"News doesn't happen in the newsroom." I don't know who said that, but I'd like to buy him a drink in a low-lit dive far from any TV station. It's not that I harbor any disdain for cluttered cubicles bathed in flourescent light; I'd just rather make my broadcast bones in the Great Unkown. Besides, the newsroom's too damn dangerous. Lurk too long in an edit bay hallway and you'll soon find yourself running teleprompter for a jittery anchor candidate hopped up on shiny lip gloss and outsized ambition. No, I feel safest when traversing the region's perimeter, where only inclement weather, impossible deadlines and amped-up rent-a-cops pose any real hazard. Best yet, I'm never alone - as a tattered army of fellow news hunters roam the highways looking for a new point of view on recycled human drama.
So consider this your lenslinger's ode to the open road - the only place I feel in control, out of range and unencumbered. That said, I suppose I should wash my ride. A cross channel camera scrum could break out at any moment and I'd have to explain to my general assignment buddies why the American Idol hack's company car looks like it just came from covering a tri-county tractor pull. Now if you'll excuse me I have to catch a cross-country flight, and leave my mud-caked sled to bake in the sun. Anybody got a chisel?
2 comments:
Being out of cell phone range while on the road is even better!
Dude at least it's cleaner than one of our live trucks. You know your due for a cleaning, when you mistake jumping into your own vechile and think it's a live truck. Or better yet into Weaver Truck.
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