I told you I was gonna be on TV. My ESP said so. I thought it was gonna be via the big game show on CBS (and it still COULD–I did make a video, albeit lame), but I got on Channel 8 News here in the D/FW area for ten seconds or more.
Tonight was the “Coffee with the City Council” night here in Canyon Creek, when our homeowners association meets at the country club to hear from the city council. I went tonight, along with probably 150 of my neighbors, because a SOB (Sexually Oriented Business) has brought suit in Federal court to be allowed to locate here in town, and it looks as if we’ll be stuck with them despite legal action. Feh! It’s not on our side of the freeway–it’s over where the original Collins Radio red brick building used to be, where I worked when I got my first job out of college at Rockwell Collins–but hey, it’s not that far away. So of course all the neighbors were livid.
ANYhow, Channel 8 sent a cameraman to cover the meeting. I sat in the front row at first, and the first glimpse you get of me is of my hand (with wedding ring) shielding my eye from the can light that’s pointing down at it. Originally they didn’t have the ceiling fans on, but about ten minutes into the presentation they turned them on. If you have any visual infirmities, you are probably sensitive to the “flashing” effect that the interruption of the downlight by the fan blades gives you. Within about ten more minutes I stood up and moved to the back of the room. I was looking at the map and rehearsing my little spiel that I was going to make when the guy panned the camera across the room. I’m looking down, and my earring–a hoop that’s hanging with pink stones–looks like a red spot on my cheek. And you can’t see my hair, as I have it pulled into a ponytail. But by Zeus, there I am, on camera for a good ten to fifteen seconds! Amazing!
So God says, “All right, your family fell out at the thought of you going to NYC to be on TV. So I have you walk three blocks to the country club, and I send the TV to YOU, and I put you on TV when you don’t even know you are being taped. What more do you want?”
“Lord, I appreciate it! But I wanted to be Steve Allen! Or at least get to sing ‘Danke Schoen’!”
The Channel 8 guy packed up about ten minutes later and left. It was 8:45, and they had to drive all the way down to Victory Park downtown to edit the tape and make the show. I watched the news thinking they’d have very brief coverage, and wow! A fun thing for the day. Something for my resume (not!)
WFAA used to be at Young and Record streets. I was on WFAA twice before, when I was on the National Spelling Bee at the regional level. The first time it was on my birthday and I was speller #1. I would have won, too, but my dad got nervous and as I watched he clutched his chest and faded back and left the room. I panicked, thinking he was dying (he was a heart patient already at that time) and got all rattled and misspelled “pursuant.” I spelled it “PERsuant” [sic]. Hell! Call for time machine! The second year I was in it (at that time, I was at the top of the eligibility age, around 13 or thereabouts–this would have been 1973 or so), I misspelled “affiliated” by doubling the L. That time, I had no excuse . . . I swear I had seen it spelled that way on the TV ads for Buddies, the grocery store, whose jingle went, “Affiliated food stores, helping you at home.” The second time, the staff got me a tape recorder instead of the radio that was the standard gift for all us losers . . . they knew I was there the second year in a row. I still have that cassette recorder, and it still works fine.
Mama watched me on TV. I can’t pry hubby off of WoW to go watch it (I retro-TiVoed the segment. You know you can do that, right? You set up a manual recording that starts right before the segment you want to capture, tell it that it’s OK that the segment is in progress, start the recording, and then just manually stop it after the bit you want to capture is over. Works well.) I think he’s jealous. I begged him to come, but he couldn’t be bothered. Pfau!
Fifteen minutes of fame . . . no, out of my fifteen minutes, I’ve now only used up fifteen seconds. Still time to pimp a few books, if I had the need to.