Chuck has a theory that disaster follows me wherever I go. I used to think he was just being mean-spirited (which, let’s be honest, is probably still true), but now I’m starting to believe him. Bad things do seem to happen when I’m around. Catastrophic things. What if I’m the opposite of King Midas and everything I touch turns to shit? (And shit is totally the opposite of gold, so I don’t want to hear it.)
What, you ask, are these disasters I speak of?
Example 1: August 2005. Brian and I were on the last leg of a New Orleans-to-NorCal-and-back road trip. We were crossing the vast state of Texas (notice I did not say “the great state”–bigger is not better in this case). Texas did not approve and flipped our car over four or five times.
Example 2: August 2005, one week later. Hurricane Katrina. Enough said.
Example 3: October-November 2005. I moved to France at the beginning of October to take a job shaping young minds. By the end of the month, race and class riots had broken out in cities all over the country, including Marseille, an hour from where I was living.
Example 4: October 2007 (I had a good run there for a couple of years). That Iraq bullshit I wrote about in my last post. I know it’s more of a personal catastrophe, but I’m counting it.
Example 5: October 2007. I just moved to San Diego three months ago, and what happens? Southern California starts burning. I used to joke about L.A. breaking off from California in the next earthquake, but I didn’t really mean it, and I never wished any harm on San Diego.
I don’t know what I did to be cursed like this, but I’m sorry. Maybe I’ll do some sort of gypsy magic spiritual cleansing before I move back to New Orleans.