Boxing Day Sale Shopping/Being a Decorum Dummy

I've recovered enough to at least arrive at a place to be of better humour. Recently, I was educated more about the Aboriginal shamanistic ceremony of "saging" a home. That involves the burning of a bundle of dried sage grass to produce a smoke smudge used to purify one's living space; to cleanse it of negative energy, and to drive out any unwelcome evil spirits. I learned about this by the way of someone I know, who chose this practice to close off this year: a more unfortunate one for her, and to prepare to open their home up and invite something better to come in the New Year. The Japanese also have a custom of welcoming the incoming New Year by cleaning their homes near the end of the old one: every room, from ceiling to floor. This is done to welcome the presence, and good favour and fortune of their kami, the god-spirits of the Shinto religion, into their dwellings. I have my own pre-New Year habit that is similar to that of the Japanese one. I've been cleaning in my own place as well: not so much to invite the right kind of benevolent spooks and divinities in here, but more to be mindfully organized, and to clear and set a stage for efficiency and order that will hopefully help to attract some form of prosperity, of any kind, in the New Year. Given my condition, I started today to break the process into modular phases. It should all end on New Year's Eve. I don't give much credence into stuff like conjuring up spirits, feng shui, or anything else that is as oogity-boogity. However, after this latest bout of events closing my last month and a half of this year, if rearranging furnishings and scrubbing things down coincidentally helps to rid this place of any lingering bad karma around here, I have no objections to it. I don't have any sage; I do have some sandalwood and musk incense though. I started to burn that too, just to cover my ass.

I also have another custom in my home as I organize stuff: not done so much out of superstition, but out of prudence and frugality. If I bring in a new furnishing, appliance, or technical fixture into my home, I'm relegated to clean at least the whole room where it will be stationed or stored, and then sell off/repurpose/donate/throw out the same volume of stuff (if not more). Such a ritual prevents me from accumulating clutter; and encourages me to be more thoughtful about balancing my living space, to avoid being wasteful, and to seek practical alternatives (if any). Knowing that there is ultimately an obligation (or penalty) of having to press myself into some distasteful task of cleaning later also psychologically prevents me from buying anything rashly and impulsively. Thus, to be effective and efficient, I tend to do my home furnishing shopping near the end of the year when the Boxing Day and Year End sales are on, when prices are slashed, and I'm when scheduled to clean anyway.

I looked in my living room, and said
 "I gotta have more cowbell!"
 However, that didn't happen.
Instead I did the next best thing
 and found more cowhide. Ella isn't yet
 sure if she likes it.

That past month and a half of being stuck in here and staring at my mostly naked walls has been a real sobering revelation as to how much my own condo really isn't my vision of what I would think of as a truly comfortable home. It's actually very devoid of any reflections or signatures of my true personality. Most of the time, it is just a glorified dog house, as it is in fact Ella who is the being that spends the most time inside here, strewing her chew toys all about. For me, because I spend the majority of my week at work, this place ordinarily is just utilitarian space where I sleep, bathe, do laundry, and cook and eat the occasional meal. With having all this time off, I was dumbstruck after realizing just how little time I actually spend living in here while I'm on my regular work schedule. The decorum, or rather the sad lack of it, is a true reflection of that. I realize that because of this I'm kind of reluctant to invite other people over. It's no wonder I've been staring at screens all this time, because I really don't consciously want to look at anything else around here. A few other things also prompted me to think that I should put more thought into making this a place more personalized with creature comforts, and less like a place where it looks like Value Village busted in here, drunk in the middle of the night, and vomited up random junk in every room. Things like, receiving some pictures of my brother's family in the mail, they deserve to be hung in special places. I made myself a promise to keep junk off my kitchen table and actually use it for eating my meals, instead of plunking down in front of the TV and eating mindlessly. I have a nice new(er) rug now to dissuade me from doing that, because I don't want to risk getting it soiled. Rather than collecting a new piece of technology, like I initially planned to do, I instead chose to go on the grand adventure of at least window shopping for decorum for my place.

