Redfin was on Good Morning America today, as promised. The interview was, as always, a blast, and being in a studio was as strange as ever. For some reason, I kept thinking of the children’s book author I had met in a green room on a previous trip. He had written a beautiful little book, and had nothing to worry about. Real estate by comparison seemed so complicated and mercenary.
But then again nothing can make you feel how infinitely varied and desultory life can be like morning television. The star of today’s show was a 44-pound cat, which had entered the building on a red carpet, with ABC interns posing as paparazzi. Competition between the morning programs for the cat interview had, I was told, been fierce. In the green room, the cat tucked into the small feast that been laid out for him.
Diane Sawyer’s producer came in, and looking down at the grazing animal with a mixture of disgust and what may have been wistful envy, asked if the cat had “like, an endocrine problem.” The cat’s handlers, a group of funny Jersey ladies, said, “let’s not go there.”
Barbara Walters came through the studio in a magnificent King-of-the-Mountains-style dress, walking gingerly, with delicate eyelashes and a well-muscled man in a very tight shirt and bleach-blonde hair carrying her purse, to air an interview with Carla Bruni. I’ve been watching her since childhood, and wish I had said hello. It was strange to hear her talking so matter-of-factly about Carla’s orgies. I was interviewed by Diane Sawyer, whose youthful relationship with Henry Kissinger I had also just read about, awestruck.
We ploughed through some questions around some real estate science we’re publishing next week, remembering the advice “not to get into it” with any of the nuances and qualifications we would have dearly loved to make. As soon as the segment was over, the producers swooped in to escort Ms. Sawyer to Bryant Park, filled with teenage girls and already a little sticky with heat, for a production of Rent and a Jonas Brothers concert.
Earlier in the day, I’d asked, “Who’re the Jonas Brothers?” The entire green room fell into shocked silence.
“Dude,” the producer said, apparently having never struggled with the sense of scale that any visitor to New York’s big stage immediately gropes for. “They’re huge.”
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