I read today that "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire," once wildly popular, is now in it's last season. Serves 'em right, if you ask me, for not picking me when they had the chance.

Last August, I got a call from my brother.

"Yo, bro. Didja know that Millionaire is holding auditions here tomorrow?"

"Nope."

I'd tried to get on the show in the past, but with thousands of people passing the initial phone quiz every day, and only sixty getting a call back, the odds are slim, so after the first half-dozen times I'd qualified, to no avail, I had pretty much given up trying.

So. I check out the details in the local rag and get the scoop.

First 1200 folks get to take the tests, in three sessions, nine in the morning, then two and six this afternoon.

CG is waaaay excited. She could spend a cool mill in about fifteen minutes, just buying shoes.

"You gotta get there early. I'll set the alarm for five, and you can leave at six."

This morning, I wake up, and I'm laying there dozing, thinking of nothing in particular - I've completely forgotten about it, and am idly contemplating some pre-dawn adult activities, when CG spanghews off the mattress.

"Damn, why didn't the alarm go off??? It's 6:41!"

Closer examination reveals that the alarm is indeed set, but for five PM.

So, I'm ready to blow the thing off, but she's crying fer dog's sake, she feels so bad. So, I agree to go to the Galleria hotel and tryout anyway. We fight through the AM rush hour traffic, and get there around eight.

The line is wrapped around the hotel. As I find out later, I am number 481. An hour later, there are more people in line behind me than in front of me. So, I spend the time chatting with the other characters in line with me. It grows hotter. The people I'm talking to are a pretty mixed bag - some unemployed, some housewives, some wage slaves that called in sick, and finally, the odd free-lance carnie types, but they're all interesting to talk to. Most have traveled, and nearly all are brighter than the norm. A reporter from the Houston Comical comes by, in fact the same one that had written the story I read yesterday.

He interviews a young lady in our group for a while, tape recorder in hand. He is charming, gregarious, and milks her like a Jersey. She gives her name, and talks effusively as he prompts her for info about her motives for coming down, where she works, (in an office building adjoining the hotel), yadda-yadda. After about five minutes, he's done with her, and turns to me.

"And what is your name?"

"I'd rather not say, if you don't mind."

"Why not?"

I make up a story.

"I canceled a meeting with a client to be here."

(Actually, I told my non-boss that I hadda take CG to a doctor's appt., and I'd be in around eleven. Heh. Fat freakin' chance)

"Aaaah, and what do you do?"

I smile. "I'd rather not say that, either."

"So you're all about the money, then, huh?" (Miss Gregarious had been telling him it would be fun just to be on TV)

"You betcha."

"Well, what will you tell me?"

I look him straight in the eye.

"That if the producers put me on the show, I will be the first million-dollar winner from Texas. I guaran-goddam-tee it."

"Wow, I like that attitude. Here's my card. If you get on the show and win, will you give me a call?"

I take his card.

"Sure, buddy. Tell you what, when I win the simollions, you can have an exclusive."

Minutes later, as the sun climbs in the sky, and it starts to get a bit uncomfortable, a SUV flying Red Bull colors parks on the street, and stars handing out cans to the queue. I've never had one before, so I take one. Tastes like a Sweet Tart. The ingredients don't seem to be much other than sugar, caffeine, and Vitamin B. Oh well, whattya want fer nuttin'?

Miss Gregarious' cell phone rings. It's her boss. She has to come into work now. Reluctantly, she says her goodbyes, and drags off to her job.

Finally, many stories later, the line begins to move. The first 250 people get tested, as we begin to swelter in the heat.

About 10:30, they take the next 250, to include me. We all file into a large ballroom, and grab a seat in the sea of cheap hotel chairs arrayed in ranks and files for the occasion. My first thought is sympathy for those poor daddy-bangers still outside. It only hit 95 today, so dog is merciful.

Perky young producer's assistants hand us out some forms to fill out, recite all the standard disclaimers, answer a few questions, then pass out the test.

Ohmidog, it's multiple guess. How much easier can it get? 30 questions, 12 minutes, 24 secs per answer, I calculate.

Of course, I can't remember them all. Most I knew slam dunk, the others, about five, I guessed, and two I had no clue.

In no particular order, the brain dump:

1. The second black woman to win an Oscar?

Cicely Tyson, Whoopi, Diana Ross, or somebody else I can't remember?

2. "Dawn Summers" was added as the little sister to which TV sitcom character? Buffy, Moesha, Sabrina, or Malcolm in the middle?

3. Campanology is the study of what?

Military, Spain, fireworks, or bells?

4. What is used as a thickening agent in cooking?

Corn syrup, corn starch, sugar, or sumpin else.

5. Who wore gold shoes in the 1996 and 2000 Summer Olypmics?

Jackie Joyner, Michael Johnson, Ben Johnson, or ?

