Yeah. I’m THE Janiel Miller.

So, I just did an infomercial. That’s right. I’m famous. At least to the camera-man and the key-grip and the best-boy. (See, I know all these terms now because I just did an infomercial.)

I sat. I stood. I looked peaceful. I gestured to the product. I washed peaches. (Peaches were relevant.) I changed clothes. A lot. I shoved my gum to the side of my mouth every time the director said “Action!” so I would still be minty-fresh after the take. Takes. Millions of takes. I wandered around, played the piano, looked at the house-owner-whose-home-we-were-filming-at’s dog. (A Golden Poodoodle. See? Now if I had never accepted this job I would never have heard of a Golden Poodoodle. In fact, I would probably still be under the impression that a Golden Poodoodle is something found in a baby’s diaper after said baby has broken into the pantry and consumed 18 bottles of peaches.) (I told you peaches were relevant.)

And I waited. A lot. Made small-talk. A lot. It turns out that filming involves a whole lot of waiting and making of small-talk. But I didn’t mind. Because I was on my way to famous.

Okay, who am I kidding? Where the heck was the AUDIENCE? The applause? The laughter? Where was the smell of popcorn, the hush of anticipation as the lights dimmed and the curtain rose? Where was the smell of the greasepaint and the roar of the crowd? Where was the stinkin’ PAPARAZZI?

Psh. Next time I want to be famous I’m going to do what everyone else does.

I’m going to write a book.