wHAT TV WRITERS REAd?

nEW YORK, June 13 – Scribbling notes on discarded U.I. pay stubs, I scanned the morning TV talk shows for insider tips on high yield investing, strategic astrology, and clever new decorations using plastic tulips. Turning up the volume for some Rosie insights I saw Tom Brokaw promoting “An Album of Memories.” Tuning next for advice from Katie Couric, I saw Dan Rather promoting “The American Dream.” Pencil on my chin and eyes a squint in thought, it all suddenly became so clear. Something is up. So how could I profit?

Like a shrewd start-up entrepreneur I scrutinized the obvious: Brokaw had already written “The Greatest Generation,” Peter Jennings had written “The Century,” and who could forget Dan "that dog won't hunt" Rather’s 1978 start-up autobio hit "Giddy Up Now Beef-Jerky."

Serious divinity students will confirm it’s easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for most TV types to write legible prose. Still, no one can deny the evidence. The anchors have become authors too. The only question now is the one Screed Me set out to answer: Given this trendy anchor writing triplet – three is a trend – can reading be far behind?

Preliminary research indicates TV types are catching on and moving in. Pompadours and helmet hairs now sniff through places traditionally reserved for goatees and ponytails. Lured from hair salons and cosmetics clinics, TV hosts and presenters now lurk in libraries, skulk through coffee shops, and storm any place rumored to sell Cliff Notes. Next, I predict corresponding TV news promos …

• Reading in America: It Schooled Your Parents – Could It Blind Your Kids?

• The Book-Bag Is Back - Can Your Back Stand The Strain?

• Learning Through Reading – But Can Books Cure Flu?

In teleprompter tradition, TV-Readers would then need to read what to read. They’d need a list. If the Screed Me I -Team could locate it the Copy Boy In-Chief could trade up to those coveted industry get-togethers sponsored by Maxim, Gear, and Stuff. Without it I risked dropping from the Jiffy-Lube openings invitations ladder I’d clawed so ferociously to climb.

Tattooing “failure is no option” along my hairline, I set out in my mind for the answers.

Frightened, unprepared, and slightly appalled, I packed 14 freshly starched Banana Republic safari shirts (a helpful counter-clerk convinced me to forgo the Australian bushman's hat) in a nap-sack loaded with Poland Spring, a Walk-Man, and Glenn Campbell's Greatest Hits.

Suspicious of anyone living near water, I searched for the most honest, insightful - that is to say driest - place on the continent. In other words, I looked up the Associated Press bureau in Dustown, Indiana. The “w” being silent, residents pronounce it “duston.” When a freak beauty pageant blew out the electricity upon my arrival, I resorted for the first time to first person news gathering.

Sadly, the folks of Dustown had no information on locating the TV reading list, so I moved on. Searching for truth, justice, and a chance to grossly exaggerate my expense account, I traversed highways and byways like a lineman fore the county before finally settling outside the Greyhound coffee stop in “Middleville USA.”

Middleville USA is about half a mile from plain old Middleville that sits just across the state divide. I understand Middleville is a less colorful town where all the pointy-heads live, while Middleville USA continues to field the winningest high-school football team in these parts.

As always, I scanned my K-Mart approved authenticity check-list, arranged in order of importance: middle of no where – check; large white people – check; plentiful dead end jobs – check; not a drop of water to be found - check.

This was it! The real America, of media dreams at least. Surely one of the friendly men in plaid duck-hunting caps patrolling Main Street could tell me where to find the TV reading list.

Dingus McMulch, or “D” as buddies called him, stood by the parking meters outside a flag shop. Upon introducing myself and inquiring about the list, his face opened with the taciturn glee held for aspiring members of the eastern media elite. After convincing him that I was not, nor did I ever plan to become Jewish, Dingus whispered that he'd come by a copy of the reading list. That’s when I volunteered that any fool could see how Gay rights are undermining the NRA's right to choose.

Dingus looked at me hard a moment. I thought he might kill me. He had said he would. But perhaps my authentic shirt won him over, because instead he let me peek … at the list that is. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw.

Peter Jennings:
Naked Pictures of Famous People by Jon Stewart
Get It Together By 30 by Bill Clinton
Women of Montreal: A Mature Man's Guide by Pierre Trudeau

Tom Brokaw:
Deep Voice - Big Bucks by Issac Hayes
Lucrative Speech Impediments by Jerry Lewis
Milk It or Hear it Moo by Senator Trent Lott

Dan Rather:
Weird Words-Strange Syntax by George Bush Jr.
I Am The Walrus: If Lennon Lived by Anonymous (Joe Klein)
Giddy Up Now Beef Jerky/ Cliff Notes

Then Dingus offered an extra tip.

"That new CNN anchor, the one from Playboy, is working on some kind of essay, Charlemagne vs. Otto III – Historic Hegemonies, compare and contrast."

Thanking him, I turned to leave. That's when he nudged my ribs, urging me to check out the local library for a glimpse of 20-20 co-host Stone Phillips hard at work speculating on the missing sections of Beowulf.

With a twinkle, Dingus mentioned that Diane Sawyer was "just a few cubicles away studying logical positivists and updating her translation of Karl Popper's seminal Logik der Forchung."

I returned home with my privileged data gatherings and set about tormenting West-Side acquaintances with tales from my wanderings I was sure they could never understand. Like Jay Gatz, I had made myself a mystery. In my mystery I had become a sort of Gotham Oracle. Now secure as a result in my place on the Jiffy-Lube invitation ladder, TV news seems so much more informative these days and I feel so rich. All that without leaving my room or my U.I stubs.

Yours Truly,

Xandor
Copy Boy In-Chief