05/15/2001

Getting There is Half the Fun:
Lynn Auditions for "Win Ben Stein's Money"

    Becoming a contestant on the TV show "Win Ben Stein's Money" was more difficult than getting into graduate school. More expensive, too.

    I wish I were kidding.

    This all began because I've been e-mailing the show for years: "I would love to match wits against Ben. I would even wear a costume. Heck, I'd wear my nightgown!" It's been my favorite quiz show since the first season, due to its double-whammy of hard questions and meager prize money.

    My fandom was such that the people where I used to live began calling me "Lynn Ben-Stein" (this when I wasn't "LB" or "Bin Lenson" or "Osama Bin Lenson"). How could I not be attracted to that?

    So one day last October (y2k) my cell phone rings while I'm serving booth duty at the International Tandem User Group. I stepped out of the booth so as not to be a hypocrite and break my own rule of "no cell phone usage in the booth," and answered it.

    "Lynn Benson."

    "Hi, Lynn," a friendly woman's voice said. "This is Chris from 'Win Ben Stein's Money.' We received your e-mail and would like to run you through a 10-question phone test. Are you someplace where we can talk? It will take 5-10 minutes."

    "Not really, but I can quickly remedy that. Let me have your number and I'll call you right back."

    After excusing myself from the booth with muted-but-hyper mutterings, I scooted out the hall's main doors, sat down on a bench and returned Chris's call.

    "Hi Chris, this is Lynn. I'm calling from the San Jose Convention Center on my cell phone, and if we get cut off I'll go elsewhere and call you back. I'm ready."

    We talked for a minute about what I do ("Head Honcho, Motormouth Marketing, founded the company more than two years ago...") and then she asked me the 10 questions. I said I'd get back to three of them, but at the end of the test Chris informed me that my seven answers yielded a qualifying score. Woo hoo!

    My next step: Fly to Burbank for the show's 30-question written exam. While talking with my friend Becky that week, we happened upon the happy coincidence that my plans and her upcoming business jaunt to Southern California would overlap. She offered the spare bed she'd have in her double room.

    I now had corporate sponsorship. Thanks, Siemens.

    The Southwest flight to Burbank was just the way I like 'em: uneventful. I rented a car from Cheapy Car Rental at the airport Ramada and drove through the drizzle to the KTLA studios.

    Figuring that the producers sought people who are not only smart but also kind of eccentric and out-there, I wore my pink snakeskin jacket and my brown fuzzy hat. I smiled at every person I saw working on the studio lot, and just happened to have a brief conversation with the primary contestant wrangler as I walked through the roll-up door.

    "Nice jacket," he told me.

    "Thanks. The pink snakes are girls and the blue snakes are boys."

    "I always wondered about that," he mused. "The hat is terrific."

    "It keeps the rain off my glasses."

    We waved our good-byes.

    About 120 of us filed into a large studio building. I looked around. Darn. No casting couch. We seated ourselves at the long rows of tables and listened anxiously as the coordinators gave us a run-down of what the night would bring.

    "First, you'll all take our 30-question written test," the man I spoke with earlier, whose name turned out to be Harv, explained to the room. "Short answer, no multiple choice. I can't tell you how well you need to do on it but... you've seen the show. So figure you'll need to do pretty darn well on the test. When we come back from grading your tests, if we call your name, please stay in the building because that means you passed. If we don't call your name, well, thank you very much for trying and we'll hope to see you again next year."

    We completed our one-page contestant information sheets. "This is where you write your name, address, plus the facts that you'd want to talk with Nancy and Ben about," Harv told us.

    I was amazed that some people hadn't already thought of two interesting facts about themselves for the application. My problem had been choosing just which adventure to document. I wrote, "I was once fired from a job for being too honest, and during a junior-high youth-group game last year, I became the coolest adviser ever by eating an entire tin of smoked oysters in four bites."

    Finally, they distributed the test booklets. "Don't turn them over until we give you the signal," they advised, transporting me back to my AP-exam days in high school.

    They gave the signal and we began.

    Question one: 'Easy. No problem,' I thought.

    Question two: 'I know that,' confidently writing the answer on my answer sheet.

    Question three: 'I don't remember that right now, but I know I will when I come back to it,' I thought.

    Question four: 'Uhhhhhh...'

    Question five: 'Uhhhhhhhh...'

