I Could Have Been an Actor, But I Wound Up Here

"Kick 'em when they're up,
Kick 'em when they're down. . .

We all know that crap is king!
Give us dirty laundry!" - Don Henley



When I was a little girl, I wanted to be the next Lois Lane. My Dad's Mother tells stories of her days as a reporter for the Arkansas Democrat. . .how she told my grandfather, the young up-and-coming catcher for the Travellers, to "Get over there and let me take your picture!" the day she met him. It sounded so romantical and all. . .what girl doesn't want a Superman to sweep her off her feet. . .I need a hero! I'm holding out for a Hero. . . oh, sorry, lost my train for a sec. . .

I was a reporter for the "Galaxy Gazette" in the early years, finding print media my preferred outlet. A hodge-podge of school publications followed as I moved from school to school, seeking out the newspaper and yearbook types as "my" types, consistently "on my wave" in my ever-changing surroundings.

By the time I hit high-school, my focus and figure had shifted. I created my character, "Lara Balters" and performed my one-woman show on stage. I interviewed myself as an elf. . .okay, well, it came off better than it sounds! It got me the "Miss Landmark" crown, also better than it sounds. Following that, a three-night run as Patty the Cheerleader from Grease sealed the deal and I was going to be a star.

Yes, I could have been an actor, but I wound up here, sitting in my furry pink bathrobe sipping a cuppa joe and watching the morning news. Every channel had the parents of a young man who had been killed by a tiger, the morning anchors firing the "tough" questions at them: "How did you find out?" click "Did you hear someone may have let the tiger out intentionally?" click "What do you want to say to America about your son?"

Bah! Enough! Click, click, click. . .(ten minutes and eight hundred channels later) click. . .Ah, the eighties station. . .a little Don Henley to get your motor going. . .


Is my own life not full enough that I have to feed on the sensationalized grief of others? Have we really become the kind of people who love it when others lose? Are we creating this over-dose of reality through our own need for dirty laundry?

Am I going to have to stop watching "American Idol?"

I can't think about it right now. I think I'll go wash some clothes. Nothing like a little dirty laundry to get your morning going. Hey, this load is mine - go get your own!

Have fun!