6. What was the name of rapper Marky-Mark's backup band?

The Funky Bunch, The Ghetto Boyz, Ice Cold, or Shadow?

7. Some question about which rapper in 1991 call himself the Original G, or something like that... (I had no clue)

Ice Cube, Ice T, Dr. Dre, or the Notorious B.I.G?

8. Which was not a mouseketeer (sp?)?

Christina Aguilera, LeeAnn Rimes, Britney Spears, or some other chick?

9. The proper name for a female zebra?

Mare, dam, cow, or jenny?

10. What animal is on a caduceus?

Dove, lion, dragon, or snake?

11. The Dali painting "Persistence of Memory" had what on it?

Water on fire, dripping candles, melting watches, or glaring eyes?

12. Cathedral something something Fiore is in which city?

Naples, Milan, Florence, or Venice?

13. Which S. American country is landlocked?

Paraguay, Uruguay, Argentina, or Ecuador?

14. What appears on the flag of Turkey, Pakistan, and Tunisia?

A crescent moon, a hammer, a star, or a cross?

Those are all I can remember for now, and include almost all the ones I was unsure about. I tend not to recall the slam dunks.

I finished in seven minutes, and spent the final five rechecking my answers like a good little test boy. :-)

While the tests were being graded, they kept us entertained by conducting contests, with T-shirts for a prize. The first one was Stoopid Human Tricks, then best celebrity imitation, etc.

I volunteered for the first. My trick was to take any two words furnished by the audience, and put them in a proper limerick in thirty seconds.

Stupid audience. The first lady I called on said "orange." I guess she thought since you can't rhyme it, that was going to be a big problemo. The second word, furnished by a young kid who was a bit more clueful, was "fundament."

The pressure was on... One of the perky kids had the audience sing the Final Jeopardy melody as I thunk.

On the deadline: An Orange County laddie named Bill Tripped while running the hills. Sprawling he went On his fundament, I think Bill's rolling down still. :-) Weak, I know, but I never claimed they'd be good limericks.

Anyway, I didn't win the T-Shirt, as the audience clapped louder for this chick that hummed an old cowboy song, (Happy Trails To You) to the rhythm accompaniment of hoofbeats clop-clopping, a sound she also made by clicking her tongue. How she could hum and click at the same time, I dunno.

Finally, they came out to announce the numbers of the winners. The stack kept getting lower and lower, and I still hadn't heard "481." This was gonna be embarrassing, as I had told my queue buds that there was no way I wasn't gonna pass the test.

Well, toward the end, they did call my number. Whew! 42 of the 250 had passed, and would go on to the next stage.

Which didn't amount to much. They took a Polaroid of us, gave us a form with some questions to answer - "What would you do with a million dollars? What would Regis find most interesting about you? You wouldn't believe this to look at me, but once I...? What is your proudest achievement?" etc., etc.

Then we each were interviewed for about one minute by the producer's assistants. One or two quick questions. Mine was "What would you do with a million bucks? I told them I'd use it to found an international chain of non-profit computer training centers, so the the vast majority of the people on the planet that didn't have access to, or understand how to use a PC could get trained for little or nothing. The assistant looked at me funny, and said, "Why would you wanna do that?" I said I'd always been a PC evangelist, had made the world a more productive place, (I hope she's never heard of FreeCell, or chatting) and it seemed like something I could do that would leave the world a better place than I found it. She said, "Well, that's nice. Thank you very much, and you can go now."

So I left, and reported in to the non-job, where the boss was a bit pissed that I didn't come in until one. Since the office manager quit in a huff, Monday, that meant the office didn't open at nine like usual.

Oh well, what's he gonna do, fire me? I wuz looking for a job when I found this one. :-)

'Cept, to tell the truth, I wasn't actually looking when it found me. :-)

I was hoping they had a shortage of chunky, grey-haired, gat-tothed, middle-aged men on the show, and needed me to redress the balance.

Of course, they never called....

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"Not all those that wander are lost." --J.R.R. Tolkien

That bearded scoundrel you see there on the right with the mug of ale in his hand, sporting a large green onion on his hat, and the fat lip-print on his cheek, is Hawke Leekeman, a Welshman by birth, a full-throated hawker by trade, a knave by inclination, promoter of fine food and drink, raconteur, singer, trencherman, alepot, and provider of temporary relief to nymphomaniacs in need. In short, one of the more notorious whoresons ever to set foot on the grounds of the Texas Renaissance Festival.

In Texas, you sometimes see a bumper sticker saying, "I wasn't born here, but I got here as fast as I could."

Similarly, I found a job at TRF just as soon as life let me.

I started working at the faire four seasons ago. It was only then that my personal circumstances (primarily have given up the nightclub business) gave me my weekends free to work the faire.

