France had a calendar with 10-hour days during the revolution.

  • 10-hour decimal clock
10-hour decimal clock
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Author Bennett Kleinman
October 11, 2023

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French Revolutionary Time was a short-lived concept that used a base-10 timekeeping system. Otherwise known as “decimal time,” this unprecedented method included 10-hour days, 100 minutes per hour, and 100 seconds per minute. Each day was divided into 10 equal parts, with “zero” marking the start (what is now midnight) and “five” denoting the midpoint (noon). This meant that every hour was more than twice as long as an hour of standard time. New clocks and watches were even manufactured displaying both decimal time and standard time, to considerable confusion. 

While France formally adopted this practice on November 24, 1793, the idea was first promoted in 1754. That year, mathematician Jean le Rond d’Alembert drew inspiration from the base-10 numeral system that had existed since ancient times and argued that it would be easier and more convenient to calculate times that were divisible by 10. The concept was revived in 1788 and met with enthusiasm from French revolutionaries seeking to shed their ties to the past. French Revolutionary Time was later adopted by the French Parliament, though it proved to be unpopular among citizens who found the switch confusing. The new system was deemed optional on April 7, 1795, and the country ultimately reverted to the previous timekeeping method.

In addition to changing how the country kept time, revolutionary France also adopted the French Republican calendar. The new formula divided the year into 12 months, each of which contained three 10-day weeks. To bring the total days up to 365, France tacked on five additional days at the end of the year as holidays. Debuted on October 24, 1793, the new calendar was also short-lived, and was abolished by Napoleon Bonaparte on January 1, 1806.

The oldest known song is from the 14th century BCE.

  • Hurrian hymn tablet
Hurrian hymn tablet
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Author Darren Orf
September 20, 2023

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Music is as old as humanity itself: Our Paleolithic ancestors likely sung lullabies to their children, and evidence of ancient instruments dates back some 40,000 years. But when it comes to recorded history, specific melodies are hard to come by. That’s why the cuneiform tablet known as “Hurrian Hymn No. 6” is such an incredible artifact. Dating back to the 14th century BCE — some 3,400 years ago — it is the oldest known melody in human history. 

As the name suggests, the song was originally composed by the Hurrians, an ancient people who lived in parts of modern-day Iraq, Syria, and Turkey. Originally a dedication to the Mesopotamian goddess Nikkal, the hymn was unearthed in the Syrian city of Ugarit in the 1950s, and the artifact is now housed at the National Museum of Damascus. The tablet contains not only near-complete musical notation and lyrics, but also instructions on how to perform the song on a nine-stringed lyre, a U-shaped harp that was popular throughout Mesopotamia. Many varied versions of “Hurrian Hymn No. 6” exist today, largely due to translation inconsistencies, but one of the most popular compositions is from Syrian American composer Malek Jandali, who has performed the ancient piece with a solo piano and also a full orchestra. 

Bootleggers wore cow shoes to cover their tracks during Prohibition.

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Bootlegger cow shoes
Credit: Everett Collection Inc/ Alamy Stock Photo
Author Bennett Kleinman
September 25, 2024

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During the Prohibition era in the U.S., the continued demand for alcohol led to a drastic increase in the illegal manufacturing and trafficking of booze. This illicit profession, known as bootlegging, required clever work-arounds to avoid detection from federal officials. One unusual trick that bootleggers turned to was wearing “cow shoes” in an effort to quite literally cover their tracks. The disguise entailed outfitting the soles of normal shoes with wooden blocks that left behind markings that looked like cow tracks instead of shoe prints.

As described in a 1922 article in the Evening Independent of St. Petersburg, Florida, “The cow shoe is… a wooden block carved to resemble the hoof of a cow, which may be strapped to the human foot.” The idea was to make it more difficult for feds to track down hidden bootlegging operations in places such as the middle of the woods, where many crime syndicates set up shop. The simple scheme was rumored to be inspired by a Sherlock Holmes short story called “The Adventure of the Priory School,” in which a criminal uses fake cow tracks to cover up their crimes. By the mid-1920s, however, federal officials had seized some cow shoes and were well aware of the ruse, and so the practice waned in popularity.

The Senate picked the vice president once in history.

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U.S. Senate chamber
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Author Michael Nordine
September 20, 2023

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The United States has had some strange elections over the last 230-odd years, few more so than the presidential contest of 1836 — the one and only time that the Senate picked the vice president. Like the president, veeps are chosen by the Electoral College, and that year three names were on the ballot: Richard Mentor Johnson (who received 147 electoral votes), Francis Granger (77), and John Tyler (47). Johnson was the running mate of Democrat Martin Van Buren, who emerged victorious in the presidential race with 170 electoral votes. When it came to the vice presidential race, however, the Virginia delegation became faithless electors due to Johnson’s many controversies — including the fact that he had a relationship and two children with an enslaved woman named Julia Chinn — and cast their votes elsewhere. As fate would have it, the 147 electoral votes Johnson received left him one shy of a majority.

