Rules of TV Punditry

“We’d like you for an on-air terrorism and defense commentator.”

“No.”

“We’ll pay you.”

“Yes.”

And so, last September, I morphed from think tank policy pogue (a
venerable military term denoting anyone who’s farther from the fighting
than you are) into regional TV bobble head. KING5 in Seattle and their
co-located sister station, NorthWest Cable News. Good folks. Good
product.

And very, very patient.

In truth, I was hesitant. Although dishing out the expertise is a
legitimate think tank function, I’d avoided television for twenty years 
— a decision made somewhat easier by the fact that, for twenty years, no
one invited me. Print people usually don’t transition well. I had no
training. And — how shall we put this? — I’m not the world’s handsomest
guy. I’d no desire to put my mug on TV, and far less to see myself
there. Call it telephobia, or perhaps a profound negative narcissism. In
either case, I went into the exercise determined that never, never,
under any circumstances, would I watch myself.

My first couple taped performances weren’t exactly award-winning
material, and I knew that if I was to justify that fancy new wardrobe —
Nordstrom suit, Brooks Brothers shirts and ties, accessories by Wal-Mart
(man’s gotta maintain some perspective) — I’d have to get proactive. No
way would I watch myself, but I cadged enough free advice to come up
with Dr. Philip’s Eight Easy Rules for Making It as a TV Bobble-Head. 

• Don’t worry about being ugly. 

• Remember at all times. The camera magnifies and intensifies everything about you. 

• Since no answer should last more than fifteen seconds, lead with a
five second conclusion, then try to come up with ten seconds worth of
reasons. 

• If you can’t answer a question, respond to it. 

• If the question’s ridiculous beyond words, answer the question the
interviewer should have asked. 

• If you can’t answer the question the interviewer should have asked,
respond to it. 

• Always nod your head yes when disagreeing. 

And always conclude the session with an interesting and provocative
sound bite. For example, “Why, yes, the use of secret military tribunals
should be expanded to handle other crimes against humanity. Loud car
stereos, graffiti, baseball caps on backwards, and anyone found in
possession of anything by, about, or pertaining to Britney Spears.”

After that, we did several long taped sessions that the editors
could chop up and use as sound bites over several days. Fine, except I
was no longer able to watch my two favorite stations, for fear that I
might suddenly pop on. Couldn’t even channel surf. The old negative
narcissism was really torquing.

Then Came Live.

At the end of a KING5 taping session, a woman blew in from
NorthWest Cable.

“We’d like you upstairs right now to do an on-set.”

I didn’t feel ready, but at least I knew I wouldn’t have to watch
myself.

They sat me at one end of the anchor desk, too far from the anchor
for a single camera to cover us. They told me, “Don’t look at the
anchor, just stare into the camera directly in front.” I did. And I
noticed that directly beneath the lens was a large video monitor screen,
and filling every inch of that screen was me. Then I looked to the wall
behind the camera, to a bank of monitors, and there I was on every
single (expletive deleted) one.

Well, as Zeus once said to Narcissus, “Watch yourself.”

So I did. I retain no memory of that event. But the next time they
called me in for a live session, I insisted that I sit next to the
anchor, face her only (no ear pieces, either), and rehearse. The anchor
agreed. We discussed the segment for five minutes. She put me in my old
chair, but said that when it was time she’d come over and sit beside me.
A few minutes later, she did, sailed through a totally different set of
questions, then got up to leave, I asked her when we were going live.

“We just were,” she answered, a bit oddly, then gave me a radiant
smile of dismissal.

I have no memory of that conversation either.

The next time, I said, “Look, I can’t work this way. Let’s tape.”

She agreed. So she sat down with me at the anchor desk while some
features and commercials were running, with frantic humans and
mechanical disasters all around the set. We finished. I asked her how
they were going to edit.

“We’re not. We’re going to run it as-is.”

“But this was worse than being live.”

That wonderful smile again.

I left, again with no recollection of the proceedings. But maybe,
just maybe, that’s the key to success in this business.

If what you say makes no impression, you must be doing all right.