Here's a sentence I hope never to see connected to my name:

She was hit by skidding car as she unloaded her burning van

That's the sub-head of a newspaper article my friend CK kindly clipped and left on my desk for me to find.

The article describes an accident that happened yesterday on the 101, wherein an unfortunate and slightly Rube Goldbergian chain of events beginning with some lumber on the road led to a woman being hit by a car and falling off a 50-foot highway overpass. And dying. Also that.

CK left me the article because in his opinion, the whole scenario smacked of Gravelings, the supernatural goblins that set accidents in motion, on the TV show "Dead Like Me." Reading through the article, I had to agree, but I got a slight case of the chills, because that very morning, I had had a premonition of a similar event. It went something like this:

Flashback lines of waviness

I was driving to work on the 101, near the intersection of Highway 33, (for those of you wishing to follow along on Google Earth) and something flashed across my field of vision. I did a double-take, and saw nothing, but laughed to myself and thought, "Gravelings." I may have said the word out loud--I was alone in the car, and there's nothing like talking to oneself for maximum drive-time amusement. Anyway, just ahead was a highway overpass, and I entertained myself for a couple of miles, imagining Gravelings on the overpass, causing an accident, pulling out a guardrail stanchion, and generally creeping around and glowering in all their computer-generated glory.

So, imagine my surprise to learn that the burning van accident had happened on the ramp from Highway 33 to the 101. Obviously, I am the most psychic person ever to live since Uri Geller, and should be paid millions of dollars and get my own column in the Enquirer.

If I die an ironic death on the way home, I think we'll all agree that I brought it upon myself.

So, in an attempt to even out my karma or whatever, I will relate this little incident that shows that I am a) a good person, worthy of love and respect and b) capable of applied knowledge.

This morning, I read Andria's account of shopping at Target during a power failure, and how she was informed by fellow shoppers that Looting Is Wrong.

Moments later, I walked into the break room to find the candy machine left alone and wide open, while the candy refill guy went out to his truck. There it was: Free, free candy just for the taking! Payday bars and Doritos--which are not technically candy, but which are stuck into their little metal spirals anyway, within easy reach! Coworker Renee walked into the break room and, seeing the open candy machine, yelled, "Yay! Free candy!"--it's like she can read my mind, that one--but suddenly, I stopped, remembering my Important Lesson.

I turned to Renee and Just Said No. (Figuratively.) What I actually said was: "Looting Is Wrong!" in a high-volume voice, gesturing toward the Clark bars for maximum dramatic impact.

The old traditions are dead, my friends, the story-telling and the wisdom of the elders. It's up to us to pass this kind of information on to those who need it most.

It's a proud tradition, but also a burden. Wear it well.

Star of the day. . .Cat Power