Why is it that four of the months have never been named for anything but a number, while the first eight months of the year are named for someone or something?
January is named for Janus (that two-faced guy); February after februa, a celebration of purification and forgiveness; March for Mars, the god of war. April comes from aperire, Latin for opening, as in the opening of buds in the spring (or possibly from Aphrodite); May is named for Maia, the goddess of plants; June for Juno, the goddess of marriage and well-being.
Then along comes Julius Caesar and he has the gall in 44 B.C.E. to rename Quintilis (for fifth month, as it was then) to Julius (July). Not to be outdone, Augustus renamed Sextilis (for sixth month) to Augustus (August) in 8 B.C.E.
So, why did it stop 2020 years ago? I mean, there are September (seven), October (eight), November (nine) and December (ten) just sitting out there like blank billboards waiting for a clever new name. (And the numbers are no longer even correct!)
Surely, Julius and Augustus can’t be the last two guys in Western culture with enough ego to rename a month after themselves.
Or more fit for our times, commercialize the names of the months; the rights could be purchased like bowl games. It’s not the Orange Bowl anymore, it’s the FedEx Orange Bowl. It’s not November anymore, it’s Toyota November; it’s Bud Light December. Just think, their logo on every calendar.
Number of people 16 and older in the nation’s labor force in June 2012.
Source: U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics
Percentage of full-time workers 18 to 64 covered by health insurance during all or part of 2010.
Source: Income, Poverty, and Health Insurance Coverage in the United States: 2010, derived from Table 8
Number of female workers 16 and older in management, business, science, and arts occupations in 2010. Among male workers, 16 and older, 23.7 million were employed in management, professional and related occupations.
Source: U.S. Census Bureau, 2010 American Community Survey, Table C24010
The number of people who worked from home in 2010.
Source: U.S. Census Bureau, 2010 American Community Survey, Table B08128
$47,715 and $36,931
The 2010 real median earnings for male and female full-time, year-round workers, respectively.
Source: Income, Poverty, and Health Insurance Coverage in the United States: 2010
Why do we have leap year anyway?
The regular calendar has 365 days, but it takes 365 days, five hours, 48 minutes and 45 seconds for the Earth to orbit the sun. That means the calendar falls behind the seasons 348.75 minutes every year.
Who cares if the calendar falls behind the seasons?
The people of Arizona and, until recently, parts of Indiana.
How does leap year fix it?
Every four years we are 1395 minutes behind (348.75 times four), so we add a day (1440 minutes).
Wait, 1395 doesn’t equal 1440, aren’t we adding 45 too many minutes?
You are wise beyond your years. Every 100 years (25 leap years times 45 minutes) there would be 1,125 minutes too many. Eliminating leap year every 100 years tips the balance back toward even. That’s why there wasn’t a leap day in 1700, 1800 or 1900 and won’t be in 2100. But we did have a leap year in 2000 (and will again in 2400) to tweak it back a bit the other way.
Does that do it?
No, even then the intelligent design is such that the calendar will be off by a day in a few thousand years. Nothing’s perfect.
As if being able to re-grow a tail isn’t cool enough, some species of whiptail lizards (genus Cnemidophorus) have another trick: They can clone themselves. These species actually consist completely of females able to reproduce by parthenogenesis.
The original sexless females, known as parthenogens, come from the hybridization of two separate lizard lines. The parthenogen has one copy of chromosomes from its mother, and one analogous but slightly different copy from its father. It can give rise to offspring that are their exact clones, without their two genetic copies recombining.
Some researchers hypothesize that the ability of sharks to reproduce via parthenogenesis is what allowed them to become one of the oldest species on the planet: When males were scarce, females could just make progressively younger copies of themselves to wait for Mr. Right Shark to come around.
DISCOVER Magazine has more.
When you have a few minutes (because there are a lot of them), Letterheady has a fascinating collection of letterheads from celebrities, companies and more.
Two tweets — Attenborough and the optical illusion — are really, really worthwhile links. Check them out — in the NewMexiKen on Twitter sidebar.
… fear of Friday the 13th
Excerpted from Jon Bowen, writing at Slate:
So where does it come from — the fear of 13? Its origins can be traced to Norse mythology and a dinner party at Valhalla, home of the god Odin, where Odin and 11 of his closest god-friends were gathered one night to party. Everyone was having fun, but then Loki, the dastardly god of evil and turmoil, showed up uninvited, making it a crowd of 13. The beloved god Balder tried to boot Loki out of the house, the legend goes, and in the scuffle that followed he suffered a deathblow from a spear of mistletoe.
From that mythological start, the number 13 has plowed a path of devastation through history. There were 13 people at Christ’s Last Supper, including the double-crossing Judas Iscariot. The ill-fated Apollo 13 lunar mission left the launching pad at 13:13 hours and was aborted on April 13. Friday hasn’t been much kinder to us. Friday was execution day in ancient Rome — Jesus was crucified on a Friday. Put it all together, and Friday the 13th spells trouble for triskaidekaphobics. It’s a testament to the phobia’s prevalence that Hollywood was able to parlay our fear into a hugely successful series of slasher movies starring a hockey-masked guy named Jason.
But triskaidekaphobia isn’t an exclusively American affliction. Italians omit the number 13 from their national lottery. There is a hush-hush organization in France whose exclusive purpose is to provide last-minute guests for dinner parties, so that no party host ever has to suffer the curse of entertaining 13 guests.
When a full moon and a lunar eclipse collide with Friday the 13th, do more accidents really happen? – Atul Gawande — Slate Magazine (1998)
About.com has pages of background on the superstition.
And Urban Legends has a lengthy page.