ATTENTION: We here at The Lenslinger Institute do not condone the use of physical violence toward assailants of the Fourth Estate. We DO, however, reserve the right to watch, mock and propagate any found footage of such unfortunate instances - especially when they feature flying fluids, saturated accents and one scary-ass skullet. Let's get started, shall we?
Dateline: Down Under... At least, that's where we think this clip comes from. Truth is, we thought the speakers in the Institute's trophy room were shot, until that guy from Accounts Receivable noticed the WIN Television logo on the photog's back. Australia, huh? THAT'S why they talk so funny! Good thing the plot's not lost in translation, for true whup-ass transcends dialect. For example, listen to the news shooter when said inbred serves him the unrequested beverage. The P-Word I get, but the rest is all pops and clicks. Perhaps the soda-spraying naysayer felt the same, for he turns around seeking clarification. Bad move, Riff-Raff. The 'cammo' in question is all out of pejoratives and instead chooses to express himself with his two beefy mitts. What follows is predictable enough. Mr. Refreshment chucks his can in anger, forcing the photog to show the man to his seat - which in this case is a particular piece of pavement between two parked cars. That's when it happens: a sound so sweet it reminds of us a summer rain. (Listen for yourself at :26.) Impact... exasperation... flatulence? Whatever the case, it is deeply satisfying. You know, if we approved of such a thing...
Much has been made about the RNC attendees who threw peanuts at a CNN camerawoman and rightly so. Hurling legume fruits at any photog is wrong and worthy of a nationwide Schmuck Alert -- were it not so effing stupid. But I didn't log in to get political. That ain't my bag. However, as one of a half million lenslingers headed for Charlotte next week, I feel a warning is due: Toss a single nut my way and I will...
Feign horrible pain upon impact, dropping to my knees and shrieking so theatrically that even that stoner running the C-SPAN camera will pan over my way.
Caterwaul so completely that every bomb-sniffing dog on the premises will cover their ears and join me in mid howl. I'm serious: I'll make Nancy Kerrigan sound like a lumberjack.
Shake off any assistance, limp away and then collapse until my fellow photogs throw a cloak over me and drag my crumpled form out of sight. Then I'll do it again, until the corpse of James Brown rolls what's left of his eyes.
Grant extensive interviews to any and all news crews, offering (between sobs) to recount the cruel act using finger-puppets, that is until the first network completes their computerized reenactment.
Fly overnight to New York and tell my stories to the stars. I'll hug up on Savannah Guthrie, trade man-scaping plans with Anderson Cooper and, if given the chance, bitch-slap Wolf Blitzer (Hey, why NOT?)
Score a reality show detailing my long recovery. I'm not sure how much control I'll have over it but I envision a mix of 'Intervention', and 'Here Comes Honey Boo-Boo Child'. At long last I'll get to show the world my tiara collection.
Pen a six hundred page tome detailing my slow rise to obscurity, brush with airborne peanut infamy and inevitable descent into 'Nutella' induced stupor.
Turn that book into a passable screenplay, sell it to the highest-bidding studio, campaign to play myself, then begrudgingly agree to let Bradley Cooper take over the starring role.
If the top schmuckologists at The Lenslinger Institute woofed down a bag of magic mushrooms and locked themselves in a dimly lit room, they couldn't come up with such a delicious scenario:
A wedding videographer cheats his customers (allegedly!), draws the attention of local TV stations (predictably!) and bloodies an innocent fancycam while making his less than great escape (cowardly!).
His name is Jesse Clark and he runs like a little girl. Actually, that's unfair to little girls, for the female 'tweens in my life don't drop everything and bolt every time a camera crew comes around. But that's what this 28 year old grown-ass man tends to whenever an indignant microphone is shoved in his face - which lately is a lot! It all started when scores of newlyweds told two Connecticut television stations about the shoddy work they paid for at SureShot Portraits. According to them, Jesse Clark showed up and shot their wedding as promised, but failed to deliver a finished product of their special day. (Hey, what can we say? Editing's a bitch - especially when people expect you to finish in a reasonable amount of time.) The TV stations smell blood and before you know it, Jesse Clark and his band of grumpy customers are gracing small screens in and around Worcester.
If all that bad pub weren't troubling enough, Jesse and his father made it infinitely worse when news crews approached them at the Milbury Police Department back in June. Clark and his proud pop were turning over hard drives to investigators when the journalists closed in. Recognizing the opportunity to explain himself (and perhaps offer customers a fig leaf with his hard drives full of beaming brides) Jesse instead bends at the waist and plows straight through the Fourth Estate! It's a bitch move through and through - especially when the wedding 'tog in question shoulder-checks one of the news shooters - sending an up and running fancycam scattering across the blacktop. As the camera comes to a rest, you can see Jesse Clark himself wince - understandably aghast at the juvenile maneuver he'd just employed. But he doesn't pause for long. Rather, he picks up speed, launching a hard-target search his credibility, if not his missing testicles.
