THE LONE PUBE PHENOMENON

Alright-
Thursday's post got me to thinking about pubic hair.
Here in New York, it seems that female pubic hair is nearly extinct, what with all the painful, intricate and expensive ways in which women groom their nether regions. You'd think there wasn't a single female pubic hair left in the whole city. Men also seem to be doing quite a bit of pruning. We are truly living in anti-pube times. For several years now it has been a thriving industry, this taming of the bush.
An ex-CNNer friend of mine (you knew I'd work a CNN connection into this post) told me a story about her waxer recently. This strapping woman came to America to escape hardship in Russia, only to find work as a pube waxer. Day in day out, until the work whistle blows, she stares at snatch and removes pubes. Apparently one day she sat down to eat a hard-earned McDonald's hamburger, only to realize there was pubic hair trapped under her fingernails.
Somehow I doubt she's living her American Dream.
Hmm...I seem to have gotten off topic...
This post is ultimately about a phenomenon that continues to haunt me, even in this pube-sparse era:
Have you ever been sitting in a dentist's office, or wandering around a hotel lobby, or buying a wrench at a hardware store and suddenly you spy, in the most unlikely place-THE LONE PUBE?
It's never a cluster. It's just one. You'll lean in closer and rub your eyes. Indeed, you were right, because there it is:
The Lone Pube resting carelessly on an arm rest, next to the jar of mayo on a refrigerator shelf, on the pettle of a tacky silk floral arrangement, in the cupholder of an SUV, mocking you with it's curly, bold pubic-ness.
Much like my dwarfy little legs strutting on a catwalk, The Lone Pube knows it's out of place. But it still commands attention.
Or how about The Permanent Lone Pube? I was on jury duty once, looked down and saw The Lone Pube had been shellacked into the courtroom floor. Just the other day I noticed The Lone Pube had been painted into a wall in my apartment.
Which brings me to my other point:
The Lone Pube sneaks up on you. I've been living in this tiny apartment for 5 years. How did I not notice it?
And how do they travel so far, these Lone Pubes? How do they get from their rightful nest all the way to the top of the coffeemaker? A strong breeze? Telekinesis? Or deliberate placement by unsanitary pranksters?

If anyone has any theories, please pass them along. I've spent far too much time trying to figure this out. I need some concrete answers already. Or, if you spy The Lone Pube that has migrated to a particularly remote region, far away from its usual surroundings, please snap a photo or draw a delightful sketch and e-mail it to vjdutton@gmail.com. It will be posted promptly for all to admire.

P.S. How about the saucy lady in the above black and white photo? No, that's not underwear. That's reason number 803,743 to be grateful that we don't live in the 19th century...

VJ PLEASURES (AND A LONE PUBE)

Check out the "CNN STUDIO A" photo above.
It's from a 1997 Time Warner brochure that contains an article called, "24 Hours In The Life Of CNN". You can see me there in profile, at the crummy, paper-based, duct taped TelePrompter. Note that I have a Prompter Assist, even though this shot was taken during the easiest TelePrompting gig around-CNN Newsroom. I do not think I inspired confidence as a solo act. Also note how we lowly VJs are the only people in the article whose names they did not deem important enough to print.

So as you can see, I've been going through a bunch of old crap. I never seem to get rid of it, just shift it from place to place. I also came across my CNN ID badge. The photograph was taken on my first day as a VJ, and I look so hopeful, so convinced I was going someplace.
That didn't last long.
It was quickly replaced by the look on my face when I ducked behind a rack of clothing at Lennox Mall, tripping and falling on my ass just to avoid contact with an anchor who was so bitchy that I literally trembled and pissed my pants once (just a bit) while TelePrompting for her.

Looking back, I know this was stupid. She would never have recognized a peon like me anyway.

