Isn't It Ironic...Don't You Think

Dear People Who Read This Site, "George", Girl, That Euro, Special C, Dr. Chris, The (Other) O.C.,  (Get Back) JoJo, and Potential Investors,

Not much happening on the Legally Confidential Product front this week.  Mostly holidays, post holidays, attempted post-holiday shopping, theft, and embitterment.  Is it ironic that one's wallet containing altogether too much cash are stolen when one is about to save $3 on wrapping paper on the day after Christmas, or is it just a bad thing that Alanis would have put in her song that is not ironic at all but rather an unfortunate coincidence?  Hmm.

At least I've gotten to see the Canadian Idol show, now with 200% less Justin Guarini (not unlike the revisionist accounts of American Idol 1, but I digress).  I'd never seen Saskatchewan, in person or on TV, so that was interesting.  Seems rather flat, though. 

But, even in this time of relative disenchantment, I have to say, Oprah still rocks.  She did the Princess for a Day show today -- you know, like the old game show where they'd give some poor, dishevelled looking overworked housewife more appliances so that she could work even harder.  The good thing about Oprah is that she gives people stuff that she would like, so even if it's appliances, they're really nice shiny steel ones.  I loves Oprah!

The MTA and Why They Are the Worst
 

Dear People Who Read This Site, "George", Girl, That Euro, Special C, Dr. Chris, The (Other) O.C.,  (Get Back) JoJo, and Potential Investors,

So I am back from my illness.  I definitely felt like I was hit by a truck.  I am desperately trying to catch up on everything I missed last week (though I will never make up missing some quality holiday events), including work on the Legally Confidential Product.  But I also wanted to share some wisdom with the NYC area folks who might be tempted to take the AirTrain to JFK Airport.

DON'T DO IT!!!!!!!!

Why, you ask? Well, because it's a scam.  Basically, all it is is a very pretty, clean (for now) train that cuts the bus commute time from the subway to the airport in half, while charging you $5 each way for the privilege of having your subway to airport trip take 1 hour and 20 minutes rather than 1 hour and 40 minutes.  I thought that it was clear that people wanted high speed direct connections to the airport from Manhattan, not a ride on the PeopleMover ride from Disney World that no one except me likes.  Damn you, MTA.  And stop picking on minority neighborhoods for your multiyear renovations that result in loss of service for years and little improvement after your "renovations" are done.  I wish that show "Fight Back" were still on the air.  I'd definitely sic them on you, MTA!!!!!!

Feel free to contact the MTA at www.mta.info to let them know how lame this is. Argh.

Too Sick to Muse...

...see above.  Back next week.  Woozy. 

Love Touch...the Musical!

Dear People Who Read This Site, "George", Girl, That Euro, Special C, Dr. Chris, The (Other) O.C.,  (Get Back) JoJo, and Potential Investors,

So this week has been filled with good developments on the Legally Confidential Product.  I made an important step towards getting on Oprah, and I am making steady progress on the legal/financial/serious stuff too.  Not that Oprah isn't serious, because she is.

I also managed to see Mamma Mia! -- the ABBA musical  -- with some friends.  It was truly stupendous.  What I liked most about it was that Benny and Bjorn  (the BB of ABBA) really understood the campiness of ABBA and made a musical that capitalized on that.  I mean, the characters understood that Chiquitita was a weird song to sing, no matter what the context.  The only thing that was really missing was the impeccable ABBA choreography, where one person would face out to the audience/camera and the person standing next to him or her would be turned ninety degrees, so he or she would look out to the side.  Could have used more of that, for sure. 