Recently, Jumpin' Jesse actually showed up in court to face arraignment. The charge: Asssault and battery on a fellow photog! Released on his own recognizance, Jesse Clark will return to court on October 18th, whereupon he'll no probably lose control of his bladder at the first sight of a news crew, then head for the hills, where he apparently keeps an emergency supply of adult diapers. Way to go, Jess! With your marginal talent, you've managed to upset blushing brides, provide two TV stations with endless fodder and actually lower the reputation of wedding shooters everywhere. We here at TLI didn't think that was even possible - and not just because the mushroom buzz is starting to wear off.
Chances are reporter Brian Thompson and his (oddly) anonymous photog weren't expecting a fruit basket when they arrived outside New Jersey's Wayne Diamond and Jewelry Center, but did they deserve a beat-down? We here at The Lenslinger Institute think NOT. But then again, we're a crack squad of top schmuckologists; well versed in the art of the grab and ever vigilant for signs of news crew abuse. Which brings us back to that parking lot in Jersey.
That's about as far as the journalists from NBC 4 New York got, before the staff of the aforementioned jewelry joint went all Sopranos on 'em. Maybe it was the brazen way the journalists pulled up in broad daylight that offended their sensibilities. Perhaps their trousers were just too tight. Could it be they were back in the Old Country, where slapping around nosy newsies was a national past time? Whatever the case, these indignant gem pimps proved to be just a couple of thugs. Who knew? But enough of my blathering, let's go to the videotape!
There's a delightful moment at 0:18 when Jeweler #1 (we'll call him Penelope) tells Thompson he cannot enter the store. Thompson asks which store - a question so loaded it momentarily stymies Penelope, who then warns Thompson not to 'piss me off right now!" "When would be a GOOD time to come back and piss you off?" Thompson did not ask.
Around 0:32 Penelope tires of engaging Thompson and turns to the unnamed cameraman. "Do you want me to punch you in the face?" No doubt Penelope meant it to sound threatening, but it struck me as what it must feel like to be bullied by Borat. High Five!
At 0:44, shit gets real. Penelope moves in close to the lens, then sucker punches the (unidentified) news shooter. It's a cheap shot and poorly executed. Dude behind the lens was probably right to hold his fire, but I sooo wish he'd brought his foot up and kicked Penelope in the Hiddenites.
At 1:02, Jeweler #2 (we'll call him Nancy) emerges for a tour de force performance. Raising his voice and feigning friendship, Nancy approaches our man behind the camera with deceptively good tidings, only to grab at the lens once he gets within reach. No doubt Nancy felt pretty cool, but I could only think of the Festrunk Brothers.
Finally, at 2:06, Nancy reappears for an encore performance. When asked by Thompson to identify himself, Nancy instead grabs the microphone. What follows is a grappling match that deserves to be included in the next Summer Olympics. Sure, it goes nowhere, but can it be any less mind-numbing than all that volleyball NBC is foisting upon an innocent nation?
So, did we miss anything? Probably, but while our disdain remains, the selection committee here at the Institute's elders have grown weary of the clip and would like to return to their rock-scissor-subpoena tournament. Schmucks!
Despite a strict diet of energy drinks and Boba Fett PEZ dust, most members of The Lenslinger Institute's selection committee lost consciousness around three a.m. Their mission: locate any mention of a spring ritual that calls for the assault of a senior photog. We couldn't find one. Yet there must be some reason behind the senseless attack of a Northwest-based news shooter. It happened Monday, when veteran KING 5 photographer Richard Departee began covering a May Day march in downtown Seattle...
“I found myself in with a group (dressed in) black, kinda Gestapo-looking thugs – face masks and dark glasses – I think as soon as they saw me it was like ‘Hey get out of here, you know, scum,’ and started pushing me,” he said.
Yup, no better way to spread your message than by taking a crack at the one person best equipped to share it with the masses.
“Then one guy took his one-inch dowel, a wooden pole with the red flag … he just took it back and popped me in the face,” said Departee.
What the hell? Down South, we celebrate the beginning of May with a fresh round of Mint Juleps. It just never occurred to us to dress up like Ninjas and beat the shit out of anyone who comes near! But that's how they do it Seattle. Perhaps the disaffected youth there should lay off the Starbucks and, oh, I dunno, GET A JOB! You know, something honorable like taxidermy or advertising. They could even set aside their rancor and pick up a news camera, maybe change the world one frame at a time, instead of bringing shame to their city with thuggish behavior in the name of, the name of, the name of... Freedom? (Didn't they see what that Braveheart film did to Mel Gibson? Dude's a lunatic!) Anyway, we here at TLI need our sleep so we're just gonna wish thirty year KING TV veteran Richard Departee a quick recovery and hope he someday gets a chance to shoot the perp walk of his assailant. In the meantime, come to Carolina, Mr. Departee! We won't take a pole to the side of your head but once we smother you with Southern hospitality and Sweet Tea, you may wish we did. As for those cowards in black...
Make no mistake, we here at The Lenslinger Institute take the study of schmucks very seriously. But not every crime against the camera qualifies for full alert status. Some are just so stupid, they're better left unexamined. Such was the case with that unfortunate business in Myrtle Beach. You've seen the clip: a young reporter is in the middle of a live shot when an intruder stops her mid-drone. Grabbing the microphone from her hand, 20 year old Justin Moore takes center-screen and proceeds to best Kanye West...
