I was watching Jay Leno last night, and heard the most amazing thing. I mean amazing as in ludicrous, incredulous, and totally shocking. Apparently, there were some mothers to be who decided to have their C-sections on June 5, so they wouldn’t risk giving birth to a baby born on 6-6-06. Are you kidding me? It’s a date in time. It’s the birth of your baby. It happens when it happens, not because the devil decrees it so. I then remembered that certain fine hotels don’t have a 13th floor. The elevator goes from 12, to 14. Who are they fooling? Not the building. The building knows that the 14th floor is really the 13th, and so do the people staying on the 14th floor. It’s the power of belief which convinces you you’re not on the 13th floor; which enables you to sleep comfortably, tipsily open your suite door at 3:00 in the morning ( the witching hour, no?) and topple into bed while the reality of the fact that you’re resting atop floorboard number 13 never enters your mind.

Superstition seems to rely on people’s belief that they can control the future, or even the present. Do this, and that will happen. Pray here, knock on that there, and all will turn out just right. And what of religion? So many of my generation say they’re not religious, they’re spiritual: “Religion is a form of social control. Fear and rituals control people’s lives; people need to be told what to do, and how to live their lives” said a friend, during a casual discussion about his youth as an alter boy. So what? Was my response. Truly. So what? We all believe in something, to get us through the day and through the ebb and flow of good and bad times; we all get out of bed every morning believing there’s a reason to do so. My feeling is that if your religious beliefs give you a reason, and a purpose and an unwavering certainty in something, good for you.

But does that make them truthful? Are your unwavering beliefs in sync with the truth? Some say the truth is simply what you believe it to be. If you believe in something, and direct your energy towards a certain belief, or concept, you will it into being. Think about all the talk of positive attitude, and manifestation, and creating your own reality.

So, if my newborn came into the world on 6-6-06, and I really liked the name Damien, and we had a black Rotweiller at home, waiting to become his best friend, would he really be the son of the devil? What if I didn’t believe that? Would he just be another baby with a strange name?

When I was a little girl, we lived in Southern California. My mom, dad, two sisters, one brother and I would go to this classic seafood restaurant called Gladstone’s for Fish. On the way to pier, there was this storefront on the right side of the road. It had red velvet curtains and plush black couches but you could never see the whole interior. It was home to the fortune teller, and every time we went to that restaurant, I would stop and peer into the window, hoping to get a glimpse of the magic within. I always asked my dad if I could go and get my fortune told. After four trips to Gladstone’s, and many “oh-please, oh-please”s, he turned to me and asked me something. “Jamie, do you really want to know your future?” My sister chimed in,” Yeah, what if you hear something bad!” I decided to hold off. I should have realized that most fortune tellers won’t tell you anything outright negative, oftentimes not even specific, so you come away with some sense of satisfaction and wonder and, most of all, hope. And who’s going to pay someone to tell them bad news?

Years later, I still have a fascination with horoscopes, and star signs, and the concept of someone being able to tell me what my life will be like, and how I should be living my present, in order to be ready for my future. I got a reading done at the famous “Bottom of the Cup” Tea Room in New Orleans, a few years back; my fortune teller did not look the part. I imagined she looked how most phone sex operators look: a middle-aged, somewhat overweight, polyester-pant elastic-wasteband wearing woman with a low voice, who had been ironing or doing the cross-word before you walked in or called her extension. I didn’t need a tiara, or a wand, but I was hoping she would look like she knew something that I could never know. I picked her name from the list, because her name was Lucy and so was our family dog, my childhood best friend (no Damien, don’t worry); Lucy the woman had some specific things to say, which never really remotely materialized. At least not yet. She described some of my past relationships well, but predicted future ones within that year, that have yet to materialize, four years later.

A friend recently swore by a certain psychic here in town. The soothsayer had predicted the exact nature of her relationship’s demise, and the look and profession of the love of her life, found soon thereafter. It sounded too good – too sure – for me to believe, and yet I’m still fascinated. What would I want her to tell me? That I’ll find my life’s calling any day now? That my soul mate is going to pull up next to me on Main Street, as I’m fending off road rage while trying to negotiate the S-curve? That it’s time for a change, a change of outlook, a new direction? Do I want her to know what I stand for? Because sometimes, I’m not sure myself. And if don’t believe her predictions, will they still come true?