But seeing Mamma Mia, and also hearing about Billy Joel's musical Movin' Out made me think about other pop/rock acts that are ripe for musicals.  Apparently Rod Stewart is going to be the next on Broadway -- so, naturally, I am hoping that it will be Love Touch...The Musical! and that it will tell the story of a man's love of himself.  Imagine it -- singing Do Ya Think I'm Sexy into a mirror...Infatuation into a mirror...Reason to Believe into a mirror.  Certainly better than having it tell the story of how he and his hairstyle managed to get so many young blonde women.  That said, even though Rod has already made his deal, I'm personally hoping to see either Sussudio! The Phil Collins Story (where we start with Phil singing Sussudio on his deathbed and everyone trying to figure out what it is, a la "Rosebud" in Citizen Kane) or Wild Boys!, a musical based on the songs of Duran Duran.  Remember, you heard it here first. 

Old Friends

Dear People Who Read This Site, "George", Girl, That Euro, Special C, Dr. Chris, The (Other) O.C., and Potential Investors,

 So it was a good week off, though it was less a week off than a week devoted to other kinds of tasks.  Anyway, I made some good progress on the Legally Confidential Product front - got information on pricing and some backup funding, not that any Potential Investors should consider reducing their investments or anything. I also got to catch up with my friends Dr. Sharm and Dr. Chris, both of whom knew me well before, well, just about anything.  And now  they're like Carter on ER.  Cool, eh?

 And, speaking of Old Friends, I also saw Simon and Garfunkel in concert.  Generally a good time, since it was nice to see them get a long and seem to enjoy themselves for real (unlike that creepy Grammy performance).  That said, just for the record, I take Artie's side in that feud, since all he did was go and act in a movie. It's not his fault he was taller and had the fashionable hair. (I think it's important to take sides in celebrity feuds - so far I'm for Britney (vs. that dog Justin), Nicole (vs. that shady Tom Cruise) and now Artie.)  Even if the voices weren't perfect, the songs can't be denied.  And, again, no Gratuitous Yoga, so what's not to like?

PS: Did anyone else see the most excellent Oprah Show last week?  It was the Oprah's Favorite Things show, where she gave away over a million dollars' worth of stuff -- DVD-R camcorders, cashmere sweaters, diamond necklaces, smoked turkeys...will her kindness ever cease? I think not.  She is truly Oprah-riffic.

No Bracelet = No Britney

Dear People Who Read This Site, Potential Investors, "George", Girl, Special C, The Admiral, and That Euro:

This morning, on my way to my Real Job, I walked by the Virgin Megastore and saw the line of over 1000 people waiting to see Britney Spears and get her autograph on the cover of her new album -- In the Zone. As I like lines, and I had forgotten my keys to get into the office, I decided to wait in line and see what would happen, and I saw the Best Thing Ever -- a sign saying that the store had handed out bracelets (I think they meant wristbands) at 1:00 AM, and you needed a bracelet to see Britney. The heading of the sign was the soon to be famous: No Bracelet = No Britney. I think I'm going to start using that to deny people generally -- like this:

[Stranger] "Hey, Mint Mogul, can I have some free Legally Confidential Products"
[MM] "Whatever. No Bracelet = No Britney."

Go on, start using it, it will be excellent.

It also got me to thinking about the nature of superstardom, particularly with the impending fall of Jacko. Even though all of those Britney-haters (Justin and Xtina, this means you) talk about how she's not a star, one could argue that she's possibly at the height of her fame -- 1000 people waited for days to get her autograph. And yet that happens to her all of the time. Which means that she's probably used to it and even could come to expect it.  Which is exactly where Jacko comes into the picture.  When normal to you is having a gazillion people fawn all over you and live just to see you for a minute, it's got to be difficult to remain normal. Not that allegedly going for the tykes is any kind of solution, mind you.

Anyway, this week's Tip of the Hat has to go to the Britster, since she's a star and pretty normal.  No fake British accent, Gratuitous Yoga, or alleged crimes against children.  So far, so good. And, as for the new album, I like it. I think if half the people who panned it heard it without knowing it was Britney, they'd love it.  Sort of like how Donny Osmond didn't reveal he was the singer of "Soldier of Love" until it was a radio hit.  It goes to show that whenever you try to get somewhere in life, there will always be haters, I suppose. There's no room for haters here. And I am sure that Oprah would not want haters on her show.