So, I ended up taking a trip to HomeSense where, as per their moniker, I thought they would have a lot of obvious things to make a house even more homelike. To be honest, I was in a loopy/crazy disposition for much of the day, perhaps due to being (finally) hungry and having low blood sugar, right along with my already impaired uptake of blood oxygen, so my observations tended to get a little weird and skewed toward the realm of the right-brain. I made handy use of the camera on my cellphone to serve as a visual memory aide. I'll declare and affirm right now that I'm by no measure any kind of expert on home decorum, but I am wise enough to see and know what kind of crap is out there that doesn't make any sense to me whatsoever. I found a lot of instances where the store should have been renamed HomeNonsense. The following paragraphs and pictures I've listed are the random observations, home utilities, objectives for my own place, fancies, and other home-oriented concepts that made me wonder what kind of dope various artisans and craftsperson were smoking after viewing some of the stuff I saw there.

Observation: The Mega-Pot – I stumbled across a kitchen pot that would be every hard core home brewer's wet dream. The damn thing must have had at least a 120 litre capacity, a larger capacity than the fuel tanks of many half ton trucks. Being shocked and surprised, I was being silly and flippant at the moment when a young girl of seven or so, and her mother walked up to stare with awe at this strange anomaly along with me. I like kids at that age because their questions and answers are imaginative and spontaneous. Just to see the reaction, I turned to the young girl and said out loud:
"I wonder how many babies you could pack into that sucker?" She began to laugh and giggle uncontrollably, and I chuckled along right with her. Her Mama however didn't seem to appreciate this moment of levity, and kind of began to usher her away from me. At least the daughter had a sense of humour. The presence of this thing begs me to question: what kind of home is out there in which the wholesale purchasers of HomeSense thought it would be a perfectly sensible move to market a friggin' 120 litre cooking pot? This thing was made of stainless steel, and already heavy by itself.

Filled to capacity with liquid, it would easily crush my average-sized stove, that is if I could have ever got it on the damn thing! I guess this thing must have been there for that exact instant when a Hudderite colony should wander into their store looking for something to adequately cook all their borsht for them (for a whole bloody month!), or if the Jolly Green Giant comes along looking for something to steam his peas. I was going to get the young girl to stand by it to get a sense of the scale of this thing when I took the picture, but she and her mother already left, probably looking for Security. HomeSense 0, HomeNonsense 1.

Objective: The far wall opposite of my entrance at the end of my hallway – Initially, I thought I would hang a mirror on this wall space, to give it an illusion of greater space and depth. Then I thought again about when I'll be arriving home after work at night, and how I really don't want to have an instant reminder in seeing just how ghastly, disheveled, and bedraggled I look after an eleven hour day when I come through the door. I would want something a hell of a lot more welcoming than that. I may have to get creative and try to paint my own picture to hang there, but I think so far I like this one. HomeSense 1, HomeNonsense 1.

Objective: a utility, Drink Coasters – How is it that I'm using a drink coaster all the time when I'm at the bar; and yet I'm not so civilized enough to have them handy around my own home? Lord knows I do most of my serious drinking here at my own abode. Maybe I just don't set my glass down long enough around here. Apparently, throughout all this time, I've been one of those innovative bachelors who has figured out that any corner of a newspaper, or a DVD case, or the open end of one of my socks to slip around a drinking vessel works well enough to keep condensation rings and dribbles off my coffee table.

As eccentric as I am, I don't really use this kind
of makeshift coaster, but I was curious as to
know what the visual actually would look like.

However, that just doesn't work if I'm endeavoring to attract and keep a more sophisticated ilk of company. So, I decided to get some coasters. After looking around there without any success, I finally approached one of the stock clerks at the store: a somewhat scrawny, yet strangely attractive and comely young blond woman.
"Excuse me, where would I find the drink coasters?" I asked plainly. The look on her face after my query was one of an attempt to stifle bemused astonishment.
"We have no drink coasters here." she replied with a thick Slavic accent, sort of almost half spitting the answer at me before she turned away. I couldn't help but to react like this was the stupidest thing I ever heard. How in the hell can an establishment, dedicated and devoted to decorating a home with ornaments; a place that sells seemingly endless varieties of stemware, cocktail glasses and coffee/tea cups; a place that sells a plethora of tablecloths, trivets, place mats, napkins, throws, slip covers and other surface protection paraphernalia not have a single goddamned set of drink coasters in its whole entire massive inventory?! I'm being led to believe that there are dinner parties out there in this town where even the more elite homes are having their guests using magazines or their own socks slipped on their wine glasses to protect the furniture because there were none to be found anywhere. HomeSense 1, HomeNonsense 2.

