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...

Saturday, January 02, 2010

Change You Shouldn't Believe In...

Lens Sunrise 2New Year's Resolutions? I can't keep a pair of toenail clippers for more than a fortnight; how am I gonna keep a pledge for twelve whole months? Simple...I'm not. But I am going to share with you ten, er seven things I'd do to improve myself over the next 52 weeks - were I the kind of guy who to follow up on an oath. Which I'm not. Promise...

In 2010 I resolve to drive less with my knee, to use a turn signal like a law-abiding mortal and to stop flipping people off beneath the dashboard, where they can't see it. Unless of course they cut me off. Then IT'S ON like Grand Theft Auto, baby!

This year I promise not to daydream so much during protracted press conferences, but rather glean every syllable of said podium blather for meaning, nuance and implication. That or purge my iPod of any new Abba medleys my wife may have uploaded.

I hereby affirm that in the next calendar year, I'll continue to pepper my speech with words people just don't expect to hear from a TV news photographer! Words like 'obdurate', 'allegory' and 'Excuse me Officer, is it okay if I park here?'

In 2K10 I resolve not to take a hostage when the weather turns hot. Sure, it's sixteen degrees now, but just as soon as I find all my cold weather gear, the last wind will blow and an underwear-expanding blanket of humidity will once again make this Southerner threaten to move to Maine, fur-shirt and all...

Over the next twelve months I pledge to work by myself more than ever before, if for no other reason than it irks certain colleagues who are too lazy, unwilling or frightened to try it themselves. Have fun with those evening live shots, fellas!

In Twenty-Ten I vow to be a more mature news-gatherer, to thank the assignment desk for any directions, to nod and smile when berated about a bump I've already cut, to exercise a little verbal @&*%$ restraint when The Suits want to send me to Choad County for a photo essay at the Septic Tank Sit-In.

Finally, in 2010 I resolve to cut down on the many lists I post to Viewfinder BLUES. After all, lists are eerily sequential, rarely original and almost always a rip-off of something David Letterman's already done. That reminds me, have I ever told you my top twelve ways to confess an indiscretion. #1) Get a talk show...

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