On the Legally Confidential Product front, I have got to give a shout out to my first More Than Potential Investor, Special C. Not only did Special C take me on a tour of one of the palaces of Sunset Park, he also agreed to invest in the Legally Confidential Product and has been excellently supportive. You are so making the Oprah posse, my friend. Yes, you are. I'm working on getting more.

Diddy Did It!

Dear People Who Read This Site, "George", Girl, That Euro, and Potential Investors,

So, Diddy Did It! I have to say that this whole NY Marathon adventure does prove my earlier point about the power of nicknames. Who knew that at the breakup of J. Lo. and Puff Daddy, that he‚d end up with the better nickname. I mean, Diddy sounded d-u-m dumb when we first heard it, but then she became Bennifer, and he came up with www.diddyrunsthecity.com  and 1-877-RUN-DIDDY, and he finished the marathon. Diddy is genius.  I wonder if I could have someone in my Oprah posse named Diddy. One can only hope.  It beats the crap out of Bennifer, that's for sure.

After years of thinking that 26.2 miles is best suited to car travel, I think I finally understand why people do marathons, I mean, other than the Kenyans who do it because they win and stuff. Once you're done with school and stuff, there aren't a lot of concrete goals out there, at least not if you don't have my new (Shania inspired) game plan: 1) Decide between titles of Mint Mogul and Grand Poobah, 2) Make Legally Confidential Product, 2a) Give The People What They Want, 3) Go on Oprah, and 4) Retire to New Zealand.  But, for many others who either don't have these plans or have already achieved their goals (like Diddy and Oprah), training for a marathon presents you with a difficult yet achievable program that can get you to the end result of running the marathon. Not bad. Maybe I'll run one in New Zealand...they are sporty there.

Also, I'd like to give a special shout out to That Euro. You know, whenever I have doubts and wonder if my Legally Confidential Product or Other Projects are zany and insane, I hear from you, That Euro, and realize that there is someone out there who is way weirder than me, I mean, way weirder. Ja, sicher.

Still Waiting..

Ok. Well, I've gots to go. More soon.

.And She's Canadian Too!

Dear People Who Read This Site, "George", Girl, That Euro, and Potential Investors,

Good news! After much legal wrangling, faxing, and other stuff, the Legally Confidential Product is really Legally Confidential.   The paperwork is signed and The Company is working on developing the product and giving me sketches and costs and stuff.   So, Potential Investors, this would be a good time to start getting some cash ready.

And this is all before the concert even started. The concert was even more genius. Shania was walking around the stage, Shania was singing songs about feeling ugly, being in love, and being empowered. Shania was signing autographs while singing (pretty admirable, since if I'd have to sing and sign, I'd either sing my name over and over or sign the lyrics, but, then again, I'm not a genius like Shania). Shania was raising money for hungry children. Shania was changing costumes, from a Yankee jersey to a strappy top and pants, to a less revealing top and pants - thereby pleasing men (sports fans, fans of strappy tops) and women (not too much flesh with the jersey and ending looks, and her pants were weird, so she didn't look too much better than regular women, except for the whole being a goddess part). 

Anyway, what I've learned from Shania is that Giving The People What They Want is something that all sellers of products should think about.   My plan so far has been as follows: 1) Decide between titles of Mint Mogul and Grand Poobah , 2) Make Legally Confidential Product, 3) Go on Oprah, and 4) Retire to New Zealand.   I'll have to give it some thought.   Maybe add in 2a) Give The People What They Want. Hmm.

