Somewhere at some place, maybe in Wired magazine, I read about particles that smash into each other and other particles that can't avoid each other. And particles that attract each other and that circle around each other spinning and whirling and twirling and sparking. I think this is how synchronicity works. How it feels. Proof positive. Drove down to St. Elmo's tonite for my daily chai. I'm walking up to the coffeehouse and suddenly my writer friend Anna appears. She shouts my name. She and her husband and friend had just walked through St. Elmo's, thinking I might be there. They walk out the door and see me walking toward them. How synchronistic! How "weird." "Weird" -- that catch-all phrase to explain the inexplicable. The inexplicable that somehow feels familiar. So that was cool.

What was not cool was just seeing Georgie Porgie Bush on American Idol, acknowledging how one person with talent can "win over millions." AI history has also proven how someone with no talent can win over millions, and it ain't a pretty picture. Bush has proven that, too. Scary, scary past 8 years. Are we out the other side yet? Barak? Barak? 

Was at the Roxy last night in Los Angeles for a live performance of music from Battlestar Galactica presented by composer Bear McCreary and his absolutely amazing collection of musicians. You can see a YouTube clip of "Black Market" from Season Two here. My body is still tingling, it was so energizing. We head-banged to "Black Market" and body-swayed to "Roslin and Adama" and mouth-synched to "Lords of Kobol" and wonder-gaped at Paul Cartwright on the electric violin who plays with Belushi-esque ferocity. It was a miracle to be there for the experience. The miracle "in-line" happened while I was standing in line. Started chatting with the woman behind me and come to find out she and her father know a woman I used to work with in the space exploration business. 'Donna? You know Donna McAllister?" I mean, what are the chances. This woman's father used to work with Donna in independent film. This was a good one. But still doesn't top the grandest synchronistic meeting of all for me -- that of walking down a street in Greenwich Village in NYC in November 2001 and literally running into my best friend from upstate New York. Just like that. In the middle of NYC. I'm still reeling from that one. So, dear readers, note those synchronicities. They mean something. That something is at work. Frak, it may even mean they have a plan.