Gone in a Flash

And so it came to pass that the giddy hipster known as Joey Flash fled El Ocho, trading in the workaday dirt of lower Archdale for the rarified air of exotic Asheville. Joe Avary, we hardly knew ye. It was little more than a year ago that this mercurial and burly stranger joined our particular photog force, bringing his burgeoning skills and a wooly effervescence heretofore unseen in the Greater Piedmont Googolplex. Though he already knew his way around the end of a TV lens, he was new to news and threw himself wholeheartedly into the Art of the Grab. He also displayed his singular sense of style, once wearing sparkly blue glitter gloves to a national tragedy. That wardrobe choice earned him his nickname as well as a few lifted eyebrows from the stodgier members of our newsgathering team.

Joey didn’t care; nor did he give a shit what people said when he called the station on his day off and asked the Chief if he’d come down to the courthouse and be a witness for his impromptu wedding. But lurking quirkiness aside, Joe Avary proved himself no slob in the storytelling department, even cranking out anchor packages that other news shooters were, quite frankly, too scared to tackle themselves. That takes grapes and I’m sure he’ll ripen his bunch in his new role at good ole WLOS. I’m also hoping he’ll accept the position of Asheville bureau chief for the Viewfinder Blues Global Network, for I’ll miss this hopped-up lumberjack of a photog - even if he did want to chat every time I sat down to write a late afternoon script. More than anything though, I’m forever indebted to The Flash for turning me on to Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings - a CD he passed my way that’s become the interior soundtrack of the new Unit Four.

Thanks, Avary. I’ll be sure and send that disc your way - just as soon as my thirteen year old shows me how to burn a copy of a copy of a copy...