I've always been frank with you, haven't I? I don't lie.

Okay, well, I rarely lie.

Shut up. Exagerrating is not lying.

Leave me alone.

In any case, I've debunked several radio theories thus far - that VIP passes make you cool, that radio DJs are always guaranteed the backstage rite of passage, that boy band members are as sweet and docile as their syrupy ballads, and, most importantly, that you have to be cool to be in the business (I disprove that every time I open my mouth, as a matter of fact) - and I certainly don't plan to stop now.

I will soften this next blow, though, by first revealing that Santa Claus isn't real. Nor is the Easter Bunny. (The Tooth Fairy is questionable.)

When your favorite radio station goes to "hang out" at some big, prestigious "awards show" because they've received an "exclusive invite" from said "awards show," they are lying. LYING. Right through their teeth. I kid you not! They essentially look you straight in the eye and tell you something that isn't even remotely truthful, half-hoping, half-assuming that you are too stupid to figure out what's really going on.

The ugly truth is that they are one of many stations invited to participate in the event. The awards promoter invites your station, and if your station accepts, they are then expected to run a ridiculous number of commercials promoting that show. In return, your station gets to go to the event and pretend that they're friends with famous people. The whole affair is barely legal.

Radio stations that attend will claim that they're hanging out "backstage," or at an "all access party," but that is also a bold-faced lie. The area that they're talking about resembles college day at a high school.



It's a large, open area with 50+ tables for artists' perusing pleasure, and only the worthy will get the opportunity to recruit. Think of larger markets as Ivy League, and small-market stations as junior schools. Tillamook Bay Community College may be pulling out all of the stops - fancy brochures, gift bags and hors d'oeuvres - but you know damn well that the kids will congregate around the Dartmouth table.

You can gauge where your station falls by the interviews they get. If you hear them chatting up people like Kato Kaelin, Debbie Gibson, or any of the Baldwin brothers whose name doesn't begin with "Alec," then sadly, your favorite station is Tillamook Bay Community College.

(I'll equate my station with my alma mater, Sam Houston State University. We ain't exactly Harvard, but you can put in your four years and little to no effort, and still leave with a fairly respectable degree.)

You can also gauge a musician or actor's status by what colleges they apply to. If someone actually aspires to attend Tillamook Bay, then that person is well aware that their career GPA is embarrassingly low.

There are actors like Jorge Garcia, Kevin Sorbo and Cheryl Hines, who, while they would prefer a Big 10 school, will still settle for an establishment that has a decent football team and passable degree plans.

There are musicians like Eminem and Beyonce, who wait for Yale to offer them full scholarships.

Then, there are people like Jason Dohring. He applies to every single college in the room, hoping against hope that someone - hell, anyone - will accept him so that maybe his mother will stop calling him a lazy, freeloading loser with zero potential and no future.

I don't know that his mother actually says that, mind you. I'm just assuming, here.

My co-worker and I were sitting comfortably at our little table in the back of the room, attempting to enjoy the cold fish and dressing-drenched salad that the Radio Music Awards had so graciously provided for us, when one of the RMA runners (AKA the orientation volunteers) approached us and begged us to interview Jason. "Nobody wants to talk to him and he's about to lose it," she said with a pleading expression. We looked at one another, shrugged, and agreed. We were waiting on an interview with Ryan Cabrera, and figured we had about five minutes to kill before Ashlee Simpson's spiky-headed ex meandered our way.

"C, we're going live with Jason Dohring," my interview partner said into the mic as the actor approached us. He beamed, completely unaware that "C" was not a nickname for the person back at the station, but our code for C-list, and that the board op had been instructed not to even push record for anything lower than B-list. (We may not be Ivy League, but we're high enough up that we can demand a certain level of accomplishment.) It broke my heart a little to see the rekindled hope brewing in his eyes. He was like a cute stray puppy - I desperately wanted to take him in, but unfortunately, I live in an apartment complex with a strict no-pet policy. What can I do, except set a plate of food out for him, pat him on the head, and pray that he eventually finds a good, warm home?

My co-worker, on the other hand, took him in for the night and got caught red-handed.

"Sooooooooooo, here we sit with..."

Jason waited for someone to fill in the awkward pause. I had already forgotten his name, so it certainly wasn't going to be me. "Jason Dohring," he finally answered, visibly miffed.

"Yes! Of the WB's Veronica Mars."

"It's a UPN show."

"Oh." The two death rays being shot in my direction were uncomfortable for everyone at the table, but what could I do? I, not being much of a television person, hadn't seen so much as a preview for the show. Thus, I could not help bail my colleague out. I could, however, keep my own little lifeboat afloat by not saying a word, which is exactly what I did.

I could see that my co-worker was feeling the sting of the day's first interview defeat, but he quickly scanned the interview cheat-sheet (also graciously provided by the RMAs), picked a few key words out, and bravely kept going. "And you play Duncan?"

"Logan."

"What is it like working with Kirsten Ball?"

"Her name is actually Kristen Bell."

"Do you enjoy working on a sitcom?"

"It's more of a drama."

"The show is in its third season, right?"

"Second."

Sinking like a stone, he was.

"You're no stranger to the WB, either. You've been on some other really successful shows, like Roswell and Boston Public."

Jason looked as though he wanted to both bang his head against the table and strangle my workmate, but couldn't figure out which he should do first. "Again, the show I'm currently on is a UPN show, and Boston Public aired on Fox, not The WB."

Silence.

"You want to leave our table, don't you?"

"Very much so."

"Okay. Well...thanks for stopping by, Jared."

"JASON."

"Right."

Needless to say, Jason Dohring withdrew his application. A stellar meal plan couldn't have gotten him on board at that point. In fact, he preferred Tillamook Bay to us. They're small, but I hear the professors there are much more attentive.

Plus, they had hors d'oeuvres. Really, you can't compete with that.