I’m Sorry Mr. Clarke

According to Neil, I just killed Arthur C. Clarke.

See, I have this strange belief that famous people die in the threes. And when two go, I always say to him, “Uh-oh, Britney Spears better watch herself…” so Neil can curse me for cursing someone else.

I don’t actually believe there’s some cosmic pattern-making in the deaths of celebrities, but the three-to-go trend is just something I noticed years ago and like to point out to Neil. Because it freaks him out and makes him think I have special powers. And anytime I strike fear in someone on that level, I like to take advantage of the opportunity.

Beware the G!

Believe me: I’m not playing willy-nilly with people lives, and I definitely had nothing to do with Heath Ledger’s death. On three very odd occasions, however, my words on celebrity deaths have struck a little too close for comfort.

Example 1: Flipping through a New Yorker issue that feature a retrospective on Richard Avedon’s photos for the magazine, I looked up and said to Neil, “I want to become a renowned writer (or renowned anything else, for that matter) and have Richard Avedon take my portrait for The New Yorker before he dies." That was September 30, 2004. He died the next day.

Example 2: Two days before my 25th birthday, I finished reading a short story by Arthur Miller. Marveling at the brilliance of his fiction-writing, I said outloud but to no one in particular, “All I want for my birthday is to meet Arthur Miller before he dies.” He died Feb. 10, 2005. My birthday.

Example 3: One week ago I was re-reading some materials from a software engineering class I took in college with an awesome professor. We read plenty of Arthur C. Clarke’s work on technology, the future and ethics for the class. And as I finished reading a piece on the responsibility of technology, I said, “Arthur C. Clarke would be an incredible guy to know. I hope I can meet him before he dies.” Sigh.

What’s the lesson here? Famous-for-good-reasons people need to meet me ASAP before I curse them. Really.

Well, not really. I don’t actually believe I have a magic death wand, but coincidences have a way of freaking me out.

(Note: Bridget has brought up a good fear in the comments below. Let me assure you that my fatal words generally pertain to elderly, mostly male celebrities. In fact, they're typically in their eighties or nineties. And while I hope to see everyone at a race some day, I promise not to curse you.)

Think I’m crazy? You’re probably right. And I was really crazy not to go running last night after work. It stopped raining by 5 p.m. and it was poking above freezing when I was outside. But I opted to rest, again. With good reason.

My plans for today include a post-work run with Landon, which will be my first run-with-somebody trek in a very long time. Call me a running loner. I think my running fitness, however, has improved since my old two-miler days on the track with JG before this generation of me arrived. And I’m looking forward to running into Monica for some post-work running in the coming weeks as well.

It's supposed to rain ALL DAY LONG, so I'm kicking myself for not running yesterday when I had the opportunity (but not the energy) to not get cold, soaked and sick doing it. But who believes weather.com these days anyway? Shucks.

Running with others, though, will all be a really nice change of pace; I’m totally into that these days.