Okay, this entry is mainly for Melissa, the only person outside of Angola who has not seen the hours and hours of commercials for the new reality show Joe Millionaire.

This is a cheap copy (look at the shortage of camera angles) of The Bachelor, wherein a large number of eligible young females are presented to a wealthy bachelor, and then whittled down by his choices until there is only one left. Presumably to accept a marriage proposal, or at least hope of a long-term relationship.

Only in Joe, the "50-times millionaire" bachelor is a fraud. He is in fact, a $19,000 a year dirt worker from California. Something the 20 women are supposed to discover at the very end (promos suggest he can't carry through with the charade, actually liking some of the women, and blurts the truth out on Monday's show).

The point is to bring the worst out in these women, the "gold-digger" personalities. And they found a few. The intentionally created conflicts, like providing only 20 dresses for 20 women for the introductory ball, only further bring out the worst in human nature.

But you do figure out real fast who you like and who you don't. The dilemma is again, do you want any of the women you like to win? And find out they have a nice guy with little ambition (to be in construction in California, especially dirt work, and only make $19,000 a year means you're not working many hours). Or would they be better off being rejected, consoling themselves with their pearl and sapphire necklaces, their day in the French countryside (picking grapes in the rain or shoveling out horse stalls), and their trip to Paris?

What I did not expect was to enjoy watching Joe trying to learn how to present himself as a newly sophisticated multi-millionaire with a French estate. Can we say King Ralph? I mean, that is a well-worn, sad comedic theme, but here it is real, and somehow funny again.

Oh, and Lio, Zora is the stright-haired brunette who, while the others chatter on about how they feel, is making the quiet comments about wondering how he feels. The one who cleaned the horse stalls by herself with vigor because she enjoyed it so much. The one who did not immediately look at the sapphire necklace.

The lady with the most class of the bunch. She belongs on a French estate. Or any place where she will be appreciated.

Oh, and Melissa, in your dream, what did the rabbits taste like?

And since I'm using this entry to respond to guestbook requests, I have been meaning to email you about your questions on CWD, and just haven't found the time. But if you missed it, there is a beginning of an explanation here, and a more professional one here.