    It was the most difficult test I've taken in 17 years of education. No cracks about California public schools, please. I can tell you that while I struggled through it, the labored breathing of my tablemates told me that they weren't doing so hot, either.

    "What is the name of the Israeli intelligence organization?" it asked me.

    'Damn! Katherine quizzed me on that, I knew there would be an Israel question... what is it?' I couldn't pull it out of my interior monologue and needed to move on. I wrote, "Ishtar."

    I filled in answers for every question, most of which seemed at least pretty close to the mark (though I never did learn the correct response for their question about a specific Indian soup).

    Mercifully, shortly thereafter the governor called, and we were all asked to pass our answer sheets face-down toward the aisle.

    My forehead buzzed as though electrified, and I turned my head to see that the rest of the hopefuls wore slackened jaws and were mouth-breathing from the effort. After a couple of minutes we somewhat regained our composure, and the ones who bounced back quickest started milling about.

    A tall Scandinavian man stopped and asked me, "How are you doing?"

    "Better than I will be in 15 minutes, I bet." I replied glumly.

    When Harv and his proctors returned, some people bolted to their seats while others walked languidly, feigning indifference. I just wished they'd all hurry up so we could learn our immediate fate.

    Imagine my surprise when mine was the fourth name called. I passed the test!

    He read through the names and bid adieu to those who weren't called. I noticed that the only person at our table who'd thought he'd done well was excused.

    As the others were leaving, the rest of us had our picture taken by an assistant with a Polaroid camera. I went to the ladies room, jumped up and down and called John (dear friend/other half of Motormouth) to tell him I'd passed the test by the skin of my "Ishtar." Harv then corralled us to the other side of the room, where a table had been set up with three dry-cleaners bells, facing a chalkboard.

    He announced that we'd be playing a mock game, with three of us up at a time. Those of us not playing would be the audience and offer applause and support. I got the feeling we would be graded on this.

    I went up with the second group and did not exactly cover myself with glory, answering "hockey" when the actual answer was "basketball." But I did so with a big smile and confident voice, which they said they were going to judge very highly.

    "You already passed the test so we know you all are already smarter than the average bear. This is where we see how you'd look on TV."

    Hell, I'd look great on TV. I had control of the board only one time, though. My group's questions seemed a lot harder than everyone else's (isn't that always the way?), so I smiled more than I spoke.

    The coordinators must have realized this because at the end of the line, there were only two people left to play a game so they called me back up. I did better this time, answering one question correctly and making a joke answer to another that the other competitors had already missed. Everyone laughed. I smiled harder.

    When our round was over we sat down and Harv told us what the next step would be. "We'll go over the notes and answers tonight and if you hear from us tomorrow, that means you're on the 'Win Ben Stein's Money' Active Contestant List. If you don't hear from us, please don't call. There's always next year. Also, being on the List does not guarantee that you will be filmed, as it has more names than we'll actually need for the filming."

    They let us out into the night. The rain had cleared and when I returned to the car I called Becky, who was just dropping her colleagues at the hotel after their dinner. We agreed to meet at the bar of Musso and Frank, the Hollywood icon that's been there forever. I arrived first and noticed that the actor Vincent Schiavelli was at a large table close to the bar. He's the tall actor with long, dark, often stringy hair and a prominent, imposing forehead. I spoke with an old lady who had spent most of her day on the bus, trying to find another apartment. She'd recently adopted her deceased sister's cat, but her building had a "no pets" clause, requiring her to move elsewhere.

    "What else can I do? I can't leave the kitty." She said it as much to her martini as to me.

    Becky arrived and I told her the story as she drank a light beer and I drank my cosmo, the color of which matched my jacket. I discreetly pointed out Mr. Schiavelli to her.

    "Oh, I loved him in 'Ghost.'" Becky said. "Remember? 'Get off of my train!'" We laughed. As we were finishing our drinks he got up to leave and passed by us. We stopped him and said how much we admired him. He handed our star-struckedness with charm. Becky repeated his "Get off of my train" line and he smiled, but she looks like Yasmine Bleeth so most men would smile at her even if she were reading a list of breakfast-cereal ingredients.
    We had a great dinner around the corner at an Italian place and then I followed her back to Carson. When I awoke in the morning she and her bags were long gone, and I smiled after seeing the note she'd left:

        Dear Ms. Test Passer,
        Hope the rest of your day is fabuloso! It was great seeing you! 

