Why won't Silicon Valley check its horoscope?

Once we've fully contemplated Quigley's contribution to history and her plans for global domination through the Internet, we sit in front of one of her three computers to consider my fate.

The fact that I was born at 3:49 p.m. on Sept. 30, 1971 in Kingston, Ontario, means, I'm pleased to report, that I am going to be famous. I will not be famous for my writing, wit, intellect, astute analysis, political activism or humanitarianism. (Don't say: You could have told me that.) No, I'm going to be famous for being rich, "excessively wealthy," as Quigley says. I have a magnificent "stellium," which is a configuration of several planets all in one house, to thank for that. I'm proud to report that Nancy also has one of these.

"You have both Jupiter and Neptune in your midheaven. You're going to be known very prominently for having money," she tells me. "Yes, I'm sorry if that doesn't interest you, but there it is. It's definitely there," she says. She is flipping through dozens of different charts now, throwing out important dates in my future, which I scribble down frantically. Between April 22 and 24, 2003, my brother should not fly. "That whole week really," she cautions. And Friday at 4 p.m., I'm not to pitch any stories to my editor -- he'll reject them. The dates and prophecies come fast and furious now.

As for the source of my world-renowned wealth, perhaps it will be the aristocrat or diplomat who she also sees in my future that will bring me this great fortune. Perhaps it will be my "genius" child. "You must have a child," she says several times, as she stares intently at her monitor. (The name of the program that she's using is called Solar Fire 4.5. Remember, she hasn't had the money yet to finish developing her own software for the Net.)

Thankfully, I am capturing my future on minicassette recorder for posterity. I imagine playing this tape on my gold-encrusted deathbed to my genius child. "I wasn't always this aged matron, known the world over for my outrageous riches," I'll tell her. "Listen to the evidence. I was once a reporter on the Internet covering the quirky vagaries of the city's Net gold rush. None other than Joan Quigley herself told me this would happen."

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