Newt's Decision

One day after saying that he was moving closer to running for President by putting into place a system to evaluate his chances, Newt Gingrich announced on Saturday morning that he would NOT be running for President in 2008.

The Blogatorium (and my cell phone) went into hyperventilating overdrive wondering what had happened.

I talked with Rick Tyler, long time pal and Newt’s principal spokesman who told me what had happened.

Newt’s current passion is to build an organization called American Solutions. Just this past week he held a nation-wide series of workshops to get citizens more involved in searching for non-partisan solutions to the problems we all acknowledge.

This is Newtonian thinking at its best. A huge idea which, through sheer force of will and personality, he will move forward.

American Solutions is not a political organization it is a non-profit – a 501(c)(4) as I understand it.

Newt’s lawyer in Atlanta, Randy Evans, evaluated the options and concluded that Newt had to either run for President or drive American Solutions – he could not do both because of the impossibility of keeping the tax-exempt activities separate and apart from any political (and therefore NOT tax exempt) operations.

The problem is, of course, that Newt Gingrich would have been the person at the top of both organizations and while it was technically possible to do it, it would have been a political nightmare.

Faced with that choice, Newt made the one which may have made less sense for him personally but, in his mind (and, for what it’s worth mine) made more sense for the country – helping find American Solutions.

I congratulate Newt for making the hard, but correct choice.

Rich

Hey! Mr. Big Shot! (Part 1)

Part 1 of 3

One of the things you have to guard against when traveling around with someone like a Major Presidential Candidate is that you don’t start thinking you ARE the Major Presidential Candidate.

Long time readers will remember the story from the 2004 Inaugural when, at the largest of the three kick-off “Candlelight Dinners” (for which I had been responsible for ticketing and seating), I had posted myself at the Will-Call table at the Washington Hilton.

Sure enough, one of the young volunteers came up to say there was a problem with a guest’s tickets. I walked to where the guest was standing and saw a guy with bad hair, orange sunglasses and a perfectly maintained 2.37-day growth of beard.

I asked how I could help and he informed me he was with the Kelsey Grammer party and there were only two tickets in the envelope, not the five he (this guy, not Grammer) had been expecting.

I knew where Kelsey Grammer was sitting because I had seated him and his wife with the donor – the big donor – who had requested him. I also knew there were not three empty seats at that table.

But, having done this once or twice before, I had tickets for additional seats at a nearby table in my pockets and told the guy this. He said, pushing his orange sunglasses up higher on his nose: “Well, we’ll just get on the plane and go back to Hollywood.”

To which I replied: “Ok. Have a good flight” and started walking away.

Ahmadinejad-cheeks came, literally, running down the length of the tables saying, “Wait! Wait a minute! What’s wrong?”

I stopped and said, “I made an offer – seats at a nearby table; and you made and offer – going back to Hollywood. I’m accepting your offer.” And turned away again.

Naturally, he and his pals accepted the tickets at the nearby table and, after several Cosmopolitan Smoothies (or whatever) with their dinners decided this was the funniest thing they had ever heard and found me afterward to tell me.

“Welcome to MY town,” I said.

Dear Mr. Mullings:
As interesting as this cautionary tale might be – again – what does it have to do with your trip to the NFRW convention?
Signed,
The Ladies of the NFRW

Ok, so traveling around with Thompson (and the same goes for Giuliani, Obama, Clinton, or Romney) you zip around on private (but small) airplanes which take you from point A to point B (without a stop in Cincinnati or Chicago or Dallas or where ever) and you are met by earnest young men and women volunteers who take the bags off the plane and put them into the back of the appropriate SUV in which you are whisked to the next stop.

At the next stop there are other earnest young volunteers who direct you to where you are supposed to go and metaphorically place rose petals in your path to ease your way.

Then … you have to break off and go to Palm Springs for the NFRW convention and the Yiddish proverb which translates to “Man plans, God laughs” kicks in.

My day had started at about 4:15 Eastern when I awoke needing to pack, walk Titus the Granddog, stop at the office to pick something up I had forgotten the night before, and get out to Dulles (which is about 45 minutes on a direct route) by about 6:45.

All went well. We flew to the Central time zone to do a series of fundraisers and press events in Central Tennessee and, at about 4 PM Central, I got a ride to Nashville airport for the BNA – LAX; LAX – PSP trip.

I was already a little cranky because my life is divided, generally, into two parts: Writing days and non-writing days. In addition to everything else Thursday is a writing day and I didn’t see exactly when I was going to get the column done.

