First Magazine

I was in First magazine last month. I meant to mention it earlier but it kinda slipped my mind. Or rather, I tried to forget it. You see, I’m a wee bit annoyed. I submitted a story about my most embarrassing moment. It was no shock they ran it because let’s face it: my moments are pretty embarrassing.

They came and did a full-blown photo shoot at my house a few months ago. The subject? Me. And I had to look horrified, over and and over again until they got “the perfect shot.”

For inspiration, I imagined what it would be like to give birth to octuplets.

Here’s the thing, though: some journalists get a bad rap because they misquote or downright lie. Correcting grammatical errors or reworking the text for length considerations are give-ins. But to completely change the outcome of the story? Ridiculous.

I also let it slip my mind because they chose a rather terrible picture of me and gave me a full-page spread. This alone has trumped any embarrassing moment I may have had.

Here is what I originally submitted:


It was my junior year in college. Well, my first of three junior years if you’re really counting. I had just been accepted into the broadcast journalism program and had the illustrious job of Grunt around their newsroom.


One day, the newscast got preempted. To kill time, one of the cameramen asked Tony (a fellow Grunt) and I if we wanted a lesson. Tony started behind the camera and I trotted over to the news desk, intending to give the best fake newscast imaginable.


I’m not sure when things started getting out of hand. Was it when I did my muscle poses at the weather board? Or when the cameraman taught Tony how to frame a shot by zooming in and out on my chest as I hammed it up by shaking ‘em like I was in a mariachi band?


I was in the midst of my finale when a voice screeched out from the control room. A voice that still resonates today:




Turns out, the newscast had not been preempted after all and had gone live at the top of the hour. For fifteen long minutes, my muscles and cha chas were splayed across the airwaves.


My face heats up just thinking about it but my debut was undoubtedly legendary. After all, it was probably the only program to ever receive a PG-13 rating on that community station. Or maybe more like an ‘R’…..

Here is what they published:


“I let loose on live TV for everyone to see!”


I enrolled in college after taking a few years off–and even joined the college news show. One night our producer informed us that the newscast was canceled for a special program, so we decided to put on a face newscast. I trotted over to the news desk, intending to give my best phony report imaginable.


I’m not sure when things got out of hand, but soon enough I was doing muscle poses and shaking my br*easts at the camera. We were 15 minutes into our “goofcast” when a voice screeched out from the control room: “Cut the camera!’ Turns out, our “pretend” show was live at the top of the hour! I nervously smiled and told our viewers that we’d be back after a few messages. I think our newscast was the only one in history to receive a PG-13 rating on a community station–though it would’ve gotten an R.

I don’t care that they cropped it but to add that stuff about taking a few years off and then my calm and composed wrap at the end?

They obviously don’t know me every well.

They added an addendum beside my story that said, “Appear calm on camera–even when you’re not” and gave a lame quote from a video-editing company about how you would never react or run away.

I complained to my husband Jamie (whom I regularly exploit write about on my blog) and he warily looked at me and said,

“Gee. Now you know the feeling.”

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