Leap at the chance

It happens every four years. Not the election (although that can't get here soon enough), not the summer Olympics and not the World Cup. What am I talking about (a question I get all the time)? I'm talking about Leap Year.

Why is this year different than the three years before it? Because as you probably know, during leap year February has an additional day. So instead of 365 days, in leap years there are 366. Thank you Captain Obvious.

Since it's such an infrequent occurrence—like me exercising or Scarlett Johansson returning my calls, there are a few interesting facts about a leap year:

What do you call them? People born on February 29th call themselves Leaplings. Or Leapsters. Or Leapers.

Never tell me the odds. The odds of being born on February 29th are 1 in 1,461, or .068 per cent.

Happy birthday to you. Leap year babies actually get to have birthdays the other years. As a rule, they usually celebrate it March 1st.

It's a bird! It's a plane! It's his birthday! Superman was born on February 29th.

I was curious why we even have leap years—who isn't, amirite? So here's a little explanation I grabbed off the interwebs:

Leap days keep our modern-day Gregorian calendar in alignment with Earth's revolutions around the Sun. It takes Earth approximately 365.242189 days, or 365 days, 5 hours, 48 minutes, and 45 seconds, to circle once around the Sun. This is called a tropical year, and it starts on the March equinox. However, the Gregorian calendar has only 365 days in a year. If we didn't add a leap day on February 29 almost every four years, each calendar year would begin about 6 hours before the Earth completes its revolution around the Sun. As a consequence, our time reckoning would slowly drift apart from the tropical year and get increasingly out of sync with the seasons. With a deviation of approximately 6 hours per year, the seasons would shift by about 24 calendar days within 100 years. Allow this to happen for a while, and Northern Hemisphere dwellers will be celebrating Christmas in the middle of summer in a matter of a few centuries. Leap days fix that error by giving Earth the additional time it needs to complete a full circle around the Sun.

So not only is this blog wildly entertaining to read, it's also educational. You're welcome.

Leap years are like daylight saving, except instead of springing forward an hour you get to do it for a whole day. Ok, so analogies may not be my strong suit, but you see where I'm going.

My point is you have an extra day to do something you like, be nice to someone, forget all about pandemic diseases that may wipe out the entirety of mankind with a sneeze, and not listen to news about the unstable genius and his incoherent orange ramblings.

As everyone says to the bride, this is your day.

So do with it what you will, and make it one to remember.

Because no matter how you decide to celebrate your extra 24 hours, you'll only have four years to think of a way to top it.

Think inside the box

What do Jeopardy, Angry Birds, Star Wars, Sports Illustrated, Jeff Foxworthy, Mr. Rogers and the Dali Lama all have in common? Besides being mentioned in an internationally loved, critically acclaimed, extremely prestigious blog? The answer is they all have box calendars.

And they're not alone.

The other day I was killing time in Barnes & Noble while the wife and daughter were shopping in Ulta. I would've gone with them, but they don't carry the foundation or blush color I use. And besides, I think we all know I'm beautiful enough as it is. Anyway, I was shocked, shocked I tell you, to see that virtually every book title, sitcom, dog breed, video game, celebrity, magazine, website, car manufacturer and radio talk show host has a box calendar.

Apparently there's so much wisdom out in the world the holiday shopping public doesn't know about, it takes 365 days to dispense it all—one day at a time.

I imagine these bright, little squares make great stocking stuffers, not to mention secret Santa presents and gifts for people you really don't want to spend anything on, but feel like you should give them something. Whatever the reason, they take up two of the large tables at Barnes & Noble, so they must be selling just fine.

As I was perusing the vast assortment of them, the thought struck me that I'm overflowing with words of wisdom my own self, and I'm pretty sure I could stretch them out to fill up 365 days worth. So I'm going to do something I rarely do here—I'm going to make a promise to you. Because I know you'll want it, and more importantly you'll buy it, I'm going to start working on my own box calendar, and have it ready to go just in time for next year's holiday shopping season. I know, right?

And unlike my diet, unfinished screenplay, accordion lessons, sticking to a budget or my high school girlfriend, I actually intend to follow through on this promise to you dear reader(s).

First of all, it seems fairly easy to me. And if you know anything about me, you know I'm all about easy. Next, judging by the back of these box calendars that show a sample of what's inside, it looks like a lot of white space with very few words. If you've read this blog for any amount of time, you already know the less I write the better I am. In fact, the better we all are. Also, I have plenty of art director friends I can call on to design the colorful, whimsical, eye-catching box for whatever subject I decide to focus on.

Will it be a distilled rehashing of the most popular Rotation and Balance posts? A searing, snarky, advertising buzzword-a-day calendar? A skewering posting of the things account planners say day to day (you know, a comedy calendar)? It might just be daily pictures of my German Shepherd, which sounds really appealing because that means I don't have to write anything (about easy, remember?).

I guess we'll all have to wait until next year to find out.

Until then, I recommend the Keep Calm And Carry On box calendar to hold you over.