There's a bit of international discrepancy regarding calendar date format, i.e. whether you write and say the date as "Month Day, Year" or "Day Month Year" or something different.  As with many things, America is nearly alone in referring to dates as "Month Day, Year", which is not only confusing for people who don't use the format, but also presumably illogical if you're not accustomed to it.  I think it's more of a case of familiarity than logic, but I have a hard time arguing for the other side for the following simple reason:  When naming computer files or folders, if I use the calendar date and I want to find something I worked on in June, it's difficult if I use the day first, as in: 

file-01-01 (Jan 1)
file-01-06 (Jun 1)
file-01-12 (Dec 1)
file-02-01 (Jan 2)
file-02-12 (Dec 2)

But with the month first, it becomes easy: 

file-01-01 (Jan 1)
file-01-02 (Jan 2)
file-06-01 (Jun 1)
file-12-01 (Dec 1)
file-12-02 (Dec 2)

This could all be a matter of perspective though, and the above example proves dumbfounding to a non-American.

When I get invited to a wedding, I try to convince myself to be content with the fact that I'm socially obligated to attend.  I say, "Hey, at least there's free booze."  And free booze there is, which is how I became acquainted with whiskey a few years ago.  Stepping back from the situation, I can't help but notice how the booze isn't really free.  Gifts are given, often on more than one occasion, so that's maybe $100-300.  If I'm in the wedding party, there's a tux rental involved, not to mention a public performance involving the simple yet intimidating prospect of standing in front of a room full of people.  Is the wedding nearby?  No, it involves a car ride and a hotel room and a few meals in between.  Finally there's the intangible expense of spending an entire day making awkward small talk with people I only sort of want to talk to while stuffing my face with cake containing fruit. 

I'm kind of in awe of compost.  Somehow, as if by magic, I'm able to pile a bunch of leaves, grass clippings, vegetable parts, rotten fruit, rabbit droppings, coffee grinds, and newspaper, and after a certain amount of time, I'm left with simple, healthy dirt.  I understand the idea of decomposition, and I realize it's mostly just worm poop, but I still find this process immensely fascinating. 

I turned 30 recently, which means I'm no longer young.  The opposite of young is old; hence I am now old. 

I was sitting at my desk on Monday morning, and kept noticing various parts of my body which were in pain.  This isn't too uncommon; I occasionally work out and sometimes even do hard physical labor.  But it had been a while since either of those two occasions happened, so I was sitting there trying to figure out exactly what I had done to cause this specific pain.  The front of my neck hurt, almost like whiplash.  I was racking my brain trying to figure out what activity could've caused whiplash.  Did I fall on my back at some point on Sunday?  Did I not use my legs when I lifted something, instead somehow miraculously using my neck muscles?  Did someone push me down the stairs? 

It finally came to me:  I slept in, and at one point, I must've been laying face-down on my pillow.  That's right.  I injured myself sleeping.  Welcome to old age.

When I'm sitting on my couch watching TV on a Friday night, I don't flip through channels, see a nature documentary, and think, "Ooh, this seems interesting and educational."  But I accidentally caught a few seconds of Frozen Planet and got hooked.  Well done, Discovery Channel and BBC.

Similar to fat vs. fats, there's some confusion regarding the terminology of the common cold.  A "cold" is a sickness caused by a virus.  "Cold" is also an adjective describing temperature.  The two are almost completely unrelated.  It was originally believed that the cold virus was contracted through exposure to cold weather, but this has been proven false.  Being cold does not give you a cold, though feeling warm and eating/drinking warm things probably helps the immune system fend off attack.  I propose we end the confusion and start using the medical term for the cold virus:  Rhinovirus.

I picked someone up from my local airport recently, and I was reminded again how stupid the curbside pickup process is.  Once you follow the labyrinthine roadways with loops and signs and angry taxis, there's this peculiar rule that prevents you from waiting at the curb for more than, say, 7 milliseconds.  This conflicts quite spectacularly with the cardinal rule of air travel:  Nothing is on time, ever.  So this silly little rule is a guarantee for failure.  No human being in the history of the universe has ever arrived at the curb exactly as their waiting passenger exited the terminal.  To further frustrate things, there are armed security personnel enforcing this rule.  Here's how every single conversion goes: 

Cop:  You need to move your vehicle.
Person:  But I'm waiting to pick someone up.
Cop:  Wait somewhere else.
Person:  Where?
Cop:  That's not my problem.

As a problem-solver, I can come up with a few solutions right off the bat: 

1. Non-ridiculous hourly parking rates.  Those of us who don't live in the midwest actually have to pay to park at the airport.  Those of us who live near major cities have to pay a lot.  If there was a legitimate alternative to waiting at the curb, perhaps I'd take it.
2. Cell phone waiting lot.  This has been employed at many airports, and it's one of the smartest things ever.  I think it started because people would just pull their cars to the side of the highway near the airport and wait for their air traveler to call.  Non-stupid important people realized a simple way to accommodate these people would be to build a parking lot near, but not at, the airport.  Thus, the miracle of cell phone parking lots was born.
3. Faster-than-light travel.  If we could just perfect the reassembly process, there'd be no need to even go to an airport to travel.

I recently refinanced my mortgage, and the final piece of the closing costs could only be paid with a bank check.  All my checking and savings accounts are online, which has caused me approximately zero problems up until this point in my life.  Bank checks can only come from brick-and-mortar banks, and you need to have an account there (at least I think that's how it works; banks are an example of a confusopoly).  I tried to negotiate with the company by offering any of several other forms of payment that are universally accepted across the globe by all businesses for pretty much any financial transaction:  Cash, check, or credit card.  They declined my offer.  Needless to say, I eventually got a bank check, which was the first time I've walked into a bank building in a good five years.

Which brings me to my point:  It's interesting that different types of money aren't equal.  I realize you can write a check without having the money in your account to back it up, and you can charge something to a credit card with absolutely no intention of paying it off.  But surely cash should be accepted no matter what, right?  From my perspective as a good consumer who has enough money to pay for the things he buys, all my methods of payment are equal.  You should accept my money whether it comes to you as paper or plastic.  Also, I'm the customer.  It's not that I think I'm always right, but shouldn't you at least try to accept my form of payment as long as it doesn't cause you excessive financial harm?  I'm trying to give you money.  Take it.  Take my money.

If you ever want to feel bad about your personal hygiene, take apart and clean your computer mouse.  It's horrifying.

A short while ago, I was at a wine tasting at a vineyard in Italy, and the head honcho tried to explain in his Italian-accented English the importance of personal taste.  He said something like, "My wine has won awards all over the world.  It's widely regarded as a great wine by people who know what they're talking about.  But if you don't like it, that's ok; you're allowed to not like it."  I like that whole idea.  I sometimes have unusual tastes in wines, music, hobbies, etc.  And I often feel compelled to try to explain why my tastes don't match up with the tastes of "the people who know what they're talking about."  But when it comes down to it, personal taste is a circular argument; it is what it is.  You can't convince me to like something I don't like.  And that's that.