As it happened I had enough time at the American Airlines Admiral’s Club to find the story about David Shuster sandbagging Rep. Marsha Blackburn so I made electronic notes and wrote on the four-hour flight from Nashville to Los Angeles.

Hey! Mr. Big Shot! (Part 2)

Part 2 of 3

The problems started when I checked in at Nashville. The automatic kiosk told me I had to check in at the counter. Never a good sign.

I checked in at the counter and was told by a very nice American Airlines ticket agent that she could “see” my reservation for the United Express flight from LAX to Palm Springs, but couldn’t ticket it. She would ticket the AA segment, but I would have to go to the United counter to get the next piece.

No prob. I was early so I walked to United and as I was explaining the American agent’s problem she produced a ticket for United Express from LAX to PSP leaving Los Angeles at 10:30 pm arriving Palm Springs at about 11:30. Pacific Time.

I thanked her, went through security, got the Marsha Blackburn stuff and went aboard the American flight (on which I had been upgraded to first class because I am a Gold frequent flier on American as reward for being a Million Miler as I am on Delta, as well).

The flight left at 6:30 Central and arrived at 8:30 Pacific – meaning my body which had been awake since 4:15 Eastern was beginning to creak just a little.

The terminal from which United flights leave at LAX is Terminal 7. American flights arrive at Terminal 4. It is a hike – not a forever trip, but at midnight body time, long enough.

The hike is, of course, outside security. You would think that in the six years since 9/11 major airports would have figured out how to keep travelers inside the clean area but … they have not.

I pulled out my United boarding pass and saw, for the first time, that it had the dreaded “SSSS” code meaning I would be “selected” for additional screening.

Drat.

Ok. I have a rule about this which I try to follow all the time: (a) Take a deep breath, (b) go into Alpha-wave mode (if there is such a mode), (c) be in good humor, and (d) leave plenty of time so (a), (b), and (c) are do-able.

My mantra is: If this is the worst thing that happens today, it will be a fine day.

Sure enough, I was “selected” to go into the area reserved for Gitmo escapees and people with “SSSS” on their boarding pass.

The additional screening is more-or-less a sham: Some guy patted me down to make certain I hadn’t accidentally left my 9mm Beretta in my front pants pocket. Then a very nice lady opened my backpack and ran a piece of cloth around the inside; put the cloth inside a machine which told her, apparently, that there was no explosive residue. She repeated the test on my roll-aboard and found it similarly benign but not before announcing – quite loudly, I thought – “This is the neatest packing job I’ve every seen!”

Yikes. There goes my reputation among TSA agents worldwide for being a devil-may-care throw-it-in-the-bag and let’s go packer.

I put it down to having been married for nearly 35 years and pushed on to the gate.

Hey! Mr. Big Shot! (Part 3)

Part 3 of 3

The United Express gates are 17.3 miles from the security checkpoint. I walked and walked and walked and even turned down the offer of a ride from a lady on the old-people golf cart thing and finally made it to gate 86B.

Well, if this is the worst thing that happens today, it will be a fine day.

I had the column finished and had done the Mullfoto of the dog park, so all I needed to do was to format the text for Mullings.com and for the e-mail version, and get the appropriate links put in the Secret Decoder Ring page and I could send it out before I got on the plane.

I had about 45 minutes so this was not going to be a problem except that my T-Mobile account had gone inactive due to its being tied to my Amex card whose expiration date had come and gone.

1-888-Fix-This and I got the guy on the phone who, (a) insisted upon calling me “Richard” and (b) was probably in Hyderabad, India updated my info and got the connection organized.

Well, if this is the worst thing that happens …

That took about half of my allotted time and I couldn’t work because I had to keep giving my credit card, phone number, mother’s maiden, last four digits of my social, billing address and shoe size to verify I wanted to spend my money with T-Mobile.

As they were calling the flight I hit the e-mail SEND button and went out to get on the commuter flight to Palm Springs.

The plane had actual propellers but the flight is only 30 minutes so I put up with the indignity of flying on a plane which was about three months later than the last fabric-covered aircraft and thought, “Well, if this is the worst thing …”

We got to Palm Springs at about 11:30 Pacific and pulled up to the gate which is, as it happens, exactly 17.3 miles from the airport exit.

I got into a cab which was driven by a guy who had only been in Palm Springs for five – no – TWO months (uh, oh) and had come here because he had been in a real bad accident and totaled his car and aside from some stiffness in his right hand he was doin’ fine now.

