I heard on the radio yesterday that
January 6th was supposed to have been the saddest day of the year--
according to science. Not the science responsible for gravity and school
projects on inertia using reclaimed hot wheels cars found under couch cushions,
but the “science” with finger-style rabbit ears on either side, responsible for
miracle neck creams and weight loss shakes-- especially the strawberry flavored
ones that come with a “no exercise” regime. There should be a new branch of
scientific research named for these kinds of claims: Goofball Theory, or
perhaps, Science for the Heck of It. If I were a journalist or media outlet, I
would definitely pick up on a story based on qualitative research data authored
by a guy named Cliff. That name just screams no-need-to-fact-check.
As I listened to the broadcast, I
discovered that the science was eventually debunked and that the “scientist”
was-- get this—a part-time tutor. “Cliff Arnall” if that is his real name, came
up with the supposed “research” in 2005-- in cahoots with a travel agency-- in
order to motivate sad clowns everywhere to book flights to Palm Springs and
cruises to Puerto Vallarta. I wonder what Cliff does with the rest of his time
when he isn’t tutoring? Chiropractor/Poet. Or Life Coach/Playlist Advisor. I’d
be shocked if he owns a car. I did a little goofball “research” myself—also
known as Wikipedia—and discovered that this part-time hoodwinker even had a
fake algorithm to go with his flimsy claim.
The algorithm is awesome in that it looks
like something that would be on the chalkboard in the background of an episode
of Community or South Park. Picture this: (W+D-d)T to the Q power over MN to
the little a. It’s factors are weather (W) (Okay, I’ll bite); debt (small d)
(I’m still here); time since Christmas (T) (Because “Blue Monday” only afflicts
Christians?); and low motivational levels (M) (Of course. The math won’t work
without depression factored in). My favorite capitol letter is the Q, which
represents “time since failing our New Year’s resolutions” (Hahahahahaha).
That’s hilarious, Cliff. But, why stop
there? Why not factor in the number of pine needles I probably missed vacuuming
up after taking the tree down and getting it out of the house (P), and divide
it by the number of ornaments broken (small o). How about we multiply that baby
by the number of different styles, lengths and thicknesses of coats I’ve worn
in rotation since the beginning of the Winter Solstice (147) then extrapolate
from that the derivative of the number of gift returns I had to make to various
shops and malls (R) by the routes I’ve logged the most hours on (22 and 10).
How about we compute the absolute value of that, Cliff, by the determinant
weight in kilos of guilt I still feel by not having sent out Christmas cards
this year (KG), and then put the whole enchilada in parenthesis and multiply
that by the number of hours I still spend every day thinking that if I order
cards today I can still, maybe, get away with sending them out to my friends as
belated Valentines (hV).
I don’t know, Cliff. For a guy who has
cajones the size of Rhode Island, I can’t fathom why you stopped short at the
saddest day of the year. Why not whip up one of your fancy-schmancy algorithms
for the Kookiest Day of the Year? The Pointiest Day of the Year. Or, the
infamous, Smelliest Day of the Year. Why don’t you get right on that, Cliff,
between tutoring gigs. Deodorant companies are just a phone call away. Meantime
I’m going to get on with my life in the world of real science and legit
mathematics. I’m going to enjoy the crackle and hiss of wood burning in my
fireplace. I’m going to revel in the warmth of my comforter when the air around
my ears is still cool in the deep of night and marvel at the magical pixies
that fill up my oil tank in the day. I’m going to delight in the reflected
light that bounces off a fresh blanket of snow, in through my widows and
brightens up the hidden corners of my house that floor lamps can’t reach. And
I’m going to be practically giddy that I survived the manic holiday
preparations, forced family dinners, and the first winter storm that was barely
a smattering when you get right down to it. I’m going to be happy (H) today
(T), Cliff (small c), not to spite you and your uptown math, but because I’ve
no reason not to be. And this is my simple sciency equation to prove it: (T + J - c = H)
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