Goodbye to Carlin

As I was tapping through the cable news channels in search of a quick fix of political jibber-jabber, I was saddened to see that another icon was taken by the likes of heart trouble. The mighty George Carlin died at the ripe young age of 71 (young enough to run for president!).

He was one of the great standup comedians, pioneering a style of comedy that happens to be one of my personal favorites: angry. The littlest things would piss this guy off, and you were gonna hear all about it. Now that's comedy.

Carlin was best known for his charitable efforts, working tirelessly to help stoned teenagers pass their history exams in order to keep their lousy garage bands together, thereby insuring a future centered around being excellent to each other and partying on.

I've always thought the guy was hilarious, and I'm sad to see him go. So long, Rufus.

Back Down

Indeed, the rumors are true. A minor yet debilitating back strain has forced Duff into "light duty" for the week. At first, it seemed like a mini vacation- free from the stresses of story deadlines, live shot malfunctions and those yappy reporters. All I had to do was crank out a stack of pre-shot stories for the show, and I was sitting pretty.

The first day was very strange. As show time approached, people were running around, shouting at each other, live shots were having trouble, packages weren't being fed on time... yet for the first time ever, none of it applied to me. As I wandered through the chaos of the newsroom, I felt like Willem Dafoe in Boondock Saints, dancing through the firefight, unharmed by the violence.

Then day two came along, and I started to realize that this desk job stuff ain't for me. As the crews were hustled out the door after breaking news... Fire! Kidnapping! Gay wedding! Go! Go! Go!... I stared down my adventure for the day: a stack of scripts...

...and a pile o' beta tapes.

When I first started off in this biz, I was quite the editor. Could crank out three shows and roll tapes without breaking a sweat, I could. Now a-days, it ain't the same. As much as there is to complain about when working as a photog, I now realize how lucky I am to be out on the dusty trail, chasing down the story of the day. I'm a man that needs adventure, and cranking out vosot after vosot ain't what I call adventure.

I have also been reminded that I'm not one to deal with boredom very well. Back in my market 120 days, there were a lot of slow times being the only nightside photographer in a city where nothing happens after 6 pm. Former colleagues can attest to the fact that this has resulted in a number of bizarre discoveries around the station, including Beta Tape Adventures:

BabyBear Malone, the ex-con editor:

and the infamous Polar Bear in the Boss' Office:

Today's mundane queue of point-and-click tasks led me to deface a mayoral candidate's mother's newspaper picture, which amused me for much of the day:

Wow, I really need to get back to my normal job. Fortunately, a much-needed vacation begins for me next week, with a whole series of adventures lined up and ready for consumption (more on this to come). Until then, I have two more days of "light duty", and I'm just hoping that I don't accidentally draw a mustache on someone with the power to demote me to "full time light duty". Oh man, if that were to happen, then polar bears would start showing up in a lot more places than just the boss' office, and that wouldn't be good for anyone.

Goodbye to Russert

I'm probably the last one to say it at this point, but I'm sad to see the guy go. Tim Russert didn't catch my attention because of a flashy perosna or because his political views matched mine, but because he seemed to be one of the few real journalists in a vast sea of "journalists". In this society oversaturated with media, it's not often that you see a host that asks real, critical questions in an interview. Russert did good, and he'll be missed.

Actually, he's already been missed quite a bit. For a good day and a half, the 24 hour news networks dedicated their time to wall-to-wall memorial coverage. Suddenly, all the smallest elements of the campaign trail were going un-overanalyzed, and I was freaking out. "What am I supposed to make of that terrorist fist jab? Why aren't you telling me what to think?" Guess that reaction is a testament to the level of respect others had for him. I don't imagine the same for Geraldo in the event that he gets shot while on a terrorist hunt.

Sad to see one of the good ones go. It wasn't too long ago that Russert had a YouTube moment on his show, when that douchebag from the Clinton campaign Terry McAuliffe accidentally referred to Russert's dad as having passed away, when he was very much alive.

Bet he feels like a real jerk now. So long, Russert.

Summer Time

It's that time of the year again... a time when the sun starts to get hotter and any natural source of water is packed to the brim with Pabst-toting rednecks. That's right, it's summer time, and while the official date hasn't ticked past just yet, it can definitely be felt. At today's Yankees game, it was reported that the crowd cheered as a cloud passed in front of the sun, then booed as it moved on. One of many reasons why Yankees fans are dumb bastards.

We in the central valley don't have the luxury of an MLB team in town, unless we want to high-tail it to the Bay Area, where they have several. Instead, we get to spend our seasonably warm evenings at minor league games!