“Say,” I interrupted. “How far is it to the Wyndam Hotel?”

He said it was right after the next light so we pulled up, I threw a twenty at him, and felt lucky to have escaped from the cab with my life and limbs intact.

I went to the front desk, pulled out the very same Amex card which would now be recording my every T-Mobile connection and grandly announced that I was Rich Galen.

It was now close to midnight and the woman behind the desk must not be a regular Fox & Friends viewer because it had no effect.

Other than for her to disappear into the back office and come back with another woman who informed me I had been expected not on the 27th but on the 26th and, as I had NOT arrived on the 26th they had given my room away and the hotel was full and, Rich Galen or not, see ya’, bye.

I pointed to a canvas bag with my name on it sitting on a shelf. See? That’s me! I must have a room.

What part of “see ya’, bye” didn’t I understand?

I upped the handle on my roll-aboard and headed out the front door just as a guy pulled up in the Wyndham van.

“Hey,” I said I that southern way of saying “Hi” that everyone seems to have adopted. “I need a ride to the Hilton, can you help me out?”

He said he could not because he was not supposed to and, in any event, he got off at midnight. See ya’, bye.

So, there I was. Mr. Big Shot. Walking down Tahquitz Canyon Way, dragging my roll-aboard with my backpack attached with one hand, and swinging my NFRW goodie bag in the other.

Humming the theme song to “Midnight Cowboy.”

Everybody's talkin' at me
Can't hear a word they're sayin'
Only the echoes of my mind
People stoppin', starin'
I can't see their faces
Only the shadows of their eyes

Rich

McCarthy as an American Hero

I have received no small amount of blowback from many of you complaining about the fact that I am not giving just due to Sen. Joseph McCarthy.

I think McCarthy was no less a bully - using his position to demand impossible answers from defenseless witnesses - than Chuck Schumer or Henry Waxman are today.

To those who believe McCarthy to have been an American hero, please send info regarding the next Joe McCarthy Annual Awards Dinner.

Oh, there isn't one?

I'm surprised.

Rich

I'm Baaaack

Ok, I know this is lame but it is also true: I lost my nifty Sprint Aircard which allowed me to post stuff from cars, sitting on fences, hotel lobbies, and where ever.

The Aircard belonged to the Thompson campaign so I needed to get all the info (phone number, account name, etc.) before I plunked down my $300 to replace it which I have now done.

Rich

Feeding the Media Beast

Just back from about 10 days on the road with the Thompson announcement bus tour and we had a bunch of national and local media with us every step of the way.

And the press corps has to be fed every step of the way.

They have to be fed in the traditional sense, which is to say the campaign (and this is the same for all the major campaigns – Republican and Democrat – provide food for the press but each individual is billed for his/her share. They are also billed for their share of the bus or van, their share of any costs involved with renting a meeting room for them to work out of, etc.

The “feeding” I’m talking about here has to do with feeding them information.

In the olden days, when the press corps was a bunch of guys who smoked too much, drank too much, and would sit around the bar at night eating fried stuff and drinking whatever, they had to file once a day. Morning newspapers have a first deadline of something on the order of 7 PM.

In that same time the three networks had to have any footage from the campaign put on an airplane and shipped to LA, Chicago, New York or some such so the film could be processed, edited, and readied for the evening newscast.

Still photographers would throw their film into mesh bags which would be picked up by couriers and, similar to the TV film, be airlifted to the nearest facility of the AP or UPI or whomever.

All of this demanded that whatever news the campaign was going to make on any given day be made NLT (not later than) about 2:30 pm.

The times, as Bob Dylan told us four decades ago, have a’changed.

In addition to MSNBC, CNN, FNC and the other 24-hour cable news channels, this cycle has added … The BLOG!

Reporters now are not just filing for their paper or wire service or TV network. Now, they are also filing for The BLOG!

The demands of The BLOG! outstrip just about everything else reporters and the campaign staff who deal with them have to manage.

The BLOG! is, by definition, a random filing at random times and is of a random length – this, as opposed to MULLINGS which comes out (more or less) three times a week at the same time and is of standard 750-ish word column length.

The problem with The BLOG! is that campaigns have to come up with new stuff to give reporters for their BLOG! outside of, and in addition to, the regular stuff.

Some campaigns are beginning to stack up tidbits to hand out, like Greenies to the Grand Dog, sometime after lunch so reporters have something for The BLOG!

