The Ides of March

I enjoyed writing a little calendar-related history for Bissextile Day; so, just for fun, here's some more. This research was quick and dirty, with some heavy Wikipedia-related info, so I could very likely have some of this wrong.

My inspiration? Beware the Ides of March.

The Ides of March is March 15th, with Ides being the Roman term for the middle day of the month. Meaning "half-division" in Latin, you can plainly see what is being divided in half.

Several dictionaries I consulted list Ides as a plural noun, yet when used in a sentence it is not treated as one; ie, "The Ides of March has come." Some dictionaries point out that it can use either a singular or plural verb form, but most usages I found are all singular. Go figure.

Having a special name for the middle day of the month may seem strange, but remember, we're the culture that uses the term "Weekend." BesIdes, looking at the Roman calendar system, you quickly see why it was important.

In modern English, every day of the month is named. The 1st, the 3rd, the 25th. You can imagine our naming scheme to be abbreviated versions of "The X day of the month Y." The numbers are determined by counting up from the start of the month, starting with day one. A simple system, easily adapted to any length of month.

The Roman system had specific names for only three days per month. The first day of a month was the Kalends, which, as you may suspect, is the ancestor of the modern word calendar. Being the first day, its monthly position was invariable. The next two, with shades of the pre-Julian system, came at different points dependent on which month they were in. The Nones was either the fifth or seventh day, and the Ides fell either on the thirteenth or fifteenth.

Why? It all goes back to the origin of months, the Moon. Assuming a month begins with a new moon, this system makes sense: the Kalends is the day of the new moon, the Nones is the day of the half-moon, and the Ides is the day of the full moon.¹ However, as the solar and lunar cycles drift slightly apart, reconciling the two perfectly ends up impossible, and half-measures just get messy.

With just three "named" days to reckon with, the Roman calendar system was, to modern eyes, a total mess. They counted down to the next "named" day. So, the 2nd of March would be the VI ante diem Nones Martius, or "six days before the Nones of March." Wait, you say, six plus two is eight, not seven! True enough, but because it wasn't already confusing enough, the Romans counted inclusively, including the target day.

In another odd twist, this meant that fully half a month was names as "X" days before the following month.

To further confuse, there were three "secondary" days, to the Kalends', Nones', and Ides' "primary" status: the pridie, or "day before." Each of the three primary days had a pridie, leaving the last day of January as the pridie Kalends Februarius, behaving much like the modern "Christmas Eve."

As an outsider looking in, the Romans seem to have really loved their math. Or maybe it's just that they loved to show off their math skills. Regardless, they seem to have gone out of their way to make counting amd keeping track of days, months, years, and numbers in general as difficult as was humanly possible.

[1 - The Romans were clearly an optimisitic people, as they only counted half-full moons, and not half empty-ones. Nyuck nyuck nyuck.] ⇪

February 29th

By-the-by, happy Leap Day everyone. Enjoy some random facts.

Quick research shows that the "extra day" added to the calendar every four years (to compensate for the fact that our yearly rotation around the sun takes an actual 365.25 days) has a name: Bissextile Day. Tell that to some sixth graders to make them laugh.

Ask yourself how many people, how many Americans, don't really understand why we have leap years, but assume it's just something that we do.Modern people think they're so smart, but the Romans figured out the need for a "Leap Day" 2054 years ago! Or, to be more correct, they already knew about it then, but that came up with the current system (and calendar) at this point. The old system involved a four-year cycle of years with different lengths: 355 days, 377 days, 355 days, 378 days. Now, repeat that four times (for 16 years elapsed), and then do this: 355 days, 377 days, 355 days. 377 days, 355 days, 377 days, 355 days, 355 days. This was their 24-year cycle, which resulted in a 24 year span where the average length of those years was 365.25.

You can see why the Julius Caesar changed it.

On another note, the Wikipedia entry for today pointed out a legal point I had never considered:

An English law of 1256 decreed that in leap years, the leap day and the day before are to be reckoned as one day for the purpose of calculating when a full year has passed. Thus, in England and Wales a person born on February 29 legally reaches the age of 18 or 21 on February 28 of the relevant year.

So forget Groundhog Day, we're literally reliving yesterday again.¹ Or we would be if we were in England.

So if you made any mistakes yesterday, here's your chance to get it right.

[1 - Actually, I think it means that the two days are treated as a combined day, not a repeat, so you get a day with two sunrises, two sunsets, and two nights. More practical, but less poetic. Although, would you get overtime pay for that second day? Hmmm...] ⇪

The New Words of 2007

Grant Barrett put together a nice write-up on words that were cemented into the vernacular last year.

Although many were not first said or written in 2007, they are nonetheless the tattoos, scars and medals that differentiate this year from any other.

Sad reality of my life? I've used the word "mobisode" professionally for over two years now.

Sigh.

That's What I'm F***ing Talking About

Here's a brilliant essay over at The New Republic detailing just why it is that swear words have the power they do, and why we use them. The author, Steven Pinker, does an excellent job analyzing not just the grammar of curses (for example, how nebulous the meaning/function of "fuck" really is) but their heritage. I, for one, had never thought about how religious curses ("What the hell is that," "Damn you") have lost their bite and severity, so "fuck" steps in with its secular power ("What the fuck is that," "Fuck you").

Absolutely worth a read, for fuck's sake.

sic transit gloria mundi

I was doing some internet-noodling* this afternoon, and in reading about some Wes Anderson influences, I encountered this phrase, the source of the stated theme of Rushmore: sic transit gloria mundi.

Wikipedia gives the definition as "Thus passes the glory of the world." It goes on to note that a common interpretation is "Fame is fleeting," and that the phrase is commonly used in Papal coronations, to underscore the fact that despite high honor, the Pope is mortal.

In none of this do I see direct connections to glory, or a world in a state of excellence.

So then, dear Reader, I ask you: what is glory? In my experience with common English, it generally seems to be a property of its subject: "the glory of God" is his greatness; or in speaking of, say, a (fictional) king, "He is a glorious man." And even when I hear the much more ambiguous phrase "I do this for glory," I have always thought it to mean "I do this for a higher purpose, to bring myself closer to perfection."

Turns out, though, I had it all wrong.

That last example I give lays it out most explicitly; "I do this for glory" is a simple statement of the reward the person is seeking. For in these Latin translations, the world is never the subject of the meaning. So "glory" is not, then, an internal quality of anything or anyone; rather, like praise, it is given by an outside party to an object of worth.

The Glory of God, then, is his to pass to you; the glorious king is so only because his subjects love him (and not vice versa!); the man does his deeds to win affection in the eyes of the people.

The search for glory is an innately selfish act; or is it? For the man of our last example is as much saying he desires no other payment than to be loved and remembered for his actions; a high price, to be sure, but a simple one to give, because it can be refused.

To say you do something for glory is to announce your intention to do great things; glory can only be earned, people must be convinced in order to bestow it. The man announcing his intent to act for glory says that people bear no risk in trusting him; if he fails, they lose nothing, and if he succeeds, they will pay him without needing to think about it. It is, simultaneously, a statement of arrogance and humility; I shall do this thing, and be great, yet I need nothing beyond this.

Or something like that. I am not a lingual expert, but I find this fascinating; what our words mean so often becomes taken for granted. It's fun to take apart our assumptions, every once in a while.


[* I like this term, at least a bit. "Web surfing" implies a higher level of athleticism and activity, besides which, it is so 1997. Web browsing doesn't really mean anything, as the applications we use are called browsers. "Internet-noodling" is needlessly clunky, but noodling... something feels right about that. Like on a guitar, playing around, not quite aimlessly, but with no clear direction. I like it.]