    She'd signed it with a smiley face and "P.S. Get off of my train!"

    My Southwest flight back to San Jose was as uneventful as the first. Another prayer answered. When I made it to the curb to be picked up I called voicemail from my cell phone.

    "Hi Lynn. This is Chris at 'Win Ben Stein's Money' and I'm happy to say that you are now on our Active Contestant List. Congratulations!"

    I saw John shortly thereafter and got into the car. "I made it, John!"

    "I figured you were going to," he answered. "They called the office this morning and asked me a bunch of questions about you."

    "Questions? Like what?" I asked.

    "Stuff like, 'What role does Lynn have at Motormouth? Is she gregarious? How long have you known her, where did you meet her? Where do you live? Do you think that she's funny, can you tell me any funny anecdotes.'" John said.

    "So, what did you tell them?"

    "Well, when he asked about where we met, I told him about the Spartan Daily and how half the people in the newsroom had a big thing for you, but you had no idea."

    "I still want names for that," I reminded him.

    "But to be fair, I told him that everyone else knew that the girl I was dating was a big ho, but nobody told me."

    "What'd he say to that?" I asked.

    "He said, 'turnabout is fair play, huh?'"

    "Did you say anything else?"

    "Yeah, the guy seemed interested so I told him about the time at George's graduation party when George kissed Brooke as she was leaving and we were all around the front porch, and she was so gay and had such a look of revulsion on her face that it prompted you to ask the group if anyone had a toothbrush."

    "... and Don Ritchey pulled one from his backpack and handed it to her." I said, finishing the story. We laughed.

    "Geez, John, anything else?"

    "Just your newsroom attitude."

    'Uh oh,' I thought.

    John continued with his thought as though he hadn't noticed mine.

    "...Especially when you'd be waiting for me to finish my story because you wanted to lay out the paper and go home, and the first time you'd be all nice and ask, 'Do you think... anytime soon?' and the second time you'd say, 'We really have to get going.' Then, by the third time you'd come by and explode, 'What the hell are you doing? Who are you to hold up the whole production? Finish the freaking story already!'" John laughed. "Yeah. The guy even asked, 'What happened the fourth time?' I told him that with me, there never was a fourth time."

    Ahh, the good old days. "Nice that you mentioned my nurturing side," I said as we turned onto the highway.

    "Well, after scamming your way through the test I figured I needed to do something to bolster your likelihood of appearing," John rationalized. "Ishtar, Lynn? I mean, really..."

07/11/2001

It's Showtime, Baby!
Lynn Appears on "Win Ben Stein's Money"

    My original January taping date was postponed. Ben chose the Inauguration (attending as a family friend of the Bushes) over working that day. "What, he'd rather hang out with the President than meet you?" Mom huffed.

    The reprieve gave me extra time to prepare. Becky loaned me her excellent Dictionary of Cultural Literacy and I studied it every night before bed. Mom taped episodes for me so I could practice "ringing in" on the buzzer. This was key as I do not have television service in my cabins. Other friends e-mailed their favorite trivia questions to me. After reading that students who listened to Mozart before an exam performed better than those who didn't, I bought a CD of Mozart piano duets and taped it.

    It wasn't until the second week of January that my cell phone rang.

    "Hi Lynn, this is Harv from 'Win Ben Stein's Money.' How are you?"

    "Good question, Harv: How am I?" I asked.

    He laughed. "Well, probably pretty good, in light of what I'm about to say. Are you still interested in participating in a themed episode?"

    I was eager to wear a costume on the show. That way, it would seem more like being in a play and less like me testing my own wits.

    Harv continued. "Our writers have come up with a theme episode and I think it would be perfect for you. Are you familiar with film noir?"

    "Movies from the 30s and 40s with beautiful, deadly women and the men who love and arrest them, right?"

    "You got it. Well, our writers have developed a film noir show and we'd love for you to participate. They've written some great bits for Ben and Nancy and we're filming the entire episode in black and white. Do you have anything in your closet that could suit the theme?"

    I made a mental inventory of my closet and hat rack. "Definitely."

    "Super. The taping date will be Thursday, February 8. I'll send you another contestant bulletin so you know where to park and where your guests should meet."

    "Thanks, Harv. I'm really looking forward to this."

    ***

    Whenever I have an early morning flight out of San Jose International (airport code SJC), I spend the night at my buddy Steve's house. Not only is he one of my favorite people in the world, but he lives one block from light-rail and one mile from the airport. We ate Chinese take-out the night before. My fortune cookie promised future riches beyond my imagination. Good sign.