Any BLOG! is mostly read by other bloggers and other reporters but the big deal is to have something you have written for your BLOG! show up in a standard newspaper or as an item on a cable news show.

Whether this will have any lasting influence is yet to be determined, but it is certainly having an impact in the 2008 cycle.

Oh, and, now at least half the press corps is female and both genders prefer salads and veggies with their Pinot Grigio in the restaurant at night.

Talk about ch’er impact!

Rich

New Hampshire

NOTE: This was posted earlier on the web page of Fred Thompson for President website. I am cross-posting blogs because … well, just because.

If you came in late, I am a paid consultant to the Fred Thompson campaign.

------

On Saturday night, we flew into Portsmouth, New Hampshire just after a huge storm had blown through. And when I say “a huge storm” I mean “A HUGE STORM!”

It blew trees over and blew two fully loaded hay wagons about four feet driving the tongue of the wagon through the side of a car. It blew over tents and soaked just about everyone at the Chili Cookoff which was a fundraiser for the Republican Women’s organization.

Remember, this is New Hampshire. Home of the first-in-the-nation primary. Also the site of the most recent debate which Fred missed because he happened to have been on the “Tonight Show” with Jay Leno.

There had been much handwringing among the national punditry class about the blow to New Hampshire’s pride that miss had been, and how voters in New Hampshire would surely punish Fred for the slight.

Undaunted we hopped in the bus and drove over to the farm where the event was being held and saw that the 200-or-so people who had hidden out in the barn for Fred Thompson to arrive poured out to greed Fred, and when he hopped up on the stage in a steady drizzle the voters (who, remember, were going to punish Fred) rallied ‘round the stage to listen.

I wondered whether this campaign was going to go up in a blizzard of white sparks and a cloud of blue smoke as Fred was electrocuted by the rain hitting his wireless microphone but, in the end, it all worked fine.

After the speech, while Fred shook hands and posed for pictures, I drifted around to listen to reporters looking for someone who hated the speech and whose support for Gov. Romney or Mayor Giuliani or Sen. McCain had only been increased after listening to Fred.

One reporter, rather than asking “what did you think of the speech?” asked: “Don’t you think he is missing his opportunities by not having more red meat in his speech?”

The man the reporter was talking to, an actual voter from New Hampshire, said that he thought the speech was just fine and, further, while he hadn’t made up his mind, he was now leaning toward Fred.

Unable to stop myself, I dove into the conversation.

“First,” I said to the reporter, “you are requiring Thomson to reach a standard which (a) you, not this man, set and (b) doesn’t make any sense in the first place.”

“Look at all the people who waited through the storm to see him,” I said waiting until he actually turned around to look. “And they’re STILL here,” I said noting how many were swarming around Fred.

“You guys complain (I didn’t actually say “complain” but this is a family blog) about candidates who speak in sound bites and bumper strips. Then when a candidate comes and gives you 20 minutes of substance you tell me you’re looking for someone wearing a red nose and clown hair.”

“You can’t have it both ways.”

I doubt that I made that reporter throw away his “Hillary for President” card, but he agreed with me.

I was hoping for a headline in the Sunday Portsmouth paper which read: “Thompson Takes NH by Storm” but while the story was a fair representation, the headline didn’t reach my standard.

Rich

Senior Advisor

Dear Mr. Mullings:

We can’t help noticing that you have titled yourself a “Senior Advisor” on the campaign of Fred Thompson.

Just what does a “Senior Advisor” do? And how is that different from the responsibilities of a “Regular Advisor?”

Signed,
The American Human Relations Association

First of all, in Your Nation’s Capital there are only Senior Advisors. There is no such thing as a regular advisor and certainly not any junior advisors so the adjective senior in Senior Advisor is, at best, superfluous.

Superfluous?

That’s the way we Senior Advisors talk. Else how would anyone know we were smart enough to carry the title?

Anyway, when I was hired as a Senior Advisor I thought, as I’m sure you do, that it meant I was a person with high status within the campaign whose job it was to give advice to the campaign.

I soon found out I had misinterpreted the duties. In fact, given my advanced age, the term was not pronounced “Senior ADVISOR,” but rather “SENIOR Advisor” meaning I was supposed to be giving the campaign advice on how to deal with other seniors.

Enough, already, with the yucks. Do you have a job or not?