"I AM THAT HIGHLY DIVISIVE INVECTIVE!" he did not quite yell.
Upon review, TLI's top schmuckologists found the interlude wanting. Though unwelcome if not vile, young Mr. Moore's outburst lacked the gravitas of a certified assault. The chosen pejorative was troubling, too. As we felt any undue attention might encourage others to take up this heckler's cause, we promptly tabled the matter and got back to watching Gunsmoke. But then the affected affiliate overreached and suddenly Moore seemed like the smartest guy in the parking lot
"I knew instantly something was about to goterribly wrong..." The emphasis is mine but the words come straight from the reporter's mouth some twenty four hours after the - ahem - attack. Unsure how to advance the story, she not only plays the victim's card, she slams it on the table and dances around the room. She then goes on to extoll the virtues of the victims' advocate, who called her to let her know A) Moore as out on bond and B) her fifteen minutes of fame were nearly over. It's a tough call, certainly: You and your station are sitting on something viral and you're not sure how to capitalize on it. In this case, a simple mug shot would have sufficed, but by going with a breathless, stiffly delivered dispatch on how one woman is recovering from a harrowing night in the spotlight not only does a disservice to real victims, it makes us TV geeks look intrinsically silly. Just what Justin Moore wanted to accomplish in the first place. Schmucks!
Ahhh, protestors. I have little use for them. It's not that I don't respect their right to dissent, I do. But in my twenty years behind the lens, I've seen many a protestor up close and I can safely report the mass majority of them don't know (1-2-3-4!) what the hell they're fighting for. Perhaps it's my blue collar roots, but I have a hard time listening to a college kid who's yet to earn a dime of his own money scream at me about what's wrong with the world. Hey, here's a thought: grab a shower, join society and fight injustice from the inside. You won't score as much weed in the process, but you will be surprised how much you can accomplish with reasoned discourse, instead of that old bongo you found in your uncle's storage unit. That said, there's only ONE thing I detest more than guy with a homemade sign: some asshole cop who thinks the sight of hippies in the park is a blank check to crack some heads.
And if grainy video is to be believed, that's exactly what happened in Minneapolis Saturday night as police moved in on a group of Occupy Minnesota demonstrators. Seems the young people were determined to set up their tents in Peavey Plaza and Loring Park, a plan that filled law enforcement officials with such apoplexy, they decided to go medieval on any and everyone in sight. Don't believe me? Check out the video. You'll see heavy-handed riot cops doling out ass-whoopings to anyone they could lay gloves on. Recording devices received much of their wrath, for what's more infuriating than a dude with no discernible income and a four hundred dollar phone in his hand? That's a judgement call you'll have to make on your own, unless you're one of Minneapolis' Finest. They seemed to agree beforehand that iPhones were the enemy of the state and only unnecessary roughness could guard society's loins from this Cupertino-based threat.
If that wasn't brutish enough, one coiled constable took it a step further, upending a photog's fancycam for no. effing. reason. It's sickening to watch - even if you don't have a groove in your right shoulder like I do. KSTP's Chad Nelson was busy minding everyone else's business when a uniformed officer took umbrage at the photojournalist's silent witness. Without so much as a "Stop or I'll shoot!", said officer shoved the expensive camera off Nelson's shoulder, slightly injuring him in the process. Ya know, cops - like photogs - don't make the money they should. Willfully damaging an innocent TV camera is akin to dropping an anvil on one of those flashing highway signs. It's dangerous, criminal and highly uncool. But so too is declaring martial law on people you disagree with, let alone some poor working stiff who has every right to put your badge number on screen. Which is why I sincerely hope Officer Pushy gets what's coming to him, for through his tantrum, he lowers the standing of the many honest law enforcers who keep our cities and streets safe from marauders, pestilence and the occasional musty trustafarian.
Schmuck!
UPDATE! UPDATE! UPDATE! UPDATE! UPDATE! UPDATE!
New video of the despicable act has surfaced, clearly showing what some here at The Lenslinger Institute has described as "a bitch move". We've also received word that KSTP Photog Chad Nelson will be filing a criminal complaint.Bravo! As for the cop in question, his name has yet to be released, but across the nation past associates of the man have gone on-line and recognized his sanctimonious shit-house grin as one of the many things they don't miss about him. We here on the TLI campus have only shake our heads and wonder what would turn a seemingly sworn officer into an unrepentant schmuck.
TV News: the only profession where you place yourself in volatile situations, then wheeze like a banshee when trouble erupts. That said, there is ABSOLUTELY no excuse for pulling a gun you don't plan to use, let alone menacing a news crew with it. But there's no denying that's exactly what happened in Joiner, Arkansas the other day, thanks to the magic of video...
"Excuse me, Cameraman? Yes, you - the one I'm threatening with bodily harm and a firearm... you're not recording this, are you? 'Cause if you're, I'd be be pretty thick to keep whipping out my piece like this. Maybe I'll just hold it by my side and walk away like I have to pee. You keep rolling while your lady friend goes all Isiah Carey up in this joint..."
