Oakland Overpass Report

As you've probably heard, the big news of the week has been the overpass in the East Bay that collapsed after a tanker truck straight up 'sploded early Sunday morning. This made national headlines and is currently causing ungodly traffic all over the area. Of course, our station was there to cover it!

However, my part in covering the report was a little less exciting than you might imagine. I was put in charge of covering the local commute to the Bay Area, specifically by heading to the Sacramento Amtrak station to get reaction from the crowds of people trying to make it out West. I loaded up the live truck in the early hours of Monday morning and headed to do my journalist duty.

Fortunately, I just so happened to set up right in front of a Starbucks, so with a jolt of caffeine, I was ready to tackle my story. (By some strange coincidence, at least half of my live shots have taken place at or near a Starbucks. Wild.)

So with that, I threw up the mast, propped up the camera, and we were ready to roll!



I was ready to bring my story to the people and give them the info that they needed in order to work their way through this transportation nightmare. The sun began to rise at 6 AM, and we were ready to go live!

Everything was set up perfectly and I was pumped to be able to contribute to the coverage of such a big story. There was just one thing missing...


That's right...


The place was a damn ghost town. There were more tumbleweeds than people rolling through there. Despite extra trains and an insane commute, people opted not to take the train into the city. Thus I spent two lonely morning hours at an abandoned train station, with the anchors every once in a while going to my shot and saying, "The commute is going to be pretty bad going onto town, here's a live look at the Amtrak station... which doesn't seem to have anybody there, so maybe it's not that bad." Just doing my part to bring the important stories to you, the viewer.


Tune in later this week to see my reports on a river that isn't flooding, a house that isn't on fire, and my big sweeps story, a baby that doesn't need his diaper changed!

Prison Break!

Arriving to work at the crack of dawn on Thursday, I was welcomed with a hefty dose of breaking news! An inmate of the world-famous Folsom Prison had busted out during the early hours of the morning and was on the lam! Immediately I started picturing the intricate break-out plans of such classic films as The Rock, The Shawshank Redemption and, to a lesser extent, Escape from New York. Also glimpses of Fox's Prison Break flashed through my mind, and while I've never actually seen the show, the commercials made their escape plan seem quite intricate. Thus, I assumed, we were dealing with a master criminal!

With that, I loaded up the live truck and headed up the hill to Folsom Prison. Nothing like a Microwave Dish Sunrise to start your day:

Shortly into the morning, information was released on our criminal mastermind.

Standing at 5'6, buck thirty, he was picked up for Grand Theft Auto (like the game!) in LA a few years back. He was later paroled, then nabbed once again for "loitering while on parole". Clearly we were dealing with a potential disaster. Our parking lots, our parks and our freeway overpasses were threatened by this serial loiterer on the loose! A massive manhunt ensued.

We later discovered that his intricate escape plan, the one that had gotten me all excited, consisted of him climbing over a chain-link fence in the minemum security portion of the prison and booking it into the surrounding fields. Not quite Snake Pliskin shooting his way through gang members... but close.

Tips came flying in suggesting that he was seen boarding a bus going this way or a train going that way. However, five hours after his daring escape, he was once again apprehended. He had been discovered in a field, perhaps a quarter mile from the prison, by an off duty sheriff who happened to be biking by and saw a suspicious fellow.

He was actually going to be on parole in less than two months... now he's back to prison for a possible sentence of two years. Oh, and he's going to be inside those big walls now, not just them minimum security fences. So you can rest easy tonight, for the rogue loiterer is no longer a danger to society.

And on a separate note, here's a picture of a bird getting a healthy dose of microwave radiation. Take that, Al Gore!

The Chucko Files

Being a journalist, there are many things that I have witnessed in this world. To every mystery I have come across, an answer has eventually present itself. To every crime a criminal, to every fire a spark. However there is one story that has plagued my mind for as many years as I have known it. A tale of a creature that is so purely evil that the mind struggles to classify it within known boundaries. The following case files are neither for the weak of heart, nor the delicate of faith. Read on only if you dare, for the tale may haunt your memories as it has mine. That being said, I submit to you:

The Chucko Files

In my younger days as an aspiring journalist, I found myself traveling through the wooded Northwest state of Oregon. I made myself some friends and I made myself some enemies. I rubbed shoulders with the rich, the eccentric and the lewd. Nothing, I thought, could shock me. Oh, how wrong I was.