    Steve set the alarm clock near the loveseat before going to bed, but the loveseat deemed itself unworthy for sleeping so I pulled the cushions off the couch and put them on the floor, where I slept until the alarm woke me at 5:00 the next morning. I brushed my teeth in Steve's kitchen sink and peed outside so as not to awaken him, donned my fabulous lucky panties, my travelling clothes and was at the airport by 5:50.

    While waiting in line at the gate I noticed some valentines stapled to the wall behind the counter: "Scott loves the Women of SJC." "The women of SJC love Scott." The Southwest agent gave me boarding pass 23, my lucky number. Woo hoo!

    I dozed on the plane ride between pages of A Very Long Engagement, a book that the night before made me cry on page 63. The plane landed at Burbank, the Lilliputian airport, at Gate A1. Positivity abounding, I had my combat boots shined at the airport for $4, plus a $2 tip. As I rose from the chair another man lingered, considering having his own shoes shined.

    "He did a beautiful job. Really," I told the potential patron, "I could eat off of these."

    I called the Cheapy Rental Car counterman from my cell phone. He gave me a Ford Escort. It was pink. Nothing screams "White Trash!" like a pink Ford Escort with somebody else's Taco Bell garbage in the back seat. I shall not rent from him again.

    After putting my bags in the hideous car I returned to the hotel for breakfast, ordering the Burbank Special: an English muffin with Canadian bacon, poached eggs and processed-cheese slices vulcanized on top. I ate quickly, fearing that once the cheese cooled I might break a tooth.

    Post-breakfast, I called my wisest client for some last-minute advice. "Just be yourself," he offered. I thanked him, and then picked a bone with him over the fact that the book he'd recommended made me cry on page 63.

    We rang off and I retrieved my bag from my car, to change from modern-woman Lynn Benson to femme-fatale Lynn Benson. This required stripping completely naked in the handicapped stall of the Ramada's ladies room. My costume consisted of my mid-calf bias-cut Ralph Lauren navy skirt, a long-sleeved pale-yellow sweater with a deep v-neck and the purple cloche hat I bought in Toronto a few years prior. The ensemble didn't quite match, but as the show would be filmed in black and white I figured it wouldn't matter. I chose to wear my super-lucky panties by wearing none at all -- it wouldn't do to get a wedgie on national TV.

    Once dressed, I ran through my toilette from toothpaste to toner to full TV war paint. Those who saw me enter the ladies room were very surprised when I emerged. I think this had more to do with my costume change than my breakfast choice.

    I drove the now-familiar route to the KTLA studios, noticing a movie poster for the upcoming "Sweet November," which I took as another good sign because November is my birth month. I stopped at Rite-Aid for some last-minute supplies (lipstick, safety pins, water and an eyelash curler) and pulled into KTLA's "Producer Lot A" 75 minutes before my call time. Not seeing a parking attendant, I popped my Mozart tape into the cassette deck and read more of Becky's Dictionary of Cultural Literacy. Another happy coincidence occurred when I glanced at the car's digital clock and it read 11:23, which is my birthday.

    About that same time the absent parking attendant returned, and walked around to the driver's side of my ugly-as-sin rental car.

    "Win Ben Stein's Money," I answered before he could ask.

    "Contestant?"

    "Yes."

    "What, are you studying?"

    "Yeah," I said, pushing the button forward to roll up my window and return to the book.

    Close to noon I left the car, packed the book and my cell phone in the trunk (no cell phones would be allowed on the set) and was preparing to close the trunk when I saw another man dressed in a zoot suit. I smiled at him. "I bet I know which show you're taping." He smiled back, kind of.

    We all queued up outside of the guard station and were brought in by some of the same contestant wranglers I remembered from my testing date. They brought us through the parking lot (I hadn't noticed before that Ben Stein's license plate phonetically spells "Clear Eyes," one of the products he promotes) and into the studio building. We walked up two flights of stairs to a room where we could leave our extra changes of clothes. Then we went to the Green Room where Harv read the rules and regulations to all of us. We signed about 14 forms apiece and were invited to have a Krispy Kreme donut. I ate half of one, hoping the sugar rush would grant me a competitive edge.

