Dec. 1, 2004: Tom Brokaw resigns.

Dec. 2, 2004: Dickie Cronkite takes the reigns at the prestigious university TV studio.

That's right, the torch has been passed.

Today I made both my correspondent and anchor debuts.

(Um, on tape.)

It was a fun change of pace. The powers that be had our class section rotate jobs - working the cameras, audio, teleprompter etc. while also taking turns on-camera as both anchor and correspondent with the beat stories we covered yesterday.

I cannot do proper justice to the high comedy of a bunch of writers play-acting the evening news. You've just got to trust me.

Honestly though, I was terrified. As "correspondents," we had to paraphrase our stories from memory into the camera. Even if it's just being taped for school in front of no more than 20 people, there's something about that psychological effect of staring into a lens. And having to be professional. 'Just horrific.

On the L riding up to campus - before I had any idea what was ahead of me - I was reading Life of Pi. Great book. But by chance, just before we got to my stop, I came across this striking passage:

"For fear, real fear, such as shakes you to your foundation, such as you feel when you are brought face to face with your mortal end, nestles in your memory like a gangrene: it seeks to rot everything, even the words with which to speak of it. So you must fight hard to express it. You must fight hard to shine the light of words upon it. Because if you don't, if your fear becomes a wordless darkness that you avoid, perhaps even manage to forget, you open yourself to further attacks of fear because you never fought the opponent who defeated you."

Funny to find myself remembering that as they counted down to the feed. So in an instant, I reflected and faced my fears, courageously glared ahead of me into that infinite glass portal of a lens, heard my cue, took a deep breath -

...and I still sucked.

Oh well.

The anchorman part was a lot more relaxing. During that whole formulaic Q&A between the wannabe anchor and the wannabe correspondent, the "producer" would whisper an extra final goofy question into the anchor's earpiece to ask the correspondent, around the corner in another booth.

My friend Gillian was doing a riveting report on a Wal Mart expansion in Niles. As anchor, I got to ask her, on-camera, with a completely straight face:

"And Gillian, one last question. Don't you think Wal Mart sucks??"

"Yes, Dickie, I do. I hate it, in fact."

"Me too, Gillian. Thanks for that report."

Later, we watched the tape.

Dear God.

[sigh.]

Cronkette: That was very polite & sweet of you not to tell me how pasty and pale and clammy I've gotten, but that's totally not necessary. That's why I love you. Next time, feel free to just act natural and gawk in horror. The cat's out of the bag.

Yeesh! Only a week left and I'm back on a plizzane to Cali for a little surf therapy. Not a moment too soon! (Yes I just said "plizzane." Feel free to shoot me later.)