by Katie Kemple on January 22, 2010
For the past week I’ve been up late, much later than usual, watching Conan O’Brien host his final episodes of The Tonight Show. He’s kept me up in part because he’s my favorite host but also because it reminds me of a time I worked on a radio show that was canceled in January (also after a 6-7 month run), and oddly enough, replaced by the very programming that had preceded it. In the weeks before the cancellation we too were unsure whether it would actually happen. Lots of rumors, deals behind closed doors, uncertainty.
Even as the PR manager for the program, I had no idea which way it would end. When we were finally told the show was going off the air, I had to write the jubilant press release announcing the new line-up. It crushed me. I actually cried. The host, reporters and producers all lost their jobs. They kept me on for another year before terminating my position.
Perhaps the worst part of the situation is realizing how much you bet on the future. Conan moved his entire family, cast and crew to a new city. Similarly, the host of the show I worked on had moved her family from the west coast to the east. But it’s not just physical. Much of it is mental. Security in broadcasting is pretty much nonexistent, but there are some projects that, for whatever reason, take on an air of permanence, and that permeates the minds of those working on it, prompting a sense of security.
I still think about that show and the talented people who worked on it. Some have moved on to positions on other programs, others (like myself) are still hopping from one gig to the next. Sometimes I wonder what we could have accomplished if we’d been given the chance to continue what we started.
My heart goes out to Conan and his crew. I don’t think any of them imagined this would happen. Many of Conan’s guests this week have shared their own job loss stories. Adam Sandler talked about how he and Chris Farley were fired from SNL. Robin Williams said he found out “Mork & Mindy” was canceled after reading it in Variety. I’ve loved hearing these stories. Perhaps because they’re not often told. And also because, they’re trying to make Conan feel better. That’s what friends do when you lose your job. I think there are many of us watching who can relate.
by Katie Kemple on January 12, 2010
A funny thing happened to me tonight at Rite Aid. After I swiped my credit card through the machine and pushed all the appropriate buttons, the cashier took my receipt, circled something and then proceeded to give me a game card. It’s part of a promotion. They give you the card and several pieces to play each time you purchase something. Anyway, I usually decline promotions, but this particular one captured my imagination when I saw the grand prize: $250,000.
Why, you might ask, did that captivate me? It’s just a tad bit more than what we paid for our townhouse (currently worth $129,000). In other words, the price of freedom. So, I did something I rarely do with sweepstakes: I got excited. As soon as I got home, I took the card to our kitchen table, giddily opened my game pieces, gingerly bended the perforations to detach each piece and place it on its throne. Finding that I had enough game pieces for a chance to win the cruise (but nowhere near what was required for the mortgage), I actually followed the instructions and taped the requested pieces to an index card, put it in an envelope, stuck a stamp on, and slid it in the mail slot.
All the while thinking, “I’m an idiot! Why am I doing this? They’re going to send me junk mail and sell my information marketing firms.” Yet, the skeptic in my brain could not drown out the dreamer saying, “I want to win something, damn it!”
Guess after so many unpleasant surprises these past couple of years, I’ve reached a plateau. A place where I have become prey to fantasies of luck and chance. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not ungrateful for the good things that have happened. Working from home on a fantastic project, sharing an office with David, having more flexibility to be with our daughter. But there are so many question marks for the near future, it feels a bit akin to being in that uncomfortable 12-14 year old age range again. Lots of dramatic change teamed with an ever present sense of powerlessness, hope, possibility, uncertainty.
At such times, finding a game card with your magic number can make you feel like Charlie in the Chocolate Factory. Dreaming about a life beyond cabbage soup and laundry. A life where magic exists again and there are marvelous and odd surprises around every corner.
