Number 7 was my favourite number growing up, when, as Anne pointed out, we were required to have favourite numbers, colours, dog breeds, popsicle flavours, days of the week.
I would go with my grandpa to the horseraces where I would place $2 show bets on horse #7 ("That was your mother's favourite number!")
Most of these favourites have changed with time, or shaken with a brief obsession (like that shade of deep turquoise) then died. I have only retained seven as a secret, submerged and weirdly mythical magic number that I kind of makes me shy for its pervasiveness. Everyone knows about "lucky seven".
But like astrology or organized religion, I am shocked sometimes at how much some part of me stubbornly believes in seven.
When I go listen to an album at the local music store, I always check out the eponymous track and track #7.
I have this theory that track #7 is often the the strongest track on any album. That there is some sort of unconscious urge that tempts artists to list their favourite song as seventh. Surfer Rosa: 7)where is my mind. Doolittle: 7)This Monkey's Gone to Heaven.
If man is five if man is five if man is five. And the devil is six and the devil is six and the devil is six...and if the devil is six, then God is Seven, and God is Seven....This monkey's gone to heaven....
