I'm happy to report that before my birthday was over, someone kindly remedied the buttered nose situation (see illustration).

ILLUSTRATION

That is a photo of me indicating the location of the butter on my nose. Feel free to use it as a guide in the coming year, for your own birthday celebrations, and watch the bad luck slide, slide off! You're welcome.

I do feel luckier already.

The following day, on exiting the grocery store, I found three little manila envelopes rubber-banded together. Each envelope had writing on it, along the lines of, "Thanks for all you do, Walter!" I opened one to see if it held any clues as to Walter's identity, and found a neat packet of folded currency, at which time a tiny cartoon angel and devil appeared with a loud POP and perched neatly, one on each shoulder, for a tiresome little dialogue, which I have dramatized in the following manner:

DEVIL: Money! Sweet, sweet money!

ANGEL: Oh... poor, poor Walter. That is probably his ONLY MONEY IN THE WORLD. And he was probably going to donate it to some orphans. Sad orphans with gigantic, starving eyes of sadness.

DEVIL: Walter who? That's obviously a fake name. No one will ever know! Plus, I heard he deals drugs to little kids.

ANGEL: This is a test. If you keep this money, you will never receive the one million of bounty the Universe has waiting for you! ... maybe!

DEVIL: Walter dropped those envelopes when the cops hauled him off for indecent exposure. This is your money now! Think of all the cosmetics you could buy! And really... you're not getting any younger...

ANGEL: You stand between Walter--good, wholesome Walter--and starvation. Do the right thing.

So, tiresome moralizing over, I took the envelopes back into the store and turned them over to the guys behind the customer service counter. They are running a scam that I have worked up into the following dramatic one-act play:

Guy 1: Oh, Walter! Hey... I'll bet that's Walter Green.

Guy 2: Oh, yeah... Walter Green--he used to work here. Gee, I haven't seen him in a while.

Guy 1: Yeah, until today! When he totally came in. To shop. I'll bet these are his.

Guy 2: Definitely.

[Lots of nodding.]

[I leave, they split the cash.]

[Probably.]

So, I did not make out any richer at Walter's expense, but the next day I was asked to fill in last-minute as bartender at the Carpinteria Avocado Festival, and came away with a bunch of tips. I'm going to look at it as karmic payback for the Walter situation, because it suits my purposes to do so.

I seem to have forgotten a lot of other things I wanted to write today, mostly about my friend Freshman. He has great, neurotic stories, but regrets everything he tells me as soon as he's said it, fearing that I'll post it here. Then, when I don't post it, out of politeness or a sense of decency or some crap like that, Freshman complains that I'm ignoring him. I will ponder this and come up with a good Freshman story for next time. You guys can vote on it, if you enjoy to.

Which would you rather hear about:

A) Gun-toting, knife-wielding strippers;
B) Really, really drunk people you don't know; or
C) Jeff Beck

I will await your replies.

P.S.!!

The Mighty Chuck Prophet has a fab new CD out, and because I love him so, I am recommending that everyone go out and get it. It's called "Soap and Water." Buy it today!

That is all.

P.P.S.!!

OK, that is NOT all. Freshman has already (ten minutes after I posted the entry) written to me to:

A) Complain that I did not give him a good enough pseudonym; and
B) Refute my use of the term "neurotic."

SO. If any of you has a better suggestion for a name than "Freshman," please submit it.

THAT is all.

Star of the day. . .Chuck Prophet