Far Flung Friends

This Just In: I'm not in Blacksburg and from the looks of our manpower plan, I probably won't have to be anytime soon. For that I'm grateful, but it hasn't stopped me from falling victim to the malaise that has gripped this fair region. Then again, I love me some good malaise. So while my colleagues are crafting comprehensive team coverage of the Virginia Tech tragedy, I'm doing my part by not watching any of it. Instead, I'm holed up in my normal roost, tending to my hens and thinking of old acquaintances. Let's meet a few...

While I stew in my own juices, Little Lost Robot is traipsing around Las Vegas. He's there for NAB of course, the annual summit of broadcasters, pimps and shysters. No fan of Vegas myself, I opted to stay at home. Hey I'm all for wanton debauchery but one trip to the Skeeve Capital every three years is enough for me. Still, I wouldn't have minded attending the yearly b-roll bash again. Why? Fresh beer, tipsy photogs, a chance to win a free tripod - where else can you see Kevin Johnson drink himself into a six foot five stupor? It's not on Pay-Per-View. Not yet, anyway...

Years before I'd ever heard the word 'blog', then-partner Rashunda Tramble had her own website. Of course Rash also made homemade soap, tolerated my nightly wide-angle habit and paid membership dues to Mensa. Next to that, how hard could learning HTML be? No longer an entertainment reporter, Rashunda is now a soul sister in Switzerland . When she's not busy being geographically exotic, she web-publishes photos, reflections and conjecture that still make me feel like a dumb white boy from the sticks. Ain't technology grand?

One of the smartest things I did today was ring up my old buddy Vern. No longer a news photog, Vernon Paul Dunn's life still mirrors mine in many ways. We're both married to short, aggressive women, we both got girls we mostly chauffer and TV news runs in both our bloodstreams. Back in the day, we'd both lay back on the hoods of our news units and wonder what other gig on Earth could possibly be so exciting. Years ago, Vern left the business to find out. I never did. While the real winner has yet to be determined, I come away the victor everytime we talk. Love ya man.

Six months after we visited him in the studio, Bucky Covington's debut CD drops today. Though my country music collection consists of one well-worn Hank Williams Jr. album, I'll gladly plunk down my cash for this Rockingham native's freshman release. How come? Bucky's got chops, tone and wit. He's by far the most deserving survivor of the American Idol ordeal and quite possibly the sweetest hillbilly you'll ever meet. Now a citizen of Nashville and the world, I'm still hoping we can get together someday and drown some more of that good brown likker.

Next time: Something else...