Wednesday, December 30, 2020

Tomorrow we will unleash our final celebrations upon the world (which, for us, is this house), and the true twist ending to this madness will be revealed. Spoiler: it turns out the celebrations were in our hearts the entire time. Or something equally as trite, I’m sure. No, there isn’t much left to celebrate, and on January 1 I hope to have a final count of our acknowledged tributes throughout the year. I’ll probably also hammer out a quick summation of how I feel this project has gone before turning the word processor off and getting the hell back to life. Because life is still happening, as much as our calendar tries to point us elsewhere. Yesterday, however, the calendar didn’t have much to say. Here was our Tuesday:

Tick Tock Day

No, this has nothing to do with that video-sharing site, as evidenced by the proper English spelling of both tick and tock in its title. This is one more Thomas and Ruth Roy celebration creation, a day for us to fashion our list of the stuff we still want to get done before the year expires. It’s true – this article will land on the interweb machines less than 48 hours before the year comes to a close.

Of course, haven’t we done enough for 2020 at this point? We’re all eager for the new year to begin, not because we believe it holds the promise of an instant-fix for all that plagues the world, but because we are optimistic that a fresh start might begin a steady uptick in quality of life that will restore our lives at least mostly back to what they were before 2020 kicked their asses.

Here’s what I still have to do this year:

  • Celebrate. We have a handful of celebrations to cover today and tomorrow, and we don’t plan on simply crawling feebly over the finish line.
  • Write. Whatever we celebrate gets documented. Probably not on our social media channels, as we have most abandoned sharing everything there. But you’ll see it all right here.
  • Cook. I’m the cook of the house, and I have one more meal to make this year. We’ve decided on Chinese food for tomorrow night, because we know how to live.
  • Walk. These dogs need exercise, and while I’ve vowed to avoid walking them when the mercury plunges below -20, we aren’t anywhere near that. So off we’ll go.
  • Puzzle. We started a jigsaw puzzle a couple days ago, and we plan on finishing it. And maybe starting another.

That’s it. 2020 can fuck right off, apart from those few remaining chores, none of which are particularly gruelling or unpleasant. We may as well enjoy these last few hours of a year we’ll all spend the rest of our lives trying to forget.

National Hero Day

One of my primary sources for this project, National Day Calendar, created this one, likely because if they hadn’t, there wouldn’t be much of anything to fill the spot on December 29. It’s a day to celebrate real-life heroes (as opposed to, say, Iron Man) for all the greatness they have bestowed upon the planet throughout the year.

It’s going to be really cliché and potentially hokey if I use this time to praise front-line healthcare workers, right? Well, fuck it. I can’t think of anyone I know who exemplifies the notion of ‘hero’ right now more than Kohley, Jenny, and the other doctors and nurses I know who are out there getting all close-up with sick folk right now. They’re not only fighting a pandemic which scientists are still figuring out, but they’re fighting a wealth of ignorance and unearned chutzpah that propels anti-maskers to march in the streets and ignore recommendations.

In 2001, the firefighters and police were the heroes everyone swooned for. And those folks are still heroes by today’s standards (though the police system has certainly be shown to be broken lately). But it took a worldwide health emergency for the doctors and nurses to get the spotlight, and really it’s one they’ve deserved since the dawn of their professions. Would you want to sponge up gross human fluids, or hold someone’s hand as they fearfully tumbled into the void beyond this existence? I sure as hell wouldn’t, pandemic or not. Yes, they get paid for this work, and yes, they could opt out and get a job selling Subarus or something. But they don’t. They keep our world going.

So that’s my big salute for this one. I hold teachers and other people who work in relatively thankless jobs in the same regard, but the front-line healthcare folks get the attention today. They have had a year rougher than most.

National Eggs Benedict Day

This day landed on April 16, and it was – in my opinion – our greatest failing of the year. Well, my greatest failing. I tried making hollandaise sauce, and the butter was poured in too quickly, causing the sauce to separate into something gross and inedible. We ate our eggs benedict sauceless on that day, and it tasted about as good as it sounds.

On Christmas morning, I tried again. And the result was tasty enough for eggs benny to become our new Christmas brunch tradition. With proper hollandaise. I’m not counting this as another celebration, just as a fix of an earlier disaster. Huzzah.

