Pete from Spokane files a report on big cats and root canal that illuminates the intoxicating access afforded your local lenslinger. It's the kind of surrealistic episode that propels us through mind-erasing stretches of more mundane matters: protracted board meetings, glassy-eyed ribbon-cuttings, soul-withering press release parties. It's enough to make an aging news-chaser stare longingly at his pager. Until the damn thing goes off, that is.
Truth is, there's nothing better than being waved past the barricade, ushered backstage or escorted upfront just so I can stick my lens in the hoopla. It’s one of the many reasons I keep reporting for duty every weekday (that and a mortgage!). Sure, I could be exiled to a sleepy boardroom to fidget and pace ‘til news-time, but then again - if I wound up clinging to a crumbling riverbank as panicky firemen scrambled down to save a couple of half-drowned boaters, well - it wouldn't be the FIRST time. No, let the bean counters and staple-arrangers have their cushy cubicle, I'll take my chances on the open road - where the call of the wild and a page from the desk will soon plunge me back into spectacle.
I just hope I get lunch.
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