1111

I've always been a proponent of the 11:11 superstition--the idea that it's a semi-hallowed moment of some kind of convergence--and I've treated the eleventh of November as a numerological holiday (it was easy to remember because it's also a federal holiday, Armistice Day, Veteran's Day. World War I ended at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month).



I guess I make wishes when I see 11:11. Megan and I have done this throughout. It's been a good way to flirt. But, as with any solid superstition, we're not allowed to share our wishes. Maybe while I've been hoping for [redacted], she's been asking for a really tasty lunch. Who can say? Hopefully our wishes have sometimes been in tune.

Either way, we also blow on eyelashes and I knock wood when people mention Macbeth. (Always up, to chase the spirits into the air instead of deeper into the wood. [It can't go without mentioning that, in Finnish, 'knock on wood' is 'koputtaa puuta']).

For me, there are a few other mini-myths I hold onto. I won't toast with water, breathe while driving past a graveyard, shave on Sundays, pick up a nickel, or watch Jay Leno.

I will say "Rabbit, Rabbit" at the beginning of the month. But never, ever "Bunny, Bunny" (even though that's apparently Polish in origin--Zajaczek, Zajaczek).



Every once in awhile I even throw some salt. Some people think that this one originated because Judas scattered a sprinkle of seasoning on the last-supper table. That didn't turn out well for him. I just like the feeling of the grains and the excuse to be able to throw food on the floor.

I'm a little obsessive about all of these, a little compulsive, a little disordered. Superstitions, though, are just a giddy little grab at some kind of control. Amidst the Immense Undecidability, we allow ourselves these tricks in order to have a method, arbitrary though that method may be. It's a little bit of madness and a little bit of fun.

Regardless, 11/11 has always been a good day for me. Koputtaa puuta.


(posted at 11:11)