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."

THE MACARENA+DOCKERS=TRAGEDY

My recent request for humiliating Dockers-related incidents paid off. The following slice of pathetic fashion history comes from a man who wants to remain anonymous:

"I too was forced by CNN middle management hotshots to put those odious pants on my person. But I couldn't even afford to buy real Dockers. I had to count my coins and buy the cheap, no-name imitations.
One night I was out with some friends at The Lodge in Buckhead. The drinks were going down smooth and I was a star in my brand new, low-rent, cheap-ass pants. Of course, normally I would not go out in my work clothes. Nay, work clothes as fine as mine were to be protected from the throbbing nightlife that Atlanta offered. But since I was on the 3pm-12am shift that night, I made an exception.
At some point someone bumped my plastic cup and spilled Bud Light all over my pants. After shouting "Watch it asshole!" I ran to the bathroom and wiped them off. These were my Joe Kinstle-authorized work pants after all. I needed to keep them professional, presentable and not smelling of beer. I came back out, and cliche of all cliches, "The Macarena" came over the sound system. (Did I mention this was 1996?)
Maybe it was the beer, or maybe I was just high on life. Maybe I was just a young buck out on the town, looking for thrills. But I decided to do a revved up version of that stupid Macarena dance. I really got into it. I was all over that dancefloor, and added my own high energy moves. I guess the regular Macarena didn't involve enough high kicks for me. Then suddenly I heard a very loud tearing noise, and felt a soft southern breeze on my ass.
It was complete humiliation:
I had ripped open the backside my fake Dockers, which were already stinking of cheap beer, while dancing "The Macarena" at The Lodge in Buckhead, Georgia.
Worst of all, those were my 'good pants'.
Looking back, that's just so many kinds of embarrassing that I don't even know how I survived to tell the tale."

BLIND ITEM

Which CNN bigwig is not inclined to wash his hands after using the john?

WEBSTER AND THE FUTURE OF AMERICA

Today's story comes from an evening I recently spent with some very lovely, funny and cool CNNers, some past, some present.
But CNN work experience is a bit like the Alcoholics Anonymous slogan:
There are no former CNNers, just recovering ones.
So it seems that Emmanuel Lewis, a.k.a "Webster", once heralded as "The Tallest 40 Inches In Hollywood" was a self-proclaimed Talk Back Live fan...
DURING THE SUSAN ROOK YEARS.
He also ran a limousine service out of Atlanta.
I really don't know which of those facts is more bizarre.
Now, for any youngsters out there, "Webster" was one show in the "Rich White People Adopt Black Kids" genre of the early 1980's. The other show was of course Different Strokes, which taught us all the invaluable lesson that:

"The world don't move to the beat of just one drum,
What might be right for you, may not be right for some."

I don't know if a genre can be defined by a mere two shows, but I digress.
Both sitcoms also featured actors with rare genetic traits that rendered them childlike, even when they were well into their adult years. Emmanuel Lewis was already 12 when he played loveable imp Webster, and Gary Coleman never seemed to hit puberty while playing Arnold "Whatchew talkin' 'bout Willis?" Jackson.

Fast forward several years. Way past Mr. Lewis's glory days of being featured on the cover of TV Guide.
It was the mid-1990's and Emmanuel Lewis, presumably taking the day off from running his limousine company, was seated in the Talk Back Live audience.
It seems that day Susan was hosting one of those "What's Going To Happen To The Young People of Today?" type shows. One of those topics that allows the anchor to plead for the audience to "Think of the Future of America!"

Caught up in the moment, she passionately grabbed little Emmanuel Lewis's hand, and in her finest anchor-speak, asked people in TV Land something along the lines of:
"What about the young people like him? What can we do for the young people of this country?"

Now, Emmanuel Lewis was about 25 years old at the time. Young yes, but a full-grown man nonetheless.
A full-grown man who may not have appreciated having his hand held like a 10-year-old.
Plus he was Webster.
Also known as the one time little buddy of Michael Jackson, who used to carry him around everywhere like a Louis Vuitton bag.

Apparently, the control room went nuts, shouting in Susan's ear "THAT'S WEBSTER! THAT'S WEBSTER!"
Once this fact registered, the hand was dropped, and she carried on like a pro. Just kept moving on to the next audience member.
Perhaps she learned how to keep her cool from another 1980's sitcom theme song. This one from Growing Pains, staring everyone's favorite Fundie Kirk Cameron:

"Show me that smile again. (Show me that smile)
Don’t waste another minute on your cryin’.
We're nowhere near the end (nowhere near)
The best is ready to begin.
Oooohhh. As long as we got each other
We got the world spinnin right in our hands.
Baby you and me, we gotta be
The luckiest dreamers who never quit dreamin’.
As long as we keep on givin’
we can take anything that comes our way
Baby, rain or shine, all the time
We got each other Sharin’ the laughter and love."