The Senate was thus called upon to exercise one of its rarest and most important duties. On February 8, 1837, it elected the beleaguered Johnson as vice president by a party-line vote of 33 to 16. Johnson had represented Kentucky in the upper chamber for 10 years, and upon being elected expressed the self-deprecating hope that “the intelligence of the Senate will guard the country from any injury that might result from the imperfections of its presiding officer.” He spent much of his term running his tavern back in Kentucky, eventually came to be considered a liability for Van Buren, and was dropped by the Democratic Party for the reelection campaign, leaving Van Buren without an official running mate. 

James Joyce used crayons when writing his novels.

  • James Joyce portrait
James Joyce portrait
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Author Michael Nordine
September 20, 2023

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James Joyce didn’t just write some of the most acclaimed novels of the 20th century — he did so using crayon. Though it sounds like a quirky affectation on the part of the Ulysses and A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man author, it was actually a medical necessity. Because Joyce had trouble with his eyesight and was nearly blind by the time he wrote Finnegans Wake in the last few years of his life, “the large crayons thus helped him see what he was writing,” according to culture writer Maria Popova. Joyce was farsighted as a child and had severe issues with his eyesight by the time he reached his 20s; these problems only worsened after a bout of rheumatic fever left him afflicted with the condition iritis.

Fortunately for readers, Joyce was as adaptable as he was brilliant. He began writing while “lying on his stomach in bed, with a large blue pencil, clad in a white coat” that reflected more light back at the empty page at night. This process became even more elaborate during the editing phase, when Joyce relied on crayons of varying colors (namely orange, blue, red, and green) to underline and circle individual words or sentences and even cross out entire pages. Finnegans Wake in particular remains one of the English language’s most difficult and inscrutable works some 85 years after it was written, but at least there’s no mystery as to how it was written.

Couples in the Victorian era exchanged engraved coins. 

  • 17th-century love tokens
17th-century love tokens
Credit: Salisbury and South Wiltshire Museum/ CC BY-SA 4.0
Author Sarah Anne Lloyd
September 19, 2024

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People have always used trinkets to show their love, whether in the form of jewelry, locks of hair, or even fancy spoons. In the Victorian era, love tokens — ordinary coins that were engraved for a loved one — were a popular choice. The practice of exchanging love tokens dates back to at least the 18th century (and possibly even earlier), and it reached its peak in the United States and Great Britain in the late 19th century.

One possible influence on love tokens were treizains (French for “thirteen”), a set of 13 custom-carved coins given to French couples on their wedding days. Some early love tokens were also carved by people about to be sent off to Britain’s penal colony in Australia for the loved ones they were leaving behind; sometimes called “prisoner tokens,” these were typically carved by tapping out little dots with a hammer and nail. Meanwhile, love tokens took off in America during the U.S. Civil War, when many soldiers had someone waiting for them back home.

By the middle of the Victorian era, love tokens had become — like most hallmarks of the time — quite ornate. Engravers found extra work carving elaborate designs for customers to give not just to romantic partners, but also to family members and dear friends, too. They could even be used to propose marriage; diamonds weren’t marketed as an engagement must-have until the 1930s. Initials — typically those of the recipient — were common coin designs, as were birds — often bluebirds for happiness, or lovebirds, or turtle doves for romance — and landscapes. But because these were deeply personal gifts, all sorts of images that were meaningful to the recipient or the relationship made their way into the carvings. The popularity of love tokens declined by the turn of the 20th century, when they were largely usurped by lockets — although soldiers in both world wars carved coins in the trenches for their loved ones back at home.

French waiters once went on strike for the right to grow mustaches.

  • Paris waiter circa 1900
Paris waiter circa 1900
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Author Nicole Villeneuve
September 20, 2023

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In 1907, one of the more unusual strikes in France’s history unfolded. Better wages and working conditions were at stake, as is often the case, but this strike was also about something unexpected: the right to grow a mustache. Mustaches were at their peak in early 20th-century Europe, and were even obligatory for policemen — an attempt to convey military-like masculinity and authority. Restaurant servers, however, were forced to be clean-shaven, a reminder of their “lower class” status. Behind closed doors, trade unions began organizing a strike for workers’ rights to autonomy over their facial hair. They were also fighting for one day off a week and their fair share of tips, which were often the only source of pay for servers. Surveys about dates and times were sent to the various unions and, after results were compiled, strike instructions were sent to union members. On April 17, 1907, at 6:30 p.m. sharp, waiters walked off the job. 

