver’s side window to admonish the occupants. As the driver lowered his window I looked inside the car. I wanted to run, and I tried, but was unable to move.

Inside the car were four big-headed, bug-eyed, grey-skinned, no-nosed, slit-mouthed – Spacemen! This was doubly disturbing because I was powerless to escape, and I could hear the spacemen’s thoughts as if they were my own.

The driver had the largest head (I’ll call him Big-Head) and was the one who addressed me… telepathically, and in English, with a French-Canadian accent.

Big-Head… telepathically: Slave-earthling, what is your name?

Me… thinking: I’m Scared!

Big-Head… telepathically: (These earthling names get weirder all the time.) Scared, direct me to the nearest dairy farm.

Me…nothing: Though I think I may have pointed before I fainted there in the driveway.

When I came to they were gone.

As panicked as I was, I knew I had to call someone to report what I had seen. Who to call? Homeland Security? NASA? National Geographic? I decided the Air Force would be a good place to start.

I ran into the house and grabbed the phone. I thought I would call the operator in order to be promptly connected. As I put the phone to my ear and was about to dial “O” I heard a soft voice ask, “May I help you?”

Startled, I replied, “Is this the operator?”

“This is the United States Alien Detection and Tracking Service, a division of the Department of Agriculture. What can I do for you?"

“I just saw four spacemen in my driveway! They were driving a Mini Cooper!”

“No you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did! They’re gone now. I passed out; I don’t know how long I was out. You’d better hurry!”

“We know all about it. The situation is being dealt with.”

It was then that I realized I wasn’t saying anything aloud, and I could hear the phone’s dial tone ringing in my ear. The whole conversation was taking place in my head!

“It’s you, isn’t it!” I screamed (in my head).

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, I know it’s you! Listen Big-Head…”

That’s all I remember. I must have passed out again. When I came to, it was morning and I was back on the couch.

That’s where my wife found me. She says it was just a bad dream, and advised that I lay off the nachos and bean dip. I think she suspects there's something to the story, but is taking advantage of the opportunity to alter my eating habits for her own selfish purposes. She may be right, or maybe she’s one of them.

I stopped eating bean dip, for now. I’m also maintaining a focused vigil whenever I see a Mini Cooper roll by.

I'm Going Back to Bed

My favorite holiday is approaching, but don’t buy a card or bake a cake. Don’t shop for gifts or plan a party, either. Don’t even send me a friendly greeting via email.

Why? Because none of these are required in order to celebrate Groundhog Day. On Groundhog Day, even listening for the news on whether Marmota monax saw his shadow is optional.

Though few groundhogs will have shaken off the slumbering effects of hibernation by February 2nd, a number of North American antagonists will abusively ply the groundhog in wintertime competitions of dubious seasonal precognition. Georgia has their groundhog, General Beauregard Lee; Staten Island, NY has Charles G. Hogg; and many in Ohio look to Buckeye Chuck. Even Canada practices this black magic, through Ontario’s Wiarton Willie.

None of these imposters, however, have been able to hold a candle to the biggest fraud of all, Punxsutawney Phil. The people of Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania make the dubious claim that their groundhog has been at his post since 1887, a feat they say made possible by Phil’s annual ingestion of Groundhog Punch, an elixir that allegedly adds 7 years to Phil’s life (more black magic). They don’t explain why, if it adds 7 years to Phil’s life, an annual dose is required. Maybe he’s come to rely on the stuff.

Punxsutawney Phil’s popularity (if not his credibility) has been enhanced by the fact that his annual forecast is recorded in the Congressional Record. (A practice that hasn't done anything for the legislature's credibility, either.)

There are other parts of the Punxsutawney fable that don’t really add up. I’ve learned that Punxsutawney Phil spends the year (with his mate Phyllis) in the town’s library under the care of volunteers. There, they live on dog food and ice cream, presumably passing the time reading books and periodicals, and making fun of the librarians.

On the eve of the big day, Phil is placed in a heated burrow under a simulated tree stump at Gobblers Knob, where ceremony calls for him to be unceremoniously yanked from his rest at 7:25 a.m. on February 2nd, the precise moment of the Punxsutawney sunrise. This is when Phil supposedly gives his forecast to one of the inner circle of the Groundhog Club, a man dressed in tuxedo and top hat.

Phil’s forecast must be translated from his native tongue, Groundhogese, though it is largely believed that the communication is nothing but a lot of groundhog cussing about being rudely awakened and placed on display before enjoying his customary mocha cappuccino.

I say this must stop! The residents of Punxsutawney Pennsylvania have made Groundhog Day into a multi-day affair that involves such events as an Oreo stacking contest, a Groundhog Jog (little more than a waddle, I suspect) and a Groundhog Beer Dinner—something that may finally explain all of this nonsense.

The beauty of Groundhog Day lies in the fact that the usual demands of a holiday aren’t placed on those of us who choose to observe Groundhog Day in our own carbohydrate-induced hibernation from the comfort of our winter beds.

Let the six weeks begin, and goodnight.