Yes, I do. And it’s pretty darned important, too. Why, just last night in Portsmouth, New Hampshire (where Sen. Thompson was speaking to the county GOP Women’s annual Chili Cookoff) it was drizzling and I was given the task of getting my collapsible umbrella out of my suitcase which was in the belly of the bus and have it at the ready in case it started to rain really hard.

Seriously, my job is more-or-less Advisor Without Portfolio.

I have some experience in the area of messaging and dealing with the press, so being out on the road with Sen. Thompson allows me to hang out with the political reporters covering the campaign and find out first hand what’s going on in that important quarter.

I also have some understanding of politics in general so, again, traveling with allows me to chat with the local folks and get sense of where things are, unimpeded by the filter of the Popular Press.

Finally, I have been in and around enough large-scale campaigns to have developed this rule:

Most campaigns spend more time, effort and energy on internal struggles then they do trying to confound and defeat their opponents.

If you can avoid that, you will usually win.

With that in mind, I will try to keep any minor squabbles from turning into serious feuds although with a campaign only three days old, this is not a problem.

So, as Senior Advisor, that’s what I do.

Rich

In Davenport

NOTE: Remember, please, that I am a paid consultant to the campaign of Senator Fred Thompson.

Sen. Thompson is speaking at an outdoor park in Davenport, Iowa overlooking the Mississippi River into Illinois. There are about 300 people here many of whom, as elsewhere on this trip, have brought their children or grandchildren.

This is going to sound silly, but even reporters are beginning – however grudgingly – to feel that something is going on here.

Even in a “normal” Presidential election cycle, Iowans grow fatigued at the pretend-hoopla that advance staffs try to generate at these kinds of stops. In the 2008 Presidential cycle, when candidates have been visiting cornfields and hog farms since November of 2006, Iowans have a right to demand limos and full catering just to show up.

When reporters have asked about whether it is too late to be entering the race, I have pointed out that our crowds have been bigger than we had planned for. Perhaps it is because they have been watching the other candidates (more-or-less constantly) for more than a year and Fred is the new guy on the stump.

But perhaps it is because although they have often seen the others, Iowans are still looking for the one candidate that excites them. And, perhaps, Fred Thompson is that candidate.

It is a little warmer here today than it has been over the past few; and the sun takes its toll on a young girl and an elderly man. Fred noticed the girl and stopped his remarks to make certain she was being attended to.

When the elderly gentleman went down, it was out of his line-of-sight, so I went up behind him and said that someone else had fainted and perhaps we should cut this a little short.

He nodded and asked the audience to be mindful of the sun and to move back under a large shade tree which sat to the left rear of the park.

Both were taken to our bus which had the air conditioning running. The girl bounced back pretty quickly, but the man, although conscious and talking, was a little slower to respond so an ambulance was requested.

In short order EMTs from the Davenport Fire Department rolled up followed by the ambulance.

Because there was a good deal of activity on our bus, we moved the “meet ‘n’ greet” phase of the event under the fairly large gazebo to give the EMTs time to do their stuff.

Fred made his way onto to the bus to check on the gentleman who came down the steps and was placed in the hands of the ambulance crew.

I suspect that of the 300 people that were there, maybe 10% knew of the drama taking place on the other side of the press bus, but I thought you might be interested to see the kinds of things which can happen – even in the best-planned events.

In Sioux City, the other day, toward the end of Fred’s remarks, his daughter, Hayden, who is just shy of four, walked out onto the stage and hugged her dad’s leg. The crowd cheered and Hayden smiled – not because the crowd was cheering, but because she was in contact with her father.

Since then I have become a feature of these events: When it is time for Fred to end the Q & A segment, I stand stage left and signal him. He normally ignores me for an additional question or two but now has begun telling the story of his just-shy-of-four-year-old-daughter in Sioux City coming out on stage to tell him he had talked long enough.

Then he points to me and says something like: I have had to trade my beautiful four-year-old daughter for that 64-year-old man (Lies. All Lies) who tells me when it’s time to stop.

Just another sign of a campaign which is having a good time because it has gotten off to a great start.

Rich

My Guy Jay

So, the Tonight Show with Jay Leno. Oh, you mean you’ve never been? Back stage? Let me share:

Cool, huh?

Senator Fred Thompson (to whose campaign I am a Senior Advisor) was a guest on the show Tuesday night and I got to tag along.

Well, here’s how it works: You pull up at the gate and there are a bunch of reporters, photographers and videographers waiting. You are waved through by a guard but the reporters have to stand outside because, notwithstanding rumors to the contrary, NBC is private property and they prefer to have non-NBC crews wait outside.