I'm not saying that anchors and other newsroom VIPs have to make nice or bake cookies for the underlings or ask about your dog/husband/baby/new car. I'm just saying you can always tell which ones are confident professionals and which ones aren't by the way they treat the people around them. The shrill, nasty ones are pretty transparent in their insecurity.
The point is, back then I endured my stultifying, sometimes humiliating shift by enjoying the little pleasures in life like:

1.) Being the first person in the bathroom after it was cleaned

2.) When people brought in movies to watch at 2am

3.) When MARTA arrived on time

4.) Turkey Tetrazzini

5.) Daylight savings, when you got paid for an hour that you didn't actually work

6.) Director Earl Maple's jokes crackling through one's headset

7.) Going to the Omni hotel bar with a pal, sitting in one of those cushy, vagina-shaped chairs and having a Bloody Mary

8.) Calling up a friend and telling them to turn on CNN while you walked behind the set

9.) Read-Me flame wars

10.) When someone hit return on BASYS without noting the name, sent you the wrong message and revealed good gossip

UPDATE:
ACK! If you click on the photo above, the enlarged image shows what looks like a lone pubic hair! Very mysterious. It isn't mine. Perhaps it's from 1997...Vintage pube!

ODE TO JOY

It's always interesting to see which types of projects high profile anchors undertake after leaving CNN. (See the "Lynne Russell's Lampshades" link at the right.)
Today, a Peon Confidential reader forwarded me this link: DARYN KAGAN. No unpleasant tales of housefires, mudslides, or missing pets here. Ms. Kagan's website offers up only good news, to remind people of the heart-warming stories happening each and every day.
My favorite story is whimsically titled, "Mr. Right and My Left Kidney".
Enjoy!

UPDATE:
The fine folks at KosFilms saw this post and sent me this link:
DARYN KAGAN DOCUMENTARY

TOUGH TURKEY

First off-good news!
The CNN Blooper Reel has been handed off to someone smarter than me to be transferred onto DVD. It should be back in my stubby fingers (once described as "Yoda-like") in a week, and I'll start uploading all your favorite vintage fuck ups. Standing by for requests...
Secondly, some wacky yet endearing news-
I saw this story on the CNN website and it touched my cold, brittle heart:

WALES TOWNSHIP, Michigan (AP)
"A church was planning a Sunday moment of silence for what the pastor called a model member of his congregation: a wild turkey.
The turkey, which died last week after being hit by a car, regularly attended Sunday services and greeted people as they arrived, said the Rev. James Huff, pastor of Lambs United Methodist Church in St. Clair County.
'He would kind of wait for me to come in,' Huff told the Times Herald of Port Huron. 'He knew when I got there. Service was about to begin, and then he would sit on one lady's car until we were done.'
The animal had been hanging around since late last year and quickly became known for its fearless attitude. Some people said it showed up every morning at the community's bus stop and chased children. Others enjoyed watching the bird strut down the street, trying to impress female turkeys.
'We've got so many pictures of it,' said Douglas Bishop, the church's music director. 'It was like our mascot.'"

A few thoughts on this fierce, God-fearing, lady-killer turkey story:

1.) I had no idea that Michigan was so overrun with turkeys, especially female turkeys just hanging around waiting to be impressed. Now, I know this story did not take place in Detroit, Michigan. However, Detroit is the primary image I have of Michigan. So I think Detroit-native Eminem should rap about these turkeys. Particularly this cock-of-the-walk turkey. The way people described his life has the makings of rap star legend: "fearless attitude", impressed the females, and died a violent death while still young and in his glory.

2.) I hope none of the children he chased at the bus stop were going through puberty. Going through puberty is a painful, embarrassing enough experience without being chased by a turkey on your way to school.

3.) My dad and his friends used to wear tons of gold jewelry, play poker, smoke cigars, tell dirty jokes about Raquel Welch and call each other "fuckin' turkey". As in:

-"Did you hear the one about Raquel Welch on a lifeboat with The Pope?"
-"You told me that one last week you fuckin' turkey!"

