Blog

Condoleezza Rice made a grand appearance at our little hell hole Friday afternoon. I refused to believe it, even when the secret service was sweeping through the place, making us move our cars out of the parking lot, and creating their "lists" of people who were "allowed" to be "on the floor" during the interview.

I think my executive producer took great glee in telling the people "No, you can't come to the newsroom during the interview, you're not on the list." "I'm sorry, the studio is off limits to anyone who's not on our list." "Oh, if you want to hang out in studio control, I'm afraid you're going to have to clear it with secret service -- they have a list."

If it wasn't men with lists, it was women in the newsroom drooling over semi-attractive "agents" who were "securing the building."

Them: "Is that a gun? Does he have a gun on his belt?"

Me: "Uhm... no. I think that's a pager."

Them: "But where are their guns? Don't they need guns?"

Me: "I'm going to go ahead and guess that the gun is that gun-shaped object -- you know, that's in the holster under his arm?"

About two questions in to our interview, her "handler" insisted we rearrange the set, and put her on the opposite side of where she was sitting: "Because her hair was sort of in her face."

Now, just like Jennifer, I get my very own Peons. Interviews start tomorrow.

I will be asking my prospective peons such questions as:

"Do you like my shirt?"

"How often can you handle having things thrown at you in jest?"

"I like to yell a lot. How does that make you feel?"

"My biceps are buff, no?"