More blather from FNG about how TV makes the press more powerful, which is really big news to anyone who has not only slept through the age of the internet, but went down for a nap sometime before Edward R. Murrow and is just now waking up. (By the way, to that person: you missed an entire sexual revolution which is already over, and now you're old. Too bad for you.) C.J. shows her ID to the security guy at the gate, and she asks him about his kid (I guess), which is what's supposed to pass for insight about C.J. C.J. asks about family! C.J. cares! Or at least C.J. knows how to look like she cares! I feel smarter already. But then I start thinking about making an appointment with the dentist, and that gets me thinking about my deductible, and then I spend a few minutes thinking about the health-care crisis in this country. Believe me, pondering single-payer programs was a welcome relief.
Anyway, C.J. interviews that she gets up before 5:00 and reads news before she comes in; her commute is her alone time; she gets in at 7:00 or 7:30; and working at the White House "never gets old." Aside from the part about the White House, she has just described my day. No, really. So that's not really documentary-worthy, in that I can recreate it by narrating my own morning. ("I've recently switched to decaf, which makes me unmanageable until about 11:30.") There's a senior staff meeting, she explains to Documentary Guy, and then she sees the press, and then she meets with her staff. None of which is new information. Carol brings C.J. some coffee as she strolls down the hall, because she is an assistant from the 1960s, before people got their own coffee. I hate to think that C.J. is less considerate than Melanie Griffith at the end of Working Girl. Carol tells C.J. that Steve and Chris are waiting for her, and that Chris is "chatty," which C.J. says is "trouble." As they walk down the hall, C.J. takes a nervous glance to her left and asks Carol if "he" is on the president's schedule. "Who?" Carol asks. "The FBI director," C.J. exposits helpfully. I'm sorry for looking up from the latch-hook rug I am currently working on instead of paying attention, but seriously, who talks like that? They would use his name. That's absurd. Between Carol and C.J., in a conversation like that, "the FBI Director" sounds hopelessly clunky. Sigh. Hate! HATE!