The United States is made up of 9,629,091 square kilometres of land and water. The United States contains 275,562,673 people. That seems like quite a few. Yet, I'm thoroughly convinced that all 275,562,673 of these people have one thing that ties them, unites them under a common purpose - to know and love me. Yes, that's right. Me. A few years ago, everyone was so sure that the world was connected by Kevin Bacon, but I'm quite sure that they were just using Kevin's name as a pseudonym for mine. Yes, that's right. I am Kevin Bacon. Let's examine the proof, shall we? Yes, let's.

On Thursday, July 29th, 2004, I was in Canton, Ohio, with my roommate, Holly, visiting her grandparents. She whipped out her old high school scrapbook to prove to me that she used to be a hardcore McDonald's sandwich maker/hash brown hasher/French fry frier and to show me that her school, unlike mine, was actually attended by Black people and Asian people. Wild. And while we were casually flipping pages, I was struck down by a photo of a boy I actually recognised. Adam Jackson of Elyria, Ohio. I met him through the OSU radio station and have attended sweetass Keane, Darkness, and Franz Ferdinand concerts with him. And it turns out that Holly's actually attended a concert with him, too: Third Eye Blind in Cleveland, Ohio. The weird part is that Holly doesn't actually know him. He just happened to be standing in front of Holly and her friend at the show and started talking to them, so Holly randomly took a picture of him with the friend. She didn't even remember his name, but there he was in her scrapbook all the same. As Adam said what I told him about the connection, "What are the chances?" And to this I replied, "The world is small, man. The world. Is. Small."

On Sunday, September 19th, 2001, I sat at church with my dear friend Chicago Mike, as I sit in church with my dear friend Chicago Mike every Sunday. Usually, we come with a group of five or six people and parade ourselves to the front so that people can admire us, but that particular Sunday, Mike and I were alone, so we chose two seats near the rear of the sanctuary to sit in seclusion. I noticed two men sitting ten or so seats down the row from us, but other than one of the men's too-orange shirt, there was nothing unusual about them, so I didn't give them a second glance. When the pastor came to the part of the service where he asks us to get to know someone around us (as our church has a couple hundred people attending each service), Mike and I continued to keep to ourselves, looking over our bulletins as the folks around us introduced themselves. And then, the orange-shirted man interrupted my reading by sliding down the row to the seat next to me, and asking, "How are you, Katie?" I assumed that I must have tattooed my name to my forehead in my sleep and everyone else had failed to notice it all day, so I answered, "I'm fine. How are you?" He replied, but he was giving me this look like I should know to say more, so I inquired, "Do I know you?" He said, "Yeah, we went to see The Donnas together . . . kind of." And then it hit me. I went to see The Donnas earlier in the year with another Mike from work, and that Mike brought along a friend of his, whom I had been terribly attracted to. (Imagine that.) However, I didn't remember the friend looking like the man in orange did, and I began to tell him that by saying, "I don't . . . " But he interrupted me and said, "It's Tim." Apparently, he thought that I didn't remember his name, which I actually didn't, but without even thinking, I said, "No, no, I know that! I just don't remember you looking like you do." We exchanged some questions about each other's lives, and he seemed terribly surprised that I remembered that he took some time away from THE Ohio State University to do something with oil in Michigan or some other whatnot like that, and then I looked down the row to where he had been sitting, where I saw Pete, a guy whom I met last year through my roommate, Christy, and the youth group-ish thing that she got me involved in through the church. I said, "You know Pete." He said, "You know Pete?!" And then Christy's friend Kelsey sat down with Pete, and I said, "And you know Kelsey." He said, "You know Kels?!" Turns out that Tim is actually part of the youth group-ish thing, too. Turns out that he knows Christy because of the youth group-ish thing. Turns out that the world is a terribly small place.

On Friday, August 24th, 2001, I sat in my car with my dear friend Tracey as we drove to a nearby mall, discussing our lives, our loves, how easily the two of us could take over the world if we ever felt the need. I mentioned my friend Nick and the fact that he, in all of his foolishness, refuses to rid himself of his Centerville girlfriend, Sarah, in exchange for some sweet Katie-lovin'. Tracey's ears perked up at the word Centerville, as she was taking a trip to visit her Centerville-residing friend Justin the next day. She asked me the name of Nick's little woman, took the information to Justin, and determined the following: Justin not only went to high school with the wench (and I mean that in the kindest of ways), but he also happens to be friends with Sarah's younger brother. Coupled with the fact that Tracey realised that she had a math class with Sarah during Fall Quarter at OSU, it seems that the world is a terribly small place.

On Wednesday, August 15th, 2001, I sat at work in my little science museum, talking with my dear friend Ellen. Ellen asked me about my living situation for the coming year, and I told her that my roommate is an Elaine from Dayton. Ellen excited herself with the mention of Dayton, as that's her hometown, as well. When I told her the full name of this Elaine, she became even more excited as she told me that Elaine is, in fact, one of Ellen's sister's friends. And upon calling Elaine, Ellen learned that two of our suitemates are also friends of her sister, including one who is Ellen's sister's best friend. The world is a terribly small place, is it not?