Thank the universe, it is Spring!

Some say Jesus’ birthday is actually in Spring, that actually Christmas is the remnant of a Winter Solstice folk festival celebrating the shortest night of the year – essentially the worst of the worst, so long as that can be said in terms of darkness – but really is the beginning of hope since for another entire revolution, no night will be as long as that. Love that day.

I’ll slightly address how annoyed I get when trying to think, OK, now that it’s the equinox, tonight at 8:07 some odd post-meridian, does that mean that the hours of daylight today equal the hours of nighttime from 8:07 until tomorrow? Does the sun set at 8:07? Which night and day are equal? Is the equinox just a moment, like everything else is?

Too many questions. Too many secrets. All I know for sure is that I just heard birds chirping out the window — in Queens, mind you, where there is one tree for every four dance clubs, and one decent Irish bar for every sixteen dance clubs. God, why can’t people talk over beers anymore? Is it the language barrier? Is that what Babel was about, because I didn’t see it. But you must have, you see everything. Must be tough to have to sit through all that crap, y’know? Not being able to walk out halfway through anything? Or skipping the sequels to movies that were terrible in the first place, even though oftentimes the second part of a trilogy is often the best, for which I’ll cite the Star Wars Trilogy (the first one – meaning IV-VI) and the second Back to the Future. If you were to take the “con” side of that argument, check out Ocean’s Twelve and – eh – The Chamber of Secrets. I didn’t hate that movie but in my mind it’s the same as the first one – both directed by Chris Columbus, inventor of America – and so I’ll choose the first one over the second every time in that conversation. Ah, the lost art of conversation. Does anyone talk over beers anymore?