SLEEPYTIME

While working overnights at the News Factory, I really mastered the art of sleeping on the job. I had zero shame or fear that anyone would discover me, snoring away in various crevices of the building.
And I really slept around too.
I slept in the CNN breakroom, Playback, the Feeds area, the CNNI breakroom, the Hard News Cafe, and various edit bays.
I slept in the CNN and CNNI script ripping areas and on the sports set.
I also slept on CNNI's World Report set, dubbed "Spaceship Wenge".
While TelePrompting, I actually trained myself to sleep during the 2-3 minute commercial breaks. I'd sleep sitting up in the chair, hand at the ready, jumping to attention when the director gave the countdown over the headsets.
So now whenever anyone complains about long flights and being unable to sleep, I just crack a smile. Because if I learned anything during my stint at CNN's VJ bootcamp, it's how to sleep in less than optimum conditions.

DOCKERS DICTATORSHIP

Today I received more confirmation on the apparent Dockers Mandate within the ranks of CNN Atlanta. It seems that Joe Kinstle enforced his Dockers Uniform Regime with an iron fist.
Within the e-mail I received was the ominous phrase; "Joe Kinstle made me wear those Dockers."
I feel that I have just stumbled upon an expose worthy of Woodward and Bernstein. Or at least Joan and Melissa Rivers.
So I am asking all of you who were affected by this vicious mandate to come forward. Tell me your Dockers' tragedies. The shame, the bland color scheme, the inability to pull off dance moves besides "The Cabbage Patch" with any degree of authenticity.
But furthermore, send photographic evidence. I will black out the faces to protect the innocent...or at least keep the guilty guessing.
As always, you can send photos to vjdutton@gmail.com
And just so we know which vile corporate entity is to blame, here is a handy link:
DOCKERS
Note that they offer up an insidious ploy called "The Dockers Dress-O-Matic".
It saddens me that they are spreading their filthy ideology to a new generation of broke professionals.

CNN STALKING

I was recently at Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson airport on a layover. (I'd like to point out that at periodic times over the loudspeaker you'd hear a ditty called "Opening Day Fresh" sung to the tune of "Shake Your Groove Thing". While the song was supposed to encourage you not to litter, it was so annoying that it had the opposite effect on me.) I was looking for a bar open at 8:50 am so I could booze it up before my long flight. Can you believe I had to wait until 9:30 am for a welcoming watering hole? Downright uncivilized, having to wait in front of a dark, gated bar with all the other alcoholics until 9:30 just so I could chug down a Screwdriver. Bunch of clean living assholes running that place.
Anyway, while standing outside that shitty bar, the four of us looking like dogs at the pound, hoping someone would pick us, I ran into a CNNer. Which just underscores a previous point I had made:
It is impossible, even on an hour and a half airport layover, to escape CNNers in Atlanta.
That city is one big, hot, Peachtree street-laden, Cable News Network newsroom.

PEON GAFFS

When you're a peon, there aren't too many ways in which you can completely screw up a show. Sure, you could put the wrong script in the teleprompter, or cue the wrong camera. These are irritating, stupid errors, and you will be shouted at and "written up" for them. (I loved how people took that "I'm writing you up" thing so seriously. It really brought out the surly teenager in me, and more than once I was tempted to wiggle my extended fingers in their faces and go "woooooooohhh!")
But the best way I know to really cause giggle-inducing gaffs is by selecting the wrong footage from the tape library. My three top favorite image-related mistakes (one of which did not happen at CNN, but at the place I'm at now) are as follows:

1.) The anchor was reading a serious, war-related item involving esteemed British General Michael Jackson...
Yes, you guessed it, above her right shoulder was a very flattering pic of everyone's favorite mono-gloved, Jesus Juice-supplying singing sensation Michael Jackson.

2.) The anchor was reading an item about an escaped convict, and the footage above his shoulder was that of a monkey swinging from tree to tree.

3.) The anchor was reading an item about singer and Rocky Horror phenom Meat Loaf undergoing heart surgery...
Yes, you guessed it, above her right shoulder was some very delicious footage of cafeteria meatloaf. When the P.A. who pulled the footage was called on it she just said, "I don't fucking know who Meat Loaf is. What, now I gotta research this shit too?"