Our local team, the River Cats, offers an excellent outdoor atmosphere for drinking beer and discussing the talk of the day with pals and other well-wishers. As you can see from the picture, the architects of the stadium didn't really take the sun's path into consideration when designing the "economy" seats.

But I couldn't complain- the ticket was only a quarter more expensive than the beer, and I wasn't really there to watch baseball anyway. Have you ever watched baseball? Kinda dull. When I was young, maybe 10 or so, my dad took us to an Oakland A's game, and it was one of the most boring things I'd ever been to. Our team didn't even score! It made me lose interest for life. Some years later, I learned that the game was one of the famous "no-hitter" games pitched by the legendary Nolan Ryan, in what I believe was his first game playing the A's after leaving them for the Rangers. Baseball fanatics are often wow'ed by the fact that I was at the game. If you ask me, I would have rather been at home watching Snick (if you don't know what that is, don't ask).

That being said, I've never been the biggest fan of baseball games, but I am a big fan of drinking beer outdoors on a lovely evening with some pals. Every once in a while, I'll turn towards the field and declare, "Hey, there's a baseball game going on!" Then I'll venture back for another $8 beer.

At the same time, baseball games have always been a staple for my summer memories. It's just something you do when it starts to heat up outside, like running through a sprinkler or questioning the ice cream man on his immigration status. While I may not be able to discuss this-or-that about popular baseball teams, I still welcome the availability of their games, as it signals the fact that summer has arrived.

Also, they often bring with them fireworks, and nothing speaks to the power of our country like blowing stuff up!

USA! USA! Welcome, Summer '08. I await your offerings.

Serious Plumeage

Tourism isn't exactly Fairfield's prize industry. There are few reasons to stop by this city, and most of them usually involve an unpleasant news story. So as rush hour commuters passed by along the interstate Wednesday afternoon and saw a massive plume of smoke, they turned to each other, said "Yeah, that seems about right", and continued on their way.


However, this wasn't your daddy's old fashioned plume. This here plume was from a chemical plant that done caught fire, and if there's one thing you don't want in a chemical plant, it's fire.

As news crews inched closer and closer to the plume, a police officer declared that it could be dangerous, and recommended that everyone should keep back. Photogs glared amongst each other through grizzled eyes, and continued to inch closer, seeing just how far they could go before getting detained.

Because these were chemicals that were ablaze, water couldn't be used to put them out. Instead, they had to call in special foam fire trucks from a nearby air force base, which took many hours (even though the base was just down the street). It was chaos, until something dawned on me. I'd seen this all before... but where? How was this situation handled, and what fate fell upon the feisty photogs?

Why, this scenario was played out in everybody's favorite 80's superhero movie... Superman III!

The solution was simple! We just needed to freeze a lake and drop it on the fire! Was I the only one that wasn't an idiot around there? And how about that plucky Jimmy... Print journalists may have had Superman to look up to, but we in the photog world have him as our hero, with his courage and determination to "get the shot" at all costs, even if it means horribly disfiguring himself.

The best part of the scene was when Jimmy was lying on a stretcher with a broken leg and said "Oh, ow... my camera!" What a trooper. Here's to Jimmy.

As for the fire, no lake was readily available and no super man or woman was nearby to transport it, so they were left doing it the old fashioned way. Still, I say Supreman's way made more sense.

The Waiting Game

Nothin' makes for great television like a good ol' fashioned election. And boy, Sacramento's got itself a doozy of a mayoral race. There aren't too many times in life when someone can ask you, with a straight face, if you voted for the bounty hunter, the basketball player, or the bearded lady. The crazy part is that those are only a few of the candidates.

As previously reported, former NBA star Kevin Johnson is among the dueling candidates.

Gosh that flyer looks familiar.

Our assignment for the massive election coverage was simple, though not without some time constraints. KJ was supposed to arrive to his election night party at 9, greet his supporters, give a quick speech, and boogie the night away. Our 10:00 lead story hit gave us little time to dilly-dally, so we were gonna have to crank out some quick b-roll of the arrival, a quick bite from the speech, and rock it on out.

9:00- No sign of the popular, if media shy, mayoral candidate. His people told my people (me) that he's running a little late, but would be there in the next half hour. Also, we were promised a 1-on-1 interview for the 10:30 hit. No problem, he's gotta make a fashionable entrance. Just to be safe, we decided to send back random shots of the party and a sound bite from that morning. Knowing KJ's less-than-punctual record, I figured we'd need a back-up plan or two.

9:30- All quiet on the KJ front. His supporters danced and cheered his name, yet he was unable to bare witness to the spectacle. I was starting to get a little nervous.

