Oh, that old thang...

It's old hat, yet one worth wearin'. Let me spell it out for the boys in the back. When money becomes the dominate fixture in one's path, then there ain't much room for nothin' else.

Take the starving artist...

Step one: Make somethin' up.

Step two: Find interested parties.

Step three: Find interested parties that have enough money to produce something to the masses.

Step four: Crawl towards the motherload.

Step five: Regalia! A brand new voice has entered the world still pruning placenta.

Step six: Worry about what comes next.

Step seven: Become concerned about not being as successful on the next fly.

Step eight: "Ain't as good as the last, but you're under contract, so let's give her a ride."

Step nine: Repeat. From step three on, making necessary edits when necessary.

Step ten: Don't grab like it used to. Ain't eatin' Rice-a-Roni no more. Sushi every night. Accustommation takes over.

Step ten: I would be happy to represent your product on national television, because in this, my work will live on in some catchy little jingle nestled next to the delightful picture of a cheeseburger.

Step eleven: Royalties like royalty.

Step twelve: "What do you mean they don't like me anymore?"

Step thirteen: "Don't matter if they like me or not. I have so much money now, that I can afford not to care. I can sustain my own career."

Works in other areas as well, except with less steps...

Low class: "Did I win the lottery? I can quit my job!"

Middle class: "Did I get promoted? I can get a new TV!"

High class: "What do I care?"

Public opinion has its minions. Walk yourself around like an advertisement. Be prettier than you really are, and you will have a great life from age twenty-three to forty-five. After that, it's all about the final journey, and that last grasp at glory.

Money is magic. It's the only thing that can make an ugly person beautiful, and a beautiful person ugly. It's Moses parting the gene pool.

Remember fondly your struggling years, folks. Once you reach what you've been aimin' for, you'll scarce remember what that target once looked like.

Z.