What Is a Confidential Marriage License and Why Does California Offer Them?

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iStock

If you’re getting married anywhere in the United States, the first step is to get your marriage license. The rules for doing so vary from state to state, with different minimum age, cost, number of witnesses, and blood test requirements. California, however, is the only* state that offers both a regular public marriage license and a confidential marriage license.

[*One other state, Michigan, has something called “secret marriages,” but unlike confidential licenses, secret marriages require a judge in a closed court to seal the court file, and the clerk has no record at all of the marriage.]

A confidential marriage license is legally binding, just like a public license, but it’s not part of the public record. Section 501 of California’s Family Code allows for the county clerk to issue a confidential license, and Section 511 states that these licenses are not open to public inspection, except by a court order. Public marriage licenses, on the contrary, allow anyone, for any reason, to look at the personal information that appears on the licenses at the County Clerk’s office. This information—the couple’s full names, dates and places of birth, parents’ full names, and any previous marriages—is private for confidential licenses.

But why does California alone offer this option? The origin of the confidential marriage license goes back to 1878, when it was meant for unmarried cohabitating couples in the state. Some of these couples lived in rural, remote areas that were inconveniently far from a church or court, but most simply “lived in sin” and/or gave birth to children out of wedlock. Shacking up was majorly frowned upon, so couples could maintain the appearance of respectability within their communities by keeping the details of their nuptials confidential. Confidential marriages were also a boon to the California legal system because inheritance and property rights were more clear-cut when the majority of people cohabitating and raising children were married. 

Until the 1970s, confidential marriage was still an option, but it wasn’t widely taken advantage of as social mores shifted and it became less scandalous for unmarried couples to live together. In 1972, California state legislators changed the law so that laypeople, not just pastors, could perform confidential marriages, allowing couples to marry quickly (without getting their blood tested and waiting for the results) and privately. By the early 1980s, almost 1 in 3 marriages in California was a confidential one. Polygamists, minors, and people falsely claiming Social Security benefits took advantage of the confidential option, though, and the state legislature came close to doing away with it in 1984—it stayed alive by one vote. In 2012, approximately one fifth of all California marriage licenses issued were confidential.

To apply for a confidential marriage license today, a couple must swear that they live together, but it’s a technicality since the couple doesn't have to provide any proof and there is no required minimum length of time for cohabitation. In Los Angeles county, confidential marriage licenses are actually a little cheaper than a public license, but couples opting for the confidential route have to pay $14 to order a certified copy of their license and certificate, so the cost evens out. And since it’s private, no witnesses are needed to be present at the ceremony to sign the license. It’s not exactly clear why other states’ legislatures never added the option for a confidential marriage license after California instituted it, perhaps due to lack of demand. For now, if you want to get a confidential marriage license, you’ll have to do so in California.

What Happens During a Jeopardy! Commercial Break?

Jeopardy! host Alex Trebek chats with the show's contestants.
Jeopardy! host Alex Trebek chats with the show's contestants.
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Jennifer Quail:

Typical Break One: First, if there are "pickups" (re-recordings where Alex misspoke or coughed or stuttered, or Johnny mispronounced someone’s name or hometown) to record, they do those. A stagehand brings water bottles for the contestants. The production team who wrangles contestants comes over and gives their pep talk, makes any corrections, like if someone is consistently buzzing early; and keeps you quiet if there are pickups. Alex gets the cards with the "fun facts" (there are about three, one highlighted, but which one he goes for is ultimately up to Alex alone) and when the crew is ready, they come back from commercial to Alex’s chat with the contestants.

Typical Break Two: If there are any pickups from the second half of the Jeopardy! round they do those, the water gets distributed, the production team reminds the contestants how Double Jeopardy! works and that there’s still lots of money out there to win, and Alex comes over to take a picture with the two challengers (the champion will have had their picture taken during their first match.) Then we come back to Double Jeopardy!.

Typical Third Break: This is the big one. There are pickups, water, etc. and they activate the section of the screen where you write your wager. One of the team members brings you a half-sheet of paper ... and you work out what you want to bet. One of your "wranglers" checks it, as does another production team member, to make sure it’s legible and when you’re sure that’s what you want, you lock it in. At that point you can’t change it. They take away the scratch paper and the part of the board where you write your answer is unlocked. Someone will tell you to write either WHO or WHAT in the upper left corner, so you do know at least whether it’s a person or thing. They make sure the "backup card" (a piece of card stock sitting on your podium) is turned to the correct who or what side, just in case your touchscreen fails. If everything’s ready, then as soon as the crew says, they come back and Final Jeopardy! starts.

There are breaks you don’t [even know about, too]. If there is a question about someone’s final answer, they will actually stop tape while the research team checks. Sometimes if something goes really off, like Alex completely misreads a category during the start of a round, they’ll stop and pick it up immediately. Those [are breaks] you’ll never notice because they’ll be completely edited out.

This post originally appeared on Quora. Click here to view.

Why Is There a Leap Day?

Bychykhin_Olexandr/iStock via Getty Images
Bychykhin_Olexandr/iStock via Getty Images

At some point in elementary school, your science teacher probably explained to you that there are 365 days in a year because that’s how long it takes for Earth to complete one full rotation around the sun. What they might not have specified, however, is that it’s not exactly 365 days—it’s actually closer to 365.2421 days.

So, if we want our calendar year to begin right when Earth begins a new rotation around the sun, we have to account for (roughly) an extra quarter of a day each year, or one day every four years. History.com reports that the Egyptians had already been doing this for a while before Europe finally caught on in 46 B.C.E., when Roman dictator Julius Caesar and astronomer Sosigenes put their heads together to come up with what we now call the Julian calendar, which includes 12 months, 365 days, and an additional “leap day” every four years on February 29.

But rounding 0.2421 up to 0.25 each year created an issue, because it didn’t quite add up to a full day every four years—and that tiny discrepancy meant that after 128 years, the calendar year ended up starting a day before Earth had completed its rotation around the sun. By the 14th century, the calendar year was starting a whopping 10 days before Earth finished its orbit.

In 1582, Pope Gregory XIII sought to correct the error by suggesting that we simply skip a leap day every so often. His Gregorian calendar, which we still use today, mandates that we omit the leap day during years evenly divisible by 100 but not by 400. For instance, the year 2000 included a leap day because it’s divisible by 100 and 400; the year 2100, on the other hand, will not include a leap day, since it’s evenly divisible by 100, but not by 400.

Gregory XIII’s correction to Caesar’s overcorrection is itself a bit of an under-correction, so we’ll probably need to reevaluate our leap day protocol again in about 10,000 years.

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