Friday, March 16, 2012
In January 2012 I started reading The Sync Book at Editor Green's apartment while taking care of the Greens' feisty cat. While proud and happy for my friend, I didn't spend too much mental energy on it other than feeling that it was cool and that I liked thinking about it more than I liked thinking about conspiracy theories. I participated in the Sync Event as an audience member and as the randomly chosen final Radio8Ball guest. Maybe in the future I'll delve into that, but suffice to say I was initiated into the sync family. Since then I've read the HappyCreatures blog posts, many the blogs it follows, and listened to some 42 Minutes radio shows.
The number 42? Had I even seen the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy? Nope. But after being notified of if its (perceived) significance, I noticed it, absolutely, strangely. Without cable or Netflix or a lot of expendable income, I don't watch too many television shows or movies, to be honest. True, I do live in NY, the city that never sleeps with its constant media barrage. But I'd always felt pretty skilled at hanging onto the thoughts I'd recognized as my own. Then the syncs started to hit.
I'm 24. My first home address was 204. My first NY 724... Okay, that's all mere coincidence...
I was walking to rehearsal a few days after the Sync Event, noting all of the street, building, and other printed media numbers. I started to feel a little ridiculous looking around for it so I mentally told myself, "Let it go, you are simply processing the past few days." I texted my director when I get to our rehearsal location, a very upscale building. A few of us practiced new choreography for an upcoming show, then went into the women's locker room for a costume fitting. Normally we would all just change in there but a naive nanny was oblivious to the fact that it wasn't appropriate for that old enough boy (seriously, he was like 10...) she was taking care of to be in there. Annoyed that I had to move, I grabbed my costume and went into the clean, pretty, spacious bathroom in this expensive building. I'm thinking about the show, the choreography, the music... But there it is, literally the writing on the wall: " 24" ." The only thing I've ever seen scrawled onto any surface of that building. Really? It was the last thing on my mind when I noticed it. I wondered if it meant that I am supposed to be doing what I'm doing in - living in NY and dancing.
I live in Manhattan. It is pretty f---ing expensive. Naturally, as I like to hang onto my money as long as possible, I found a good deal on a room here. The biggest problem with this room was that the ceiling leaked. Not when it rained, but somehow internally from the pipes above. I am on the 3rd floor, number 32. Guess what apartment directly above me it leaked from?
Okay, so Jupiter's number, blah blah blah, Kubrick, noticing when it is 2:04, 4:20, 7:24, 12:24, etc, Numbers stamped RIGHT OVER my name and address by FedEx (see photo)... it has to fade, right? Plenty of official psychological explanations for these phenomena - confirmation bias. It is now mid-March, and the 42s seem to have subsided. I'm on the phone telling my mom about my exciting night of dancing in a famous NYC landmark, barely even looking around me, when mid-sentence I stop upon noticing the giant orange "42" spray painted on the pavement. I paused, chuckled, and continued my story...