Halfway through my first (and ultimately only) year of university, I stopped attending classes so as to better facilitate reading every one of Robertson Davies’ novels. This was less exotic than stopping to drink large quantites of beer, but healthier.

Getting turned on to Davies’ Jungian thing was hardly very useful when it came time to take my Psychology 101 exam. Sample conversation with professor: “What would happen if I wrote my essay about Jung rather than Freud?” I asked. “You would fail,” he replied. “If I failed, could I appeal?” I asked. “Yes, to the head of the department,” he replied. “Who’s that?” I asked. “Me,” he replied.

In any case, Davies turned on the “wonder of coincidence” switch in my brain, and I’ve been a coincidence addict ever since.

Today a big coincidence hit my email box — actually an interlocked set of mini-coincidences. I’m still parsing. The entire continent is involved. I will document, diagram and post as soon as I can digest it all.

Which has got me thinking that it would be very interesting if coincidences were reported like the weather. I would love to see a coincidence map of the world that would allow coincidental happenings to be tracked, outbreaks of coincidence to be monitored, etc.

Have I missed something? I’m getting flooded with spam titled, variously, “Thank You,” “Re: Details,” and “Re: Wicked Screensaver” with a message body of “See the attached file for details” and an attached Windows .PIF or .SCR file that appears to contain a DOS program. I’ve received 166 copies of this email, from people all over the world, in the last 24 hours.

You wouldn’t believe how much more fun go-carting is when you are racing against your three brothers. We all did 12 laps at North River causeway this afternoon. Maximum fun was had by all.

Speaking of travel, Edward Hasbrouck, who has good weekly commentary on the Amazing Race, has a page called I couldn’t take a big trip like that, because… on his website which is a good roadblock buster if you’re secretly itching to travel, but always manage to find reasons not to.

Like my mother says, “the last shirt has no pocket.”

My man in Bangkok, Harold Stevens, writes about the Jim Thompson House in Bangkok. We visited the house when we were there last year; well worth the visit. When we were done at the house, we took a canal boat from around the corner, and almost ended up in the drink getting on (boats don’t stop for very long, and there’s a complicated “over the rope and in” dance you have to do, which is hard when you’re balancing a one year old). Oddly, we didn’t take any pictures at the house, but here’s a view up the klong:

Later in the afternoon, after walking around the area surrounding the Giant Swing for a while, we encountered a Thai man and his son rolling along in the opposite direction in a stroller, and he and Oliver had a wee cross-cultural moment:

From Aliant:

…Atlantic Canada is home to Aliant. The company is built on a strong 100- year plus history in each of the region’s four provinces. It is here that the company pursues innovation to enhance and simplify the lives of fellow Atlantic Canadians, and to give businesses a competitive advantage.

As well, Aliant’s e-mail system went down Thursday and was still out Friday morning. Aliant says the company’s e-mail servers are in Ontario, and were affected by the power loss. Callers to Aliant were greeted with a message saying the wait time for assistance could be as long as an hour.

Irony of ironies: I’m sitting here in Dublin, New Hampshire, where the power goes out all the time, especially in the winter, and often for hours and even days at a time. Dublin, after all, has “the highest elevation of any village center in New Hampshire.”

And the power is on.

Meanwhile, in New York, Boston, Toronto, Kenora, Timmins, Detroit and all points between the power is out.

Ha!

It’s amazing the things you can learn in the washrooms of the offices of The Old Farmer’s Almanac. For example, did you know that Thomas Jefferson and John Adams, both Presidents of the United States, died on the same day in 1826? And, what’s more, that this day was July 4, 1826, 50 years to the day after the founding of the country. Amazing.

This is my travelling shirt. It was christened such when we went to Thailand in the spring of 2002. Because we three were travelling very light — one bag for the family, with Oliver’s diapers taking up a disproportionate amount of room — I took two only shirts. One just didn’t work at all. The other, the one here, worked like a charm.

Looking at it here, I can see it’s a bit rough around the edges. It’s also sized to 40-pounds-heavier Pete, so it looks more like it’s hanging off me than fitting me when I’m wearing it.

For travelling purposes it has several excellent qualities:

The two button-up breast pockets are exactly the right size for a passport. Or three. Or a small notebook. Or a hotel key. Or even my wallet. The buttons keep things from falling out.

The arms are the perfect length. If you’ve ever spent any time in hot, sweaty, equatorial heat, you know that a short-sleeved shirt with arms that are a titch too long is really uncomfortable because the ends of the sleeves get caught on your stickey elbows when you’re moving around. It can start to feel like a straitjacket (that was the problem with the other shirt I took to Thailand).

It’s 100% cotton. There is great debate in the traveller set (a set we’re only on the remotest periphery of) about natural fibres vs. hyper-modern chemical blends. I’ve tried both. I like cotton.

The fabric is heavy enough to take a beating. Sending laundry out to be done by the hotel often means subjecting it to the kind of abuse it would never get in a home washer. This shirt has held up well — faded a little, but no signs of decay.

The colour and style are good for most anything. It’s not too “touristy” to prevent formal use in a pinch (not proper formal use, but I could wear it to the opera in Prague and not feel too out of place, although Catherine might find me so). It’s not too formal to wear to the beach.

It’s long. When you’re as tall as I am — not a giant, but a healthy 6 foot, one and a quarter inches — having a long shirt — one that doesn’t come untucked every time you sit down — is important. This shirt is about 3 inches longer than the average, and that’s nice.

It’s got a button-down collar. Catherine, a seamstress in another life, tells me button-down collars are a relic of tie-wearing. She’ll also tell you that I won’t wear anything else, as there’s nothing worse, in my mind, than a fly-away, non-button-down collar.

I bought the shirt, probably for about $12, at Filene’s Basement in downtown Boston. I’ve worn it to Thailand, to Spain, across North America and back. And, probably too much, around Charlottetown. And I’ve got it on today, ready to wear to Boston, passport in the front pocket.

After spending last week in the wilds of Rimouski, I’m heading south to Boston, then north to Dublin tomorrow for a short visit with my colleagues at Yankee Publishing. Back Sunday morning, as my entire family converges from across the country to the Island for a week of Maximum Fun. There will be more Rukavinas on Prince Edward Island at one time next week, I dare say, than ever before in history. Watch out.