You're Laundry, You're Beautiful, and You're Not Mine

This is an old story, but I love it, and, well, why the hell not?

You all know Jane Espenson (or, as John Rogers puts it, Jane FRIKKIN Espenson) is a goddess; you may or may not know that she has a blog. (She may also have come up with the name for Zima, although I haven't been able to confirm it.) Mostly it's TV writing advice--very smart practical stuff about structuring stories and using dialogue to develop character and, of course, gag-writing--although when Jane Espenson writes TV writing advice it's entertaining and informative even if you've never considered even for a single nanosecond writing anything for television.

Occasionally, though, she throws in an anecdote like this one:

Remember how I was just in Vancouver? Well, instead of checking luggage, I had a box of clothes FedExed up there and then back down here when I left. It avoids the hassles of baggage claim and I totally recommend this plan. When you're ready to head home, you just scoop your unlaundered clothes into a box and ship it off, neat as you please.

Except that they do some sort of operation at the border in which the shipping labels are removed and sometimes switched. Fun!

This means that when a box arrived at my home yesterday, it didn't contain my clothes. More... It contained someone else's clothes. Luckily, this person was savvier than I about the hazards of international shipping labels, and had included a piece of paper with his name and (business) address. I have the property of a "Mr. R. Starkey." Those of you who know stuff about stuff are now freaking out. A little checking re: the address and the business name has verified: I have Ringo Starr's clothes. Okay, now everyone can freak out. Please notice that according to any system of logic, this makes me the fifth Beatle.

Steps are being taken to fix the problem. Don't worry, I'm not going to keep the clothes. I'm not even going to look at them, in fact, and I'm hoping Ringo is exercising similar restraint when it comes to my (if you recall, unlaundered) items....

UPDATE: I just took Ringo's clothes to Ringo's house. Turns out that wasn't a business address after all, but his actual home address. Holy cow. I met his charming British assistant who gave me a signed Ringo photo and was very happy to have the box of clothes, but who did not have my box of clothes. So they're not with Ringo after all. Who knows what other celebrity is pawing through my stuff -- I hope it's Shatner, don't you?

I know I do.