Live Television

I’m a writer. I can be funny/witty/insightful when I write, but in real life, I’m just awkward. So when I was asked to be on a local television show, I agreed. What I should have done was run very fast, very far away.

I’m not going to post the video of the event here. I hope a video of the event doesn’t exist. What I will do is document my thought process of the entire four minute segment. This is more for me than for you. I want to remind myself never to do this again.

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My name is Marion Jensen. I wrote a book. I wrote that book right there on the coffee table. The one the hosts want to talk about. This will be easy. Just act natural. Act cool. You’re not cool, but you can act cool. Wait . . . are we already live? Why didn’t anybody tell me? Maybe they did tell me but I was too busying thinking that I’m cool. Or not that I am cool, but that I can act cool. See Marion? This is why you’re not cool.

Crap. I have no idea what is going on. When do I talk? What am I supposed to be saying? Are the hosts talking? Are they talking to me or to the camera? I see their lips moving, but I don’t understand any of the words. What language is that? Do they want me to talk in that same language? I don’t know that language. Why are those cameras so close?

I wonder if there is time to start a fire before it’s my turn to talk? If a fire started, I wouldn’t have to talk, right? I mean, they can’t expect me to talk when there is a fire burning. We’d all just get up and run away. I can run away. I’m good at running. A fire would be nice. A fire would be great. Then I wouldn’t have to talk. I’d just have to run. You know . . . that couch looks flammable. I bet I could . . . oh oh. They stopped talking. They’re looking at me. I think this is where I talk. No big deal. I can say something. Just act cool.

“Huuurrrrrhhg”

Oh fetch. I hope that came out better than I think it did. Because I don’t think that came out very well. It sounded like I just said, “huurrrrrhg.” And that doesn’t make a lot of sense. Unless huurrrrrhhg means something in that strange language they are speaking. Also, I think I spit when I said the rrrrrrhhg part. I think I have a big piece of spittle down the front of my shirt. Oh crap, it’s my black shirt. My black shirt always shows off my beard dandruff really bad. Beard dandruff. That’s just embarrassing. I mean it’s something everybody deals with, so I shouldn’t feel bad, but . . . wait, that’s silly. Not everybody deals with it. Women and children and men without beards don’t deal with it. That’s like . . . most of the population. Nobody will understand beard dandruff. And now I have spittle AND beard dandruff on the front of my shirt. On live TV. But I can’t look down. Can you look down at your shirt on live TV? I don’t think you can look down at your shirt on live TV. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anybody look down at their shirt on live TV. I hate beard dandruff. You can’t say anything nice about it. Although there was that one time when my friends and I wanted to write an opera called, Beard Dandruff: The Musical. That was funny. I wonder if I should mention that to the hosts? Would they think that’s funny? I should be funny. My books are supposed to be funny, so I should be funny.

“Beard Dandruff: The Musical.”

Oh double fetch. I don’t think they had asked me a question yet. I think I just interrupted them. And I didn’t even say anything coherent. I just said, “Beard Dandruff: The Musical.” That doesn’t make sense without any context. It’s just stupid without any context. This is why I’m not cool. This and the beard dandruff. And the spittle. I don’t think even my cool suspenders can save me now. Maybe I should hook my thumbs behind my suspenders. That might save me, right? Everybody looks cool when they hook their thumbs behind their suspenders.

No. That didn’t help. You can’t hook your thumbs behind your suspenders when sitting down. That’s like rule number one. All is lost. Nothing left to do. Nothing.

Except to burn the couch.