Palindroming, Gagauguration and getting lubed

Dear Rachel,

I am inordinately pleased that the date this Thursday is 1/21/21. That immediately makes it the biggest day of the week. Doesn’t matter what else is happening. That kind of palindrome brings me immense and immaculate joy. I normally only get that kind of rush from my odometer, but I can’t stare at it for long because I am driving and it would be dangerous. I might just spend the whole day staring at the date. How come none of my friends understand this pleasure? Do you?

– Number Nerd

Dear Digit Dork,

So if you’re staring all day, does that make Thursday the opposite of a blind date? I can ruin it for you just like a blind date too: by showing you you’ve been lied to. 1/21/21 looks pretty, but what about 1/21/2021? Or everywhere else in the world, who would write the date 21/1/2021? Those pretty little patterns are all out the window. You been catfished by the calendar.

– All sixes and sevens, Rachel

Dear Rachel,

You know why I’m excited that Biden won the election? Two words: Lady Gaga. Four more words: Singing the national anthem. Our country’s ode is ridiculously challenging to sing well, and I am stoked to hear her take it on. There’s probably some fitting metaphor here: a gender-bending and expectation-defying demigoddess washing the taste of Trump out of our mouths with a bad-ass rendition. Any chance this will win over the Trumpets and unify our country? Or will we still be divided, just with us on the left looking and sounding faaaabulous?

– Goo Goo for Gaga

Dear Lady Cray-Cray,

Our national anthem is ridiculously challenging to sing well, but it’s also ridiculously easy to sing terribly. You know from that first deep “Ohh-ohh saaaaaay” that you’re in trouble. The queen of the meat dress can probably do it well, but can anyone really do it right? I’m just going to say it: it’s a terrible song. It takes longer than “American Pie.” But it does end with a question mark, which is perhaps the most fitting aspect for the finale of the 45th administration.

– By the dawnzer lee light, Rachel

Dear Rachel,

I need help. The nuts and bolts on my pickup’s camper shell are rusted together, so now I can’t take it off. Normally this would be fine if it got me out of helping someone move. But it’s me who has to move. I can’t get out of that. I would ask for help, but I admit to being scarred by childhood shame and I can only anonymously acknowledge that I feel frustrated and helpless the moment I need to be handy. So maybe you can help?

– Loose Screws, Stuck Bolts

Dear Life Metaphor,

WD-40 solves every home problem I have, except for the ones it doesn’t. Try that. Otherwise, perhaps it’s time to assess your life. What are these fused bolts telling you about your own inner being? Could you tie all your belongings atop the camper shell like a modern-day Joad? If these deep questions make you cry, just stare at the date all day this Thursday. It will soothe your soul.

– Bolted down, Rachel