Happy Palindrome Week!

It’s Palindrome Week—and this week is especially auspicious. Each date this week is a palindrome (a word, phrase, or sequence that reads the same backward as forward):

5.10.15
5.11.15
5.12.15
5.13.15
5.14.15
5.15.15
5.16.15

How rare is that? Aziz Inan, an engineering professor at University of Portland who tracks palindromes, told USA Today:

“A five-digit palindrome is not as rare as a seven-digit date palindrome, such as 1/10/2011, or an eight-digit date palindrome such as 01/02/2010. There will be only 26 seven-digit palindromes this century and 12 eight-digit dates … Once you start writing the year as two digits, then things change because those dates occur every century. Today is 5/11/15, but next century there’s also going to be 5/11/15, but it’s going to be the 22nd century instead of the 21st century.”

Want more palindrome fun? Here’s comedian Demetri Martin‘s epic 224-world palindrome poem, featured in

“Dammit I’m Mad”
 
Dammit I’m mad.
Evil is a deed as I live.
God, am I reviled? I rise, my bed on a sun, I melt.
To be not one man emanating is sad. I piss.
Alas, it is so late. Who stops to help?
Man, it is hot. I’m in it. I tell.
I am not a devil. I level “Mad Dog”.
Ah, say burning is, as a deified gulp,
In my halo of a mired rum tin.
I erase many men. Oh, to be man, a sin.
Is evil in a clam? In a trap?
No. It is open. On it I was stuck.
Rats peed on hope. Elsewhere dips a web.
Be still if I fill its ebb.
Ew, a spider… eh?
We sleep. Oh no!
Deep, stark cuts saw it in one position.
Part animal, can I live? Sin is a name.
Both, one… my names are in it.
Murder? I’m a fool.
A hymn I plug, deified as a sign in ruby ash,
A Goddam level I lived at.
On mail let it in. I’m it.
Oh, sit in ample hot spots. Oh wet!
A loss it is alas (sip). I’d assign it a name.
Name not one bottle minus an ode by me:
“Sir, I deliver. I’m a dog”
Evil is a deed as I live.
Dammit I’m mad.
 
Dammit I’m mad.
Evil is a deed as I live.
God, am I reviled? I rise, my bed on a sun, I melt.
To be not one man emanating is sad. I piss.
Alas, it is so late. Who stops to help?
Man, it is hot. I’m in it. I tell.
I am not a devil. I level “Mad Dog”.
Ah, say burning is, as a deified gulp,
In my halo of a mired rum tin.
I erase many men. Oh, to be man, a sin.
Is evil in a clam? In a trap?
No. It is open. On it I was stuck.
Rats peed on hope. Elsewhere dips a web.
Be still if I fill its ebb.
Ew, a spider… eh?
We sleep. Oh no!
Deep, stark cuts saw it in one position.
Part animal, can I live? Sin is a name.
Both, one… my names are in it.
Murder? I’m a fool.
A hymn I plug, deified as a sign in ruby ash,
A Goddam level I lived at.
On mail let it in. I’m it.
Oh, sit in ample hot spots. Oh wet!
A loss it is alas (sip). I’d assign it a name.
Name not one bottle minus an ode by me:
“Sir, I deliver. I’m a dog”
Evil is a deed as I live.

Dammit I’m mad.

Watch Demetri down the poem here at 2:55: 

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