Observation: Ridiculous packaging – Selling bottled water here in Canada apparently wasn't already a stupid enough idea. Unless you were going to a place with an actual tainted water supply, there is no need to buy bottled water here. Now, I just found something that trumps even that for marketing imbecility. Yes, that is, A BOX OF WATER!!! . . . a 5 litre box of water,

They actually have to add the
word "Happy" on the label
to encourage the miserably
stupid people to buy this.

packaged like it was exotic bulk wine from Chile or Australia. It's not even imported from some exotic locale, it's from right here in Canada sitting on that shelf. . . WTF !!! I was tempted initially to pick it up and check and see how outrageous the price was for such a thing, but then that impulse was quickly halted by the self-conscious fear of having some onlookers watching me handle it, and thinking to themselves, "Look at that stupid fucker over there, he is actually thinking about buying that BOX OF WATER!!!
 
Another thing that pissed me off and made me think about how affluence is making us devolve into something that is so much stupider as a society is what is in this next picture. Look at it. Kinda pretty, isn't it? Is it some finely-crafted chocolate bon-bons from Switzerland? . . . Nooooo! Is it an intoxicating fragrance from some boutique in Paris? . . .Nooooo! Is it a package of high-quality rolled up silk handkerchiefs? . . . Again, Noooooo! This is actually a package of plastic bags for collecting DOG SHIT!!! Why is it packaged like this? Is it to give people a fleeting window of appearing superior to someone else when they whip one of these out and bend over to pick up after Rover? I began looking for some gold-leaf embossed toilet paper there after I saw this. HomeSense 1, HomeNonsense 4.

Objective: Decorative, yet manly – Adjectives for things that I will not have in here: frilly, ephemeral, sparkly, pink, yellow, lacy, chiffon, fluffy, sheer, silky; that already eliminates about 40% of the merchandise in HomeSense. There are some things there that would suit me, but would go out of style too quickly as I mature. There are some definitely non-feminine, testosterone-charged things that guys embrace a little too willingly to use as ornaments in their homes, like antique license plates, sports memorabilia, heads of antlered beasts, or even the more ridiculous collections of swords and battleaxes. Unless there is an impending attack by a horde of Visigoths over the hill, I really have no need to keep medieval weaponry around the place. The same goes the relic pieces of vehicles: if I don't want that crap cluttering up my garage, why would I then draw it into my actual living space?

The weird manly things I'd probably have around here are wood carvings and figurines of animals, mathematically complex sculptures, hand puzzles and classic board games, and signs in tasteful calligraphy that reflect a simple personal philosophy, like what is seen on this serving tray. HomeSense 2, HomeNonsense 4.
 
Observation: HUH?!?! – And finally there is home ornamentation there that I just have no words for, as it just boogles my mind as to what kind of home these things would actually belong in. HomeSense2, HomeNonsense 6.

The perfect something for the gay cowboy/cult leader in the family

I don't know what this thing is supposed to
represent, but I can think of a few people
I'd like to have sitting on it.

A house is just walls and a roof, but a home is defined by the characters in it, which in turn are often reflected by the objects and artifacts that they chose to include in it and collect. Sadly, today's shopping trip was a reminder that there will always be people stupid enough to buy water in a box in a nation where it's free on the tap, and others who are pretentious and idiotic enough to by dog shit bags designed by Gucci. I wish all it took to cleanse these sorts of people away from me was burning some sort of herb. If I had only one wish for the New Year, it would be to encounter fewer and fewer people with this degree of stupidity. If that happened, about 90% of my problems in life would probably disappear.

Addendum: I at least managed to find some bloody coasters. I went to Pier One (a place too dangerously close to the Future Shop) for them. This time, I was helped by a stunningly beautiful store worker . . . another one with a thick Slavic accent coincidentally, but this time with some very pleasing proportions. They are of a black alligator skin texture (the coasters I mean, not the physical assets of the woman I mentioned). Nothing too pretty, and yet nothing too corny and cheesy: something you'd expect to find in a more sophisticated man cave.

My Two Cents about Currency

I'm cold-stricken again. I feel totally feeble and deflated of energy. Normally, I'd be trying to combat it with an aggressive treatment of Neo-Citron, but the problem is that its side effects* may be an interference for my procedure with my upcoming ophthalmic appointment. It's bad enough that I'm risking bursting blood vessels in my eyes now with all these violent fits of sneezing, which has happened to me in the past. For now, I'm just restricting myself to using patience, common sense, and the old-fashioned way to rid myself of this bug: rest, wholesome doses of vitamin C, and hot, steamy fluids (soup and tea). There was only enough vigor in me to run out briefly to fetch some of these basic remedies and necessities, and to walk the dog.


