Stop Believing. Please.

It ain't all sturm and drang at the office. On regular occasion, puerility erupts. Take yesterday, when I rolled in from a shoot only to find the house-cats gettin' their Glee on. Seems a local weather legend is coming to El Ocho and his name is the same of a certain third banana. The promo gang got to thinking and before anyone in the newsroom could duck and cover, it was lights, camera, wise-ass. And while it's hard to write a news story with five of your favorite coworkers butchering Journey at top-lung, it's part of the fabric of life inside a television station. I wouldn't have it any other way. Frankly, some of your workplaces scare me. I visit all kinds, from the toothpaste factory where the staff is wrapped in gauze to the executive secretary's antechamber, where everyone is polite, quiet and clearly miserable. Give me a room full of goofballs any day, a crack squad of trivia buffs and karaoke champs who, when not distilling the travails of an entire region, are more than happy to trade in their dignity for a few seconds of face-time. That, my friends, is what makes America great, which is why you'll find me at full salute each and every time the room goes stupid. These are my people, hear them roar. I just wish I could say they're acting....