    "OK, the first show we're going to tape is the film noir episode." Harv named me, Terry (the man I'd seen in the parking lot) and the third contestant. We moved into the hallway to be fitted with microphones.

    Next thing I knew, a man's hand was running up the back of my sweater, then around front to pin a mic to my V-neck.

    "Uh, hi..." I said, making small talk to assuage the awkwardness of having a strange man's hands up my front. "What's your name?"

    "Mike."

    Heh.

    Chris and Harv led us down to the warehouse adjacent to the sound stage. It was the same place I'd taken the entrance exam. Terry told us that two years ago he'd won $10,000 over two nights playing "Jeopardy." I concentrated on breathing and staying calm. We talked about movies and funny Ben Stein stories. Upon learning that I live in the Santa Cruz mountains, Chris warned me that Ben was likely to make some sort of marijuana joke.

    "Every day Ben sidles up to a staff member and whispers in their ear, 'Yo, who's got the chronic stash?' "

    "Guess that's why he's a pitchman for Clear Eyes," I commented. She laughed.

    Around 1:00 they let us on to the sound stage. The set dressers outdid themselves. I saw a door with "B. Stein, Private Investigator" to the right of the stage, a big wooden desk with an Underwood typewriter, and other film noir-ish props. Fabulous. I was delighted to see the raven that serves as a mascot on the set. Harv put me behind the center podium and the two men to either side of me. A prop handler slipped each contestant's name onto the front of our podiums.

    It was about this time that the audience started filing in. This was to be the highest point of my day. Mom had told me a couple of weeks prior that it was fine with her if I invited Dad. They've been divorced for more than 10 years and it would be the first time I'd been in the same room with both of my parents since my cousin Clint got married in the early 1990s. I saw them enter with John and my friend Nick, who lives in Southern California and had driven up for the day. They waved. I surreptitiously waved back.

    It's true what they say about filming: it's a lot of hurry-up-and-wait. It wasn't until 2:00 that Ben Stein himself appeared on the set. He shook our hands and spoke to each of us in turn. He was intrigued to hear that I lived in the Santa Cruz Mountains and did indeed mention the cash crop that the area is famous for. I didn't have the opportunity to tell him that he and I are probably the only two registered Republicans ever to live in Santa Cruz County.

    "Hey, we've got a lot of vineyards, too, don't forget," I chided smilingly. It was a big thrill to meet him -- he seems a very genuine individual. Then Nancy came over to us. She was all dolled up in a nipped-waist coat with a staggering amount of black liner on her eyes and fake eyelashes out to here. Nice lady, charming and very funny. Super slender, too.

    The entire audience was in the studio at this point and a not-so-swell comedian was trying to warm them up.

    "Please, somebody shoot me," the comedian said after yet another of his jokes fell flat.

    "You're already dead!" I heard my Dad respond.

    Each contestant pulled a Ping-Pong ball out of a bag to see who would get to go first. Mine was not the brightly painted ball, so no love for Lynn. The make-up lady went over our faces with a powder brush and the show began!

    The contestant to my right was questioned and then the camera focused on me.

    "Lynn lives in the Santa Cruz Mountains. So, Lynn, we hear that's where they grow the finest pot in the world."

    I just smiled. I mean, I was taping a show for national television, being teased by one of my favorite celebrities. What else was I going to do?

    Nancy continued reading from the card. "And it says that you live in two cabins and get your water from a well."

    "Yes, that's right."

    "Well, welcome to civilization."

    John told me later that Ben made me out to be a pot farmer who gets her well water one bucket at a time. What do Southern Californians know about water, anyway?

    Terry chose the first question but botched his answer. I rang in and answered correctly. This meant I received a follow-up question, one that I answered correctly thanks to Becky's book. For one brief, shining moment, it was Lynn: $100, boys: zilch.

    Alas, the trend did not continue. The show folks had warned us beforehand that the buzzers aren't activated until the question has been read. I'd practiced for weeks with videotapes, ringing in the second the question was read. Unfortunately, I overtrained. Though I knew most of the answers, I rang in too quickly. Maybe my next job will be as the electrician for "Win Ben Stein's Money," 'cause the guy they had was asleep at the switch.

    During the commercial break I caught Harv's eye. "I don't think this thing is working." We tested it and it was OK. Too bad for me. Out at the end of the first round. Bummer.

