Face it- You're Not a Newscaster

As I was reading last night I caught a glimpse of my lower right thumb, the meaty part on the back of the hand. A few faded brown spots, mottled like an appaloosa. I’d always loved the spots on those horses or freckles in general. But then examining further, a crepiness- the texture, I looker closer- yes positively lizard-like, like the iguanas that fall from the trees when it gets very cold in Florida. I was taken aback- lizard skin? Yes, it’s bound to happen, the rational part of my brain answered back. Don’t place too much emphasis on your looks- because they too will go.

At one time I wanted to be a television newscaster. At that point I’d been working in newsrooms for years and had done radio pieces. I’d written enough scripts for other people and figured why not me? Nearly everyone in television news wants to be on air at first, whether they admit it or not. When I went into the CNN makeup room, Sheena, the glossy makeup artist from Alabama pulled out a tiny whirling machine in her right hand. It reminded me of being at the dentist, but more fun. Her bubbly personality made you feel good- in the same way hairdressers naturally are- we were on an adventure.

“What’s that?” I asked. “Oh, honey this here is the airbrusher- we will make you even more gorgeous.” I settled back into the comfy makeup chair, completely trusting her. A tiny spray moved across the terrain of my face, tickling and cool. Then the brushes, sponges, eye shadow, liner, gobs of mascara, several shades of dark pinks to make it look like I had more cheekbones I reckon. I nearly dozed off, enjoying more attention than my face had ever received.

Suddenly it was done. “Ta da!” Sheena said. I blinked my eyes open and looked in the mirror. “Wow, you’re good,” I said, removing the plastic cape and tossing it on the chair.
Off I went down the hallway to the studio. I passed a friend in the newsroom- who watched me from her computer screen- I smiled and waved- she had no idea who I was.

Time to sit in front of the camera and read the scripts I had written on the teleprompter. We were making an audition tape to show the higher ups. The lights were hot. My face started to feel like it was melting. I was on the verge of panic and began to take deeper breaths and longer exhales.

Still, it was as if I were a dolphin and my blow hole was blocked. I left the building, walked through the hot parking lot into my car, zapping all the windows down and let the city air rush into my face. I pulled into my driveway and as quickly as possible stepped into the shower, letting hot water run over my face, watching a muddy stream roll down my body unto the brown and white tile floor.

This is not for me, I thought.