I wasn't naive enough to
think that interning at Late Night would be my big break, although I did
like fantasizing about that defining moment when the writers would
realize, "Hey, this kid's got what it takes." I visualized a staffer
casually asking me why I was doing this internship. "I'm doing it for
the money," I would say. He would laugh appreciatively, but then his
eyes would grow thoughtful. "The biz is a rough place to break into,"
he would think, "but she's got a damn good chance." Obviously, I
didn't expect this to happen anymore than I expected Conan to invite
me along on his vacation. I wasn't surprised, however, when I was
asked to buy Conan sunblock. My general production
internship at Late
Night consisted of
sitting around the intern lounge, talking, watching TV, and reading
the never-ending supply of newspapers and magazines delivered to the
show. Every once in awhile the internship coordinator would send us
on runs in the NBC building or in the city: "Who wants to bring a
tape to editing? Oh, and there are eleven pizzas and eight salads we
need to pick up for dinner," he would say. Errands, sorting mail, and
faxing provided a good opportunity to learn about the internal
organization of the show and to become acquainted with the staff
members. But even the fact that we were sorting fan mail didn't make
it glamorous. Experiencing something
interesting nearly every day made up for the drudgery. The stage
manager usually needed someone to sit in for Conan O'Brien and Andy
Richter during the first rehearsal, so one day I had the opportunity
to "be" Andy. They handed me a script, made sure my body mike was
working, and starting adjusting the lighting. After flipping through
fourteen pages of script I found my one line: "I don't think so." I
was a nervous wreck. I glanced over at my image on a nearby TV
screen, realizing that the rehearsal would be broadcast throughout
Rockefeller Plaza. It reminded me of my stint as a waiter in
Annie Get Your
Gun where my one line
consisted of asking Annie Oakley if she would "like some more salad."
I had another opportunity to
sit in, only this time it was for a stunt man who would be falling
onto a collapsible replica of Conan's desk. I reported to the studio
and found the stage manager. "You're not scared of heights, are you?"
he asked me. "No, why?" (This was actually a lie, but I was curious
to hear what he wanted me to do.) "We need you to climb up that
ladder over there," he said. "Ladder?" "Right. And then walk along
the catwalk. That's where the actor will be sitting for this shot."
I slowly climbed the ladder
and scooted along the catwalk until my legs were dangling twenty-five
feet above the stage. The crew began adjusting the lighting and
positioning the cameras so that the set-up would be perfect when they
began taping. "Don't jump," the stunt man added helpfully from below.
I also decorated cakes. I
happened to visit the prop department on the day the Upright Citizens
Brigade would perform their sketch "The Cake Walk," and the head of
props was kind enough to let me help him out. Armed with tubes of
icing, Hershey kisses, Red Hots, and plastic cowboy figurines, my
goal was to make the kind of cakes you'd bring to a hoedown. Essentially, it was
highlights such as getting to see a cake I decorated on television
that made for an unconventional, fun internship. I'm still uncertain
as to whether television is truly right for me, since this internship
was my first experience in the field. I do know that if I were to
pursue this field I would prefer to be a writer above anything else.
Of course, my internship only reinforced my knowledge of television
as a relatively closed-off, competitive field; but I'm still
fascinated by the power and immediacy of television and the potential
for such immense creativity.
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