It was a quiet evening as I arrived at a small hippie commune known to the locals as Eugene. The rain drizzled lightly as I carried my luggage to my temporary place of residence, a building called McAllister Hall. Within these walls there were people from all walks of life, a potpourri of faces, opinions and ambitions. Surely, I thought, I would be able to find my first big scoop, the story that would get me noticed in the world. If I knew then what I know now, I would have turned my inexperienced mind around and sent it right back out the door. Alas, what's done is done.

Of those residing within the dormitory, many were good people. Their hearts were in the right place and their minds were open to gather what the world had to offer them. One individual struck me in particular, a young student of architecture named Mike.

Mike was a clever young man, who was both highly innovative and affable. Consider the following case points, all of which refer to inventions he created to benefit himself and those around him:

Example 1: Beer Holder - By combining a jacket hood with some fishing string, hands must no longer be kept busy holding beverages, allowing one to intoxicate oneself while going about daily activities.


Example 2: Cigar Bong - With the simple addition of eight water bottles and a milk jug, a six inch cigar becomes a ten foot smokestack.

Example 3: Chair of Hilarity - By combining a common household lawnchair with a nearby ocean, Mike was able to demonstrate that the properties of physics are both hilarious and destructive.

Such an interesting individual, I thought. While his inventions were intriguing, he seemed in no way out of the ordinary. That is, until later that day.

While out on my nightly stroll, I came across a scene of infamy. In a nearby ally, two seedy looking fellows were partaking in some shady doings. I watched in horror as illicit items were exchanged for money. However, this fear could not compare to what I felt moments later, when I realized that the man purchasing the items was none other than my new pal Mike.

Worried that he would see me, I slipped away back to my room, where I reviewed in my mind what I had seen. Later that evening, I decided to confront Mike about the incident. To my surprise, he seemed to have no idea what I was talking about. He told me that he had been out drinking earlier, but he returned home without having taken part in any such incident. He was very convincing, however something seemed off. My journalistic sense was tingling. There's more to the story than he is letting on, I thought to myself, and I'm going to get to the bottom of it.

Several days passed and my mind began to drift away from the subject. I had begun to believe that perhaps I mistook him for another, thus leaving me to explore other options for my story. I felt bad for the false accusation and invited Mike to join me at the river for a beer, as the sun was shining well that day.

Mike, I found, was a very intelligent and well spoken young man. He was open to discussing a wide range of ideologies and beliefs, all of which he had informed opinions on. At one point in our afternoon outing, he picked a selection of flowers and explained the contribution each color made to the collective bunch.

Following this analysis, Mike began to chug at his beer in a way that I had thought only to be possible in movies. Within moments, the 40 ounces of malted beverage were gone, and everything suddenly became chaotic.

"Mike, what are you doing?" I inquired as he consumed his bouquet.
In a deep, guttural voice, he responded, "There is no Mike, only Chucko!"
Following this, Mike... or Chucko... jumped to his feet and yelled something along the lines of "Enjoy your birthday, bitch!" This seemed odd, as it was not my birthday. With that, he took off running into the woods.

I returned to the dormitory and, later that day, found that Mike had no recollection of meeting with me at the river. I could tell I was dealing with a strange force, one with powers I did not understand. Mike appeared to be suffering from some sort of a personality disorder... but maybe it was something more. My quest for answers led me to the University of Oregon Library.

Hours passed as I scoured the archives for any reference of a Chucko or some sort of related disorder. My search led me to no conclusive answers. As I worked through the list of sources, I eventually came to the last entry, a children's book located in the back of the library. I figured it was a longshot, but decided to take a look nonetheless. What I found nearly blew my mind.

The book was old, much older than any I had come across before. It was bound in flaking leather and contained pages that had yellowed with age. I took it back to my desk and opened it to find that it had been written in the early 1960's, an era long since past. Flipping through it, an image suddenly caught my attention. There was a picture of a man who radiated pure evil. A man who's very existence shook the foundations of my understanding of humanity. As I gazed into the picture, I recognized his eyes. I had seen them before... that day at the river, and again in the back ally. Eyes of a man with no conscience, no fear or remorse. Eyes of a monster.

