No Rest for the Sweaty

I love North Carolina - the mountains, the beach, the fact that so many people I know live here. But if I could change one thing about the land in which I reside, it would be the insufferable heat and humidity that sucks the very breath from my lungs each summer. I know, I know, I’m tilting at windmills here - but the supercharged heat molecules currently suffocating my native state are making it hard to focus on anything else. And I focus for a living - a tricky feat when the viewfinder before you is a shimmering curtain of falling forehead water. Perhaps I’d feel differently if I earned my paycheck inside, scribbling figures or pushing units while ensconced in the splendor of modern-day air conditioning. But that, dear readers, simply ain’t the case. I, like many others, venture out into the sweltering thicket on a daily basis, often leaving puddles of photog sweat in my wake. For irrefutable evidence, refer back to that picture of me and the lion. Then remember, I’m a lot better looking in my mind’s eye. Hey, who ain’t?

But I didn’t log in to mine the depths of my own vanity, I came to bitch about the heat! Let’s get started, shall we? I grew up in Eastern North Carolina, a region known for it’s scrub pines, lack of hills and triple digit temps come summertime. Funny thing, though - I don’t ever remember succumbing to the scorching conditions as a kid. Guess I was too busy reading, daydreaming or being ostracized by my peers to ever notice. Boy has that changed (the noticing, not the ostracizing). These days I can soak through the finest in cabana wear just by thinking about the heat. By the time I actually step outside, I’m sweatin’ like an escaped convict at a prison guard convention. And that’s before I even get out the parking lot! Maybe I’m just getting old, that or my interior thermometer is stuck on perma-sweat. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I’m a furry mammal pushing forty who still slings an oversized fancy-cam in an ugly shirt. Mom was right... I should’ve tried harder in school.

Oh well, too late for that now. The best I can do is slather on the deodorant and keep an eye on the calendar. Pretty soon, the seasons will change and I’ll find myself huddling with others in shiny logo-wear as the crime tape flutters in the clutch of a delightful Autumn breeze. I’m pretty sure I’ll find something to whine about then, but it damn sure won’t be the weather. Not that my brethren will mind. You see, those of us who squint for a living are intimate with unease - bouncing along in a cramped police car cockpits, jockeying for shots in a swirling press-pack, backpedaling down stairs with twenty five pounds on your shoulder and one eye glued to a tiny screen. It can be a blast, but it’s not without it’s bumps, bruises and unfortunate pit-stains. All of which should serve as a warning to those considering my career path. Unless you’re a restless gadget-freak with attention-deficit disorder, a student of the moving image who‘s not afraid to get smelly, and a well-balanced contortionist with an elevated threshold for discomfort, you might wanna reconsider taking up the lens.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I hafta go towel off...

Hurricane Stew: YouTube

As one who makes TV by day and scribbles on the internet by night, you'd think I'd be a natural born 'vlogger'. But like the dairy farmer who's lactose intolerant, there is but so much video I can stomach. (These days, I'd much rather milk the written word than wrangle more moving images.) That's where my buddy Weaver comes in, a self-admitted footage junkie who'd gladly tattoo TV test patterns to the inside of his eyelids if he could only figure out how. To hear Weave tell it, a revolution is at hand and if we don't start posting things to youtube, we'll be about as cutting edge as that Fleetwood Mac 8-track you can't seem to let go of. So look for the occasional vlog to pop op on Viewfinder BLUES in the coming weeks, provided I can find subject matter that trips my trigger enough to aim and edit on my off time. Until then, enjoy our inaugural youtube clip - that celebrated camera-baptism I've written so much about in the past. Come on, let's get viral...

Gatekeepers of the Fourth Estate

The bright lights and big egos of my first television station held me entranced for much of my twenties. Back then, the anchors were prophets, the local newspaper scripture and police scanners burped the voice of God. How incredibly important it all seemed. As I aged however, my appetite for the artifice of modern day broadcasting waned considerably. Sure, I’ll always love the visceral thrill of combining sights, sound and words to tell stories big and small. But the canned banter, the infatuation with feigned urgency, the whole crime and grime paradigm…those newscast facets I can live without. Which is why I’m so excited about what the internet. Far more than a confusing series of tubes, Al Gore’s greatest invention has the power to save TV news, by forcing its myopic practitioners to reinvent it. Hear me out...

Since the first test pattern was beamed into living rooms, viewers at home have watched the world through a rigid template. Avuncular anchors clamoring for gravitas bring us the days’ events in predictable patterns: breathless headlines, a smattering of hard news, Commercials, super-duper dorked-up weather, Commercials, big board sports!, More Commercials, then back to the studio for a wide shot of the Channel X elders chortling over something inane. Viewers knew the blueprints, but they still had to be led by hand from room to room before they found what they were looking for in a back closet. No more. Now the audience can wander around unencumbered, explore hidden crevices and cross well-traveled corridors - all while marveling at the architecture. Or better yet, deciding where to re-decorate.

My own employer is a good example. A charter member of a global communications dynasty, we have benefited from our uptown cousins with a powerful new website. Now, viewers who were once resigned to looking from the outside in can fling open the cyber-doors and poke around the property. Weather geeks can peruse radar and satellites without having to wait for a dapper meteorologist’s smarmy permission. News nerds can cue up that story they missed when the dog soiled the rug - without having to sit through endless teases rife with close-ups and clichés. Best of all, newscast consumers can file a complaint, register a request, or add to the subject matter at hand with wisdom and insight once deemed unworthy of inclusion. The end result: a deeper, more detail-oriented news product - one that boasts the immediacy of moving images, the analysis of long-form print and the interactivity found only in a hyper-linked world. And we’re just getting started.

But the metamorphosis won’t come without a few growing pains. Despite our claims of cutting edge abandon, your local broadcast newsroom is really a rather staid place, a highly segmented landscape where job descriptions form borders and individual disciplines rarely mix. Reporters write, photogs shoot, anchors gesticulate and never the twain shall meet. No more. Technology is breaking down age-old walls and forcing both scribes and technicians to learn new skills. No longer married to one particular medium, the denizens of newsrooms everywhere will soon have to learn the skills of their co-workers if they want to stay in the game. Not everyone will survive, but in order to survive the great unbundling of media, we must all abandon the priesthood of our particular tools and learn how to tell stories in a smattering of formats - before a newly empowered audience decides the self-appointed gatekeepers of the fourth estate are little more than crumbling statues of a pompous age.