10:00- The show started, our live hit approached, and the podium stood empty, aside from a white balance-assisting sheet of paper.

The hit was lackluster, the b-roll lacked KJ, and the sound bite was dated. Indeed, not quite as planned. But hey, we were set up to cut into the show as soon as the man of the hour hit the stage! While that "guaranteed live interview" was starting to look doubtful, I remained in high spirits, knowing that he wouldn't want to miss an opportunity like this to address the people of this city live on all four stations simultaneously. I mean, that's local politics gold!

10:30- Second live hit approached. No 1-on-1, no impassioned speech, no KJ.

Producers lost interest and dropped the second live hit. All our preparations, our blood, sweat and erratic emotional outbursts were for nothing. Even the band was packing up and leaving. Poles closed at 8! Party started at 7! Oh KJ, where are you!

11:00- The show ended, any prospect of a live cut-in is crushed, and I'm supposed to be on my way home to get a real dose of nightly news. Instead, I remained on the riser, camera ready to roll, unable to call it a night until the man of the hour(s) arrives.

My shift had come to an end, yet a beer (or perhaps some sort of juice box) was not yet in my hand, and I was starting to get cranky.

Then... just shy of 2 hours and 10 minutes late, the crowd starts cheering. Could it be? Is it really?

It was! KJ had arrived, and just in time to miss the evening news. He gave a "fired-up" speech to his rowdy supporters, thanking them for their hearty efforts and impressive canvasing.

On his way out the door, he was briefly cornered by a ravenous pack of media junkies, with a long drawn-out hunger of inquisitiveness.

In the time that we had been waiting, he says, he was getting his thoughts together, praying, and preparing his speech. He repeated his major talking points as responses to a barrage of questions, and left us with nothing more than perhaps a quick mention in the morning show. But hell, nightsiders don't care about the morning show. We care about our show. Our show...

And thus, the day left my plans beaten and berated. This whole journalism thing looks a whole lot different from the backside of a camera. Where's the glee... the whimsey that was promised by the movies of my childhood? You lied to me, Newsies!

(On an unrelated note, did you know Christian Bale was in Newsies? What a dork.)

Back to the election... None of the candidates crossed the 50% threshold. Therefore, KJ and current mayor Heather Fargo will partake in a run-off come November. Be sure to keep your waitin' shoes on.

Slippery When Wet: The Movie

Those of you who have been poking around this blog for a while now might remember that some time ago I shared with you a film from my early years. Faux Pax: The Movie was a wild adventure profiling the heroic efforts of a young gardener with a heart for the environment. One critic proclaimed that it was "without a doubt...the best EPA movie I have ever seen." Indeed, it was some of my finest work.

However, many fail to realize that the same acclaimed young filmmaker produced another dramatic epic, which often is lost in the shadow of Faux Pas' success.

In my senior year of high school, some of my numbskull buddies and I were in a creative writing class. For our final project, we decided to write a screenplay for a short film, which we would film and present at the end of the class. With that, Slippery When Wet was born.

It was a work of art... a brilliant crime drama that dove into the deepest element of the human essence and returned with answers to this crazy adventure that we call life.

Actually, it's terrible, and for many reasons. First, the original version somehow stretched one and a half minutes of storyline into sixteen and a half minutes. Second, we never really wrote the screenplay, we just kinda threw some ideas around, got a basic shell of a story, and made it up as we went along... then wrote it out as a screenplay after the film was finished. Third, the "character development" was basically finding ways to make fun of each other. The kid who played basketball was cast as "The Failed Basketball Player". The kid that could break dance was cast as "Twinkletoes McGee". There are many other problematic elements, all of which I'm sure you'll discover (Why does the crime boss wear a University of Washington t-shirt? And why does that shirt change half way through the movie?) . I had to chop it down to a lean 10 minutes for YouTube, but I assure you no elements of the "story" were left on the cutting room floor.

Without further explanation or appologies, here is Slippery When Wet: The Movie.

There is actually an epilogue that was shot as well, but was left out of this version for time purposes. If you've made it this far without hurling in disgust, you might as well watch it:

You get it? The Kool-Aid shipment was switched with the cocaine! Haha, brilliant!

While the teacher gave us an A on the project, she shook her head as she did, and rightfully so.

But the best part of the project came a few days after we wrapped the shoot. It turns out our little film got some attention from the local newspaper! We didn't make the front cover, or even a brief project synopsis. No, we ended up in the police blotter.

It was, and remains to this day, one of my proudest moments as a filmmaker.