My last couple of pennies. I'll probably see if there is any
luck in them and use them for rubbing my scratch lotto tickets.

Today was also my first day of having to get used to making hard currency purchases rounded to the nearest nickel at the shops. I'm actually glad that the federal government and the Royal Canadian Mint saw fit to use the sensible measure to eliminate the circulation of the penny, but I confess that I will miss having them around. I don't have a simple explanation as to why. This has forced me to generally think about the psychology involved in exchanging hard currency.

I'm a consummate debit/credit card user now with most of my transactions. I walk home from work at night a lot, sometimes through and around a dodgy stretch of the neighbourhood. Perhaps mistakenly, I believe that having little or no cash on my person makes me feel like I'd be less of a victim, or I'd have a less severe violation if, God forbid, I ever was held up and robbed. The only reward someone might get if they ever did try to do it is maybe a free coffee from my Starbucks card: the only transaction card in my wallet that isn't PIN protected.

When I'm put in a spot of handling actual legal tender bills and coinage, it makes the acts of earning and spending, buying and selling a lot more visceral and less abstract**, like some real energy is being exchanged. Whenever I gift myself with buying something special, I weirdly feel even more appreciative of it, and even more thrilled and entertained when I spend actual cash for the sake of including something positive and enjoyable in my life. Being more estranged from that actual presence of physical currency now is undoubtedly changing my perception and attitude of it. Whenever actual cash is exchanged, I sometimes get a twinge of a feeling that there's some freedom to haggle a bit, and perhaps a little bit of a thrill of a delinquent hustle is involved somewhere. I believe more people than just myself have this same attitude. That may sound crazy, but OK, let's really test your own thoughts about a given scenario. What would be more of a thrill for you to do if you walked into a place to buy a big ticket item, let's say a car, that you were able to outright afford and pay for in full? Which of these options would you say would be more wildly fun and interesting to do?

Option A: (electronic transfer of funds from your bank)

1. Go to a dealership, respectably dressed, and refreshingly clean, as if to beg them to treat you with respect and dignity
2. Checking out your preferred model, with a polite, yet ho-hum discussion with a salesman about options,
3. You go back to his office, sitting there afterward flipping through page after page of gobble-de-gook of a sales agreement, getting perhaps further suckered into paying for more options before signing it.
4. You're feeling overwhelmed and confused by all the details in the paperwork you are processing, a.k.a. dazzled/blinded with bullshit
5. Ending the day there with an electronic transfer from your bank account and a handshake to close the deal.
6. If you do get the car, with so many clauses and stipulations in the paperwork and payment authorization, the control, power, and leverage in the negotiations seems to be in their hands, not yours.
7. If you don't end up buying anything, the whole event ends up feeling like a frustrating waste of your time.

Option B: (a whack load of cold, hard cash)

1. Go to a dealership, dressed like a total slob, disheveled, and unshaven, and see just much of a schmuck-loser the salesman is going to treat you like in the beginning. Take notice if and how much he is making it look like you are the incarnation of the biggest waste of time that he has ever had.
2. Check out your preferred model you saw advertised, and respectfully ask questions about the options you want. Be polite, and give him no cause to treat you with any further disrespect, but at the same time notice if he is actually listening to you. If he just disregards what you say, or just rolls his eyes in your presence, it's game on baby! Move to the next phase of the experiment.
3. When finished with this initial bit of the spiel, you then back go to his office with him, and as he starts, automatically, trying to check your credit rating, or assumes to start preparing a file for you for financing, then say: "I think I'll just pay cash for this." Then pull out a greasy looking brown paper bag from under your jacket, and start dumping out of it bundles of hundred dollar bills on his desk. Notice especially the radical and immediate shift into behaviour that reflects and denotes acceptance, approval and respect, despite the fact that you look like you slept in a dumpster. It's time to teach this fickle, shallow bastard a lesson. 
4. Count out an amount that's at least three grand less than the amount advertised (or what he's trying to press you for). Put that money back in the bag, close it and keep it on top of his desk. At this time, after a few moments of bewildered staring, he'll no doubt excuse himself, telling you to wait there while he "talks to his manager".
5. After he leaves the office, in secret, remove a sizable bundle from that bag, put the money bag back under your jacket. Pull out from your jacket another identical looking greasy looking brown paper bag filled with the same size and mass of old newspaper. Put that bundle of cash on top of it and close the bag, placing it on the same spot on his desk.
6. The salesman then returns, either to agree with or decline your offer. In either case, you tell him that you've reconsidered: you open the [newspaper] bag (in such a way that only you can see in it) and remove the wad of money and put it in your pocket, close it up, and then make it plain and clear to him that you'll now pay original offer minus whatever the amount was you just removed from the bag. Hell, make it even more interesting and tell him that you want him to throw in another extra couple of mid-scale additional options as well. If he starts blubbering in declining protest, that's when you get crazy on his ass and interrupt him, and boldly (and honestly) assert: "I don't care if you are willing to accept that as a deal or not! I'm planning to leave here without a bag! Whatever is left in that bag is all you are going to get . . .Work on it!"
7. He may stall a bit to call your bluff, or [pretend to] confab with his manager, but if he agrees, be gracious, well-mannered, and thankful (just switch and put the money bag back surreptitiously if that happens***). You sign your ownership papers, and you drive away in your new car as you watch him waving at you; grinning like a cat with a cream flavoured arsehole.
8. If he declines, you just throw up your hands and say: "Well, like I said, I'm leaving here without a bag, and whatever is left in that bag is yours." You then take (the newspaper filled) bag and place in on the showroom floor, dowse the bag with a vile of lighter fluid, set it on fire, and then say "There you go!", and start walking away; laughing and yelling "DANCE, MONKEY!", as you watch him trying to vigorously and desperately stamp out the flames in front of all his peers and co-workers, trying to rescue this fortune.****

