Confessions of The Synchronicity Killer

Robert Culp is dead, and it's all my fault. Apparently my actions have the power to murder people from vast distances. It's never intentional, but it always seems to happen to talented celebrities that I happen to admire. Let me explain.

It all started in the summer of 2004, when I saw a Rick James t-shirt at a tacky beach gift store in New Hampshire:

Basically this, but with the actual Rick James's face.

I bought the shirt, mostly due to the mildly-amusing coincidence that my first name is Rick and my middle name happens to be James. (I sometimes use "Rick James" as a sort of pseudonym when singing karaoke or posting potentially inflammatory comments on web discussion boards. It's also a really good icebreaker at parties and bars.)

A month or so later, I was getting ready to drive to Pennsylvania for a camping trip with my college friends, affectionately known as the Popov Society. Stopping at McDonald's to pick up a cup of coffee, I accidentally pushed the lid on the coffee cup down too hard and the cup exploded boiling hot coffee all over me and the brand-new Rick James t-shirt I was wearing in public for the first time ever.

After a quick stop back home to change my shirt, I made the 5-hour drive to the campsite. I was the first to arrive. The second was my friend Mike. During some chit-chat, I recounted the story of my ill-fated Rick James shirt, and he just stared at me in disbelief.

"Dude... you killed Rick James," he said. I asked him what he was talking about, and he informed me that Mr. James had been found dead in Burbank that very morning, and it was all over the news.

I can accept mere coincidence, but something this huge and so seemingly connected blew my mind. I started to question the very fabric of the universe, and the possibility that I had just experienced, or even caused, a shockingly potent case of Jungian synchronicity (although technically, the very concept of synchronicity is, by definition, not directly related to causality). At any rate, to this day, I still feel responsible for the death of one of funk's greatest legends.

This is what everyone thinks of when you say the word "synchronicity".

Fast forward a few years, to March 2010:

As a longtime Netflix customer, I discover that they have the entire series of "The Greatest American Hero" available in streaming format, so I decide to start from the beginning and watch every single episode. It's not a particularly great show. The writing is corny and sloppy, the production is weak, but I still find that through the magic of nostalgia, I have no problem enjoying the escapades of Ralph, Bill, and the "magic jammies" as they repeatedly save the world from Russian spies and Arab terrorists.

In addition, I discover a local TV station has been playing reruns of the 1960's series "I Spy". On Tuesday night, I watched an episode of this equally ridiculous show for the first time since I was probably 10 or 11 years old.

Wednesday after work, my revisiting of "The Greatest American Hero" came to an end as I watched the series finale during dinner. 20 minutes later, I was informed that Robert Culp had died at the age of 79 after accidentally falling and hitting his head.

I'm sorry, everybody.

Believe it or not... this is the murder weapon.