Editors Note:


EDITOR'S NOTE: Fresh off a three year managerial stint, your friendly neighborhood lenslinger is back on the street and under heavy deadline. As the numbing effects of his self-imposed containment wear off, vexing reflections and pithy epistles are sure to follow...

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

A Three Hour Tour...

Window SeatWhile I remain a staunch supporter of the heavy glass, the boat anchor on my shoulder was no match for this backpacker's souped-up handycam today. Justin Quesinberry's his name. I know because his ID badge stuck to my face for a second this morning. The two of us were floating among the detritus of an airport shuttle bus - a stout vessel stuffed with City Council members and driven by a man who, apparently, had to pee very badly. Look, I'm all carting politicians around to see what they're voting on, but who sightsees at Mach Four? What should have been a quiet drive around the runways felt like 'rookie night' on the Vomit Comet. I didn't so much run my camera as ride it. From scoffed-at speeds bump to last-minute lefts, our driver and his bulging bladder kept me in Zero-G for most of the voyage. Ricocheting across the cabin, I barely escaped landing in the bus' shallow stairwell, but stepped on News & Record reporter Margaret Banks' foot in the process. Sorry, Margaret - it was either that or fall into the mayor's lap again and that's just not how I roll. Tell you what, I'll go hang with the rest of my ilk living their dream underneath the luggage rack. That News-2 dude on the floor seems to have found a way to steady up. Too bad he's sitting in gum.

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