Okay, so it's easy to poke fun, but if someone pulled a heater on ME, whatever audio that followed would be so draped in profanity, Ozzy Osbourne's kids would file a complaint with the FCC. Truth is, reporter April Thompson and photographer Ben Short did a lot of things correctly when an angry young man pulled up and broke out his best Boomhauer. Thompson remained chill and got out of the camera's way, Short kept rolling and centered his lens on their surprise guest. It was all rather textbook until Dude smacks the camera, then runs back to his pick-up for more than a little ordnance. At that point, mere hindrance turned criminal.
Critics can fault WREG for pimping the incident out of proportion and they may have a point, but the fact remains that jack-ass brandished a weapon in front of an innocent news crew and no matter the showboating that followed, that shit ain't cool. So ease up on the Monday morning quarterbacking, fellow media members! I've seen a few of you soil your action slacks whenever a bug flies into the car. Who knows what dialect you may affect once somebody pulls a hand-cannon on you! Me - I'd reach for a word understandable in any language...
(By the way, the subtitle of this particular Schmuck Alert is a lame attempt to salute David Carr's The Night of the Gun, quite possibly the finest junkie memoir you'd ever want to read. A Lenslinger Library Favorite!)
If the list of reporters honored by The Lenslinger Institute was any shorter, we might get around to writing it down. At the moment though, only one name echoes down these hallowed halls: Stormin' Bob Norman. He's the Miami reporter who didn't let a dude in a plastic hat get away with manhandling his partner Mario Alonso. The back-story is a bit dense; something about garbage company contracts. But what's important here is that the journalists were well within their rights when they set up on a public street to shoot video of a recycling plant in Pompano Beach. Enter one furious foreman. "You can't take pictures of the plant!" he barked as Mario trained the camera on him instead. That's when the foreman got all grabby with the glass, prompting reporter Bob Norman to give the smaller man a friendly SHOVE! A tussle ensued, until the apoplectic hardhat scooped up the crew's wireless microphone and stormed off with it, (presumably to launch his own TV network centered around short, angry men in safety gear). This doesn't sit well with our new buddy Bob, who demanded the microphone be returned, then waited calmly while the foreman called 9-1-1.
"Hello, Police? I just attacked an innocent news crew and stole their microphone. Can you come out here and remind me what a bitch move that was?"
Okay so the foreman probably worded it differently but it doesn't really matter because once authorities did arrive, they listened to both sides, watched the video and suggested Mr. Ass-hat return what was never his to begin with. In the end, the foreman even shook hands with the WPLG crew and at last check all seemed rosy in the Sunshine State. Normally, this is where we step in and issue an official Schmuck Alert for crimes against the camera. That we're happy to do (Schmuck!), but it's what Bob Norman did during and after the episode that has this esteemed panel awkwardly trying to high-five itself. Norman didn't have to push the man away, but he did. The investigative reporter explained why in a wry slide show that appeared on his station's website shortly after the incident.
"Mario is completely vulnerable at this moment and the camera itself, which is ridiculously expensive, is also in jeopardy."
"In defense of man and property, I push him back. As you can see his hand is still on the camera."
"I'm thinking, he's short, but he's pretty strong ... and it looks like we're going to go at it. Space is my friend with this little bull."
Norman's station could have saturated the airwaves with looped footage of the whole goofy affair, but for a while they held their fire. The slide show and its more than apt captions drew a few eyeballs without mangling the mission at hand. Norman's eventual piece wisely centered on all that he uncovered and treated the attack of the hardhat as the mere curiosity it was. Well played, Bob Norman. Well played. As for that other guy...
They don't call them 'asshole magnets' just because it sounds cool. A fully exposed fanycam can attract morons from a five mile radius. Factor in a governmental center or packed sports bar and you have one more reason why you should keep one eye open and your head on a swivel. Just ask Ole Olson. The veteran KOIN photog was minding his own deadline outside a Portland courthouse the other day when inanity struck. Luckily for us, Olson struck back.
But let's back up a bit...
Apparently the taste of freedom didn't agree with Gary Kemple, for not long after dude was sprung from the pokey, he made a beeline for the gaggle of news crews backpedaling outside. They were there for someone else, but Kemple didn't let that stop him from insinuating himself in the rolling scrum. Before any of the reporters and photogs even noticed him, the pint-sized jailbird accused a KGW shooter of punching him. This led to a few moments of confusion as the group of journalists wondered to themselves why a body-double from Joe Dirt was suddenly getting his mullet in an uproar. Then, as quickly as he appeared, the man vanished.
But he came back.
Not to apologize, mind you, but to hock a greasy lob of pork-rind flavored chromosomes at yet another photog. Dude - get your delusions straight! How am I supposed to know what you're mad at when you spray the place with such abandon? Focus, man, focus! As it turned out, Kemple never got a chance to fully explain his rage, for in his rush to express his displeasure with the Fourth Estate, the little guy spat on the wrong cameraman.