Achtung , Baby: California Gubernatorial Hijinks

Dear People Who Read This Site, "George", Girl, That Euro, and Potential Investors,

So, today's the big election (and the last day to play California Gubernatorial Bingo), and I'm really beside myself with excitement.   Californians are so lucky - they have Jamba and Robek's and the cool election. Then again, they're always one quake away from sliding into the ocean, so I suppose it's not all sunshine and juice beverages.   Anyway, I've asked "George" to recount his adventures in the big election, and here they are:

Dear Mint Mogul:

Unlike previous elections, where my polling place was conveniently either in the Police Athletic League building or the local rehab center, this polling place was in a garage. And not a commercial valet establishment either, it was someone's unattached garage. At first I couldn't find the place because there was no helpful line of stragglers or double parked cars. There was also no parking; I had to park in a red zone and pray that my desire to participate in the democratic process did not result in Parking Enforcement canning my ass.

Once I did find it I proceeded to the waiting area (read: back yard) where me and about 2 dozen other poor souls were waiting to help determine the extent of our state's decent into absolute lunacy. After remarking on the picnic bench and classy painted-tire planter, we divided into 2 lines, one for people who's names began with A-L and the rest in the other line. As to be expected, people had to switch lines when they got the front and realized they were in the wrong line.

I arrived at the polling place at 7 pm, confident that I would be able to cast my vote and take part in the democratic process and still get home in time for 8:00 TV. Boy was I wrong; I almost didn't make it (the polls also closed at 8, how mindful they were that we all wanted to go home and watch TV!). [Wow, juice beverages, a cool election, and a government that understands the importance of TV! You guys really do have it all out there. - MM]

I got to the head of the line, and a nice lady crossed my name off of a list with her red pen, and then made me sign in. She also asked me if I wanted to volunteer to do this kind of thing during the next election, after seeing her decidedly unswanky digs I declined.

I was then given a ballot (paper mind you) and sent to one of the rickety plastic voting machines (I think my friend Rebecca had something similar when we were kids) to cast my vote in this historic election. As I paged through all of the candidates, I wondered what had happened to our fair state that we finally arrived at this day. I mean, poor Gray Davis. His only real crime was that he was boring, and that was never a reason to remove someone from office (hello? GHW Bush?). [I don't know about that, I mean GHW Bush, or, as I like to call him, W Senior, did have his moments, like the time he barfed at that swanky dinner in Japan , so he was mildly entertaining, no? - MM]

Finally, after voting no on the recall, I selected a candidate to replace Gray should the unfortunate recall succeed. While I'm not proud of my decision, I based it on the fact that the candidate is reasonably intelligent (again, should be a requirement for public office) and he was the only one I had ever personally met. [OH NO! You did not!!!!   -- MM]

After checking my ballot for any dangling chads (damn those chads !) [Do you think I can get someone to be " Chad " in the posse? - MM]  I deposited it in the green plastic bin, which looks suspiciously like a converted trash can. I declined the "I Voted" sticker. [Probably out of shame considering who got your vote! - MM]

I must say that after all the strung and drama  [Er, "George"?  According to That Euro, that should be Sturm und Drang, or Geschwindigkeitsmesser or something like that -- MM] leading up to this I was a little underwhelmed, but (thankfully) on time to make my 8:00 TV shows. I mean, how many times do governors get recalled? This is insane!! As for my choice you'll have to imagine who I chose. It's not that hard....I always root for the underdog, except those who sell out (I did not pick the smut peddler who cared either). [Dude, he's never been an underdog - except in Kindergarten Cop, that is.  - MM]

Cheers, from our new state run by the Governator. [What have you done? Have you no shame?  DUDE!!! -- MM]

[PS: In a fitting end to an election where everybody (except the people making money on Twins broadcasts) loses, it looks like no one won California Gubernatorial Bingo, either.  -- MM]

Get Shorty

Dear People Who Read This Site, Girl, “George”, and Potential Investors:

So, these days, I’m waiting to get the Legally Confidential part of the Legally Confidential product together. I should really thank my friend, That Euro, for his assistance with the drafting and other legal mumbo jumbo, so thanks, That Euro!  I appreciate it, though I still do not appreciate Robbie Williams and never will.  So there.

