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...

Friday, July 29, 2011

Lenservention

This will feel nothing like intercourse.
You there, with the leisure wear and thinning hair... Just look at yourself: forty four years old and still running your hands over complete strangers in the shadow of some skeevy newscast. What would your children think? Oh, that’s right. They think you’re a cable installer. It’s probably best that way. For if they could see the way you spend your day: scouring the hinterlands for a minute-fifteen of fluff, pursuing that minutia as if it held the very keys to the planet, ruing the day you staggered into that first affiliate... it’s all just so predictable. Would life have not grown rosier has you instead stumbled into some hallowed hall of higher education? That way your world outlook would have been shaped by a sheltered expert, not a revolving door of lead investigators, ghetto preachers and gassy passers-by.Who knows what heights you could have reached had you not burdened with yourself with a Sony you didn't even own. I don't wanna tell you how to live your life (or mine), but twenty some years into this silly gig and you're just now realizing you got the world's most interesting dead-end job?

Worse yet, you been at this so long, there's really no hope for recovery. It's not like you could go out and get a real job! No, you'll never be promoted to Vice President of Stapler Arrangement with that limited attention span of yours. You know, the one you fractured years ago with all those disposable vignettes you've foisted on an unsuspecting public. And that driving record of yours? No church will ever ask you to cart around their flock, that's for sure. But perhaps the most troubling aspect of your diminished condition? That half-baked notion you've seen it ALL. Look, two decades of putting every type of person and predicament on the news does not an education make. For insight like that, you have to rise in the corporate ranks, get a teaching fellowship or at least be put in charge of a french-fry vat or two. Only then can you possess the kind of enlightenment that comes with random letters behind your name, or a good ole fashioned hairnet. So, do us all a favor there, Fellini: Back off that deadline. The only thing you're killing is any hope your Mom and I ever had of you becoming a professional bowler.  She may still claim your kind, but me...

I can’t even look at you.

6 comments:

jhs said...

Read this with quite a few laughs last night Stewart. Glad to see you back in form.

Getawaymoments said...

"you're just now realizing you got the world's most interesting dead-end job?"
Was thinking that just the other day. So true and sad.

Inspector Clouseau said...

Stewart:

I'm struck by your "minute-fifteen" of fluff comment. Is that what sells, is dictated / demanded, is sought, or a combo of multiple factors.

This local news thing, and the issues on which they focus, has always bothered me. There have to be more important issues in life....

There have to be more inspiring stories...

Than some guy holding up a hamburger stand.

Lenslinger said...

First, let's define 'fluff'. For purposes of this discussion, it's what used to be known as features: softer stories that don't pack the alarm of that triple homicide graphic. Think school bus rodeo instead of school bus crash. Some view the term 'fluff' as derisive. I embrace it, for I'd simply rather spend my day chasing school kids through a corn maze than following a cadaver dog down a ditch bank. Many days i don't have a choice.

I am a registered purveyor of fluff, if that's what we must call it. I prefer 'non-episodic lens-centric cinematic passion plays exploring the human condition', but all that's hard to fit on a business card.

Cranking out b-block fodder saved my journalistic soul, for the ungodly grind of news-gathering is bad enough without being awash in corpses. I've climbed dozens of widow's porches, by myself and as part of a crew. I'll wade hip-deep through a jungle of fluff to dodge the next set of steps in my path.

Now as for that held-up hamburger stand, are we talking some fly by night place or like a long established eating hole? And was there surveillance video? Can we get it? Is the owner chatty?

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