It's 6 a.m. Friday morning here in not-so-sunny England. I've been up since 4:30, checking e-mail and playing Scrabble and taking a really stupid quiz on Facebook.
Generally I avoid those quizzes. I know the kind of people who make them up (my daughter Kayti, age 10, for one) and really don't believe they're qualified to assess what characteristics make me an "E minor" personality or determine that Miss Haversham is my fictional soul buddy.
It reminds me of a Halloween party at which I was the featured gypsy fortune-teller. I was 38 at the time. Party-goers would enter my curtained-off booth, and I would read their palms. Of course, I know only the most rudimentary stuff about palm-reading, like which is the life line and which is the heart line. Beyond that, it was all guesswork. But I think I was pretty convincing, and it was very scary. Teenagers would ask me questions, and I'd make up fairly implausible (at least I thought so) answers, and they believed every word.
At the newspaper where I work, one of the editors confessed that once when the horoscope information didn't arrive in time for publication, he made it all up. Wonder how many lives he influenced that day?
Anyway, have a nice day, go in peace and don't believe a damned thing you read.
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That is a great detail -- making up the horoscope. Makes me want to write him into a novel!
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