It seems the past two weeks has been an endless tragedy of death in the world of fame. Many names were not noteworthy due to age or the fact Americans don't watch reruns of British sitcom or bollywood movies.
It's mostly age.
I watched a few episodes of 'Pitchman' last night. They were playing them as a tribute to the late and irritatingly loud and lovable Billy Mayes. If you do not know who he is, you are to stupid to read my blog...so run along.
For the rest of you in the status quo know, Billy and his pal Sully, ran a pitch business together, that made them wealthy enough to play around in a private not G5 jet; still a jet.
What side you did not get to see, and the reality show helped me out on the peek-a-boo, is in the lives of inventors that have given their last coin to follow the full potential of the American dream of capitalism.
One man in particular got to me. I am not used to seeing men cry and feel the only time they should is when a loved one dies or their dog. If you cry over the cat, and I have cats, its not something I wish to see.
Anyhoo, back to my guy...
He choked on his words, "You don't give up until the tax man comes and hammers a notice on your door". He wiped his red eyes looked away and that was it. I knew what he meant, his wife knew what he meant, and his five children, had no clue as they danced for the cameras, what he meant.
Happy to say, the teary eyed bloke that gave me an extra boost to continue my new endeavor, grossed over $2 million thanks to his tenacity, the support of his family, and the genius of two guys that started selling sweepers, state to state, and ended up cleaning out the pockets of millions of happy consumers.
Blondes never run out of inspiration!