Dear Diary:
The email came mid-day Tuesday. I arose from the coach which was providing suitable comfort for a mid-afternoon nap. Looking over the back of said piece of furniture, I noticed I had a new message in my Gmail browser. The message was via my “Contact Form” feature in the upper-left corner of the blog. The message had arrived eight minutes earlier. A producer from WHYY’s “Delaware Tonight” asked if I’d be interested in appearing on a panel discussion on Friday evening. Being the media whore that I am, I phoned this producer and offered an emphatic “Yes!”
Producer informed me there’d be two other guests along with the host. I wondered who these guests would be. I didn’t want to ask for fear of being rebuffed (Yeah, right. When is your fearless blogger ever afraid?) She informed me she’d call me on Thursday to complete a pre-interview.
Thursday arrived and I awaited her phone call anxiously. She asked me several questions, most wondering why I am the way I am and why I’m such a wonderful person. OK, not really. Questions on her mind revolved around the legitimacy of bloggers and the medium as a whole. Did I see myself as influential? (”Umm…no”) Is the language I use a good thing? (”Ummm…yes”) Do you see blogs as having an effect on the political process? (”Umm…maybe”) After asking, she confirmed I would have to dress respectably. For me this means ensuring no stains on my shirt and properly combed hair. It also means I’d have to whip out my five-year-old suit. Ugh. In the past five years I’ve gained and lost 50 pounds. Lately it seems that 50 pounds has fallen on the “gained” side. I was not looking forward to Friday.
I took the dreaded suit out of its nice-and-neat plastic wrapping from the dry cleaners. I think I last wore this thing to a funeral or a job interview several years ago. I’m so friggin’ huge I didn’t know if I’d be able to fit only one leg into the pair of pants! Alas, it wasn’t the pants I had to worry about. They fit fine. It was the garish yellow shirt that was about two sizes too small and that hideous jacket that wouldn’t button that turned out to cause me worries. I was busting at the seams. My man-boobies were ready to pounce at any moment and I wondered if a quick Saran Wrap-wrap would do the trick. I took off my undershirt, rushed downstairs and got out the plastic stuff. I immediately began a wrap of my man-bosoms I left this on for all of five minutes; I soon found out I was sweating so profusely that I was beginning to marinate in the wet nastiness forming around my torso. I wanted to go back to the kitchen, grab the turkey baster and suck up all the salty juiciness. The Saran Wrap had to go. And it did.
I made do with two too-tight undershirts to help compress my man-titties. Though compression was achieved for the most part, my feelings about stepping outside into the oppressive heat in a car with no air conditioning made for little relief. The time: 4:30. I was to be in studio no later than 5:15. I quickly and carelessly put on my tie and decided to sit down so I could cool off just a bit. A big man exerting lots of energy in short periods of time is a recipe for disaster. The only recipe I could think of, though, was the bowl of avocado, mango, and crabmeat to be topped on a crunchy piece of Belgian endive. Leftovers from dinner the other night. I dug in. Dammit, Michael. Don’t you know you’re not supposed to eat like a pig before going on live television? Gas invariably builds up and you’ll be forced to either emit it from the attic (mouth) or the basement (ass).
After my light snack, I sat down for five minutes. Queen of the Den, my mother, comes home and wishes me luck. Says I look ridiculous in my too-tight suit. I tell her I’m a sexy stud and that the only opinion that matters is Christine O’Donnell’s. I make the 10-minutes drive to the studio. No wrong turns here; my sister interned at the station two summers ago and I routinely had to drop her off and pick her up. I entered the secret code to the underground parking lot and drove on into the unknown. Walking into the lobby, I regretted the last minute snack as I began feeling a bit of indigestion. I should have brought Tums. Or some club soda. Or an anvil.
Before entering the studio, I noticed a kind face: Shirley Vandever, she of Delaware Curmudgeon, one of my favorite daily reads. She’d brought her “old man,” as she puts it. We engaged in some light banter before Shirley finally told me who would be appearing with us. Yes, none other than Dave Burris, formerly of DelawarePolitics.net, was to appear with us to debate the host of issues presented. I couldn’t contain my surprise. I had no clue who would be appearing with us and I think Shirley was surprised by my shocked reaction. I immediately got excited. Not excited like the first time I shook Christine O’Donnell’s hand, but excited knowing I would finally see Dave face-to-face.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be. We were first told that the third guest would be appearing via satellite from their Dover bureau. A few minutes later we were told Burris wouldn’t actually be appearing because of other “plans.” David Anderson would be apeparing in his stead. I wonder if Burris found out I was appearing and decided to back out. Something tells me that a guy who loves having the limelight shone in his direction wouldn’t cancel merely because of other plans.
The trio in the white “green room” continued its discussion and were eventually joined by host Tom Byrne. Briefly briefed on the program, we were told the big point of discussion will be the Bluewater Wind deal. As soon as Byrne uttered those words, I said to myself: “Why the hell am I here?” They couldn’t get Tom Noyes for this? I mean, I’m fucking good. But not THAT good. After Byrne’s briefing, a tech entered with two ear sets for me and Shirley. Both of us were a bit reluctant as foreign objects entering aren’t preferred by either. We lovingly obliged and were fitted with ear pieces so we’d be able to hear David Anderson via the satellite feed.
Five minutes later we were escorted into a studio no larger than my basement. The studio was cool — maybe 60 degrees — and I was, all the sudden, quite a bit more comfortable. My sweaty sheen had evaporated from my forehead and I was ready to talk. Lardass sat next to host Byrne and Shirley sat to the left of lardass. I was ready for this. Yeah, ready for it to be over! The hot lights shone in front of us and I began to fear my now-cool exterior would betray me.
Soon enough the segment began. And then the segment ended and we were thanked and whisked back out to the “green” room. And that was that. I gave Shirley and other half a wave good bye and began to get into my truck. The storm having subsided and the temperature having cooled just a bit, I was a bit more comfortable leaving than I was entering. Then the phone rang: “Good job, but we have to go get you another suit,” proclaimed one cousin who was watching with his girlfriend on his, like, 10-foot screen projected on his wall. Next call was from mother of said cousin, my aunt, who said I should burn the suit as well. Then, a call from another cousin who said the suit couldn’t wait and that it must immediately be sacrificed to the blog gods.
All commended my appearance. One of them even asked me what the word “ancillary” meant and informed me I’m “too smart.” One cousin informed me he would have enjoyed it better if he actually knew what I was talking about. Ahh, I suppose ignorance is indeed bliss. And I am, indeed, tired.
Enough of this lengthy screed. Enjoy your day!
Posted by Mike Matthews in Personal