Do you ever think about what it would be like if your life was a television show? What if, every week, millions of viewers around the world tuned into a section of your life? Sometimes, especially now that I am on a tiny coral atoll in the middle of Micronesia, I wonder how my own show would do.
The questions that churn through my head are would people like my character on TV, would the show be boring and what kind of product placement could I snag...
OK, the last one was a little tongue-in-cheek but you get what I am saying.
Some weeks I am sure that my ratings would be high.
Be sure not to miss the newest installment of “Tall Man in a Little Island” where our hero educates impoverished youth, braves the depths of the sea with fins and a spear to catch dinner and still has time to work on the next great American novel...
Well, maybe the last section of the show would experience a drop-off in viewer ship. There is only so many people in the world who would be content to watch me peck away at me laptop — and I don’t think that mothers count in the Neilson Ratings — but it would be a good opportunity to get a Dell Computers tie-in anyway.
However, there are also many times here where I know even the camera men would be yawning.
And on this episode of “Tall Man in a Little Island,” or protagonist spends three hours trying to stem the flow of ants invading his cupboard — and his thumb is his only weapon...
There isn’t even an ad tie-in for this one. Maybe I could do something with Raid where there are fifteen seconds of me in my kitchen squishing ants one by one with my thumb before big, red lettering is stamped across the screen, “Don’t be this idiot — use Raid,” the announcer would proclaim.
It’s an idea...
Anyway, I am pretty sure that my Christmas Special would be a hit. My two brothers, mother, father, aunt and girlfriend (who are all visiting, and have brought gifts, including fresh coffee — someone get Starbucks on the phone) and I went down to the Rita Christian Church to watch Marshallese Beat.
Beat is something that the Marshallese do every Christmas. It is a sort of choreographed dance that is put together by the local churches. The dances range from completely contemporary to little numbers that show a fishing story. The girls go in one line and the boys go in another and the tall white tourists come and watch.
Actually, my family and I were the only foreigners watching but right when we came in the Pastor of the church came over and offered us the best seats in the house. My mother, father and aunt all took him up on his offer and marched up to seats in the front on the left side of the altar. They were laden with shell necklaces, homemade fans and water and juice. They watched kids and adults do some incredible dancing.
My brothers, girlfriend and I watched and laughed from the pews. Less than 48 hours off the plane from blustery, cold Oregon and my family were the guests of honor in a Marshall Island’s Christmas. Simply a tight shot of their faces would be priceless — the running punch-line could be how my family laughed at every Marshallese joke told in Marshallese despite the fact that they know no Marshallese.
I think that would have gotten some respectable ratings — I am pretty sure Neilson counts extended family in their polls.
I’m still thinking about what advertising I could plug in...
The love you give comes back in the end.
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