Homeward Bound Part I: The Ol' Meet and Greet
Early Sunday afternoon I stepped off the plane in Omaha, and was predictably hounded by the press. As a noted cultural gadabout and raconteur, I'm often sought out as a reference in matters of whatnot and who-wants-to-know.
The day's topic: the recent upgrade of the terror alert system to orange and the effects it has on holiday travelers. An attractive reporter wearing a cement-mixerful of makeup wired me up to a lapel mic, stood me next to the baggage smasher, and lobbed the usual, "Did the alert change your holiday plans?" queries at me.
I work in PR, and one of the tricks I've picked up is to have a few bullet points ready to go for use during an interview, thereby advancing my own selfish agenda. Such as: "Well, truthfully I really haven't had time to think about it much, since I've been so focused on the new Spacebar record, scheduled to drop in Spring 2004."
Perhaps it was the excitement of seeing my family, which happens only once or twice a year, or possibly I took too much cold medicine. But something caused me to drop the ball. Upon viewing the story that night I saw an unshaven guy with big hair wearing what appeared to be a Civil War jacket muttering some whosewhich about the average person not knowing what the hell the terror color wheel meant. I looked like some zonked-out 60's radical. It was fantastic.
Frankly, the whole thing smacked of a slow news day. It was too soon for the annual "It's Christmas at the Homeless Shelter" bit, but the camera crews were still at the airport for their token "Home for the Holidays" piece, so this is what we get.
My only regret: I didn't say, "If William Ferris doesn't make it home for Christmas, that means the terrorists win!" That's right, me in Nebraska means the good guys win. You're welcome, America.
The day's topic: the recent upgrade of the terror alert system to orange and the effects it has on holiday travelers. An attractive reporter wearing a cement-mixerful of makeup wired me up to a lapel mic, stood me next to the baggage smasher, and lobbed the usual, "Did the alert change your holiday plans?" queries at me.
I work in PR, and one of the tricks I've picked up is to have a few bullet points ready to go for use during an interview, thereby advancing my own selfish agenda. Such as: "Well, truthfully I really haven't had time to think about it much, since I've been so focused on the new Spacebar record, scheduled to drop in Spring 2004."
Perhaps it was the excitement of seeing my family, which happens only once or twice a year, or possibly I took too much cold medicine. But something caused me to drop the ball. Upon viewing the story that night I saw an unshaven guy with big hair wearing what appeared to be a Civil War jacket muttering some whosewhich about the average person not knowing what the hell the terror color wheel meant. I looked like some zonked-out 60's radical. It was fantastic.
Frankly, the whole thing smacked of a slow news day. It was too soon for the annual "It's Christmas at the Homeless Shelter" bit, but the camera crews were still at the airport for their token "Home for the Holidays" piece, so this is what we get.
My only regret: I didn't say, "If William Ferris doesn't make it home for Christmas, that means the terrorists win!" That's right, me in Nebraska means the good guys win. You're welcome, America.