    Of course, when one gets out in the first round, one must wait around for the second and third rounds to be done. I sat to the side of the aisle, below the audience bleachers. Mom gave me a thumbs-up and Dad patted my shoulder. Naturally, during the second round, there were two questions that nobody, including Ben Stein, knew the answers to. I knew 'em both ("Where is the Rosetta Stone housed?" and "Who is novelist Carol Higgins Clark's mother," to which one contestant answered "Agatha Christie." Mom was laughing about that one for the rest of the day). These two questions would have put me into the third round even though I'd earned only $100 by the end of the first. I would not have done as well as Terry did in the third round, though: He ended up tying Ben's score and going home with $1400. If you watch the show to the very end when the roll the credits, you will likely hear me calling "Woo hoo!" in the background.

    I should have my lovely parting gifts, $205 worth of outdoor gear (probably backpacks), 90 days after my show airs. Hopefully I'll have them in time for a backpacking trip before the season is over. I figure that I spent $500 on two plane tickets, two car rentals, and new clothes, so it's not the worst investment I ever made...

    When all's said and done, though, it was worth it to share a lunch with my Mom and my Dad and John and Nick at Musso and Frank. It was especially worth it to walk up Hollywood Blvd. with the four of them to visit the Frederick's of Hollywood Celebrity Lingerie Museum, where we saw one of Uncle Milty's dresses and a tiny doll-sized bra.

    "Who's bra is that?" John asked.

    "Calista Flockhart's," I answered. He laughed. As I left the room I heard him repeating the line to Dad.

    It was super-especially worth it when Nick cornered me in the secondhand bookshop we stopped in at. "You looked great... gorgeous really. I wanted to eat you alive. I told your Mom that I figured by the time they were done with the taping you'd have a show of your own."

    We returned our respective rental cars and hung out at the airport, drinking copious drinks (except for John), talking about books and waiting for our flights. John took a picture with me, Mom and Dad -- the first such picture to exist since my Junior Prom in 1988. I kissed both of my parents goodbye and boarded the San Jose-bound plane with John. I was so high on life by that time, I expect I could have flown home without benefit of an airplane. And I'm not even a pot farmer in the Santa Cruz Mountains.

***

07/12/2001

Is This Thing On?
Lynn's "Win Ben Stein's Money" Episode is Televised

    So after a stop and start, the episode finally aired. The original airing date was May 24 so I sent postcards to my mailing list and generally alerted the world. I went to my boyfriend's house and he gave me a consolation prize of the book and the film of "The Perfect Storm." Todd had wrapped it himself and stuck a big computer-generated "Miss Lynn Benson's 'Win Ben Stein's Money' Consolation Prize" placard on it, complete with graphics of Ben and Nancy. It was so sweet I nearly passed out.

    At 4:45, Todd's phone rang. I'd left his number on my home answering machine so that people could call me to say how great I looked on TV. It was Mike, calling from Boston.

    "Uhm, I'm watching the show and, uhm, you're not on it."

    Todd and I watched at 7:30 till 7:31, then turned on "Out of Sight" instead. Perhaps not coincidentally, that was the first time I spent the night in his bed. Don't worry, we behaved.

    * * *

    A few people called and e-mailed to say they hadn't seen me on TV so I told them I'd let them know if I learned when it might air again. Having no idea whether the episode had been postponed or already aired was maddening. I checked the schedule on-line at comedycentral.com. No dice.

    "Shit!" I summarized. "I spent $500 to do the show and another $200 on publicity and now I might not even get to see it."

    Finally, while surfing the Web on July 4th I decided to re-open my investigation. I found the Comedy Central search page and typed the keyword "noir." It returned with a snappy, "Hey Chief, is this what you're looking for?" and listed:

    7/12/2001
    7:30 PM All Times ET/PT
    Win Ben Stein's Money (ep#5048) [cc]
    Not all is black & white as three suspects try to steal $5,000 of Private I. Ben Stein's money in this Film Noir tribute.

    Woo-flippin'-hoo! I called and left messages for Mom and Dad, both out with better things to do. Called Dean, my dearest friend from high school, and left a message with his cookie that I'd be on TV later the next week. Mom and I sent e-mails to everyone we knew, and I called my friends from Trinity. I sent an e-mail to my ex-boyfriend Todd (things happen quick around here -- try and keep up) who invited me to watch it at his house. At first I demurred but later accepted, figuring who am I trying to kid? "The Perfect Storm" was not only the name of his consolation prize to me but also perfectly summed up our relationship, which was brief and intense, leaving me drenched, breathless and dashed against the rocks. I'm still awaiting my FEMA disaster aid.