But, Potential Investors, don’t think that I’ve been wasting this time I’ve had during the lull. Instead, I’ve been trying to work on my Oprah Show appearance by honing my TV technique.  So, I was in the audience of a TV show this week. Someone pointed out to me that I tend to be in the audience of a lot of things – sporting events, concerts, TV shows, and I think I know why.  Being in the audience is sort of like watching TV, but social.  Perfect, really, and the closest I’ve come to my dream (dreamt during my Blissful Non-Employment when I spent 2 weeks on my couch watching Dawson’s Creek reruns and grinning) of getting my TV and my couch to a nice scenic location, like, say, the beach. It  would be like Gilad’s Bodies in Motion, except without the pesky exercising or high cut leotards.

Anyway, I have to say that I learned a lot from my TV appearance, mostly because I barely appear on the TV.  I checked out my videotape of the broadcast, and when the cameras panned over my row, I could see the two dudes on my left and the dude on my right, but I could only see a small sliver of the top of my head!   And in some cases, I couldn’t see my head at all!!
 
I was seriously disturbed -- more disturbed than when I saw the oddly asexual Barry Manilow dancing with Bette Midler on the Today Show, and that wwas pretty disturbing, let me tell you.

I am not tall, and it might be a problem for the Oprah show. I told my sister, Tio Shiv,  about this problem, and she said, “we is small peeps.”  True dat. But, it wasn’t until the TV show that I saw that it was a problem.  I mean before that, I never thought that my head was too close to the ground (except when it was careening towards the ground, of course -- but, never mind that).

So, I’ve got to be proactive about increasing the distance between the top of my head and the ground.  Growth hormones are a little too hard core for me – I’d hate to end up the same height but with really big hands or something.  That would be even more disturbing than the sliver of head on the TV show.  So far, people have suggested the following possible solutions: stilts, big shoes, lifts in the shoes, bouffant hairdos, big wigs, tall hats (Abe Lincoln style), carrying a small platform with me – like a soapbox, only without the message, and being carried on a shield, like the chief in the Asterix cartoons.  I'll try anything!  After all, got to be ready for Oprah!

Robek’s, Jamba, and The Slims Jim

Dear People Who Read This Site, Girl, “George”, and Potential Investors:

I am back from a jam packed trip to LA to attend my friend Slim Jim’s wedding with "George" and many others whose nicknames are TBA.  It was quite a time.  First, I got to show off the Legally Confidential Product to various West Coasters who were quite receptive.  Score.  And it was easily the most elegant and effortless wedding I’ve ever attended.  It sort of felt like we were all hanging out in the garden and Slim Jim stopped by and thought, “hey, why not get married, it’s a nice day, after all.”  And so they did and started a small quandary – what to call them -- The Slim Jims or The Slims Jim?  I think I’m going with The Slims Jim, like fathers-in-law, but if you think it should be The Slim Jims, like higher-ups, do send an email to mintmogul@embittermints.com.  While you’re sending that email, if you haven’t yet gotten a wedding gift for The Slims Jim, you might consider honoring Slim Jim’s love of dried meat products and the supernatural by purchasing your wedding gift at www.alienfreshjerky.com – apparently they have deals on wholesale spicy jerky. Seriously good times, or at least a good gnaw.

Other than wedding festivities, I spent most of the rest of the weekend imbibing pureed beverages at Robek's and Jamba Juice and keeping track of my ever disappearing and reappearing corrective eyewear.  Maybe Oprah will have those people from Robek’s and Jamba Juice on the Millionaires Show along with me and my Legally Confidential Product.  That would also be seriously good times, but, unlike the stuff at www.alienfreshjerky.com,  not a good gnaw at all.  Anyway, here’s a brief numerical summary of my adventures:

Number of days in California: 3
Number of pureed fruit beverages consumed: 4
Number of hours of TV watched: 0.5
Number of California Gubernatorial Ads seen: 6
Number of California Gubernatorial Bingo squares completed: 0
Pieces of non-defective corrective eyewear taken from NY: 2
Number of lost pairs of glasses: 1
Number of mysteriously appearing non-defective contact lenses: 1
Net non-defective corrective eyewear loss: 0
Cost of eyewear shenanigans: $170 (Aargh! Embitterment!)

