wfaa

Well, that was relatively painless. My four minutes (four! they thought three and a half wasn’t enough torture!) of local TV fame went by pretty quickly. My only moment of horror came when I was told I’d be sitting in a big (comfy) chair on the set — I had thought I would be behind a desk — and two terrifying issues came to mind. First, posture started to matter — not my strong suit. Second, I wore crappy, scuffed-up shoes because I thought they’d be hidden to the world, but now they would be exposed to the 19 million people watching Channel 8 at 9:24 a.m.
But it went okay, I thought, except for a single throat-clearing cough about two minutes in. (What kind of superhero medicine do these on-air types take to avoid coughing for hours at a time?) I rambled a bit too much, as I usually do in real life, and I probably looked goofy, but I didn’t make any major gaffes, like saying Eastern Europe is not under Soviet domination or anything. But then again, I didn’t see what TV viewers saw, so maybe there was a big booger hanging out of my nose or something. (Feel free to forward your honest reviews. The only feedback I’ve gotten so far was my boss telling me I looked “poised,” which I think is code for “At least you didn’t break down and sob uncontrollably.”)
Anyway, got to hang out in the green room (which, oddly enough, was off-white) with Mark Cuban, who was on just before me. Think about it: between the two of us, that green room held a net worth of more than $1,400,000,020. (The $20 is mine.) He seems like a nice guy; we even chatted for a bit about the subject of my story today, school fundraising. I’ve always heard lots of second-hand Cuban stories — one of my best friends writes about the Mavs a lot for sports, and the guy who cuts my hair also cuts Steve Nash and Dirk Nowitzki — but it’s always nice to schmooze with the local basketball power structure. (Part of my grand dallasstories.com plan is to get Cuban to write for me.)