Sunday! Sunday! Sunday!

This weekend marks the 1688th anniversary of Sunday being a day of rest. Congratulations, Sunday! It's been quite a run, with a record number of 87,776 great days of rest behind us. Obviously tomorrow's will be a bit of a disappointment, in that it only lasts 23 hours rather than the regulation length of 24. Tough break, 87,777. Better luck next time.

But why is Sunday the day of rest? What makes it so special? Good question, rhetorical device! The practice began with a decree from Emperor Constantine I (of Rome) that set aside deis Solis Invictis as the official day of rest for the Empire. This was of course good news for the slaves. Although the impending return to a life of forced servitude and crushing labor did tend to put a pall upon Sunday evenings, a tradition which Andy Rooney has ably and joyfully taken on as his own.

Sunday itself is named for Sol Invictus, the ancient Roman sun god born on December 25. December 25 is of course a notoriously popular birthday for some really cool people, and at least one giant turd.

But most importantly, the formal, legal and codified imperial directive that dictates humans must rest is an example of bureaucracy at its finest. And frankly, it's the next best thing to state sponsored irony.

Maybe there's some in the budget for next year.

Turn Down All The Lights. I'm Just Along For The Ride.

Saturday was interesting.

I started the day with a ridealong with a policeman friend of mine in small-town Oklahoma. I was surprised at the wide array of big city problems (read: drugs) that he had to deal with, and the ridiculously tiny amount of funding he had at his disposal. I was shocked that this man, who I knew first as a freelance graphic designer and photographer, would be willing to risk personal injury and death for a salary that is, for lack of a better word, insulting. But he looks forward to his time in uniform (he still does freelance graphic work by the way, because his family has gotten pretty used to being able to, what's the phrase? Oh yeah, "eat food and live in a home."). He's committed to making a positive difference in the community he patrols. There's a certain level of cynicism, obviously, in regard to the criminal justice system in practice, but the fact that he is still out on the street, knowing what he knows about "how the sausage is made," is amazing. I don't have that kind of devotion to anything yet.

I followed up that eye-opener with a first birthday party for the daughter of two of my dearest friends. If you've never been to a child's birthday party, let me offer a piece of advice: bring a kid. Or a date. But there's something very creepy and voyeuristic about being a single adult at a party filled with kids and couples. For the second time that day, I felt like I was experiencing a completely foreign world view. Four generations were represented at the party, and it was cool to see the connection between past and future. And I felt a little disconnected from it, like I was an observer only, not a participant. It is a strange feeling. I was torn between wanting to get off the bench, so to speak, and my more natural inclination toward introspection and reflection. But I'm about as far away from marriage and family as I've ever been in my life, and I feel pretty good about that. But I heartily applaud those of you out there who make it work, no matter what your situation of configuration. I hope, someday, to experience that kind of devotion.