Have Mullet, Will Travel

I was foraging through the Viewfinder BLUES studios earlier when I actually found something to blog about: my inaugural Media ID. I remember the day my very first news director pulled me aside and told me with a gruff I'd be covering the Presidential visit to Eastern Carolina. "K-e-w-l", I thought, envisioning a one-on-one sit down with George Herbert Walker Bush. Little did I know then I'd be sucking tarmac fumes while Air Force One taxied to a stop a half mile away. No, as I sauntered down the hall to get my photo taken, I conjured up small talk for the Prez and I to share while the Secret Service guys yammered into their cufflinks.

"Get my good side," I told the production manager as she fumbled with her Polaroid, "this one's for Herbert." The manager rolled her eyes and lined up the shot while I gave her camera my best thousand yard stare. The next day, I picked up my shiny new I.D. and admired it all the way to my afternoon ribbon-cutting. I'd arrived, I decided. No longer some nameless studio schlub, I was an official member of the Fourth Estate, a swaggering interloper welcomed at crime scenes and fancy ballrooms, as long as I flashed that most prized possession from my velcro wallet. Strangely, the fact that I looked like a roadie from a .38 Special cover band didn't seem to bother me. Since then however, my kids have more than made up for it with their own special brand of shame.

Can't say I blame them...