My Name Is…

Dear People Who Read This Site, Girl, “George”, and Potential Investors:

So, I'm going to California next week for a wedding, where I hope to show off the prototype of the Legally Confidential Product.  I was also hoping to visit the scenes of The Best Show on TV:

[MM]: dude i had an amazing idea for my visit.
[MM]: can we go to The O.C. or at least to Chino?
[“George”]: No.
[“George”]: What for?
[MM]: it will be so cool.  we can stand at the border and say "welcome to the oc, bitch" to everyone.  or at least to each other.
[MM]: also, i may have to take applications from people to see who gets the nickname chino.
[MM]: everyone on the oc calls ryan chino.
[“George”]: I'm not driving an hour south of here to some lily white latte drinking SUV driving soccer mom making metroplex just to see the same crap I see up here.  Only further south.
[“George”]: Besides it's so completely out of the way that we probably can't fit it in anywhere.
[MM]: oh well.  maybe i'll get a postcard.

[MM]: i'd let you be chino, but "george" is the perfect nickname for you.
[“George”]: I don't want to be Chino.
[“George”]: I don't even know where Chino is.
[“George”]: Don't want to know either.
[MM]: well, from what i see on the oc, it's a bad joint.  they don't know how to eat lobster there.  at least Chino didn't.
[“George”]: Trust me you don't want to go to Chino.
[“George”]: Or the OC.
[MM]: it's probably better on tv.  everything always is.

Man, I don’t see why “George” won’t take me to The O.C. – and I definitely don’t see why he wouldn’t want to be Chino.  Nicknames are fun.  Everything on The O.C. has a nickname, and it seems like a lot of fun.  I mean, The O.C. sounds like a lot more fun than Orange County.  And they call Tijuana “T.J.” which definitely sounds like more fun than Tijuana. Maybe it’s because it reminds me of T.J. Hooker, which wasn’t a half bad show.  But my favorite is Chino.  I love that his nickname is Chino – before I started watching The O.C., I didn’t even know that one could have a chino in the singular.

Besides, it’s important for anyone who wants to take his or her posse out to see important people, like, say, Oprah, to think of good nicknames for individual posse members.  I mean, Dorothy had good names for her posse when they met the Wizard in The Wizard of Oz, and he wasn't even Oprah.  I’ve already mentioned “George” and Girl, but I think I need a Chino.  So, if anyone wants to be Chino, please feel free to write to me at mintmogul@embittermints.com.  It’s the opportunity of a lifetime!

“The Agony of Defeat”

Dear People Who Read This Site, Girl, “George” and Potential Investors:

Let me tell you, this year’s U.S. Open was all about snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. I mean, you know about the Jennifer Capriati match, but even I felt the agony of defeat last Friday.  It all started when they were giving away free mini-George Foreman grills at the tennis center to people whose cookbooks had a code that matched one of the winning codes on their board.  You know how I loves free stuff. And this was good swag -- it was a U.S. Open commemorative mini grill that was red and blue.  Really cool.  My friend, Girl, won one when sshe walked in.  That was cool.  Towards the middle of the day, it was pretty clear that the George Foreman representatives had a gazillion grills (I mean, there were stacks that were as big as SUVs there), so they started changing the contest and letting people get more entries.  Needless to say, with some encouragement from Girl, I kept trying, as I loves free stuff.  Girl was hig! hly entertained, since I was completely stymied.  Not unlike Jennifer Capriati, I couldn't win to save my life.  As we walked around the grounds, everyone had a grill except for me – I mean everyone. Preteen boys, retirees, fans mysteriously clad in tennis outfits yet not scheduled to play that day, but not me.  Then they made the contest even easier to win, but I still could not do it, even though people were walking by with four and five grills.  Embitterment.  If you would like to email George Foreman about this unfair distribution of grills and how a struggling Mogul type who loves free stuff would really appreciate it if he could send over an extra commemorative grill, feel free to contact him at george@biggeorge.com. Apparently, like me, Big George answers his email himself.  Of course, he probably gets email.