That much is certain.
Unhappy at the felonious saliva running down his lens, KOIN photographer Ole Olson broke away from the pack, fished out his phone and began calling 911. This seemed to further enrage Kemple, for he began pushing the much taller photog. "Back off, buddy!" yelled Olson, using a much nicer nickname than I would chosen. But the strangely angry man did not back off. Instead he ratcheted up the action considerably by lifting his foot and stomping on Olson's camera.
With the sangfroid of a seasoned lenslinger, Olson broke out a whole barrel of whup-ass. Grabbing Kemple by the collar, he walked his would-be attacker into the chest of a roadie from Foghat. What the legendary British rock band was doing in Portland I have no idea, but their sizable stagehand soon took umbrage at the melee in his face and pushed the scuffling couple away. That's when Olson, in a series of maneuvers that would elicit cheers from photog lounges far and wide, put the crazy little man on his ass.
Pardon while I soak that in for a moment.
Ahhhhhhh.... the sweet smell of street justice. Or is that former inmate urine? I can never tell. Anyway, what followed was your standard issue schoolyard wrestling match. You know, the kind where the bigger kid rubs some younger punk's face in the pavement. Yes, we'd all like to catch it when it comes out on Imax, but here at The Lenslinger Institute we take no pleasure from others' misfortune - even if we did watch the clip in question about 74 times over chips and soda. Our verdict? Olson was more than justified in defending his camera's honor. Sure, he could have 'called the law' but what fun is that, when you can plant your knee in an opponent's throat?
In the end, Olson escaped the fray with only a minor eye injury and it's believed his camera will live to see another perp walk As for Kemple, cops ushered him to a nice, warm holding cell where he no doubt requested the guards turn on the local news to see how a real man celebrates his release from incarceration. Oh well, some folks will do anything to get on tee-vee.
Okay, show of hands... Who here hasn't fantasized about ripping off a tripod leg and going all Billy Jack on somebody? I myself have concocted whole action sequences in my head while pacing about some deserted sallyport (look it up). But to actually do it? In broad daylight? As cameras rolled? Gentility forbids! Besides, you know what kind of tensile strength it takes to wrench a limb off a modern-day camera stand? I'm w-a-a-y too lazy for that. Plus, I got CLASS - a mental condition not shared by the crazy bitch, er, distraught family member who - in under sixty seconds - brought more shame to Detroit City than any twenty members of the Kiss Army combined. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to step away from this paragraph and collect my thoughts.
Ahem.
You know, we've seen a lot of savagery here at Schmuck Alert Central. Handcuff tantrums, slow-motion moonshiner spit, a veritable parade of ill-advised dropkicks... But in all our days of screening rash of acts of video, we've never before witnessed the kind of tripod atrocity as the wanton utensil sacrifice depicted in the clip below. As with many crimes against the camera, it happened outside a courthouse. That's where the families of both the victim and defendant in a murder case left an arraignment Saturday afternoon. Free from the supervision of the courtroom's drowsy bailiffs, the relatives waste no time cursing each other and the predictable collision ensues.
Third verse, same as the first.
Or so we think, for after a few moments of rampant apoplexy, one young lady sheds her pink jacket and does something wholly unexpected. She makes a beeline for the nearest tripod, body-slams the damn thing, then throttles that weak-kneed beast in front of God and everybody. This is a new maneuver in the annals of news crew abuse and quite possibly, a sign of the apocalypse. I can only wonder what's going through the photog's mind as he pans from the general chaos around him to the methodical dismemberment of the three-legged creature he takes with him everywhere he goes. The mind reels. Worse yet, the woman manages to separate said leg, no easy feat I assure you. She then brandishes it a bit before finally following her family down the street, all the while twirling the broken leg like some demented drum majorette from Hell and leaving the rest of civilization speechless...
Three months after a Milwaukee police sergeant roughed up the oldest photog he could find at a house fire, city officials have admitted Clint Fillinger did nothing wrong. That is to say they've dropped all charges against the Fox 4 photojournalist. Readers will remember Fillinger as the - ahem - seasoned lenslinger who responded to a house fire call only to be accosted by an oddly hostile cop. "All the way back!" the sergeant barked, as he and a fellow officer walked the accredited photographer away from the news scene. Fillinger protested as he backpedaled, until finally the cops put him on his ass. When they did, his camera took a hard bounce but it did capture the sixty eight year old community menace being unceremoniously cuffed and stuffed.
At the time we issued a stern Schmuck Alert, a move met with stiff indifference by all parties involved. We're cool with that, though one of the core tenets of The Lenslinger Institute is that clashes between The Fourth Estate and first responders would not occur so readily were certain people not so insistent on being absolute douche-bags. It's even written in our by-laws. So, you can imagine our delight at hearing the city of Milwaukee have reconsidered their position and expunged Mr. Fillinger's record of any and all cooked up charges. Hey, being publicly identified as a forty five year old veteran of television news is enough to live down. No one needs a rap sheet they didn't earn.
