Tomorrow on Today

Nothing against Al Roker, but he can go fuck himself.

Before we go any further with this I should tell you something.  I kinda dig Coldplay.  I don’t think they would be anywhere close to the front of my mind if you asked me what kind of bands I like, but I think that they have 7 or 8 really good songs over the course of their career and that is more than a lot of bands can say, even bands I maybe would think that I like better than them.  Now I don’t know what you think of me now that I told you I like Coldplay, but I know what I would think if you told me the same thing.  Nothing.  Probably nothing.  If you told me you liked KISS I would think something.  If you told me you liked Rihanna I would think something else entirely.  But Coldplay is one of those few bands that are so popular that enjoying their sound says absolutely nothing about the listener.  I know for a fact that my mom likes at least one of their songs.  It really means nothing.  But Coldplay was the reason I was at The Today Show on Friday.  At 4 in the morning.  Coldplay.  The Today Show.  Peanut Butter.  Jelly.

The thing about going to stand outside of the Today Show, even if Coldplay is playing, is that it is far less fun than you would think.  For the life of me I can’t figure out why middle aged women from Idaho (or anyone else) would waste a portion of thier probably well earned vacation standing outside the NBC studios some weekday morning, no matter how big an unrequited crush they were harboring on Matty Lauer.  The thing about standing outside of the Today Show, even if Coldplay is playing, is that nothing happens.  Well not nothing exactly.

Sure, Al Roker makes an appearance and gives a weather report that no one in the crowd can hear.  Then he turns to the crowd, opens his arms, bellows to us like the rock star he isn’t.  And then nothing happening turns into something.  The crowd screams back.  Thousands of people, worshipping at the alter of Roker.   And just minutes later, after big Al has awkwardly high-fived a handful of his minions on his way back to the studio never to be out of the air conditioning again, you realize something.  This has nothing to do with Al Roker.  People will scream for anything.

Every so often a camera will pass by the crowd, and though it’s humid and congested and there is no place to relieve your bowels, people scream like they are having the time of thier lives.  And when two homely women from Idaho are chosen for a makeover that promises to make them marginally less homely, people cheer.  Nevermind that it was completely staged and we yelled because we were simply doing as we were told.  And the two women from Idaho hugged each other and jumped up and down because that was the reaction that the producers thought they should have.  Nevermind that we went nuts for a Coldplay sound check every 45 minutes as they played 3/4 of one of thier hits before apologizing for how bad it sounded.  Or that that when they actually played a song for real, our reactions no matter how genuine were cheapened by PA’s emploring us to sing louder or jump higher.   Or the look on one of those PA’s face when I politely refused to hold an inflatable guitar emblazoned with the name of whatever bullshit sponser was paying for this event.  And then this same PA looked at me derisively when I waved off his attempts to shove said blow-up trinket in my hands and asked, “What are you too cool?”

Well, probably not too cool, but definitely too something…

I shouldn’t begrudge Al Roker. It’s not his fault people cheer for him. If I knew people would cheer for me I would solicit this reaction all the time. Maybe not. But a few times at least. I shouldn’t begrude the people who cheer for him either. But I do. It’s not really thier fault either. It’s mine.

I have a hard time living in the moment. In fact, I’ve never actually been fully into anything I’ve ever done. My head is always somewhere better, or somewhere that I think is better. A future that will never come to pass or a past that never existed at all. I can’t scream for TV weathermen because if I do then I did that, if that makes sense. It’s part of my history. It’s one of the things on my resume and frankly I’d prefer that it not be. But if I keep waiting for the moment or the day to be perfect, to be transcendent, then I really won’t be living anything at all. And the truth is that Al Roker fucking sucks. So does Coldplay, especially when they play 3 songs in 4 hours. But at some point I have to be able to think about moments that actually happened rather than ones that I make up. So I missed a moment last Friday, but when the next one comes along I’ll be ready. Then again maybe not. I mean, the Today Show fucking sucks.