As regular readers know, several years ago, I made a deal with a demon at a crossroads. The demon informed me that his name was Anthony Robbins. The demon, who insisted that I call him Tony, hoped to introduce me to something called neuropsychotic programming. I informed the demon that no, I was simply looking for a good potato salad recipe, and had no desire to become a sociopathic maniac. It was the salad recipe that had inspired me to thumb my way across the country, suffering bad Denny’s meals and declining invitations to sip lemonade with white-robed men referred to as “Grand Wizards.”

The demon said, “Okay, tell you what. I’ll give you your salad recipe if you report all Jonathan Ames developments.”

“Jonathan Ames? Well, that’s easy. I like him. He’s a funny guy.”

“Do this for a year,” said the demon, “and I will give you your precious potato salad recipe.”

Well, as everyone who knows me knows, I’m a man of my word. And I would be remiss if I didn’t point you to this Jonathan Ames story in Nerve, which begins with the sentence, “She was a foreign journalist, assigned to interview me.”

Of course, I’ve been doing this for more than a year and the potato salad recipe has yet to turn up. But I’ve consulted an attorney to see if there’s an escape clause in the contract.

Let this be a lesson to all who encounter demons at crossroads.