From the scratchy green scribble of correctly modulated audio to the ditchbank tilt of a hastily-landed Unit 4, these are the leftover snapshots of 2005. In making way for the 06 pix, I've scoured my hard-drives for residual build-up. Uploaded but never shared, these differing pixels have seemingly nothing in common but their image-bin lineage. Still, I'm not about to let a lack of news stop me from filing a report. How's that for honest blogging?
On second thought, these stills will be easy to contexualize. To a frame they all bear traces of the chase, that eternal foot pursuit to the next photo op, the next edit bay, the next live shot. I like to think of them as postcards from the edge of happenstance, visual reminders of eight hour shifts I've worked hard to forget. But enough of my whining, let's meet some people.
Ya'll remember Wrenn Dawg? Sports shooter extraordinaire, Siler City Superstar? Here's a shot of him from last fall's Chrysler Classic of Greensboro, squinting and fixated as Kyle Petty answered on-camera questions while a drunken heckler shouted taunts at all of us. As I write this, the Carolina Panthers are waging war with the Dallas Cowboys in Charlotte. I keep looking up from the laptop at the TV, to see if I can spot this wiry veteran on the sidelines. Perhaps he'll know what Steve Smith said to to the ref to get ejected...
Innocent as it seems, this particular frame grab triggers stress in the chests of editors everywhere. Actually, 4:31 is no reason to get your pulse up, even if your sitting down to cut a piece that leads the five. But we news-warriors have a habit of bending time. Ideas borne of morning meeting chatter regularly air just hours later as mostly coherent broadcast journamalism. Sometimes we even get the facts right.
Just ask Tim Bateson. This crafty Canadian has transformed from a relative rookie to seasoned pro faster than anyone since Scott Danka. In fact, young Timmy, soon to be betrothed, has rescued my flustered butt more times than I care to admit. When exactly he stopped being the student and started being the teacher I don't know, but I'm awfully glad he's stepped up so often this year. Must be all that midnight hockey...
It's a technician-swarm, a swirling photo op, a heated camera scrum, it's ... Tuesday. At least I think it was. Truth is, I do't remember anything about this particular gang-bang other than it involved a dog and a couple of nurses. Think that's obscene? You should've been there. Old whathisname with the camera there will attest. You know, that guy I've chatted up a hundred times at various crime scenes but still don't know his name. Is that pathetic or what?
Don't answer that. Instead check out the latest in senior reporter fashion through the prism of a live truck sideview mirror. When not meeting deadlines with style, Eric "Tighty-Whitey" White sashays his way to lead story glory with a wit and verve all his own. And i'm not just saying that because he talked me down from climbing the tower and jumping off the other day.
But let's not speak of last week's strife. Instead let us peer into the distance, past the endless hurdles of vosots and live shots, all the way to that promised deadline in the sky. Surely, life's Chief Engineer will present us with schematics at the completion of our mortal careers. No way could this extended broadast of chaos and trivia last thirty years only to switch over to an inexplicable test pattern when you least expect it? Could it? Well, could it? IS THIS THING ON?