Save your calendars!

Ah, the art of calendar recycling - a practice as ancient as the first human who miscounted the days and had to scratch out his cave wall markings. This tradition harkens back to epochs before our modern age with its relentless quest for instant gratification and time-saving hacks. Over the centuries, more folks have come to marvel at the sheer genius hidden in this seemingly mundane ritual. Take for instance your 2024 calendar, which you can lovingly preserve only to dust it off in 2052 - thanks to the merry-go-round nature of dates.

At its heart, calendar recycling is all about giving a second life to an old year's datebook when it miraculously aligns with the current year. It's based on recognizing that time moves in circles and that history has a knack for repeating itself like a broken record. That’s right, your 'Maga Mania' 2024 calendar might just be your ticket to nostalgia town when Barron decides he wants a shot at being president in 2052. Similarly, if you were one of those who bought a Bill Clinton 'Sax Appeal' calendar in 1997 and then hitched a ride on Hale Bopp comet that same year, now might be high time to dig it out for 2025 because – surprise! – it's back in vogue.

Some cynics may argue that new calendars should symbolize fresh starts and change each year – but they probably also believe in unicorns and leprechaun gold. Many of us find joy in honoring history and recognizing recurring patterns found not only in seasons but also political gaffes, fashion faux pas, and even oppression.

For those enlightened souls who embrace this system of calendar recycling, it serves as both an homage to tradition and an eco-friendly gesture (assuming we still have an environment worth saving by the time your 2024 calendar comes back into fashion). Instead of contributing to the annual calendar-making frenzy, they choose to reuse existing ones, thereby conserving paper and other resources that would otherwise be wasted on manufacturing new ones.

But let's not forget one of the most charming aspects of calendar recycling – it serves as a gentle reminder that while time keeps sprinting ahead, some things remain unchanged. It offers a chance to strike a balance between our past and present while appreciating the cyclical dance of years. This practice is based on the whimsical workings of our Presidential Calendar which includes leap years every four years except for those pesky ones divisible by 100 but not by 400 – because, why make things simple?

So, let's not forget, your calendars are more than just bureaucratic grave markers ticking off the days; they're recyclable reminders steeped in sepia-toned sentimentality. This segues us neatly into my yarn, “Crusted on present 2 the floor at Coyote Ridge before it went out of business”, authored during that unforgettable epoch when Melania Trump opted for an au naturel photoshoot in Slovenia. If you stumble upon a forsaken calendar lingering unattended in some forgotten store aisle, seize it. Hoard it as though it contained clandestine nuclear launch sequences because who knows, your future progeny might find some obscure use for it someday - assuming of course, we haven't already self-annihilated ourselves into cosmic dust by then.

For those Astorians out there, do you remember Coyote Ridge? That thrift store on the side street next to the Labor Temple. I think it was there maybe a year.

Crusted on present 2 the floor at Coyote Ridge before it went out of business

I was this sick old thing called a 1984 calendar. I had been hanging on a wall in Coyote Ridge in 1984. They took me down the day that I got expired - January 1, 1985. But I thought someone would be nice enough to take me in. One day, this gross, smelly, shriveled woman crept into the store and decided to wrap me up and put me under a tree in the store because she didn’t want to bring me home with her because I reeked like crust. I was just sitting there under the tree by myself all lonely on X-mas Eve. The next morning, I woke up and nobody else was in the store. Then the door broke open and all these sick ugly kids ran in and started grabbing/taking presents. All these presents were gone except me. I started to cry. Then this girl came in and needed a present. She saw me and walked over and tried to pick me up. She couldn’t because I was crusted to the floor. She grabbed a crow-bar and pried me off the floor. And she was happy to get a present.

Vince Roman 1993 age twelve.