This has nothing to do with the story, of course. Just thought I'd ressurrect that linguistic chestnut in honor of this kick ass turkey.
Rest In Peace, you fuckin' turkey.

MAMA D'S ARTS BORDELLO: SIN WITH A FINN

Mama D's is back and it's dirtier, boozier and sleazier than before. This time we're celebrating St. Urho, the fearless Finn who drove the grasshoppers out of the vineyards that produce the famed [sic] Finnish wine... We've got a hot line-up of performers: David Silverman will spin a tale of restless nights in Prague. Mike Maloney will serve up some foot-stompin' drinking songs. Pete Olson will wax scatalogical. Daniel Figueroa will screen his film "Bike Rider", a Hasselhoff-inspired romp about a man and his crime fighting bicycle. Mama D will impersonate a drunken Bahamian. And Mary Crowley will soothe your soul with her sexy melodies. So on March 15th, come raise a glass and say "kipis" (cheers) to St. Urho and enjoy a fine night of entertainment.

DATE: March 15th, 2007
(This is the Eve of St. Urho's Day, which is the Eve of St. Patrick's Day--by design! We Finns wanted a head start on the boozing.)
TIME: 8:30 pm
PLACE: Jimmy's No. 43 (Backroom)

NEWSFLASH: BARTELSTEIN BOOTED

It's official:
After a rocky stint at WABC, anchor Steve Bartelstein (a one-time CNN sportscaster) has been given the sack.
Avid readers of Page Six or Gawker could tell you that his time at Channel 7 appears to have been marred by chronic tardiness and accusations of lewd behavior. The rumor is that WABC overlooked these problems because of his popularity with TV audiences.
But apparently, he recently missed a cut-in and finally managed to piss off the wrong person.

Bye Steve.

CIA MIRACLE

Since I'm a person who is fascinated by happenstance and connections in life; links, threads, and situations beyond mere coincidence, a friend sent me this story that she found on the CNN website:

"A college ring lost more than 20 years ago by a former undercover officer for the CIA has been found in an underwater cave off the coast of Africa.
Steve Ruic, a writer on staff at Notre Dame College, received an e-mail about two weeks ago from a professional diver from Germany. Wilfried Thiesen wrote that he had found a class ring bearing the college's name while diving off Mauritius.
The ring was engraved with the year '76. The ring was missing the thin portion on the underside that ordinarily carries its owner's name.
Ruic publicized the discovery in both an e-mail to college staff and a newsletter to alumni, but no one came forward to claim it.
Then, while interviewing a member of the class of 1976 for an unrelated alumni magazine story, Ruic asked Dr. Maryellen Amato Stratmann if she'd ever been to Mauritius.
"I couldn't believe it," Ruic said. "She said, 'No, but Clare Cavoli Lopez has."'
Lopez, a 1976 Notre Dame College graduate and former CIA undercover officer, was stationed at Port Louis, Mauritius, from 1983 to 1985. During a dive, the ring slipped from her finger.
Ruic sent Thiesen's address to Lopez. She has exchanged e-mails with Thiesen, she said Monday, and they're arranging for him to mail it."

Now consider all the elements in this tale:
The diver had to be diving in that particular area, possibly on that particular day. The diver had to be bored or kind enough to contact the school. Steve Ruic had to interview that particular person, Dr. Maryellen Amato Stratmann, who happened to know Clare Cavoli Lopez and remember that she was stationed in Mauritius over 20 years ago.

But also consider this:
Look at the picture, imagining all it took to reunite the ring with its rightful owner.
The perfect timing and alignment of events and people.
Look at it some more...

The truth is, that damn ring is hideous.

