Chariots of Ire

Ever get the feeling you're being followed? Like there's a whole group of people pivoting on your every glance? Half of them a terrified of that growth on your shoulder. The rest want to make sweet love to it. You'd do well to KEEP MOVING. I surely do. In fact, if I had to give one piece of advice to a broadcast student or intern or just a drifter with a really cool handycam, it would be...

"Are you HIGH? Don't you know this wretched business is hemorrhaging relevance? You wanna end up like me? I COULDABEENACONTENDA! AAARRRGGGHHHH!"

Yeah, I'd go on for about an hour or however long it took for the gung-ho youngster to go find another photog to follow. But if said news enthusiast could not be dissuaded from such a predictable career path, I would look him or her straight in their soon to be thousand yard stare and tell them to above all else wear sensible shoes. That way, they'll be able to outpace any angry mob, double back without twisting an ankle or run like hell when the room goes weird. Best of all, they'll be able to forget about their feet and focus on that deadline in the distance. THAT is where the mojo can still be found, between the first shot you capture and that last clip you send. I couldn't give one limp shit about office politics. It don't care what Ivy League School the traffic girl attended for free. And those overnight numbers? Nothing more than tea leaves. But drop an improbable timetable on me, cover my assignment in red hot road rash and just hint at something intrinsically visual and you have my ENTIRE limited span of attention. 

For a little while, anyway.