By Mary Binzley and McKen
Dear Dr. Meulemans: Have you ever studied the philosophy of time? After learning how to read analog clocks last week, we now consider ourselves unofficial official experts on the subject, especially as it pertains to being fake. This week whilst making philosophic and scientific breakthroughs during our session, we almost laughed together again. Your therapy really seems to be working. Love, Mary and McKenna. P.S. $69,420 a meeting is frankly ridiculous. We are considering legal action.]
The scariest day of the year is approaching. It isn’t Halloween, Friday the 13th or Groundhog Day. It’s February 29th.
Leap Day.
And, spoiler alert: the day isn’t real.
Leap Day is the equivalent of the hour between 1 and 2 a.m. before the Autumn daylight savings change, but you don’t get an extra day … it just deadass disappears. Spooooky. Yet, Leap Day is truly a blessing in disguise because nothing you do on this day matters. You’re like Bill Murray but in a black hole. You should definitely start thinking about how you are going to spend your day free from the shackles of time.
Unfortunately for those born on a Leap Day, like the day itself, they also do not exist. They were born into a vortex and only appear once every four years to claim that they are actually “five years old!” Shade. (Some famous examples are … Ja Rule. That’s pretty much it. Like we said, they are not real.)
Historians claim the concept of a Leap Day began because otherwise, the days don’t line up (or something stupid like that). In reality, the one and only Jesus H. Christ invented the day so he could experience 24 hours of sin. Like a lil’ sprang break. His teachings reveal that us immoral humans should therefore also spend the Leap Day living in sin. Say no more, JC!
We plan on attending the 100 Gecs concert, which does defy the laws of physics. It’s no coincidence that they’re performing on the day that doesn’t exist, because otherwise the College might literally explode (Listen to their album 1000 Gecs for context). Yes, during “Stupid Horse,” we will 100 percent be leaving our corporeal bodies and will either ascend to Heaven or descend to Hell. You decide. Shortly after, a cowboy-themed Harris will gallop its way into our consciousness. Fittingly, that is where the Leap Day will end. At the stroke of midnight, time will become real, and we will be cowboys. Fin.
Some other potential sins you could commit involve forgery (of PCards), robbery (of the Grinnell College Dining Hall), creating your own meth lab (Noyce) and killing (that sick new skateboarding trick XD). But you didn’t hear it from us. Just know that since nothing truly matters on February 29th, life will be chaos. Why not contribute to it? Here’s our consolidated schedule for inspiration:
9 a.m.: Tell your mom you love her. It’s like a prank because she won’t remember it the next day. That’s called low commitment.
8:30 am: Bro, time isn’t linear.
11:30 am: Fill the cavities in your life with tater tots.
3 p.m.: Break a law or two. Nobody can arrest you if time doesn’t exist.
6 p.m.: Drink heavy doses of alc—milk to pregame for the 100 Gecs concert.
7 p.m.: Leave your body during the concert. BRB, guys.
9 p.m.: Reenter your body and then enter a cowboy hat.
11:30 pm: Enter the hoedown. Start hoeing down.
11:59 pm: Panic. All of life’s troubles are going to hit you over the head in 3 … 2 … 1 …
MIDNIGHT: Time has returned. Welcome home, cowboy.