BROKEN LOTTERY DREAMS

So I, along with millions of other losers did not choose the winning lottery numbers for the MEGA MILLIONS jackpot.
But I, along with several other co-workers, did have a rather lengthy list of ways in which we planned on spending the dough. Here's a list of things that we will NOT be doing now:

1.) Being the first Mexican/Egyptian in space.
2.) Building a special glow-in-the-dark laboratory just for "volcanic experiments".
3.) Driving around different Lamborginis (referred to as "Lambos") each day of the week.
4.) Being photographed with "bangin' babes who just want me for my money".
5.) Inventing "weird shit" like "a fart-powered zamboni".
6.) Buying an elephant.
7.) Employing an elephant keeper to clean up the shit.
8.) Employing a HOT elephant keeper with big tits to clean up the shit.
9.) Having a vodka named after oneself.
10.) Buying up a large portion of Wyoming and building a "massive fuckin' mansion...and a 1,000 foot swimming pool suspended in air...with bangin' babes swimming in it."

There's always next time, folks.

SOLO MILE HIGH CLUB

I just read this story on the wires last night, and I believe it should be examined:

"An off-duty Northwest Airlines employee was arrested after a woman on a flight from Seattle complained that the man had ejaculated on her.
The FBI identified the man as Samuel Oscar Gonzalez, 20, of Lakewood, Wash. He was charged in federal court with simple assault, a misdemeanor.
It happened on the redeye Monday morning from Seattle to Minneapolis. The woman was headed back to college.
Near the end of the flight, the FBI said Gonzalez sat next to the woman as she was trying to sleep. He touched her, which she described as spooning, lifted her shirt and then got up and left. Court documents said she felt a warm fluid on her back, clothes and seat after he walked away. She told the officers he had ejaculated on her."

Here are some thoughts on this issue:

1.) This is exactly why all those airline budget cuts are so damaging. These airlines are so cheap now I bet there wasn't a single moist towlette to be found on the whole plane. She'd be better off if she were ejaculated on at a KFC.

2.) I'm from Washington State. We've really produced some winners: Ted Bundy, that tacky band Heart and now this mad ejaculator.

3.) How long did the spooning go on before ejaculation? Or had Mr. Gonzalez been in the bathroom for a while, engaged in the solo mile high club, then ran out to find the nearest female to ejaculate on her?

4.) With all the aforementioned budget cuts, will they wash the blanket?
Or, with all the budget cuts, did she even have a blanket?
What are the odds that the blanket I get next time I fly will be speckled with cum? Do we all have to start carrying around CSI cum-detecting goggles? I hope not. Those overhead bins are already too full.

5.) The FBI was called in on this? The FBI? Is there a special ejaculate division that I didn't know about, or is the war on terror going so well that they all have extra time on their hands? I lost an earring yesterday. Will they help me out with that too?

BIG SCREEN LEAP

So there I was, munching on popcorn, watching "Zodiac" at my local cinema. (Robert Downey Jr. was fantastic as always.)
But at a pivotal point in the film, I missed out on what was being said.
Why?
Because crucial information about the Zodiac homicide case was being delivered by none other than ex-CNN sportscaster Barry LeBrock, sporting a 70's mustache. At least, I'm pretty certain it was him. The only other person that looks like him is Jason Hervey a.k.a "Wayne" from "The Wonder Years" and a quick check on IMDB tells me that Jason Hervey is now married to a former porn star and his last claim to fame was a voice-over for the Justice League cartoon.

Anyway, Barry was playing a newscaster, and seeing his mustachioed face beaming from the retro TV set was hilarious. Or rather, my friend sitting with me, a CNN veteran, pointing at the screen and shouting "LE COCK! LE COCK!" was hilarious.
I started to laugh. And I kept laughing, trying to muffle it under my scarf. Hot tears rolled down my cheeks.

However, the point of this post is:
Can anyone who has seen the film tell me what the Barry LeBrock character actually said? I'm not willing to part with another 11 bucks to find out, especially when there is a very real threat that I would just start laughing again.

