The ancient artifact in the photo above was made by Beelzebub himself and sent to Watch What Happens Live straight from the fiery pits of despair that some would call hell. I shall explain. Let me start at the beginning.
My duties as Senior Producer at Watch What Happens Live include a wide variety of responsibilities like web surfing, pretending to pay attention to stuff, more web surfing, and pretending to know things about politics and the world when really I’m just thinking about myself. My hair. My skin. Should I switch to the more abrasive Clarisonic brush? Is Dr. Perricone REALLY a doctor…? Oh and sometimes I drink during the show (only if my duties are light for that evening. Like tonight.) I’m not called upon to do much for Kate Gosselin so, I’m pretending to drink coffee but no. It’s wine in a coffee cup.
However, on nights when I’m called upon to step up, to be the team player I rarely am, to contribute to the zeitgeist of this country by making jokes about tits and wigs -- my role is to stand next to the teleprompter in Andy’s eye line, adding what off-color things I have to offer.
The device above, which looks like it was custom-made for a roadie for the Indigo Girls, must be affixed to my head whilst I produce the show in the studio. (Which means I count down from ten -– something I’m not good at.)
The headpiece is my nemesis. ‘Tis the devil’s headband. I have named her BECKY. Because she reminds me of the character I hate the most from Friday Night Lights. (Of course, they called her “Becks” which is onomatopoeia for vomiting which I try and steer clear of.)
Before I go any further let me just say I love my job. I feel a job isn’t complete unless there’s something to bitch about. And for me, that thing is the headset you see above. I hate it. Becky is a worthless bitch who can’t do anything right.
I am able to hear the control room, but I’m not able to speak to them. It’s like that movie where the patient is alive during open heart surgery, but no one can tell because they seem anesthetized. Only, I’m wide awake.
The sickest part of all of this is that as much as I hate Becky the crusty-ass relic, I’m now addicted to her. Her meat-flap charm has grown to be a part of me: a conjoined technological '80s twin that I can’t sever. And when I’m home alone in the darkness after the show, I sometimes long for her to be with me. To catch up on Revenge with me. To share a late night glass of port with me as I ponder the universe (watch porn). No one knows my cranium like Becky.
And even though she’s an ill-fitting ho, Becky always finds a way to make me laugh. Like when I have friends in the audience who say things like, “Why do you have to wear THAT?” Becky will abruptly crash to the floor loudly. I know what she’s saying. But no one else does. It’s our way of communicating. Sick, yes. But that’s the kind of mental delusion it takes to work here.
Now that you’ve been introduced to Becky the skull-hugging bastard, here’s what my week entailed:
-Going to my doctor to try and figure out why I can’t sleep at night. I’ve developed a snatchy case of insomnia. I’ve been getting about two hours of sleep a night. (I blame Becky who I’m convinced is a witch.)
-When I DID sleep this week, all I did was dream of Pauly D’s stiffy hairdo
only to wake up in a cold sweat screaming for Becky’s company.
-Drinking at work. (I don’t really do that, I just dream of it.)
-I got a haircut.
-I did a lot of avoiding pop culture topics in favor of watching things like dogs taking baths in sinks. I find that far more culturally pertinent.
-I also ate a lot of kale.
With all this being said, I realize I haven’t painted a very good portrait of my responsibilities. I forgot to mention the most important job I have, which is to document the filth left in the men’s restroom we share with Empire State College. When I was in the restroom the other day I overheard a conversation between two students talking about getting drunk in between classes. I couldn’t fathom how unprofessional that was. And with that, cheers. Time to hit my wine before Kate Gosselin arrives. I have a feeling me and Becky will need it. Is this going to get me fired? Oh well. I hear Trader Joe’s is hiring.
John and Becky the fungus-holding-lesbionic-headgear.