Even though I did get completely engrossed with the Open, don’t think that I have been slacking off on the Quest to Get on! the Oprah Millionaires Under 40 Show.  To get myself in an Oprah-riffic mood, I watched the E! True Hollywood Story on Dr. Phil.  That Dr. Phil is almost a very bad man, according to the show.  Apparently he was so rough on his staff when his show started that Oprah had to fly down and encourage them.  She’s fantastic.  I love her.  Do you hear me Oprah, or Oprah’s people?  I *love* Oprah.  That said, I do find Dr. Phil mildly entertaining – somewhere between Growing Pains reruns and the California Gubernatorial Race – and his sayings are classic.  My new favorite is “did we just fall off the dumb tree?”  Not that I’d use it, but I might think it inside my head sometimes. Tee hee.

P.S. You know, Girl was really lucky that day at the Open – apparently she also won an ugly t-shirt from a bank. Cool, eh?

“Pilot”

Dear  People Who Read This Site, “George”:

Welcome to the Pilot of Musings from the Mint Mogul:

As you’re a former Hollywood type, you know that crafting the perfect TV pilot requires a perfect balance of establishing characters, previewing themes and controversies to come, and not letting anyone see your darkest fear that the show actually sucks worse than Just Shoot Me.  Ok, I admit it, I have watched that show, on purpose, but it’s more out of inertia, like, say when I've eaten too much Cap'n Crunch that I can’t move my finger enough to change the channel, than actually thinking it’s a good show.  Really, now.  Don’t think those mocking thoughts, I know you liked that movie Mr. Wrong, so you really can’t talk.

Anyway, it is important not to have that “this is a turkey” attitude, since that really can sink a pilot right from the start.  It’s important to be able to sell your shtick.  You know, sort of like when I saw Duran Duran with my friend Girl last week.  It may be that John Taylor and, strangely enough, the other non-related Taylors now look like George Hamilton, and that Nick Rhodes is looking a little Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard, and that Simon Le Bon could quite possibly be the least cool person on earth (like a non-homicidal Christopher Walken), but the fact that they believe in their shtick made them hella cool.  Now, when you saw REO Speedwagon and that Steve Perry-less Journey, I bet they didn’t believe in their shtick, which will definitely put them on the county fair circuit, if they aren’t there already.  You gotta believe.

Mmm…pancakes.  Sorry, I was distracted by the TV – Food Network show on pancakes.  I loves pancakes.  Right, where was I? Believing.  So, I guess that’s the point of this column.  Belief.  Well, that and getting on The Oprah Show, but more about that in a bit.  If I didn’t believe that my Legally Confidential Product would be successful, I wouldn’t be writing about the Quest to Get On Oprah’s Millionaires Under 40 Show with my Legally Confidential Product, would I?  (But, you know, I’d settle for getting on the Oprah Show About the 10 Best Products, too.)  Anyway, the point is a pilot has to make people believe that the show is going somewhere, and that that somewhere doesn’t suck.  Sort of like on The O.C., if the poor kid wasn’t going to end up living with Peter Gallagher and his eyebrows, the pilot would have been pretty stupid.  And the series would be over, and my life would be seriously worse off.  Seriously.

So, on that note, Welcome to the M.M., bitch.

PS: Until there are more developments about my Legally Confidential Product, please do check out California Gubernatorial Bingo: The Game That’s Easier Than Voting.

PPS: Thanks for doing all of that Webmaster mumbo-jumbo, "George" -- you're earning serious points towards being in the Oprah posse.