Such a short day, though I assure you I re-celebrated National Chocolate Candy Day, just to make sure I’d done it right. We can’t be too careful with some of these. National Rum Day (from August) was also revisited. Here’s today’s lineup:

  • National Bicarbonate of Soda Day. Well, if we need Alka-Seltzer to come to the rescue today, we’ll be ready.
  • Falling Needles Family Fest. A time to clean up after Christmas. I guess that means we tidy the house.
  • National Bacon Day. Yes, this one was cleverly stashed at the end of the year. It might be the only way we’ve made it this far.
  • Festival of Enormous Changes At The Last Minute. Sure. Is this where we announce that we’re celebrating for the next 365 days? (spoiler: no)

Friday, April 17, 2020

Succinctness and brevity are the guiding principles of today’s article. There will be no whimsical postulation on the nature of excessive revelry in a time of great crisis. This great crisis kept me plastered to work-related tasks yesterday until the evening. After a failed attempt at dinner I found myself putting pen to paper (or, more accurately, putting fingers to keyboard) at a late enough hour that I now just want to wrap it up and go to bed. Huzzah.

National High Five Day

It was a crisp October day (there I go again, making up weather details for dramatic effect two days in a row), when Dusty Baker and Glenn Burke, two Los Angeles Dodgers, slapped a celebratory high-five after Dusty had knocked his 30th home run out of the park on the last day of the season. Apparently Glenn, who was waiting to bat next, ran up to home plate with his arm up high as Dusty trotted in to get the score. Not knowing how to respond, he slapped the hand.

It was the slap that changed history.

That was 1977. Another legend has two University of Louisville Cardinals going in for a low five (a low-down slap had already been established as a thing), when they decided to flip it up top. Another story says it originated with women’s volleyball in the 60s. Magic Johnson claims he invented it in college in the 70s. So no one knows – except it seems to be a sports origin.

My plan for yesterday had been to give a high-five to every one of my coworkers. Naturally, that was not meant to be. So we settled for the next best thing and high-fived one another. Then the dogs entered the show. It wasn’t the high-five-fest we’d hoped for, but it would have to do.

National Orchid Day

There are roughly 28,000 different species of orchid on this planet, making it one of the top two most diverse families in the plant world. A few of the most hearty varieties will even grow north of the Arctic Circle. And they’ve been around forever, with an early species (now extinct) found encased in amber from 15-20 million years ago. Science-people with far more education than I figure orchids may have been around as much as 84 million years ago, in the late Cretaceous period.

Our hope had been to venture out to a greenhouse or at least a flower shop to scope out some orchids and maybe even bring one or two home. These are non-essential services though, so we had to settle for looking at pictures on the internet. It saddens us how many of our celebrations have been reduced to looking at pictures on the internet out of medical necessity.

Orchids, apart from being wildly gorgeous like the excessively happy one pictured above, have a number of practical uses. Perfume makers inject the scent into a number of beloved varieties. Vanilla is part of the massive orchid family, and its uses range from cooking to baking to aromatherapy to white rappers of the early 90s. There’s a Turkish hot drink called salep, whose name may or may not derive from the Arabic word for ‘fox testicles’. I’m not making that up. Anyhow, that beverage uses the ground up root of another species of orchid. There’s a place in the Indian Ocean called Reunion Island where they make rum using orchid leaves, likely the pinnacle of orchid application.

The orchid is a magnificent beast. I’m glad it had its day, even if we couldn’t see any in the flower-flesh.

National Wear Your Pajamas To Work Day

I haven’t changed out of pajamas in over a month, except to change into other pajamas. This has been one of the biggest perks of quarantine. Since my pajamas are really just sweats and a t-shirt I’m even wearing them out to the grocery store. Normally I would never be so slovenly – I am, after all, considered to be a beacon of high-fashion among my demographic of middle-age white Jewish government office-drones in Alberta. But I don’t care anymore – I want to see how long I can go in pure comfort.

Jodie didn’t have much work to do yesterday, but the work she did was taken care of in bed, enrobed in pajamas. Had things been in a state of normalcy we would have both worn our pajamas to work – my boss had already been warned – but alas, we may need to pull this one out next year. Comfort is always a blessing.

And, at least one month in, it doesn’t get old.