Hey, I'm not the guy to mourn the loss of a live truck, but after watching footage of Penn State students flipping one on its side, I'm reconsidering my long-held spite for these lumbering beasts. At least I can take solace in the fact that the WTAJ live truck lying on its side deserved such an ignoble end. After all, what else do you do when your university fires a folk hero? Express regret over a system that enabled a monster to stalk little boys for many, many years? Stop and consider that something as trivial as college football seems even more inconsequential in the face of serial child-rape? Volunteer to help the victims put their lives back together? Pen a thesis on the poisonous group-think that allowed a sexual predator to hunt children under the auspices of your hallowed university? Naaaaaah, you go out and party! You take to the streets in numbers and destroy everything in sight - all because a football coach you blindly worshiped seems to have little to no problem with pedophilia. Who couldn't get behind a cause like that?
Well... ME. Then again, I didn't go to college, don't watch a lot of football and generally disapprove of grown men rodgering little boys. Maybe that's why I can't fathom why Penn State students would riot over the professional demise of an athletic coach - a coach! And riot they did, eventually toppling the very live truck that was unmistakeably the culprit in all this unrest. You know, at least the mob that tore Kadhaffi apart had decades of murderous subjugation to blame for their bloodlust. What do Penn State students have - less of a reason to tailgate this Saturday? Now, I've covered enough protests to recognize the extraordinary madness of crowds, but even this one baffles me. It pisses me off, too. I got friends who work in that market and I can only hope and pray that none were injured in this, the world's stupidest melee. Way to go, Penn State! You've forever sullied the name of a once great university, struck a blow in the name of perversion and made the very worst of the Occupy Wall Street crowd seem quite reasonable by comparison. I just didn't think that was possible.
Since he never laid a hand on the camera crew, we can't very well issue a Schmuck Alert, but we here at the Lenslinger Institute would like to recognize the brother of South Carolina Lt. Governor Ken Ard for setting back the image of Southern Men at least a couple of decades. Not since Billy Carter upchucked on those Bicentennial cupcakes has a Governor's brother made such an unabashed ass of himself. (Somewhere in Arkansas, Roger Clinton is feeling pangs of regret over that Playgirl spread he bailed on.) Anyway, senior staff met overnight on the matter and while Sammy Ard won't be granted full Schmuck status, we did agree he's an egregious dill-weed...
I'm not sure what WIS-TV's Jody Barr expected to find at the auto body business owned by Sammy Ard last week, but chances are 'unhinged dullard' wasn't written on his reporter's notepad. That's about what he and his photog found though as none other than the Lieutenant Governor's brother rushed out to identify himself.
"MUHNAMESAMMYARDDUHLOOTENTGUBNERSEFFINBRUTHER!"
At least I think that's what he said. Truth is, even a Southerner like myself had to play it back twice to understand the man. Locals will no doubt grow sick of the sound after Lt. Governor Ken Ard's opponents run it into the ground come re-election time. That is, if he makes it that far. Currently, he's facing a state grand jury investigation into how he funded his campaign. Seems Sammy donated the maximum amount and testified before the grand jury - one day before showing his true color to the evening news. Nice move, bro. With family like you, your brother won't need any political enemies.
Since my only visit there was as a drunken sailor, I have fond if fuzzy memories of Milwaukee. Which is why it's such a buzz kill to see a member of that fine city's police force acting like an utter choad. Hmm? Well, what else would you call a cop who stopped staring at a house fire just long enough to hassle the oldest photog he could find? Sixty-eight year old Clint Fillinger was shooting footage of said fire from behind the police tape when a sergeant (who should know better) suddenly insists the accredited news photog back up. All the way up. Fillinger does, but as he's shooed away from an area where the public is allowed to gather, the veteran of forty-five years on the street doth protest...
"Don't give me that bullshit!" he snaps after the cop tells him moving back is for his own safety. This apparently was more than the sergeant could bear, for a few seconds later he sets aside his concern for the sexagenarian and pushes him to the ground. Fillinger is soon in cuffs, all because he spoke up when a confused constable decided the Bill of Rights only applies to people without TV cameras. Oh well, at least local residents were able to sleep better that night, knowing that Sergeant Safety rid their streets of this journalistic scourge. I guess that's one less house fire the people of Milwaukee will have to bothered with.
All sarcasm aside, this case is just the latest in a series of disturbing encounters between cops and photogs. Seems every week someone with a badge makes a rash judgment call that results in an awkward YouTube clip and new footage of their chief trying to explain why they put some camera-guy in a headlock. Why is that? Have the laws of our land grown too numerous to manage? As a news shooter I'm expected to recall every major intersection within three counties, any and all accepted light temperatures and enough greasy spoon locations to choke a mortal man. Is it too much to ask the police to remember what it is that gives the authority to arrest people? Doesn't seem like too much to ask...