Chucko was his name. Chucko the Birthday Clown. There was little info to accompany the photograph, other than that Chucko was featured on a television show during the 1950s. So what was Mike's connection to this twisted clown? And why was it that the young college student seemed to assume his identity after having consumed massive quantities of alcohol? Further research was necessary. To find answers, I would have to delve into a world of darkness. A world where laws of morality, of decency and integrity, no longer apply. Yes, I would have to turn to the World Wide Web if I was to discover the truth behind Chucko the Birthday Clown.

A google searched proved to be fruitful, as many websites dedicated to the madness of Chucko quickly arose. Very few of them were useful, however, as they did little else than mention his ill-fated television show. The more that I read, the harder it was for me to draw a connection between Chucko and the man that lived down the hall from me. That is, until I came across the following:

(from http://www.tvparty.com/lostlachucko.html)

Grants Pass, I thought, was not too far from my current location. It appeared as if Chucko had found a way to return to the living and propagate his message of evil around the state of Oregon. Somehow, he had made his way into the mind of my friend Mike. But what exactly was it that he was doing back on Earth? And how was it that he could posses Mike's body? This was a mystery that I was going to get to the bottom of, no matter the consequence. I ran to a local market for supplies, then returned to the dormitory.

I found Mike at his desk attending to his student responsibilities. From my tote bag I retrieved a bottle of wine I had obtained from a local vendor. I offered him a drink, suggesting that it was some non-secular holiday, and he snatched it from my hands and immediately went to work.

As he consumed the fermented beverage, I snuck out the door of his room to await the transformation. Upon my return, I saw a sight that froze me in my tracks:

Pure, unaduterated chaos. It was clear that Chucko had re-emerged and, wielding a manikin head on a stick, had begun some sort of clownish ritual. He would only speak to me in gibberish, although whatever he was saying was said in a very confident tone. He pointed an accusatory finger as he said these things, then threw down the empty wine bottle and ran from the room.

Following this bizarre episode, Mike did not return for a week. He had scrapes and bruises all over his body, and he had no recollection of where he had vanished to.

In the years to follow, Chucko would make an occasional appearance when Mike would enjoy a few too many alcoholic beverages. Perhaps the alcohol loosened his mind enough to allow something like the spirit of a dead clown to enter and inhabit it. However, this is only one of many theories that I have developed over the years, as no clear answer has presented itself. Despite my lack of answers, I have recognized several traits that seem to remain constant with each of Chucko's appearances:

Example 1: Alcohol Causes Chucko to Emerge:



Example 2- The Accusatory Point and Stare Means Trouble is Coming:





Example 3: The Emergence of Chucko Guarantees Chaos:

All of my encounters with Chucko have been similar to the ones described above, however his evil agenda has never become clear. It seems that the creation of general chaos is his only goal during any of his appearances, but perhaps there is a grander picture that is eluding me.

I have since left Eugene, partially because I had feared that my crusade for answers would eventually consume me. Perhaps one day I shall return to the town, in which Mike still resides, however I fear what may result from further investigations. If you, daring reader, ever find yourself in the Northwest, beware. Stay inside after dark and avoid local bars and speak-easys, for I hear that on a moonless night, following a football game or some such event, Chucko the Birthday Clown can still be seen roaming the streets of Eugene propagating his message of chaos.

Faux Pas: The Movie

For a Law and Society class assignment at Piedmont High School, four students were charged with giving a ten minute presentation on the Environmental Protection Agency. Two things became immediately clear to these students: This presentation must include a car chase, and it must include a climactic shoot-out. Oh, and maybe some info about the EPA.

Thus, Faux Pas: The Movie was born.

In the sleepy town of Faux Pas (pronounced Fox Pass), a chemical plant that is pivotal to the local economy is leaking dangerous chemicals into the water supply:

The owner of this chemical plant, a heartless bureaucrat, is more concerned with making a profit than protecting the lives of local citizens. Fortunately for the helpless folks of Faux Pas, a diligent gardener overhears a conversation between the boss and his handsome lawyer, and it is up to young Max Powers to get this incriminating information to the authorities at the EPA. Will he make it in time, or will evil prevail, thus killing off the kind-yet-simple-minded people of Faux Pas?

I summarized the plot in case you can't figure out what's going on.

That said, I'm pleaed to present the World Internet Premiere of Faux Pas: The Movie!!

The Legend of Chi Tao

Gather around readers, for I shall tell you a tale. A tale that, despite your initial reactions, you must believe as the truth, for such a story is too unnerving to be fictitious.