Although the number of servers who took to the streets in protest is unclear, The New York Times estimated it at about 500 by late April. While the strike wasn’t without its critics, the waitstaff found solidarity in high places, including in Parliament. Socialist Deputy Antide Boyer — who, even before the strike, had proposed a bill that would make mustache bans illegal — told The New York Times the mustache rule was “grotesque and humiliating.” Boyer’s bill never actually passed, but the strike resolved quickly. After 16 days, the waiters returned to work. They did not get their desired one day off per week, but a fairer pay structure was in place — as were their mustaches.

Emperor Hirohito was buried wearing a Mickey Mouse watch.

  • Japanese Emperor Hirohito, 1989
Japanese Emperor Hirohito, 1989
Credit: colaimages/ Alamy Stock Photo
Author Michael Nordine
September 19, 2024

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You might be a Disney adult, but if you’re not planning to be buried with a Mickey Mouse accessory, it would appear you’re less of a fan than Japanese Emperor Hirohito, who was interred wearing his Mickey watch. The monarch, who reigned over Japan from 1926 to 1989, first visited the “Happiest Place on Earth” in 1975 after being a fan of Disney cartoons for decades. It was then that he was gifted the watch, which he was apparently quite taken by.

The emperor’s love of the timepiece was noted several times before his passing, including in a 1984 Washington Post article marking his 83rd birthday. “Hirohito expressed his approval of America not in words but with a gesture,” the Post reported. “For years afterward, he wore a Mickey Mouse watch that he picked up at Disneyland.” Anyone who wears the same shirt every time they visit the “Happiest Place on Earth” can surely relate.

The oldest recorded customer complaint is from 1750 BCE.

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Reading customer reviews
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Author Bennett Kleinman
September 20, 2023

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Customer dissatisfaction is far from a modern phenomenon; in fact, the oldest recorded complaint dates back 3,773 years. The grievance was etched into a tablet that was rediscovered during excavations of the Sumerian city-state Ur in the early 20th century. Dating back to 1750 BCE, this tablet was written by Nanni, a dissatisfied customer whose ire was directed toward a copper merchant named Ea-nasir. In the complaint, Nanni expressed dismay over the quality of copper they received, accusing the trader of poor treatment and demanding money back. The translated text includes exasperated statements such as, “Who am I that you are treating me… with such contempt?” Nanni also wasn’t the only customer who felt slighted by this Ea-nasir — there’s archaeological evidence of other Sumerian individuals who expressed frustration over the quality of copper from the same merchant.

The complaint tablet was one of several fascinating discoveries uncovered during British archaeologist Leonard Woolley’s excavations of Ur between 1922 and 1934. Woolley and his team dug out 1,800 burial sites, including the spectacular tomb of Queen Puabi, one of the few female rulers in ancient Mesopotamia. Much like the Egyptian tomb of King Tut, Puabi’s tomb was largely intact and included a headdress worn by the queen, made of lapis lazuli (a blue gemstone), ribbons, and gold. Woolley also uncovered layers of water-laid clay, which likely formed during a great flood. Some theories suggest that this ancient flood may have influenced writings about the deluge of water described in the Bible’s Book of Genesis, though these theories are difficult to confirm.

Cotton candy was invented by a dentist.

  • Spinning candy floss
Spinning candy floss
Tobias Titz/ fStop via Getty Images
Author Nicole Villeneuve
September 20, 2023

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Cotton candy consists of just two simple ingredients: air and sugar. The supersweet indulgence seems like the last thing a dental health professional would promote, but it was invented by a dentist from Tennessee in 1897.

Born in Nashville in 1860, William James Morrison was quite successful by his early 30s, having graduated from dental school and been made president of the Tennessee State Dental Association in 1894. As accomplished as he was in his professional life, Morrison also racked up a number of impressive inventions: He patented a device to extract oils from cottonseed and turn them into a lard substitute, as well as a process that chemically purified Nashville’s drinking water. In 1897, Morrison turned to John C. Wharton, a local candymaker, for his next invention. Together, they worked on building what they called the “electric candy machine,” a device that melted sugar, then used air to force it through a mesh screen and into a spinning chamber. The result was the cloudlike confection we now know as cotton candy — then called, appropriately whimsically, “Fairy Floss.” 

Morrison and Wharton introduced their invention at the 1904 St. Louis World’s Fair. They sold the Fairy Floss in small boxes for 25 cents each — half the price of admission. Despite its high price tag, Fairy Floss was a hit, selling 68,655 boxes and grossing $17,163.75 (that’s over $500,000 today) during the fair’s seven-month run. In the 1920s, Fairy Floss got its more commonly known current name when a man named Josef Lascaux started dabbling in his own confectionery. He called the treat “cotton candy,” and he sold it from his — believe it or not — Louisiana dentist office.