It seems that this lass would do anything for love, but she wouldn't do that.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

I just wanted to wish all of you a sensational holiday, and leave you with this great picture of Fat Albert. No, he never worked for CNN. But I would like to think that if he did, he would have been on the techie side with me, and we would have goofed off together.
Anyway, I hope you all have a peaceful, loving Christmas. May the traditions of Christmas bring you joy, including all my pals who are MOT. To you fine folks I say: on December 25th, may the Chinese food be delicious and the movie superb!
Happiness to all of you, and remember that a dick in a box always makes for a thoughtful gift:
DICK IN A BOX

CNN FANTASIES

A former CNNer who worked in the PR department related this story to me in response to the last posting, which referenced Lynne Russell's hair. Now, as many of you know, the PR department of any news organization often gets the calls that the front desk has no idea what to do with. Actually, both the PR department and the Assignment Desk are treated like garbage receptacals for kooky shit.
So, this friend of mine walked into her office one morning and played the message waiting for her. The voice on the message was low-pitched, slightly breathless, punctuated by weird orgasmic sounds and had a southern accent. The message went something like this:

"Uh...hi. CNN? I'm just calling in to say that I just love that Lynne Russell. I mean I just...uhhhhhm....ungh...I just love to watch her on my TV. I come home after a long day at work, open a beer and uuuuuhhhh...ungh..ungh...I watch Lynne. Her long hair, those lips...unngh....ooohh...ungh...oooh...mmmmmm...Lynne Russell..."

She came to the conclusion that this Lynne Russell fanatic was in fact rubbing one out while on the phone; using the CNN PR line as a 1-900 porn number. She saved the message for months, and listened to it anytime she needed a laugh.

SECURITY ISSUES

I recently discovered another Read-Me print out from the vault. This one was written by a CNNI anchor who no longer works there. Rumor has it he quit, booked a flight to London, called into CNNI from the plane phone somewhere over the Atlantic and simply said:
"Hello, I'm just calling to say that I'm not coming into work...ever."
Whether or not this is true I can't say for sure.
However, he did write the following impassioned plea for greater security at CNN Center. Being that it is written in such a pompous, over-the-top way, coupled with the fact that he signed it with his full name followed by, "Anchor, CNN International" makes me wonder if he left himself logged in and someone wrote this under his name as a joke. Then again, he was a pretty pompous, over-the-top guy. I once heard him try to lure a VJ back to his apartment with promises of "Drambuie and good conversation".
So, you never know.
The funniest parts of this message are excerpted below. All punctuation and grammar are copied verbatim:

"I am putting this letter in READ-ME so that it goes 'on the record' and receives prompt attention.
Today's shootings at Capitol Hill has heightened my personal concern about safety at CNN Center. Clearly, we are a target for every nut with a grievance against society; but it seems to me that it would be extremely easy for a member of the public to penetrate security, gain access to the CNNI newsroom and injure or kill an employee.

The entry into the CNNI newsroom, next to the Wachovia Bank Branch, is the weakest link in the chain of security. Anyone could walk from the public car decks, carrying a sub-machine gun, straight into the building, wait until someone enters or leaves the newsroom walk in and open fire.

I am not a security professional, I have just a few obvious suggestions to minimise the risk.

1.) Put metal detectors at every entry to the CNN Center
2.) Establish another security port...permanently staffed by an armed guard.
3.) Prevent all members of the public from having access to staff work areas. This means: stopping those PAID-FOR tours, which allow hundreds of outsiders to walk into the CNNI newsroom, everyday, (inches away from my desk). Surely; would-be aggressors could use these tours to reconnoitre the interior and plan his/her attack!"

Wow. Typing that note is even funnier than reading it. I love the fact that he manages to infuse this short memo with:
sub-machine guns, fear of bored tourists being mere "inches" away from his desk, use of some high-brow, pompous French word for "casing the joint" and of course the aforementioned bored tourists "planning his/her attack!"

And here I thought these CNN tour people just wanted to get up close enough to sniff Lynne Russell's hair.

SOMETHING SPECIAL IN THE AIR

I have no doubt that comedians from sea to shining sea have gone ape shit over this news story, but I still have to comment:

FLATULENCE FORCES PLANE TO LAND (AP)
"An American Airlines flight was forced to make an emergency landing Monday morning after a passenger lit a match to disguise the scent of flatulence, authorities said."

This classy, etiquette-conscious woman, a regular Emily Post of the cheese cutting set, blamed it on a "medical" condition. Still, she was not allowed back on the plane after the emergency landing. It remains to be seen whether or not she will sue the airline for discrimination against a fart-challenged individual.

Obviously, lack of comfort during air travel has become a staple in our lives:
Getting groped by airport security, smelling other people's stinky, shoeless feet whilst going through the metal detector, boarding the plane like a herd of cattle, suffocating in crowded cabins that are chock-full of stained sweatsuit clad fatties, as you are trapped in your crummy seat by the toilet, hoping the flight attendants don't run out of the good snacks before they get to you.
So this woman, clearly a model of Miss Manners-style discretion, had the best of intentions, I guess. She recognized the situation was already bad enough without her low-pitch rumbler penetrating the stale air. But she could have saved everyone a lot of time if she understood something my mother pointed out to me, in her harsh Finnish accent, years ago:

"You know why I hate to fly on an aeroplane? Because people fart. A lot. And the fart, it has no place to go. You cannot open a window. So it just gets sucked into that ventilator system, and goes zooming around and around for the whole time you are sitting there. That's what aeroplane smell is: recycled fart."