UPDATE:
I just found out that Barry LeBrock published a book on football called, "The Trojan Ten".
I don't think it was a best seller, but the fact is that Barry LeBrock has a book available on Amazon.com.
As for me, I have a book available in a Mead binder.
I once used it to prop up my TV.

MISSED OPPORTUNITY

There was once a rather scatterbrained VJ whom I'll refer to as Trudy the Muddled. She was very book smart, but I think all those thoughts of The English Enlightenment and 15th century Italian poetry took up all the space in her brain for making basic life decisions. Just asking her if she wanted to go out after work was a major endeavor. She'd nod vigorously and say "Oh Yes!" But then slowly shake her head, "Oh no. I think...no." Then follow it up with "Well...uh...yes."
This same routine would take place if you asked her if she wanted to get Turkey Tetrazzini from the Hard News Cafe, sign up for Girl Scout cookies or chew a stick of gum.
I imagined her brain to be a rather fractured place, filled with unusual, often smart ideas that just needed organizational units from Ikea or The Container Store.

One day she told me this story, which illustrated two important things:
A.) her muddled thought process and B.) CNN poverty-related embarrassment:

"I went to a horse show over the weekend. It was really great. We were all standing around drinking wine and this guy comes up to me and asks if he could buy my underwear. At first I was grossed out. Then I told him I'd think about it. So I did. I thought about it for a while. I had another glass of wine. And I realized I could use the money. So I went up to him and said I'd sell him my underwear for 25 bucks. But then I realized I wasn't wearing any."

STYLE MASSACRE

I have spent some time on this blog discussing the low sartorial depths in which we VJ's sunk: the Dockers, the bedraggled Macy's sale rack finds, the Payless shoes, the occasional Jaclyn Smith Collection gem.
However, I have to commend us on some level. As far as I know, no one ever sunk to THIS DEPTH OF SADNESS. Quilts are fine. Cats are fine. But wearing quilted clothing festooned with cats when you are over the age of six is not fine. Note the description underneath one particularly loathsome item called THE CAT DANCING BLAZER: "Think of what will happen when you wear to work a blazer with wild cats dancing all over it!"
I know what will happen. Hordes of co-workers scratching out their fucking eyes, taking it as a sign to update their resumes and find a new job so they won't have to work in an environment where women wear quilted Cat Dancing Blazers.
On top of everything else, the website reccomends trolling QVC for Quacker Factory and Bob Mackie cat-themed merchandise.
Now, I've heard of Bob Mackie. A sad victim of downmarketing his brand name ala Halston. Once he designed stunning Oscar gowns for Cher, then later sold the use of his name to adorn velour sweat suits for sloppy, errand-running nobodies.
But this Quacker Factory was new to me. And I count my blessings that I remained ignorant for as long as I did. As soon as I clicked on the Quacker Factory link, my eyes were accosted by the most unbelievably vile, horrific shit I have ever seen. This type of ugliness should be outlawed. Surely on some visceral level, it is unhealthy. Surely accidents are caused by drivers being blinded by the ugly.
Plus, these Quacker Factory lovers supposedly "quack" at each other when they recognize another Quacker Factory outfit.
No joke.
These women will be milling about at a strip mall or gossiping in the breakroom and start quacking at each other.
Quacking.
I'm no fashion icon. However, I would like to put forth this notion:
If you're wearing an item of clothing that inspires another person to quack, you should remove that item immediately and burn it.

SHOWTIME!

