The one with the Disney song

So I’m sitting down to write an email to Megan on her birthday. In the background I hear what sounds like an ice cream truck (which may have been that, or may have been an army transport vehicle...really) playing “It’s A Small World”.

When I pull up Megan’s contact info Google automatically shows me our communications history. Sure enough, last year, when she was about to run in the Walt Disney World marathon, I sent her an email suggesting that she sing “It’s A Small World” the whole time.

I’ll spare you a spiel about the probability of improbable events (with the implied Douglas Adams digression) or about correlations, coincidences, or any other co-s. Instead, I’ll just comment that it really is a small world.

My dad has maybe never gone anywhere without running into someone he knows. St Louis? Sure. Jerusalem? Why not. And it’s starting to happen to me.

My first night in Sydney we went to some bar. A guy said “hey, you played in Perth for Sub Zero, right? I did, and apparently I’d played against him. And last night, at pickup, Matt showed up. “You play for Sub Zero, right? I used to play for Union Crew, from Chicago.

Laura works in the home office of Paige’s organization. We both went to school in Northfield at about the same time. As we were driving to Ssembabule last week I was discussing my plans to possibly visit Madagascar. Said Laura: “A friend of mine just returned from several years in Madagascar.” Replied Seth: “Scott? I ran into him just before I left town.” And Laura went to grad school with some other friends of mine, and we were both at Nina’s party last year.

On Friday we went to the market. I bought an elephant, whom I named Alan, who will be my traveling companion for many of my onward journeys. That night we went to a party, and when we walked in the host introduced us to his father-in-law, Alan.

In early October John and I, on our way to Madison for the night, stopped in at a gallery in Hudson, WI to see an exhibition of stuff by my friend Brita. Turns out, Brita’s stuff was in one gallery, while stuff from Nick was next door in another. He and Brita didn’t really know each other, but I’d met Nick earlier last year at the Excelsior Art Fair--he and my friend Phil are friends through skiing and woodcutting and such, and his booth at Excelsior was on the same row as my friend Colleen’s. When we got to Madison we described the coincidence to Kate and her roommates. Said a roommate: “Nick? I know Nick...”

Oh, and I think Laura knows Nick, too.