I guess the news crews had it coming. After all, they had the audacity to knock on the door of a Longview, Washington union hall and offer coverage of an ongoing dispute. They were roughly rebuffed. And that's when those jackals from the Fourth Estate stepped over the line. They pointed their cameras at an official note posted on the union hall door. It was more than one schmuck could bear. In a flash, a seething figure wrapped in shrunken flannel burst from the building and in one fell swoop, lowered all the boats in the harbor. "I say, good man, won't you refrain from videotaping our premises?" he did NOT say. Instead, this bellicose nutbag put on a performancethat proved not all stereotypes are wrong, lashing out at the reporters and photographers with enough guttural language to make a drill instructor blush.
It seemed it wouldn't end as the longshoreman bounced from one camera to the next, grabbing lenses, threatening everyone and setting back his cause a hundred years. Really now, sir. Wouldn't your stance be better served by reasoned discourse, or even the unimaginative 'No Comment' - rather than the homoerotic comeuppance you slung all over that parking lot? Down South, we call that 'showing your ass' and we generally discourage it unless blood has been shed (or a pitcher of sweet tea has been spilled). Rarely do we endorse the kind of infantile vulgarity that seems to be your strong suit, if only because it convinces people their prejudices are correct. Didn't you notice the photogs were having a ball? Throbbing veins and flying spittle are a challenge to shoot, but when you back it up with a vocal performance like that, it is a pleasure to bleep and disseminate. Something to think about as your and your pals crack open another Meister Brau, or whatever cut-rate beer you guys drink for breakfast.
Schmuck!
Oh, and if that wasn't enough moronic showboating for you, a clip has surfaced of an EMS official accosting a WNBC photojournalist. " I told you to stop!" the medical technician yells, mistaking his dangling walkie-talkie for the Sword of Grayskull. The photog appears as perplexed as we the audience, but that's a natural expression when an otherwise mild-mannered first responder tries to wrestle your livelihood from your grip. Hey, you don't see us media types snatching stethoscopes from the necks of unsuspecting medics, do you? Do you? Hyperbole aside, I'm most troubled by this last clip, as we news shooters have great respect for emergency medical technicians and work hard to stay out of their way. I mean, we expect longshoremen to go ape-shit when the big words start to fly, but an EMT? Must be more to that story and we here at the Lenslinger Institute are anxious to hear it. Meanwhile we can only judge the evidence before us and lump Mr. Medic in with that flannel-clad oaf with the limited vocabulary.
I have an aching distaste for politicians. They remind me of small market news anchors with coke problems: paranoid, grandiose, willing to gab all night with total strangers - as long as another blast of adulation was coming back their way. Perhaps I'm projecting. On second thought, no. I've stood through enough city council meetings, governor's huddles and Presidential pit stops to know the only thing more maniacal than your average incumbent is the person currently working so furiously to unseat them.Which brings me to Michelle Bachmann, aka the poor man's Sarah Palin. Lately she's been making all the right noises as she crisscrosses the country in an effort to make Barack Obama a community organizer again. That's cool! Depending on your views, she's either the GOP's latest great white hope or a headstrong wretch whose husband wants to pray Barney Frank back to lumberjack status. None of which concerns me.
What does concern me, however, is the way Michele Bachmann handles her business. In the eight weeks that she's been a Presidential candidate, her sycophants have manhandled members of the press; shoving, pushing and threatening reporters as they attempted to make her a viable choice for leader of the free world by hanging on her every heavily scripted soundbite. It's happened five times. Five times! It's flippin' systemic! Much of the roughhousing has happened in the scrum, when membes of the Fourth Estate close in on a candidate and pepper them with questions. It's an American tradition that dates back to the American Revolution - though I can't ever remember George Washington getting his knickers in a twist whenever some scribe wanted to fixate on his wooden teeth. Even Sarah Palin herself manages to plow though a far angrier press mob without drawing blood (and looking like a million bucks, might I add).
Don't get me wrong. Certain reporter types CAN be assholes (Don't make me draw up a list). But if you're aching to lead the planet's last superpower into the Twenty-teens, you're simply going to have to deal with it. And telling your goons to let loose with the elbows and retorts is only going to make you look bad - especially in an age where a candidate's every wet fart is tweeted, Facebooked and blogged before those late night comedians even come into the office. That's why we've taken unprecedented steps here at the Lenslinger Institute. We're issuing our first ever STANDING Schmuck Alert on Michelle Bachmann, not because we think she has a prayer of gaining office, but because of the fatwa she has apparently declared on the working media. That Mickey Mouse shit won't get you to the White House, lady, but it WILL get you top billing every night on TMZ. Here's hoping you enjoy the view.
Calling All Cars! Calling All Cars! Proceed to Sycamore Avenue. Sergeant Pornstache has skipped his meds again and is now accosting a photog. Witnesses say he pushed the cameraman back a block, ranted about his thirty year career and threatened to go viral. The camera's red light glowing. Repeat, the red light is glowing! Apprehend immediately! The repeated use of tasers HAS been authorized...
