I just happened to be at Barnes & Noble this evening — just browsing; my boycott continues — and coincidentally, Moby was there discussing his latest album and book and also signing stuff. I got there maybe half an hour before Moby did, and the whole B&N special guest discussion area was velvet-roped off, like Lizzie Grubman was gonna be showing up. There were like six or seven security guards, for what turned out to be a relatively small crowd, and they weren't letting anyone past the ropes who didn't have an orange wristband and a VIP badge around their neck.

I was infuriated. I was raised to believe that I was a very important person — or maybe that was "very special person" — yet here I am standing outside the ropes. Some of the folks there, I could tell how they got their special entrance pass. For example, there were like six people standing in the front who I guess worked for those piddling local magazines or maybe the Barnes & Noble corporate newsletter. They each had one of those professional cameras with the humongous flash and giant, phallic lens, and they were all taking pictures of each other and of the empty stage before Moby arrived. But other supposedly very important people just seemed like your average schlubs, albeit average schlubs with cell phones glued to their ears.

In protest, I refused to listen to any Moby songs, should the shuffle feature on my iPod choose to play one. It didn't.

When I take my rightful place as world dictator, we'll all live in an egalitarian utopia. Well, of course, I would be at the top of our non-existant caste system, but only because I'm the world dictator and, frankly, I deserve it for having to put up with indignities like this. And I guess my friends and family would be next in the pecking order. But that's it. Everyone else is equal.

Maybe we should give Mitchell Hurwitz bonus points for bringing joy and laughter to millions (okay, hundreds). But that's it. Everyone else is equal.