I was due at Rockefeller Center for The Dr. Oz Show taping at 8 a.m. I got up at 7:00 and began the preparations for making myself effortlessly beautiful. My primary concern was eliminating under-eye bags and having a solid poop that made me feel five pounds lighter. I killed two birds with one stone by doing my make-up while sitting on the toilet. (I’m sure that’s how all the great actors of our time prepare for television appearances.)
At 7:30 a.m., a junior assistant producer called to make sure I was still coming. At that point, my hair was wet and I was standing in front of my suitcase naked. I told her I was on my way.
The best I could do was to arrive at Rockefeller Center ten minutes late in a sweaty panic. I had a feeling that I wasn’t quite famous enough to be arriving late for a show taping because curling my hair and pooping took longer than expected.
While I waited for someone from The Dr. Oz Show to come get me and/or kick me off the show, I continuously fanned myself with a dirty napkin and re-applied powder. I was hemorrhaging sweat and didn’t know where to fan first. Should I try and save my hair? Or my melted make-up? Would it be bad to take my clothes off for just a second to cool off?
Luckily, the Oz producers forgot about me down in the lobby for fifteen minutes and at that point I really didn’t care. I was sweating like an NBA star in the fourth quarter of the finals and was in no shape to be anywhere but over a drainage system.
When someone from the show finally arrived, the sweat storm was mostly over and I was just trying to eliminate the visible signs of wetness from my hair and clothes. The junior assistant producer silently escorted me to the sixth floor where I was greeted with a refreshing mist of highly air conditioned air. I smiled for the first time that morning.
For the next two hours, I lived the life of a TV star. It was filled with highs (hair and make-up!) and lows (healthy snacks in the dressing room) but I managed to learn a few things.
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The hair and make-up people are goddesses.
Upon my arrival, I was immediately whisked over to the hair and make-up room where the make-up lady took out her magic wand and made my wrinkles, bags, and sunspots disappear. Presto! Next I went over to the hair mistress who casually transformed my dry, limp, sweaty hair into a thick flowing lock of curls. The entire time I was there, I kissed those ladies’ butts like it was going out of style. They either get their butts kissed a lot or they just didn’t care because they responded by nodding their heads, applying another layer of lip gloss/smoothing cream and heading on their merry ways. -
You will be told many, many times that you are the smartest/funniest/most attractive person on the planet.
It’s no wonder celebrities are complete nightmares! I was told I was “Beautiful!” “Awesome!” and “Funny!” about thirty-two times in the two hours I was on the show. I can only imagine what kind of holy terror I would become if that was a normal part of my daily living. After the first thirty minutes, I was this-close to demanding a car and a pet monkey, just because. I’d be willing to bet that some of the other less-grounded guests are still back at the NBC Experience Store trying to get free Law & Order t-shirts and Psych key chains because they are “television stars.” -
TV producers are thorough and confusing. Or thoroughly confusing.
Sure, they want you to be fun and spontaneous, but they also want you to “practice” being fun and spontaneous for them so they can maybe offer a few suggestions on just how to be fun and spontaneous. Before we hit the stage, no fewer than three show producers casually “stopped by” my dressing room to wish me luck and then proceeded to walk me through what was going to happen and offer suggestions on how I should respond. As a parting shot before they left the room, they encouraged me to have fun out there and play off what Dr. Oz said or did. Should I be fun or should I do what they say?! (At least they thought my hair looked great.)