I had always loved visiting renfair as a patron, though I'd only managed to get away from work a few times in the previous decade to do so. When you're in the club business, the weekends are the Money Days, and if you're doing your job right, you have to be there.

I'm a history nut, and acted quite a bit in high school and college. Throw in the fact that I'm about 3/4ths ham, Shakespeare is one of my favorite authors, and I acted in several of the Bard's plays. It becomes pretty clear that renfairs and I are made for one another. Actually, it seems that lots of folks are the same way, from the way renaissance faires are growing around the country. (I've some Deep Thoughts on why this is here)

So, it's no surprise that I'd enjoy wandering around the grounds with a turkey leg in one hand and a double Guinness in the other, people watching, seeing the shows, and admiring the wonderful things those 16th century bustiers do for a woman's, umm, presentation.

After an hour or so of reacquainting my mind with the speech patterns, and after quaffing a few stouts, it was easy to start scatting in period language on those improvements, to the improved, in a suitably clever, frank, ribald, but historically correct manner. This manner would get you at least slapped, in not in fact arrested, at the local grocery store, or any other present day location, with the possible exception of those establishments dedicated to the vending of over-priced drinks in exchange for the sight of young women writhing around in their birthday suits, and other varieties of cathouses.

To work at faire, I needed to come up with a character - a name, personal and family history, personality, the whole kaboodle. Every participant, from the veteran actor that portrays King Henry, to the greenest boothie selling garlands, is required to do so.

This young lass sells hats at TRF

The character works pretty well. Even after those first few weeks, I was already spending as much time in front of the booth hawking in business as any of my other duties. After I strapped the biggest, baddest leeks I could find in the grocery store onto my head, and started waving one around in my hand like a traffic cop does his flashlight, to steer patrons over to the tavern, sales went up about a factor of 40%. We're talking Big Bags O' Money here. I won several awards as the best hawker at the faire.

I went to hawking full-time, and the owner hired somebody else to take over all the stuff he originally hired me to do. He also me a raise after some other vendors tried to steal me away. Gotta luuurve that. All of the sudden, this renfair thing I was doing mostly for the fun of it morphed into a fairly lucrative hobby.

I've been at it ever since, working for various vendors, in a nearly perfect amalgam of having fun and making money. Last year sort of sucked, as the guy I was working for was new to faire, and Fairely Clueless. We were chronically understaffed, and he was gone a lot of the time. So I had to spend waaaay too much time picking up the slack, working behind the bar. At any rate, last year was his first and last season, as it turns out, so I dunno who I''ll be working for this year.

But you can bet I'll be there. So if you're visiting TRF, make sure to stop by and give a hearty "Well met!" to the Leekeman.

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It has often been remarked that the line between those that break the law and those that enforce it is a fine one. Studies have shown that similar personality types are attracted to both vocations.

So I suppose we should not be surprised when we read news reports such as this one being reported by a local TV station.

It seems that a HPD sergeant has been arrested and charged with kidnapping another policeman's girlfriend and holding her for $300,000 ransom. What makes this a bit more bizarre is that this man is a member of HPD's Internal Affairs Unit, the outfit tasked with investigating wrongdoing by the force at large.

Presumably, (at least one would hope) the members of this unit are recruited from the ranks of experienced officers with reputations for integrity and immaculate service records.

However, having been in the past witness to the workings of Internal Affairs, it does not surprise me. The unit seems to be as effective in defending officers against the consequences of abuse of power as it is in prosecting them.

While I am willing to stipulate for the sake of argument that there must be exceptions, I believe that many who choose a career in law enforcement do so because that career gives them relative immunity from the laws they are tasked to enforce. I've seen policemen violate laws ranging from relatively harmless traffic violations to felonies as serious as tax evasion, perjury, extortion, and assault, all with a cavalier attitude that the laws in this case should not apply to them.

To be fair, this is not unique to them. Others in the judicial system (I cannot bring myself to call it the justice system) manifest this behavior also. Judges, prosecuting attorneys, even lower level administrative personnel such as court clerks and legal secretaries often take hypocritical advantage of their informal networks to disregard the law without fear of the the consequences.

Such is human nature in any institution, and we are not likely to be able to change it.

So, my question becomes this - should those tasked to enforce the law be held to heavier sentences when they are found guilty of breaking it?

Codified law already makes a distinction with respect to persons crimes are committed against. For example, slaying a policeman automatically qualifies as a capital crime in most, if not all, states. (I've not done an exhaustive search) Killing of a private citizen does not.

So, if they enjoy an enhanced degree of protection, should they not also be held to a more rigorous code of obedience to the law, and not more freedom from it?

To be given what we call in the Marines the "special trust and confidence" of the people, only to abuse that trust, seems to me to be in and of itself a crime meriting the strongest possible punishments.

Perhaps then we will see a decrease in criminal behavior by those we pay to stop it.

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