    I called John and asked if he'd like to have a late lunch on the 12th, followed by busting in to The Cats and watching it on their 4:30 East Coast satellite feed. "Be on time," he reminded me. I, who am always on time. On a day of intense personal importance. As if.

    On the day itself I took a walk to expel some of the building free-radical energy. John and I met at Andale Taqueria in Los Gatos. I had the first of what became many beers of the day, evening and subsequent morning. John and I had a great lunch, the most comfortable time we've spent together since the dot-com bomb. But by the time we were done with our burritos I looked at my phone and it was only quarter to 4:00.

    "There's a TCBY a couple doors down. Want to get some yogurt?" We walked up the street and he was sure to point out his stellar parking spot. John always gets the good parking spots. Of course, John has a killer car and is suave as hell, so it oughtn't to surprise anyone. Ordering and eating our yogurt took up another 25 minutes, after which we stood and agreed to meet at The Cats.

    Except for my cabins, The Cats is my favorite place in Los Gatos. It is a ramshackle roadhouse that's been there so long it used to be a bordello. I guess it used to be a gay bar in the 70s, but hello, wasn't nearly every bar a gay bar in the 70s? I mean, disco? Now it's a regular bar with live music nearly every night except for Monday (when they're closed).

    My parents went to The Cats once when they were living in Sunnyvale in the 1960s. Dad never forgot the entertainment that night. "It was some folkie on a guitar with a lisp. One of his songs was 'Little Green Appleth.' I wanted to ask him, 'Why that song, man?'" Deep in reminiscence, Dad sang me the chorus:

    Oh, God didn't make little green appleth
    And it don't rain in Indianaopolith
    In the thummertime

    Anyway, I moved to my mountain homestead on December 1 (y2k) and left for London on the fifth. The first time I went to The Cats was shortly after I returned from across the Pond. I met Alan the bartender on my first visit. He was the first non-landlord person I met in Los Gatos.

    I remembered this as I rattled the door handle of the establishment at 4:20. T-10 and counting. A minute later, Alan appeared.

    "Hi Alan. I know you're not open until 4:30, but can my friend and I come in? I'm going to be on TV tonight." He let me in and I took a seat by the window, waiting for John.

    "Is it your game show?" Alan asked. He'd been well-versed on my adventure.

    "Yeah. It's on at 4:30 on Comedy Central." Even though I haven't had DirecTV since moving away from Redwood City, I remembered that the channel we wanted was 249. Ben Stein fandom is a lasting legacy, indeed. John arrived and I waited impatiently for "The Daily Show with Jon Stewart" to be over already. His moment of Zen featured the stripping of the man who won Wimbledon, so that assuaged my anxiety. A bit.

    I remembered that there were never commercials between the end of Daily Show and the beginning of WBS$, so I perched on the edge of my seat and the introduction began.

    "Lynn, it's in color!" John exclaimed.

    "That's just the beginning -- it's always in color." I said, too scared to blink.

    My breath caught in my throat. The introduction cut away to the show. In black and white. YES! "Oooh, there's Lynn!" John said delightedly as Ben walked past the contestant podiums on-screen. We watched as Ben did a film noir voiceover to the action and then Nancy began introducing the contestants. I was second in line. Nancy commented on the fact that I live in the Santa Cruz Mountains and draw water from a well (I think she was picturing me cranking up the bucket Heidi-style, but after all, what do Southern Californians know about water besides attempted theft?). Ben piped in, "Where she lives in the Santa Cruz Mountains happens to be the place where they grow the chronicest weed in all of California." I laughed, and Nancy added, "All right, you're my new best friend, Lynn."

    They edited the show by not showing Terry's incorrect first answer. He'd chosen the first question and answered it incorrectly. I rang in with the right answer, and won the follow-up prize as well (thanks to Becky's Dictionary of Cultural Literacy). The scoreboard read Lynn: $100, men: $0. Alas, it was not to continue... The questions I rang in first with, I answered incorrectly. Welcome to my life.

    The best part of the show for me was when Nancy said "I didn't know it either, Lynn," after I incorrectly answered a question about the equinox, and followed that up with, "Lynn might not know what 'equi-' means but she does have the best chronic." Both she and Ben said that my appearance on the show could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Ben? Nancy? How about it?