National Stress Awareness Day

Years ago, before the age of the online personality test and the rapid-fire ID-stealing Facebook quiz (“Find Out Which Ordinary People Character You Are According To Your Mother’s Maiden Name And The First 8 Digits Of Your SIN!”), I remember taking a stress test. You scored points for every stress you have encountered in the past year or two. Parents’ divorce? Your divorce? Lose a job? Even good stresses scored points. The higher your score the more stressed you were.

Well, right now we’re all humming along at a basic level of constant stress. This is a non-negotiable pact we have with everyday life for the moment. Some of us are struggling in ways that would have seemed unimaginable six months ago. Jodie and I are incredibly fortunate, still having jobs and even getting to work in our pajamas for a month and counting. But even then, there are moments of unanticipated psycho-seismic jolt that cause the ground to quiver. Our in-house life stress is remarkably low – or it was until Rosa was injured, though she’s doing better today. But we live amid the stress of the greater world. Escapes are temporary.

Managing one’s stress is a tough paddle right now, and neither of us are the right ones to be dispensing advice on how to do this. So the only advice we’ll offer is… figure out how to do this. The recipe for easing stress will vary from human to human. Find yours, and keep it close. The world will return to something we’ll one day call normal, and until then every day will be Stress Awareness Day.

Take care of yourselves out there.

National Health Care Decisions Day

Stay home. There – that’s the most important health care decision you will make all day.

This is a solemn day, hardly a celebration, during which we are supposed to discuss our planning for the worst-case scenario, the one with tubes, machines, and a potential plug to pull. It’s important to have these things in place, even if the act of discussing them or drawing up an official document to record them is unpleasant. Jodie and I have had this discussion already.

If you’re feeling like embracing the extremely grim today, here’s a quick link to some info on personal directives in Alberta. If you’re really not feeling up to it, that’s cool. Give your dog a high-five and try a more joyous celebration instead.

World Voice Day

This is, as the name suggests, a celebration of the human voice. It began in Brazil in 1999, with singing teachers, speech pathologists and doctors getting together for what I assume was a wild parade with dancing, music and elaborate costumes. I pretty much assume every celebration in Brazil is some permutation of Carnival.

There were over 100 events around the world planned for yesterday, including a workshop in Italy, a singing performance in Australia and a TV broadcast about voice problems in Azerbaijan. How many went ahead is a mystery – some webinars and online workshops undoubtedly made an effort, but this isn’t the year for grand celebrations. Huh. There’s some grotesque irony in that thought, but I’d rather not dig too deeply into it.

The voice is not something to be overlooked, especially if you need to use yours in any professional capacity. The voice changes and degrades over time, and it has to be cared for. Jodie consults with voice specialists every year when she’s ramping up to her musical, and she encourages her students who are wishing to devote their lives – even in a hobby capacity – to singing or theatre to hire a professional. Our daughter, whose finest singing performance used to involve belting out the word “YEAH” like rapper Lil Jon, worked for years with a voice trainer and now she can belt out a song like a freakin’ pro. Though really, I still prefer her Lil Jon impression.

Yesterday we celebrated the human voice by spending much of the day listening to one of the greatest vocalists of the past century, Mr. Robert Plant. Some of the twists and swooshes he pulled off in his younger days defy the laws of anatomy. And as he grew older and his voice could no longer rattle the tweeters with quite the same ferocity, he adapted his style and his music and allowed himself to grow with it.

As a great man once said… “YEAH!”

National Eggs Benedict Day

Well, fuck.

This was our brilliant master-plan for dinner, to utilize the leftover ham from yesterday’s feast to slide into a home-made eggs benedict – truly the pinnacle of brunchery. 25 years ago when I worked in the kitchen of a nothing-over-5-bucks diner, I prided myself on the hollandaise sauce I’d make from scratch. It was creamy and had a puckish little bite to it that drew raves from customers and staff alike. It was going to be a terrific breakfast-for-dinner treat.

Then I realized I hadn’t made that hollandaise recipe in 25 years. I found one I thought I could pull off, and ended up with watery, buttery garbage. I’m pretty sure I poured the melted butter in too quickly, and let the late hour of our cooking get the better of me. So we had sauceless eggs benny. It sucked.

Delmonico’s, the lower Manhattan restaurant that is the stuff of so much legend, claims to have invented eggs benedict in 1860. Alternately, a stock broker named Lemuel Benedict asserts that he went to the Waldorf Hotel back in 1894 and ordered the ingredients of the dish thrown together as a hopeful cure for his hangover. That sounds less likely, but it’s a better story so I’m going with it.

