According to the research team here at the Lenslinger Institute, THIS is post number 1,444. As totals go it's pretty random, but it feels significant if only because Viewfinder BLUES has been a bit hazy as of late. What can I tell ya - even career cameramen lose their focus once in awhile. But rather than bore you with my usual sesquipedalian soul searching, I'll just say this: Writing is HARD! If I could summon the muse whenever I wanted, I wouldn't still be lifting heavy objects for a living. As it is, my penchant for bleeding on the keyboard each evening has morphed into a fortnight of utter frustration. That's a lot of angst for what's ostensibly a hobby, sp lease understand if I pretend this lapse never happened. There, I feel better already. Now let's get to the news - or lack thereof...No doubt part of my recent literary inaction results from too much social networking. A while back I told you of my fondness for Facebook; lately I've been diddling with Twitter. That makes me no different than any other on-line blowhard. These days it seems everyone is blathering in 140 characters or less. I was skeptical at first, but since then have crafted an incoming stream of industry updates I'm quite happy with. That said, tell me more than twice what kind of sandwich you're having and I'm un-following you faster than you can type one more masturbatory sentence about the cable guy being late...
But enough new media, let's go old school. Broadcast Engineering is an industry magazine known for the kind of schematic analysis that makes this lonely technophobe's temple throb. But even a caveman like me has cracked open an issue or two, thanks to a burgeoning friendship with one Spring Suptic. I first met Spring in Vegas last year. It was the B-Roll Bash; I was pounding free liquor and she was asking interesting questions. Since that chance conversation we've kept in touch and recently she generously interviewed me on a wide range of broadcast topics. Though she never led me to believe I'd make the cover, I do have a skimpy swimsuit or two ready - just in case. For now, you'll have to settle for a few juicy quotes in this article...
Finally tonight, I'd like to do something I swore I never would: the obligatory pet post. Ever since Al Gore pulled the first intact blog out of his nose, push-button publishers have extolled the virtues and vitamin regiments of their respective Fluffies and Fidos. Well, this is different - for just this week my lovely bride found the canine companion she's been looking for all these many moons. Meet 'Stravinsky', a rescue mutt my 15 year old daughter named after one of her favorite composers. He's only been with us a few days now, but already this once imperiled pooch has wormed his way into my hollow photog heart. I just wonder if the little guy yet realizes he hit the lottery, for now he has a fenced-in empire, three doting females and a crabby master who has to admit, he's awfully cute. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go dodge a few droppings on my way to the mailbox. Perhaps I'll write about it.
4 comments:
you're lucky it was a daughter with high-brow taste that named your four-legged poop machine. using the same methods. my son's dog would be something like bury your dead, slayer, or disturbed.
It really burns me up when people don't name their animals properly. We screwed up badly with cats named Laura and George.
Vince is a fine name. Nice dog, too.
She could have gone with Igor...
If I'd only known you had skimpy swimsuits on hand, I would have stopped the presses. I'd have had our art director throw out the cover with all that trivial NAB Show stuff on it. Instead: Lenslinger in a Speedo (oh, and I'm picturing a coconut bra, too). Now, that would have brought in the readers!
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