SIDEBAR:

You can see this at work every Sunday in Washington. Each of the major Sunday shows draws a small crowd of reporters who wait for the guests to come out, stand in front of a spray of microphones, and answer questions from reporters who represent other networks and newspapers.

The reporters can’t go inside the rival outfit’s studio, so they wait until the guest comes out.

END SIDEBAR

A few reporters, photographers and videographers had been let in and they got excellent shots and footage of Sen. Thompson, his wife Jeri and their two children getting out of the car. Why reporters think the 187th version of this is going to be any more newsworthy than the 75th version is beyond me, but there they were.

A greeter … greets you, and you are led to your dressing room. In news operations like Fox or CNN, there is one green room for all. At an entertainment show you get your own dressing room.

There was a bottle of white wine, some beer, soft drinks, candy and salty snack foods available. I limited myself to some M&Ms. I wasn’t certain how carefully they searched the staff of guests on the way out so I didn’t steal the wine.

I knew that Travis Tritt was the musical guest. I had traded e-mails with his manager so I went upstairs to his dressing room to introduce myself.

Memo to NBC: Travis Tritt’s dressing room was bigger than Fred Thompson’s. Travis Tritt will not be President of the United States. Understand what I’m saying?

The truth is Mr. Tritt is a terrific guy. He is from Newt Gingrich’s old Congressional District and we had met before. I mentioned that and he pretended to remember me.

I asked if I could bring Sen. Thompson up to visit and he enthusiastically agreed.
Mr. Tritt has a new CD a copy of which he autographed and gave to Sen. Thompson. At my very excellent suggestion they both signed another copy to be given to Jay Leno later.

Here’s a photo of Thompson and Tritt



Back down in our (smaller) dressing room, Jay Leno and his producer came in to chat about the monologue and the two segments in which Thompson would be participating.

They actually go over the questions Jay (I think it’s ok to call him Jay now that we’ve spent 1.7352 minutes together) is going to ask during the appearance.

The producer, Dave Berg, is one of those people who spends 20 minutes a night, five nights a week, with people … like me.

Let’s do this. Let’s don’t do that. Can we swap this with that? How about if we didn’t do this, but did that, instead? When do you want my boss in make up?

You understand. Dave Berg is a hero. He puts up with people like me each and every workday and never, ever, changes his expression.

It’s a religious thing, I think.

Anyway after the monologue and about 2⅓ hours later, it was Sen. Thompson’s turn and he nailed it.

After the appearance, Mr. Leno came in to thank Sen. Thompson and invite him bck any time and to, I think, make nice with me because he knows if he messes with me he’ll never have lunch in Olde Town Alexandria, VA again, buddy.

Seriously, though. Everyone was very nice and very understanding. I told each of them to let me know if I could ever do anything for any of them.
Then I decided, what the hell, and took the wine.

What You Don't See in a Holiday Inn Express

The Realtors' event at which I spoke in NYC was held at the St. Regis on 5th Avenue. For a while I couldn't find the TV. Then ... this:

Click Here

This is my new MINIMUM standard for hotel amenities.

Rich

Off on the Thompson Tour

NOTE: I am a paid advisor to the Fred Thompson campaign. Please read the stuff which follows over the next few weeks with that in mind and as a filter.

I am in New York City having spoken to a group of senior officials with the National Association of Realtors.

At 0h-dark-thirty on Wednesday morning I am catching a flight from JFK to LAX to join up with Fred Thompson for his appearance on the Tonight Show with Jay Leno.

I assume many of you have been backstage for the Tonight show - either with Leno or Carson or Paar or Steve Allen but for I am very excited about this.

I assume Jay - I think I can call him "Jay" - will want me to join in on the couch for a little chat about how I'm doing and what I think about this 'n that, but in deference to Sen. Thompson, I will respectfully decline.

It's just the kind of person I am.

I'm kidding about all that, of course, but not about going to NBC to be with Sen. Thompson on the Tonight Show.

More from Burbank tomorrow night.

Welcome to Post-August

I have a great idea. August should be cancelled. We should have only 11 months and add 2.82 days per month to each to keep the year at 365 (and small change) days per year.

The MULLBLOG will crank back up now that we're into September - including inside, backstage, big-time Presidential candidate campaign stuff.

Check back often. I promise there will be new stuff every day.

Rich