You can tweak your eggs benedict in so many ways – Eggs Omar uses steak, Eggs Florentine adds spinach, Eggs Chesapeake uses a crab cake. There was even something called Eggs Zenedict, which involved poached eggs on a toasted scone with peameal back bacon and a sundried tomato hollandaise sauce. You could only get that at restaurants in Zellers department stores in Canada, so I don’t know why I felt it deserved a mention.

This day did prompt us to long for a return to civilization and the glorious eggs benedict at Barb & Ernie’s Old Country Inn. We’ll be swinging in there on the first Saturday after the lock-down, and damn will we eat well. A lot better than we did last night.

A day that will hopefully not find us dragged through the muck of our jobs for too long, because we’ve got all this to enjoy:

  • National Cheeseball Day. I’d have liked one of those giant tubs of Utz processed cheeseballs to enjoy, but instead we’ll make one of the creamy kind you dip crackers into.
  • National Clean Out Your Medicine Cabinet Day. Ours isn’t too overflowing, but this is a good thing to do once a year.
  • National Haiku Poetry Day. I once wrote 1,000 words in haiku, so I can do this.
  • Thank An Herbalist Day. I probably won’t, since I don’t know any. It would be weird to find one online and send them a ‘thank you’ email, wouldn’t it?
  • Malbec World Day. Okay, this one we will do.
  • Blah Blah Blah Day. I’m sure we’ll find a wild way to celebrate this. Or at least talk about it.

Thursday, April 16, 2020

The subtlety of simple pleasures may feel strained with fate’s pudgy thumb planted so firmly upon the pause button of life, yet here we are, basking in another day in which the volume on life’s little intricacies is cranked up to 11. The world is mostly silent and waiting. But we’re making a heap of noise, as we ramp up to the unfathomable glory of celebrating:

National Rubber Eraser Day

It was a crisp April day (perhaps – I’m inventing the weather for dramatic effect) in 1770 when Edward Naine, an English optician who had patented a few trinkets, including an electrical generator, reached for some breadcrumbs to erase something he’d written. It almost sounds like a quaint Grandpa Simpson rant, but that was actually the style at the time – people used wax or crustless bread to fix pencil-forged mistakes. Naine accidentally picked up some rubber instead, and found it worked much better. He entered an invention competition with his rubber eraser and won.

Our beloved fixer of blunders, that sacred savior of mishandled math problems, that end-point of the pencil that won’t pierce the flesh, turned 250 years old yesterday. At that time, he sold his new invention for a whopping three shillings apiece. I don’t know much about how British currency works, but three shillings in 1770 is probably what a house cost. Then again, raw rubber was perishable back then. It wasn’t until Charles Goodyear came up with a way to vulcanize rubber to make it more durable (and logical) that the rubber eraser became a mass consumable.

As a kid – and I have to go back to my childhood because, unlike Jodie, I don’t use pencils very often anymore – every so often I’d run into one of those erasers that left nothing but charcoal streaks on the page. Apparently they are either making them with more care now, or Jodie simply buys quality erasers. She assures me it’s the latter. We each wrote a few words then erased them, because what else do you do to celebrate Rubber Eraser Day?

National Glazed Spiral Ham Day

If I told you that the idea for the spiral-cut ham came in a dream, would you believe me to be romanticizing what should be a practical and logical method for slicing pork? Alas, it was unheard of prior to the 1930s. You’d buy a ham, bake it, and have to slice it multiple times to get sandwich meat, like some kind of schnook. Then along came a nighttime sojourn into the land of fantastical imagination within the brain of Detroit ham salesman Harry J. Hoenselaar.

Harry, whose family still owns and operates the Honey Baked Ham Company, was the true ham genius of the 20th century. Forget George Hormel – he crammed ham and chemicals into a can in 1926 and that’s just groovy, but the spiral cut was a porcine revolution. Cook the ham, take it out, cut once straight down the bone and you’ve got yourself a bunch of sandwich meat, or juicy plate slices ready to go. Harry built his prototype out of a washing machine motor, a tire iron, a tie pin and a knife. Harry was Thomas Edison and MacGyver. For ham, anyway (though I’m sure MacGyver did something with ham at some point).