A side note about late-night floor directing:
During commerical breaks, it was often like a variety show. Floor directors who were bored shitless would offer up entertainment for two minutes. Since you were standing there in a studio, and all the important types had already gone home, it seemed appropriate. A friend of mine used to sing lounge versions of Loverboy's "Everybody's Workin' For The Weekend" and Billy Ocean's "Get Out Of My Dreams (Get Into My Car)". He'd also do Broadway production numbers where he'd scoot across the floor, hands artfully punching the air, shouting, "BIG MOVES! BIG CHOICES!"
This friend was a polite, perma-necktie guy who many deemed an ass-kisser, since he was the only VJ invited to a couple of anchor parties. Plus he received a 20 dollar Barnes and Noble gift certificate for Christmas from Joe Kinstle when the rest of us got a big fat helping of nothin'. (This is what mass poverty does to a workplace. Lack of a 20 dollar gift certificate was MORE than enough to create outrage amongst employees. A free package of half-eaten Ho-Hos could inspire bitchery.)
But I knew better than to call him an ass-kisser. He just played the game better than the rest of us.
The other thing he did better than the rest of us (while floor directing) was this dance, the Boris Yeltsin jig:
DANCE DANCE REVOLUTION!

So if you're celebrating Mardi Gras today (and I hope you are) consider infusing your Second Line dance with a few patented moves from a past Russian president who truly had some fierce rhythm. Laissez Les Bon Temps Roulez!

PUBLIC PLEA

Heidi Collins is a beautiful woman.
Heidi Collins spends her days delivering the news, not organizing bake sales.
Will somebody please alert her hair stylist?

CAPTAIN WATERBED

Today I'd like to sing (or maybe just hum) the praises of a former VJ who shall remain anonymous. It isn't because he parlayed his bootcamp stint into a great career within the company. Quite the opposite. No, it's because he managed to squeeze everything out of his work experience in a way that most of us hapless, broke VJ's could never imagine.

This guy was working a shitty overnight shift, just like me. Most people glumly accepted this fate and just bitched and moaned until they got a shift change or a promotion. Not him. He knew that life was to be seized and savored. Not even Ted Turner could deter him. He was a charmer. And on this lousy, soul-crushing shift, rumor had it that he was sleeping with two women. One blonde and one brunette. Both hot.
But no, I'm not talking about a threesome.
It was sex in shifts.
Most curious was that sex with these hot women regularly occurred on his waterbed.
How anyone could get one hot woman (let alone two) to have sex with them ON A WATERBED in the late 1990's is a mystery. Women will put up with sub-par decor in their boyfriend's apartments, but since 1982 most of us have drawn the line at waterbeds.
Not these women. He'd pretty much wake up in the bed with one of them, then on his evening break he'd go sleep with the other one. He'd come back to work stoned and spent. Then he'd get someone else to do his work. Then he'd flirt with girls. Then he'd sleep. Then he'd watch TV. In the morning before leaving for home, he'd flirt with more girls.
This man was seriously living large on a $20,000 a year salary. He was the P.Diddy of VJ Land.
This was the sweet life he led for several months. He was fired only when he chose not to show up for work one day and instead attended Jazz Fest in New Orleans.
He assumed that one of his co-workers would cover for him, but neglected to tell her that. I guess not everyone appreciated his "joie de vivre" like I did.
What I found inspirational, our boss found fireable.
Captain Waterbed remains one of the only people I've ever known to be fired as a VJ.
And that is a true mark of distinction.

LOCAL LEGENDS

As those of you who know me are aware, I still work in news even if I have left CNN's clutches.
What I love about my present place of employment, is that unlike CNN (and most of Manhattan) it is comprised almost exclusively of actual, homegrown New Yorkers. I am one of the few people in my department who was not born and raised here.
I know New York mythology is often created by the misfits who moved here and created a new scene, a new version of New York to suit their fantasies, ala Andy Warhol, Madonna or Truman Capote. I respect this of course, as it gives the city its vibrant sense of reinvention.
But sometimes I feel like the locals are getting shortchanged. In most other cities, the locals are acknowledged as the fabric of the culture. Whereas here, it is these types of enterprising outsiders and their invented scenes that people often point to when describing life in New York City. Not always of course, but often. Too often for my taste.

So for this reason and many others, I'm glad I work with born and bred New Yorkers. Plus I get to hear great stories about each of the five boroughs. Whenever someone walks through the door, they usually have a story ready to spill. You'll hear stuff like:
"Sorry if I stink. I couldn't shower today because Ma was marinating a pig in the bathtub. Block party on Saturday."

