Wouldn’t that be a great song title? Why is there no “Blood Moon” tune? There’s a “Harvest Moon,” “Blue Moon,” “Neon Moon,” “Moon River,” “Moondance,” “Bad Moon Rising,” “Moonshadow.” In terms of action: “Walking on the Moon,” “Talking to the Moon,” “Bark at the Moon,” “Howling at the Moon.” I once heard a busker in Barcelona butcher “Fly Me to the Moon.”
I had to fly into the closest HMV to cleanse my cochlear.
If you’re up late on Thursday and caffeinated into the wee hours on Friday, glance up at the night sky for a special event. Total Lunar Eclipse! Blood Moon! Or the longer Blood Worm Moon, which sounds like a disease Robert F. Kennedy Jr. will soon contract from raw milk.
The astronomy show starts at 11:57 p.m. when “the Moon enters the Earth’s penumbra, the outer part of the shadow.” That’s from NASA. Though now that Elon Musk is taking a chainsaw to federal agencies, I’m not sure we can trust any posted data.
It’s possible NASA’s blood moon guide was written by the MyPillow guy.
Anyway, the partial eclipse begins at 1:09 a.m. on Friday. Then the somewhat dirty sounding totality climax — “the entire Moon is now in the Earth’s umbra” — starts at 2:26 a.m. and ends at 3:31.
Why am I devoting a column to the blood moon? Because we all need to de-stress amid the Most Idiotic Trade War in History. Drinking is not good for you. Meditation takes too long to learn. And by then, who knows if Donald Trump will have slapped a 300 per cent profanity tariff on crude oil?
So look at the blood moon for free.
Marvel at cosmic beauty and vastness of space.
I’m planning to throw a moon viewing party. It will probably just be me and the cats. I’ll make nachos. They’ll get Fancy Feast treats. We’ll sit in the sunroom and ooh and aah as the moon turns coppery red.
I will regale kitties with fun facts.
This week’s blood moon will eerily mirror the one Christopher Columbus used in 1504 to scare the living daylights out of the Indigenous Arawak in the Caribbean. A lunar eclipse happens when the moon’s orbit is tilted. The term syzygy is used when three celestial bodies enter a straight-line formation. “Lunatic” is derived from the Latin luna (moon) and the Old French lunatique.
Speaking of lunatics, what is wrong with America’s doofus-in-chief? Is he just making it up on the fly? This guy picks tariffs the way the hungry browse buffet items at Mandarin. Peel-and-Eat Shrimp? Chicken Chow Mein? Shanghai Noodles? Black Pepper Steak?
What tariff should I stuff into my tummy next?
As I sit here, I honestly don’t know the latest box score in the trade war. We all need a neck brace to keep up with this unrelenting whiplash.
Is Trump’s threat of a 50 per cent tariff on aluminum and steel still on? Or did he flip-flop like a tuna on a boat deck after the markets crashed? How about stuff in the 25 per cent bucket? Is there not one adviser who has the guts to discreetly tell him: “Mr. President, um, tariffs don’t work the way you think they do.”
Back in the day, our superstitious forebears ascribed paranormal powers to the moon. The French used lunatique to describe someone highly temperamental. I’m now inspired to scribble down the first verse to “The Blood Moon Cometh.”
“I stare into the night sky / Jack Daniels, goodbye / Canadians in a crate / But we shall never be the 51st state / We are hoarse, need a lozenge / All thanks to Agent Orange / Come back, woolly mammoth / The Blood Moon Cometh.”
Wouldn’t it be great if Doug Ford watched the total lunar eclipse and something totally weird happened? Hair starts sprouting all over his head and body. His bones elongate and pop out of his suit. He hunches over. He belts out a deafening howl. Werewolf Doug then bolts across the border to terrorize the White House until the trade war is called off and the doofus-in-chief, cowering under a bust of Winston Churchill, vows to never again threaten our sovereignty.
I wish you all a Happy Blood Moon. By the by, if you snap a great photo of this lunar special event, please email me a copy. My view here in the East York Bunker is never ideal due to trees and hydro poles. It’s like I’m in the bleachers at Rogers Centre and there are giraffes in centre field.
I could drive to a better spot. But then my car would remind me about tariffs.
And I don’t have time to meditate.
