It just occurred to me that cleaning a cat box is a little like mining for gold, only people don't kill each other over what they find in a cat box. I'm pretty sure of the accuracy of that statement, but maybe I should google it. (pause) Well, that's disturbing. I googled "cat box vs. gold mine" and the first entry was a quote from an interview with Linda Ronstadt in Goldmine magazine, in which she says "If you call up Keith Richards and say 'Emmylou needs you to come over and change the cat box tomorrow morning,' he'll get on a plane and come over and do it." The disturbing thing about it is that I once had a subscription to Goldmine magazine, a nerdy tabloid devoted to buying and selling old rock vinyl. AND I'm going to see Emmylou Harris in Atlanta in a couple of weeks. So it's pretty clear that someone is desperately trying to get a message to me, and since they're going about it in such a roundabout way--even to the extent of appearing not to be sending me a message at all--it must be one fraught with danger. So I'm faced with that familiar dilemma: do I run or do I hide?