We here at Celebrate366 are huge fans of Harry’s work. Every Christmas Jodie bakes up a massive ham, topping it with a spectacular glaze that includes maple syrup, Dijon mustard and rye whiskey. Yesterday seemed a tad excessive for a Costco-size pork hock, so we bought a smaller, more two-person alternative. It was not spiral-cut (nor did it have a bone), but we made do. The important thing was to create that mouth-watering glaze to recreate the sensation of devouring our Christmas feast. Also, using this recipe gave us an excuse to buy some rye whiskey. It was a double-win.

National Take A Wild Guess Day

This popped up in my calendar and I wondered, “What did I come up with, while I was sifting through my mountains of research, to celebrate this special day?” All I’d written was ‘Take lots of wild guesses.’ Thanks, 2019 Marty, for helping me through this busy spring.

Here are a few wild guesses we made yesterday, in no particular order:

  • I guessed that the 7-day weather forecast would see Edmonton finally achieving 10 or more degrees Celsius, but only on days 6 and 7 of the forecast. That is how it has been for the past week, every damn day. I was wrong – it’s on days 5, 6 and 7. So hooray for Sunday.
  • Jodie guessed that the reason Rosa, our middle-child canine research assistant, appeared to be in so much pain overnight was because she hurt her hip while playing wildly with Liberty, our youngest, yet largest beast. She was partly right – it was her lower back, but it was definitely injured in the midst of a good wrassle.
  • I guessed that I would be, once again, much more motivated and effective at my job because I was working from home. Absolutely – I need to be doing this always.
  • Jodie guessed that most or all of her students would show up to their once-per-week video discussion yesterday morning. She was about 25% correct.
  • I guessed Rosa would be stoned within a half hour of her taking her pain medication. It took her about five minutes. (see above)
  • Jodie guessed that National Take A Wild Guess Day was another one of those weird, arbitrary days, maybe dreamed up by that couple in Pennsylvania. She was wrong!

This day was launched by motivational speaker Jim Barber ten years ago. He figured it was tax day, so people are probably taking lots of wild guesses as they fill out their forms. Not a bad origin story for a day, really. That said, I’m going to guess that we’ll forget to celebrate this when April 15 rolls around next year.

World Art Day

The first thing I learned about World Art Day is that it is hosted by the International Association of Art. The second thing I learned is that there’s an International Association of Art. This is one of those United Nations celebrations, so events are usually rolling out at a global level. Even Google gets involved, and churns out some nifty little doodles. This year it seems Google is more focussed on thanking essential workers (delivery folks today), and that does make more sense.

Meanwhile we can dabble with World Art Day in a way never before possible from the comfort of one’s chair’s ass-grooves. There is presently a flood of free art online, as museums have opened up their collections through virtual tours and extensive online galleries. We took a stroll through the Petit Gallerie in the Louvre. We checked out some Faberge eggs at the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts. We took a 360-degree stroll through sections of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York that we’ve never seen.

Art is recognized by UNESCO because it is the purest expression of a culture, and a record of that culture’s most vivacious dreams and unthinkable madness. In this weird little sliver of history art is going to be what sustains us, whether that means binge-watching some new show, or experiencing the direct-to-streaming benefits of some major motion pictures that didn’t want to hold back their theatrical releases. A lot of us have plowed through fresh books or checked out scads of new music. And now we have found a way to get our fix of the visual arts.

One thing to look forward to, once this pandemic is done and we’ve all recuperated from the hangovers following our first wild night out, is what sort of art will this virus inspire? Will we see COVID-centric movies, musicals, dance productions and concept albums? It all started with people petitioning Weird Al to parody “My Sharona” with “My Corona” (which he didn’t do); who knows what wonders will come once our greatest voices get some perspective on all this?

National That Sucks Day

This one comes to us courtesy of Bruce Novotny, a man described by CNBC as a “holiday creator” in the one article where he’s mentioned. For the last 15 years Bruce has run, a site that appears to be dedicated to pessimism and frustration. On a personal level, this has probably either been woefully unhealthy or tremendously cathartic for Bruce to have surrounded himself with all that negativity. That’s not my call to make. I wish Bruce the best.

Bruce feels that because April 15 is tax day (normally, anyhow), and it’s also the anniversary of the day the Titanic sank and the day President Lincoln died from his wounds, this should forevermore be known as National That Sucks Day. I think Bruce has a point. Apologies to Emma Watson, Seth Rogen, and blues great Bessie Smith (all of whom cherish this day as their birthday), April 15 does kind of suck.