    By the time the episode was over, everyone in The Cats knew I'd been on TV. John left and I enjoyed my second beer of the day, then got in my truck and drove to Todd's, stopping at the grocery store for Smartfood and a six-pack of Lagunitas IPA. My cell phone rang after I was underway -- it was my friend Brad, calling to offer good luck wishes. He sounded disappointed that I'd already seen the episode, and asked me to not tell him how the game ended. I made him promise to read the "day of taping" column once it was over, so he'd know I wasn't a complete dumb-ass that day. He asked where I was going to watch the 7:30 broadcast and I said I'd be at Todd's.

    "Hmmmm... how long has it been since he's seen you?"

    "A couple of weeks."

    "Maybe he'll want to snuggle."

    Todd cooked me dinner and we watched the episode. He taped it on the cassette he'd prepared the first time the show was supposed to air, marking out the May date in favor of the correct July date. Mom called and said I looked great on TV. Dad was out of town so I wasn't expecting to hear from him. Todd, alas, made no overtures that could be construed as pre-snuggling, so after the show was over I left his house and drove to downtown San Jose, where I met friends for Big Lil's "Stand Up, it's Thursday Night" comedy review show. Afterwards we went back to one of their apartments and they asked to see the tape of my TV appearance, so we popped it in and I watched it again. At the end of my segment, once I got the boot, Jim looked over at me. "Jeez, Lynn, you look like you're at Disneyland," commenting about my smileyness. I didn't tell him that once it became apparent that I wasn't going to win, I just thought about my parents sitting there together, watching me from the audience.

    * * *

    So, it's been a month since my debut and it didn't change my life, sigh. Mom's friends sent her e-mails complimenting me on my appearance. Jeffrey blamed my poor performance on my white-trash rental car: "Bad carma." One of my favorite customers from days-gone-by at Aimnet said I came off as funny and charming and commented that the camera "obviously" likes me. I told Steve, who hadn't seen the episode, that Ben Stein said Santa Cruz County grows the best pot in the state. "Wrong: Mendocino," he replied. Brandon said he didn't care for my hat. Katherine couldn't watch it because that was the day her poodle decided to burrow under the German shepherd's fence (both Gigi and Katherine are recovering nicely). A guy I went on a date with a few years ago called my work number and asked if that had been me on TV a couple of weeks ago. I told Mark, who hadn't seen the episode, that that Ben Stein said Santa Cruz County grows the best pot in the state. "Wrong: Mendocino," he replied.

    I called Dean-o this past Saturday but he wasn't home, so I left him a message asking if he'd like to attend the Moffett Air Expo and, by the way, had he seen me on TV? I checked my home voicemail an hour later and was happy to hear his voice. "Yes, Lynn, I saw you on TV and what can I say, you looked supreme. It was actually kind of strange, seeing you on television, but more about that later." What was even more strange was that it turned out he'd left me that message before checking his own answering machine. Doo dee doo doo, doo dee doo doo...

    The final kicker is that I received my lovely parting gift two months ahead of schedule. Instead of a $215 backpack, though, I opened the box to reveal $215 worth of backpacks and water-bottle carriers. Which, come to think of it, might prove handy as I'm hiking around the Santa Cruz Mountains, in search of the chronicest weed in California.

*****

New York City Shuts Down

The whole of lower Manhattan is coated in half an inch of dust.

The mayor closed lower Manhattan this morning.
    Thousands of people left by walking across the Brooklyn Bridge.
    Election called off, airports closed, Wall Street suspended, UN evacuated,
    Children kept in school because their parents could not get to them.

The entire ER entrance was lined with stretchers
    Covered with white sheets. Nurses in scrubs.
    Doctors in uniforms, waiting for the next wave
    At St. Vincent's Hospital in the Greenwich Village.

Hundreds of people are burned from head to toe.
    Remain calm and try to assist in the rescue effort and pray,
    Have these streets open so we can move people out of there.
    The line to give blood was over 100 people long.

Hanging up in frustration at the profusion of busy signals
    According to a spokesman, who declined to give his name.
    Bob Slovak said all subway lines stopped running, and
    Rockefeller Center urged its tenants to go home.

--
Found in "New York City Shuts Down," Associated Press Report,
The New York Times Online: 09/11/2001, 10:00 a.m. PDT.
Poem copyright 2001, Lynn Benson. All rights reserved.