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Word of the Every So Often

marcescent: (adj.) referring to leaves or fronds that have withered but are still attached to the stem; or, with a bit of creativity, anything that has has withered but is still holding on when all hope is lost. For instance... Carl’s relationship with Marge had grown marcescent.

A Year Full of Firsts

Today marks the anniversary of the start of the Great Fire of Rome, which happened way back in the 64th year of the Common Era. The fire burned for a total of nine days and destroyed about three quarters of Rome. Though exact numbers are not known, it is estimated that up to 20,000 people died in the fire. As the story goes, which may not be true, Nero blamed the Christians for starting the fire, and others blamed Nero for being incompetent. Both could very well be true, but in reality there were just too many people living in Rome, and fire sprinklers wouldn’t be invented until 1812 at the earliest. So, pretty much, it was inevitable, as it was in many large cities (such as London in 1666, Boston in 1760, Chicago in 1851, and San Francisco in 1863 – there’s an entire website devoted to city fires, divided by the century... there are a lot). And, no, Nero did not fiddle while Rome burned. First of all, he wasn’t even there. He was 35 miles away in Antium when the fire started. But, mostly, the fiddle wouldn’t be invented until the 16th century.

Cartoon of the Week

“How do you spell that?”

Stuff

Seeing the Dead

The dead are easy to see

once you get the hang of it.

At first you can just barely see them

out of the corner of your eye.

Remember when you thought you saw something

that wasn’t there?

Yep, that was a dead guy.

With practice you can get good at it.

The secret’s in not trying at all.

But take my word for it,

it’s not really worth the effort.

Once you do it,

it sort of becomes an obsession.

You start looking for them everywhere.

For the most part,

they’re exactly where you’d expect them to be:

In the graveyard just sitting on their tombstones,

smoking cigarettes and staring at their watches.

All of them with nothing to say.

It’s like some demented remake of Our Town

that has no point.

But then you start to see them in other places, too,

like walking around in the mall

or waiting for a show at the theatre.

Just this morning

I saw a dead man standing on the side of the road,

smoking a cigarette with his coat across his arm.

He was like one of those hitchhikers

who doesn’t even bother to put his thumb in the air,

because he knows eventually somebody’s going to stop,

and even then he’s not in any hurry.

And that dead guy,

he gave me the look.

That, “Yeah, you,” look.

But there’s no way I’m going to stop.

I won’t even stop for a live guy.

What makes him think I’d stop for him?

Besides, I’m not going that far.

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