I mentioned yesterday as we sacrificed National Gardening Day that this time of year in Edmonton is not spring. Either we get a blast of winter (and yeah, we got snow yesterday), or else we are mired in the Great Muck Fest that occurs annually when yards turn to slop for a few days or a few weeks. This year it’s a few weeks because the snow is melting slowly. It sucks.

Yesterday Jodie carted Rosa to the vet. That sucked. Liberty got roughly 45% of her body wet and muddy every time she went outside. That sucked. They cancelled this year’s annual Fringe Theatre Festival in August, which is always one of the year’s best parties. That sucked.

Look at all the people who died on April 15: R. Lee Ermey, actor and drill sergeant from hell. Clifton James, the American sheriff who seemed out of place in those Roger Moore James Bond movies. Jack Herer, cannabis rights activist, and namesake of a very popular strain. Brant Parker, who drew the cartoon The Wizard of Id. Joey freakin’ Ramone. Greta Garbo. Jean-Paul Sartre. The cathedral of Notre-Dame burned last year. The Boston Marathon explosion happened in 2013. The Tiananmen Square protests started in 1989. 96 football (as in soccer) fans in Liverpool were killed in a human crush, also in 1989. General Electric was founded. McDonalds opened its first restaurant. Those last two aren’t that bad, I suppose. But all these things happened on April 15.

Maybe Bruce was right. Maybe April 15 sucks. That’s okay – it’s April 16 now. Time to move forward.

National Banana Day

We were prepared, dammit. Two weeks ago on payday we scrolled ahead to see what celebrations we’d face so we could make a supply run that would cover most of it. We bought bananas. Along the way, we ate one banana. Then, when the time came and we needed them most, we got this. Likely edible on the inside, but almost definitely with the consistency of baby food. Neither of us wanted to suck back some banana paste, so we celebrated by relegating these fuckers to the freezer so they could someday become bread.

Bananas, technically a berry (and a delightful 1971 comedy film), are grown in 135 countries. Most of the bananas we eat are from the Cavendish Group – not, it turns out, an investment firm but rather a classification of the “dessert banana” that is the most popular type exported on the planet. It’s a young strain, having only been around since 1836. Before the Cavendish bananas became popular in the 50s, we westerners feasted upon Gros Michel bananas. Those were nearly wiped off the planet due to something called Panama Disease.

So what did they taste like? I’ve been told (solely by people who could not possibly have any idea) that the Gros Michel bananas resemble more closely the fake “candy banana” flavour that you’d find in a pack of Runts. Candy bananas taste very little like actual bananas, and since finding a Gros Michel at the supermarket is really unlikely, that makes sense. Except it’s not at all true. Gros Michels have a more floral taste apparently, but for the most part you’d have trouble differentiating them from the bananas we know.

So there you have it, the mighty banana. Its meat so perfect for an ice cream split and its rind custom-made for silent-era physical comedy. One of the truly perfect fruits. If only it wouldn’t turn to mush so damn fast.

National Laundry Day

Due to our effective skills at divvying up household chores, laundry tends to fall into Jodie’s realm of responsibility. She started the laundry on Sunday, as she often does. Last night I finally finished it. There were two loads total.

Laundry isn’t really something to celebrate. It’s something we do because to not do it would be slovenly and gross. It’s an obligation. There’s no National Wash Your Crotch Day, yet we do it every day – or at least I hope we do. So we finished laundry. It didn’t leave quite the joyous residue as that glazed ham.

Another wildly busy day in party-town:

  • National Eggs Benedict Day. We have leftover ham. Today we will have a specific purpose for that leftover ham.
  • National Health Care Decisions Day. Staying indoors and avoiding other humans will be the best health care decision we will make all day.
  • National High Five Day. We will not be offering this to everyone we know, as we were hoping to. We will high-five one another and the dogs instead.
  • National Orchid Day. A trip to a greenhouse or botanical garden to see some orchids? Nope, we’ll have to settle for the damn internet again.
  • National Wear Your Pajamas To Work Day. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! I haven’t worn anything but pajamas in a month.
  • World Voice Day. We’ll send some props to the human voice. Maybe not by listening to more barbershop music. We’ll see.
  • National Stress Awareness Day. I’m sure we can find some of this to be aware of.