In my treks across the globe, I have met many people and witnessed many things. While it's easy to assume that several of my facts are exaggerated, I ask that you suspend your belief in logic and reason for only a moment. For you see, there is one person that I met who has altered my understanding of the world. Thus I give you...

The Legend of Chi Tao

Now, first things first. This name seems to be simple enough to pronounce. Say it out loud once. Nothing special, right? Well, you are wrong, my friend, for it is actually pronounced Chee-tow. Or, in layman's terms, Cheeto. That's right, like the cheezy snack. As in "Chester Cheeto". Pretty funny right? I just met a guy named Cheeto. After the laughter died down, it came to my attention that his last name was Poon. That's right, P-O-O-N. No crazy spelling, no possible alternate pronounciation. His last name was Poon. Cheeto Poon. Moving along...

If you will permit me a moment, I shall set the scene:
During the summer of 2004 I took a journey to New Zealand along with a group of college students, where we spent a month doing conservation work and traveling the country. Here I can be seen saving the world:

Your praise has been accepted. Now, back to the story. Before the journey began, we met in LA for an orientation meeting. When I arrived at my hotel room, who did I find but a 5 foot tall French-Canadian Asian kid watching a marathon of Walker: Texas Ranger. As if that wasn't wild enough, the guy tells me his name is Cheeto. Outrageous.

Now it is important that you understand that Chi was not one to travel light. In fact, after the 15 or so hour flight, we arrived on the other side of the world, but we were one bag short. That's right, Chi's gigantic luggage carrier was misplaced. The guides had to call the airport and report that "Cheeto Poon's baggage was lost". He had to wear the same Panthers jogging suit for about a week before his baggage was returned. However, that's beside the point. The important element to understand is that Chi had a gigantic yellow backpack. I mean, this thing was huge, and pretty damn heavy.

Well, he must have a lot of stuff to take with him, right? Then a gigantic backpack would be understandable. But here's the thing... This trip concentrated on doing conservation work, which can be fairly difficult and dirty... Chi was under the impression that it was a sight-seeing tour, thus he brought thousands of dollars worth of camera equipment. So I present to you the contents of the Poon Pack:


Because of the value of this pack's contents, he took this gigantic thing with him everywhere...

No seriously, he took it everywhere.

At one point on the trip, we took a day-long excursion up the Franz Joesf Glacier, by no means an adventure for the weak. It was difficult, it was dangerous, and it was exhausting. And Chi Tao brought his 50 pound backpack. At one point, he was lagging so far behind the group that the tour guide, a gigantic Swedish-looking man, had to stop the trip to go back and check on him. Upon discovering what was slowing ol' Chi down, he decided to investigate further...

That's right kids, the Poon Pack strikes again! The guide was so shocked that such a small man was carrying such a huge backpack that he had to open it up and see what was so important to bring along. In addition to his expensive camera parts, Chi was also carrying several books, as well as a second jacket.
"Why the hell would you bring books up a glacier?" the befuddled tour guide inquired.
"In case I got bored," Chi Tao replied (he actually said this).

Oh, but the fun didn't stop there. Several days later, upon another adventure, we went kayaking in the Abel Tasmen national park. Sweet, this should be a blast! Everyone was paired off into two-person kayaks. Who did I get paired with? That's right folks!

Team Poon-Nelson was officially formed. But wait... something's missing from this picture...

There it is!

"Hold on now," you say, "why would he bring that backpack kayaking?"
Why, indeed. However, he decided that he couldn't leave it on the bus... it might get stolen! Thus it was placed inside our kayak.

And, believe it or not, Lil' Chi wasn't exactly a team player when it came to tandem kayaking. So not only did I have to spend an hour rowing this little bastard around, but his 50 pound gigantic yellow companion only made my job that much more pleasant.

It wasn't until the last night of the trip that Chi let the group explore the contents of his backpack.

It was at that moment that I realized why he carried that thing everywhere he went... why he took it up a glacier... why he brought it kayaking... why he brought it across the world to New Zealand...

Chicks dig the Poon Pack!!

So now you understand the memories that have haunted me for all these years. I still wake up in the night screaming to keep the Poon away from me. Needless to say, it hasn't helped my love life.

All that you have read here today is true. Perhaps someday you'll be on a hike, or a bike ride, or maybe even a cruise, and you'll see off in the distance a small yellow dot. My advice to you is to steer clear of this dot, for it just might be Lil' Chi Tao and his Big Poon Pack.