It's reassuring too, because I'll hear stories that I had previously thought were just a figment of some Hollywood producer's imagination. Classic stories of uncles playing dominoes outside on a sweltering summer day, kids stealing signs from defunct Brooklyn breweries, grandmothers chasing "little punks" away with a broom.

But the best story I've heard in ages was on Friday. It seems a co-worker of mine was over at a pal's house on Staten Island. They were downstairs in the den area. He goes to use the little bathroom, and notices two metal handles coming out of the ceiling above the toilet.
He says to his friend, "What the fuck are those handles for?"
His friend says, "I had those put in there myself. They're for when you're taking a really big shit and you need to lift yourself up a little, you know? Like when it's a really hard shit. Sometimes you need a little extra help."

Now, I'm not sure why, but it gives me a warm feeling to know that in an undisclosed Staten Island location, there is a home with custom-made shit handles.

BLOOPER REEL

As all the VJ Bootcamp graduates know, there was a much circulated, much watched and even more beloved Blooper Reel at CNN. There were probably several, but the one I'm writing about is recognized as THE classic reel. It includes such favorites as The Executive Producer scratching his ass in the newsroom and The Anchor pointing him out on air, The Janitor repeatedly pushing his trash can into the bump shot, and The Sports Guy raving about a baseball game in which a player got "three homos".
But much like the mafia in its prime, the existence of said tape was often denied.
Well, through a hush-hush dead drop in a dark parking lot, I have laid my grubby little hands on it.
Let me tell you--it does not disappoint. And soon all of you will be able to point and laugh at these clips of unsung CNN history.
I just need to get the tape transfered to DVD, and figure out how to upload and post video. This may take some time, as I am not the brightest individual. Both my SAT scores and ability to watch back to back reruns of "The Golden Girls" are proof of the vast, Grand Canyon chasm between me and any MENSA member.
In the meantime, if you have a favorite blooper, or if there was a blooper that you were part of, e-mail me the back story, and I will post it along with the link.
And the best part about of all this is that Bob Saget will not be hosting or providing "funny" sound effects.

BLOGGER SUMMIT

While the following post isn't CNN related, it is media related, and thus fair game here on Peon Confidential.
I attended WNBC's Blogger Summit last night and discovered that:

1.) Bloggers REALLY enjoy free shrimp. I guess people in general enjoy free shrimp, but I've never seen a roomful of people react in such a delighted way over free shrimp before: "Look there's the shrimp!" "Have you tried the shrimp?" "This is great shrimp." Really, it bordered on fetishistic behavior. The free shrimp was also much discussed during the forum and after the forum. And now, the free shrimp is being blogged about.

2.) An audience full of bloggers will boo when Perez Hilton is mentioned. I suspect this is because: A.) He makes ludicrous amounts of money for drawing boogers (or is it coke residue?) on celebrities and B.) His grammar is poor.

3.) Bloggers do not remove their name tags...even after the summit while drinking non-WNBC provided booze at the Channel 4 bar. I understand there was networking involved, but I think we should all strive to network without looking like jackasses.

4.) Bloggers are unimpressed by free baseball hats. One blogger in particular suggested to a WNBC employee that it would have been better if they gave out free sweatshirts, "you know, with a zipper up the front." If I had been that employee, I would have suggested that she buy her own damn sweatshirt and shove the free hat up her ass. This is probably why I am not a WNBC employee.

5.) The Conan O'Brien studio is much smaller than it appears on TV. This should come as no surprise, and is a common occurrence. Consider Tom Cruise, Lean Cuisine meals and The Mona Lisa.

BLIND ITEM #2

Which scandal-plagued local news anchor (who claims to be falsely accused) exhibited equally bizarre behavior with male VJs at CNN's Atlanta bureau?

