I was going to describe the trip I took, over the past couple of days, up the California coast on Highway 1, to Monterey, where along with excellent crashing giant waves and the majesty of nature, etc., I saw a wild sea otter sleeping in a shallow pool, rocked gently by the swell, dreaming of oysters, but then I found THIS:

Do you see that? It’s my lucky …thing. Lucky charm. Good luck …thing.

You can read a deck of ordinary playing cards like a tarot deck if you know the symbols, and doing so, I translated my card into the ten of pentacles: the height of prosperity! Material wealth! Stability! None of these things exist in my current situation, so the card must be a sign that they’re on their way. Like, maybe a Brinks truck will tip over on the dock next to my boat, filling the cockpit with bags of money. So far, that seems the most likely scenario.

I found the card in a dirt patch next to a newly planted jacaranda this morning on the way to work. Taking it in combination with the message I got in a fortune cookie last night (“You will soon be confronted with unlimited opportunities”), I think I’ve just about got it made.

I am concerned that my newfound wealth and stability might make me a little crazy. A lot of the rich people I encounter seem slightly unhinged—witness this afternoon’s visitor, a jocular businessman who, upon meeting me for the first time, quizzed me, apropos of nothing, about which Dickens character was the most obnoxious. “Tiny Tim,” I answered, which displeased him, but I stuck to my guns.

Besides craziness, I’ll have to watch out that my newfound prosperity doesn’t attract sycophants. The Keelhauler has a friend who’s easily impressed by other people’s money. Every time we see him, he describes his dealings with rich people we don’t know in a falsely casual tone that fails to mask his self-aggrandizement. If you can picture Don Knotts playing Mr. Furley, explaining that women find him attractive, you’ll get the idea. There’s a lot of lofty sniffing and throwing-out of the chest—highly unpleasant, especially in someone who physically resembles Colonel Sanders. Last time I saw him, he told me about a lady who hired him to build something for her house. “Her husband’s worth about a bill,” he sniffed, meaning a billion, exhibiting a self-satisfaction curious for someone whose relationship to the money described is strictly journalistic. Yes, he is definitely off the friends list, once my material wealth shows up.

I will keep my eyes open for these unlimited opportunities and the material wealth and stability, and update as necessary.

Star of the day. . .Davy Jones