So then, honestly, which car buying experience would you find more thrilling and interesting? I don't think you could even be human, or have a pulse, if you chose Option A. My point is that the critical element for making Option B so much more entertaining, and even conducive to getting a better price yourself with more options, is having actual hard currency at play, and the freedom to use a little creativity that electronic transfers and excessively worded sales contracts don't allow. You either got satisfied with a better car for cheaper, or had the pleasure of watching a greedy shithead walk on fire with Option B; so I bet you'd feel like a winner either way. A large amount of actual physical cash never loses its shock value either. Option B is the experiment that the eccentric and devious side of myself would love to make happen if I were rich enough, and knew I could manage to get away with such a stunt with impunity. Security cameras, and more stringent accounting regulations (to curb money laundering) around large cash transactions will probably keep Option B from ever becoming anything implementable, but it was fun as a thought experiment to pass a low-energy kind of day.

I wonder just how much wilder the scene could have been if I actually used Neo-Citron . . .


*- Increased fluid pressure in the eyeball, and blurred vision.
**- The lack of handling actual currency notes and coins, I think, is a big part of why many people are so oblivious about their spending habits, and becoming more prone to getting into serious debt.
***- I bring to your attention that this is strictly mind games, and putting up defense strategy against people who are already trying to dry-hole ream you the minute you walk through their door. . . I am not endorsing theft.
****- Not all car salesmen are pricks, I'd only save and use these tactics for one who evidently is. You aren't even being deceitful. You stated clearly that you are leaving without a bag (you either either leave without a bag of money, or you leave behind a bag of burning newspaper). It could be a useful technicality that could get you off the hook if you ever went to court after this ordeal.  

Rainy Rest Day Reflection

I’m rather thankful that yesterday was so soggy and cloudy, as it gave me incentive to rest and heal up my legs properly. I only had a three hours of work yesterday, and today is a whole day off. Today, I hit the indoor track and the weight room, as the weather is a continuance of yesterday’s rain and gloom, but tomorrow it will be a 14.5 km trial outside, no matter what the weather throws at me in the morning. The remainder of today was used for menu planning/meal prep, reading, watching a classic comedy on DVD, and throwing on the random Genius mixes of my iTunes player to welcome a little bit of musical serendipity as I did some other research and while I wrote this.

My interests have been drifting all over the place on page and screen: from biomechanics to nutrition; from programming to practical application formulas; from wood-working/carving/cabinetry to container gardening; from travel to navigation/orienteering to mnemonic techniques and linguistics. Just random stuff, I couldn’t nail any one topic down to study with any great intensity or single mindedness; I couldn’t even think of anything that all these things had in common to use as a more meaningful basis for something to focus on. The orienteering stuff was inspired by a trip to Cabela’s today. I always wanted enough practical knowledge in navigation to get myself in and out of the wilderness, or through parts unknown, when I choose to veer off of the beaten paths while hiking, and to be able to do so with simply a compass and map rather than relying on GPS gear with limited battery life. Perhaps looking at the rest of the stuff was me just grasping at any intellectual pursuit to avoid all the cleaning and other household chores I need to do around here.