Sadly, that dispatch came too late. Before reason could be restored to Suffolk County, a member of the local media got locked up and a veteran cop proved himself a complete tool. It started where it ended: Long Island. A photog named Phillip from Stringernews.com responded to a police chase turned car crash and quickly fell out of favor with the force. It's unclear if any officers were injured in the wreck, but judging from the pulse of one Sergeant, Robocop himself was pinned under a couple of Hummers and the TV truck had just backed over the jaws of life. "GO AWAY!" yells Sarge - the first of thirteen times. Phillip does so, slowly - all the while being told his just being there threatened a perfectly good investigation. It's hard not to notice kids ambling by the crash scene as the credentialed photog is forced back a block. Near the end of the inevitable Youtube clip, we see the angry officer swooping in by squad car, whereupon arrests Phiilip the photog for obstructing an investigation some distance away... Can't we all just get along? Apparently not. Ya know, it only makes so much sense to argue with a guy who's packin' heat, but I would like to ask Sergeant Neckvein there just what America looks like on his watch. From where I stand on a public street, it doesn't seem to matter whether I'm holding a fancycam or a dandelion as long as I stay out of the way. As a guy who finds himself at just such occasions, I dread the day I come across a deputy so bedeviled by my presence. SCHMUCK!
As a raving fan of The Deadliest Catch, I want to like Captain Keith Colburn. He's in business with his brother, takes advice from his adorable little girl and owns a kick-ass crab boat. But time and time again, this skipper had proven himself to be a dill-weed of the highest order. Those who watch the show know what I mean. The only thing more predictable than a shot of some greenhorn deckhand losing his lunch are extended sequences of Captain Keith losing his shit. I suppose it makes for good TV. After all, several (edited) minutes after launching into one of his nearly incoherent tirades, Cap'n Keith can be counted on to repent. Seriously, this guy delivers more sobbing apologies than he does King Crab. And it works! Just when you want to write him off as a psalty psychopath, he says he's sorry, all while reminding everyone within earshot what a tough gig he's got. As a viewer, I've cut him a blank check more times than I can remember. Yeah yeah... killer waves, bad crab, some dude sticking a lens in your face when you're trying to drive... it can't be easy! No matter that all those other captains seem to manage the same thing without berating their crew to the point of mutiny - he's just an emotional guy!
Well, this week a clip from an upcoming show surfaced that has forever erased any slack I may have granted this seafaring putz. In the video, Keith is seen lamenting his fate as a successful businessman when the wheelhouse telephone rings. It's a Discovery Channel cameraman asking for a co-worker. This is apparently against the Wizard's policy, as the commanding officer of said vessel promptly storms below deck to confront the offending lenslinger. What follows is an exercise in absolute gas-baggery. Keith hurls (irrelevant) insults, throws in a few threats for good measure and when the cameraman doesn't back down, frog-marches the two of them from stem to stern before crashing into a distant bulkhead. Even with Keith's history of hissies, it is an embarrassing display of a captain come undone. Of course a crab boat passageway isn't a board room and behavior deemed unacceptable on dry carpet is simply the price of business out to sea. But, Keith, really? Is Discovery putting a little something extra in your check if you promise to go mental every fifteen minutes? I guess it makes up for a lack of crab action, but you're establishing yourself as a villain on a show that really didn't need one.
Worse yet, you came dangerously close to incurring the first ever waterborne Schmuck Alert! Had their been an actual camera in that cameraman's hand, I would have had no choice but to throw the secret switch here at the Lenslinger Institute and bring shame to your entire fishing village. And really, what good is owning your own fishing vessel, appearing regularly on cable TV and starring in your own Sears commercial if much of the nation and every living TV photog considers you an utter tool? Something to think about the next time you're about to 'show your ass' on camera. Just look what it did to David Caruso...
File this under ways I won't die: set ablaze with bottle rockets by some shirtless yuck in the middle of the night. Sure, some reprobate might wing me with an attempted forehead scorcher, but his next target will be the logo on the back of my news unit, for dodging bottle rockets falls just beyond my job description. Guess I'd make a lousy war correspondent. Veteran Dallas TV News photographer Robert Flagg, however, may have The Right Stuff. That's him sticking around far longer than I would have the other night as some upstanding taxpayers celebrated our nation's freedom by aiming their rockets not at the heavens, but at each other. (Officer Darwin, paging Officer Darwin...) When photog Flagg rolled up with fancycam in tow, the fine citizens of the Creekside Villa apartment complex took direct aim at The Fourth Estate."The missiles — or whatever they were — they were hitting, they were bouncing off my chest and off my camera," Flagg said. "One hit me in the back, and it burned my neck and it burned my shirt." When the PO-leece arrived, they too became targets, a development we here at the Lenslinger Institute find downright disturbing, for our great nation is indeed in peril when Independence Day in Texas begins to resemble the trailer for RoboCop. While strapping plate metal to some hack-cocked officer would make for interesting video, we simply can't afford it. Thus, we're locking our doors tight, turning down the scanners and issuing a blanket Schmuck Alert for any yahoo stupid enough to launch incendiaries at a cop, a camera, hell, even a consultant.
ATTENTION: We here at The Lenslinger Institute do not condone the use of physical violence toward assailants of the Fourth Estate. We DO, however, reserve the right to watch, mock and propagate any found footage of such unfortunate instances - especially when they feature flying fluids, saturated accents and one scary-ass skullet. Let's get started, shall we?