THE DEAD FILE

For you new CNN recruits, and those new to Peon Confidential, here's a bit of ancient lore:
Back in the TV Stone Age, when Lou Waters and Natalie Allen ruled the airwaves, CNN had a computer system called BASYS. One feature of this system was a curious message wasteland called The Dead File.
Well, some might have called it a wasteland. I called it a goldmine.
A goldmine that I could not access.
When you deleted a file in BASYS that had not been locked, a copy of it went to this creepy Dead File cyber pit. I do not know who designed the system in this Peeping Tom-friendly manner. I doubt I'd want them living next to me.
But much like retreats to the Bahamas on the company's dime, only the more seasoned or upper-level people had access to this file. Peons like me could only sit in wide-eyed wonder, hearing the tales of all it offered.
The tales were plentiful:
Numerous affairs were discovered this way, numerous grudges against co-workers were aired, numerous insidious plans were hatched. People routinely forgot that any unlocked, deleted drafts of juicy peccadilloes were available to anyone with Dead File access.
So it is with great joy that I ressurrect a Dead File story, written as a response to a post several months ago. This story deserves to be posted boldly in the blog. No longer will it be meekly confined to the comments space. Here's the "Do Not Read This" story for all to enjoy:
(Thanks VJHoolia!)

"I had been toying around with the idea of leaving CNN a few months before I actually cut the strings, and I thought I would amuse myself and create a fake "Goodbye" Read-Me post. Mind you, I had not actually turned in my resignation, and I never actually had plans to post this thread. This was merely for my amusement..filling in the wide expanse of downtime that came with the territory of working in the most boring department known to TV..Newsbeam. My thread basically mocked many of the weekly "Goodbye" posts that cluttered up READ-ME. First of all, I titled it "Do Not Read This", because every other goodbye post was titled something like LOOK AT THIS! READ ABOUT ME! SAY GOODBYE TO ME! I wanted to convey total disdain and apathy (then why do a post at all? Hindsight...) Second of all, I went into great detail about when I was going, where I was going, and what I was going to do (even though most of my plans were not yet solidified.) Honestly, most of the post was bogus, except for the fact that I knew I was going to leave CNN at some point. In the post, I thanked Ted Turner and Lou Waters for being close confidants. I said "G-Star-4-15-upper" was my most beloved satellite. I talked incessantly about the joy I had working in the newsroom. I added a little bit to the post each day, and read and re-read my creation often...
One day, I got bored with my creation and simply deleted it (or "killed" it, in READ-ME speak.) I did forget one imperitive rule of READ-ME. If you kill something, LOCK it first. If you don't, anyone with access to the Dead file can read it. Oh, did I mention that the only people with access to the Dead file were executives, managers and supervisors? Hmmm..can you see where this is going?

A few days passed by, and I received a phone call from my supervisor...Frank asked me, point blank, if I was leaving CNN. I believe I stuttered, mumbled and gasped all at once...He cut off my rambling by saying "I was looking through the Dead file and I saw a post titled 'Do Not Read This' with your name as the author. So, of course, I read it." Now, what does one do here? Should I be embarrassed that my boss busted me with my ridiculous fake goodbye post, or should I feel like my privacy was violated? Should I ask him why the hell he has time to sift through the hundreds of thousands of deleted files on the CNN database? I believe time stood still for a moment or two, so I could gather up some sort of explanation for what I had written. I said the thread itself was a joke, however, I had planned on leaving CNN soon. He asked when, and I just said "the first week in August." And it was done. I submitted my resignation, without even knowing I was going to do it that day. No big build up, no nervous butterflies, no wind in my sails..just "Oh, yeah, I am leaving."

Frank was totally calm, and I was depressed. After four and a half years, I had imagined my resignation would be exciting. I would get all of them back for all the pain I suffered through the years, by quitting and forcing them to go on without me. Instead, I got a lesson in locking files and a handshake from a Frank.

Nothing exciting about that."