I know retreating into studying random stuff is probably one habit I use to cope with anxieties: turning instead to the external factual world rather than dealing directly with any internal irrational nervousness I may have. I think I am feeling a bit nervous because I dared myself to sign up for a race that is far ahead in advance of the half-marathon for which I’ve been training, and the realization how soon this new event is approaching has set me a little on edge. It’s only 10 kilometers, but with the little bit of extra added pressure, along with new unknowns, it might as well be a hundred. I have enough awareness of the physical aspects of running: getting to know intimately the limits of my strengths and weaknesses; the psychological part however is still very much a work in progress. I purposely threw this challenge in my way because I really needed to explore how I’d mentally deal with this radically different running environment* and take some of the shock away before I tried my bigger challenge later on this summer. Races are supposed to be fun and interesting challenges for oneself more than anything. I registered for this spontaneously to try to keep it so. Overtraining for any one event only piles on high expectations, and makes things seem more like a duty, and the pleasure in doing it for pleasure’s sake gets lost out of the equation. I’m trying to convert the nervousness into healthy excitement.

I’ve never learned how to settle myself very well when it comes to competitions, examinations, or testing. I always had, and sometimes still have, terrible bouts of performance anxiety. It continues to natter at me sometimes, despite formally studying psychology in some of my adult life. I’ve been guilty of frequently deluding myself and coming up with excuses that were less plausible and crazier sounding than the actual core issue. No test I ever took accounted accurately for what I honestly knew or could do, and I never had a teacher or instructor who ever cared enough to see that pushing through this quirk of mine was the bigger challenge for me than having knowledge of the actual test/subject material.** I don’t need to regale in all the instances and complexities during my lifetime where I’ve suffered badly from it, or how some assholes took advantage of me, and actively exploited/betrayed/ bullied me because of this weakness of mine. What is worse is the anger and rage I feel for myself for allowing it to happen. Admitting this now is hard enough to do; I don’t need to tip my hand any further by explaining how it manifests itself for me. The ways and tools I have at my disposal for dealing with this now are as equally personal and complex. It’s probably the greater part of the reason why I largely prefer to be left alone and independent while I work, play, learn things, or for generally doing almost everything else.

The Saskatchewan Marathon this coming Sunday will be my official inaugural step into the world of actual racing. The truth and reality is such that for now, I’m just a casual jogger; it isn’t until I begin competing alongside with others and wearing a race entrant number tag that I will become an actual runner.

*- I’m used to running alone all the time; running amidst and around throngs of other people is a radically different obstacle to reckon and adjust to for pacing myself.

**- A main reason why I have such a contempt for the education system (or at least the kind that I endured through as a youth). I liked learning; I loathed school.

Leap Year Day

I always thought that since the Leap Day came only every four years that something should be made more of it in terms of celebrating its arrival. So far, for me it has a bit of a negative connotation, because it makes the bleakest and dreariest month of the year even one day longer.  It should signify something better.  At the very least it should be made a statutory holiday.  People who were born on the leap year day, I feel, should by rights have a four day long birthday celebration, starting February 29^th and lasting until March 3^rd, to make up for those lost years when their birthday couldn’t be formally commemorated with a date.  There should be some kind of traditional numerical theme involving the numbers 29 or 366.

I heard that in some countries that the leap day was the traditional occasion when women could be the ones to propose marriage.  That idea doesn’t bode well for me, but I do think that it is a day when people should try to do something unconventional and spontaneous. Just for the sake of helping ourselves to get unstuck out of our midwinter’s mental ruts. Wear a colour you wouldn’t otherwise dare to. Try doing the opposite of whatever it is that is your normal impulse to do. Maybe the Leap Year Day mascot could be George Costanza from Seinfeld. It might be a great day to challenge yourself in trying to confront things that give you anxiety and phobias, or daring to take a step forward in making a dream come true . . . taking a big leap ahead of some sort. A Leap Year Day feast should comprise of some kind of weird food that you have never sampled before in your entire life.

If there are gifts to be exchanged on this day, they should be centred around health and beauty products: because hey . . . you are given an extra day in the year to age through, you better do something to cover it up.

I’m open to other suggestions for creating and marketing this into another Hallmark holiday. Perhaps we’ll see something develop from here in another four years from now.