VOTE FOR ME!

I'm going in for some minor surgery tomorrow, and will likely be out of commission for a few days.  AND....I feel obligated to get this second blog entry on the web today...since I might forget it when the drugs wear off.

One of "Paul's Proverbs" I arrogantly profess in class is: THE REAL NEWS IS ALWAYS A BLOCK AWAY.

 

 

Having the Democratic National Convention in town provides the perfect poster child for the proverb.

Anyone can see what's going on inside the convention hall.  You don't even need a ticket.  Just watch it on just about everyone's TV.

The real stories, with more than 200 thousand extra people in town, is at least a block away from the Pepsi Center. 

 

 

There are honest debates going on on every corner, there is diversity of opinion like you'll only see a few times in your life.

 

 

There is entertainment, security of all kinds, police snipers on top of buildings.  This is an amazing test of the freedom of expression.

 

 

But those who know me REALLY well, have already figured I'd found something even better.

If it were me?  And I'd been assigned to come up with something good?

 

I'd convince somebody they should run a piece on the power of concentration of 16th street mall Chess Players. 

 

 

I think that story is about 8 blocks away.

"BISHOP TO C 7."

 

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"DUCK!

Peggy and I went to the basement Sunday.

In my 35 years as a journalist I think I've covered well over two hundred wind stories.  I may have chased that many storms in the helicopter and news car.

In Kansas I saw a 300 foot high microwave tower designed to withstand a small nuclear blast, twisted into a pretzel by wind. 

In that same town I saw the impact of a one hundred mile an hour gust of wind on  a construction site at Seward County Community college. That northbound gust wiped out the fly area of a new theatre building. I watched it be rebuilt? It took six months? And irony again? (This is the truth.) As the last few bricks were set in place to refinish the project? A south bound wind gust of 110 miles per hour blew it back the other way.

Here in Colorado I was once the first reporter on the scene of a town wiped out by a tornado.

I've profiled numerous people whose lives have been upended by tornadoes.

I've been to church services in small prairie towns where everyone is gathered looking for hope following major wind events.

I did a story in my own neighborhood where a small tornado yanked two hundred 80 foot high pine trees out of the ground like a turnip harvest.

I've seen and reported on two fantastic water spouts.

I once saw incredible devastation where literally millions of trees were downed by a super wind that came from a direction it had never come from before.

I spent two days in a New Mexico mountain town heavily damaged by a tornado. (Tornados don't generally show up in mountain towns.)

So what's my point?

Well after all those years of paying attention to the wind, THIS

 

 

IS THE FIRST TORNADO I'VE EVER ACTUALLY SEEN WITH MY OWN TWO EYES.

SO WHAT WERE DOING IN THE BASEMENT?  Just went down there to clean up an old mess. The SECOND we heard the TV warnings...we grabbed our cameras and headed for high ground.

OH, YEAH. THAT'S THE INSTRUCTION FOR FLOODING, RIGHT?

POST SCRIPT: My memory lied. I just remembered.  I did see that tornado that yanked the trees up, but just for about five seconds before it lifted up.

 

Tune Up

....in my beautiful balloon."

I think I've talked about the young people in the media support group we've got going.  We call it the "MetNet," mostly graduates of Metropolitan State College. Let me introduce you to a few of them.

That's Vanessa Grinestaff up there...supposedly working a story on her summer internship at KUSA TV. She is a Concert Nut...travels all over the country to see and hear Bon Jovi.

She has been working a lot with an old photographer friend of mine, Scott Wright.  I wonder if she knows Scott plays a mean "bluegrass" banjo? 

Vanessa is a talented self taught photographer and editor.  And she is open to just about any adventure you throw at her.  Let me get back to Vanessa shortly.

That's my fat hand playing a middle C chord.

This is a more impressive B flat in the key of F major.

If I'd listened to my 6th grade music teacher "Miss Freeze", who told me boldly, "don't EVER think of doing ANYTHING musical. For one thing, you have no ear for it?" 

Clearly you'd have never seen these snapshots.

So at age 64, I take up the piano.  That's all after singing at weddings, in church choirs, in musicals, art songs and arias at an Italian restaurant and a ton of in the shower solos.

"TAKE THAT MISS FREEZE!"

 But it can come out as arrogance setting myself up as the role model for a point of view.   So it's nice to have young people,  just getting started in the World role models, to take my place........people like Vanessa and..... 

 

Jonathon Snyder.  Jonathon has just graduated and is out testing the water.  He has a rock band getting a lot of work in town.  He also has been doing public relations for some non-profit groups.  He is managing a small theatre that specializes in documentaries.   He also books live acts at the theatre, and does a little "standup" himself on "open mic" night. 

One of my persistent messages I pass on to students in every class?

"DO NOT EVER GIVE UP YOUR DREAMS.  Yes, let them evolve.  BUT DON'T GIVE THEM UP."

Vanessa and Jonathon can waive that lesson. They were cases in point long before they heard me mutter anything. 

Still there are times when you need a backboard to bounce those ideas off.  So.....

 

Jonathon and I have a random get together to explore yet more nuances of his dreams.  I'll update you on them after he gets his feet wet.

That's the role model I want to be. If young people come to me for career advice? I WILL NOT BE MISS FREEZE.  I will NOT say, "follow the money! And for @$%#^& sake don't get into music!"

I cannot tell you how exhilarating it is to hear an F flat coming from these 65 year old fat fingers.  That is what MetNet is all about.

 

"GO VANESSA. GO JONATHON." 

Picture This

That is Karlyn Tilley up there, fellow Norwegian, and reporter/anchor at the CBS Owned and Operated TV station in town.  Or at least this is my watercolor vision of Karlyn.

We used to work in the same newsroom. 

Any of us who've spent any time in broadcast media have some pretty wonderful stories to share with almost any audience. 

My favorite Karlyn story is her brief stint doing weather in Boise, Idaho.  These are the kinds of things you can only get away with in small markets. 

Karlyn convinced her superiors it would be okay if she did her weathercast sky diving. She would jump out of the plane and wing it, so to speak. 

It turned out to be one of those wonderful TV moments where everything went like clock work...with her landing on terra ferma just as she is wrapping up the local five day forecast.

She tells me that tape got her her next job at a little bigger market. But she also had to sign an agreement that she would NEVER do that again.

 

That's Gary Barkley up there. He's a photojournalist.  When I retired in 2002 Gary was the only person left in the newsroom older than me, and he is still there cranking out pretty pictures and stories.

Of course he wouldn't like me referring to his work as PRETTY.

Gary is the most beloved cynic on the planet. You never have to wonder what Gary is thinking.  He'll tell you.  But he'll tell you while he is getting not only his job done, but a few other people's jobs as well.

Small world?  I think we'd probably worked together for a decade before we realized my sister's mother-in-law in California, was Gary's private art teacher.

But while we're talking about small world.

 

  

This is photographer Jim Weis. Jim got assigned to me a lot when I first started reporting. And then over the years we worked together so much we'd get teased about being married (to each other). 

And I have to tell you there were days...when the parallels were eerie.  We would spend these horribly long complicated days covering the building of Denver International Airport.

We'd both get a little cranky. And then at the end of the day we'd stop off at the Tower Bar and Grill, order two Long Neck Buds a piece at happy hour. And then JUST like a happily married couple,  we'd just sit there and stare at the wall without saying a word to each other.

Small world?  Jim is a decade younger than I am, but it turns out he was born 2 miles from where I was born just Southeast of downtown LA.

When he is about ten, Jim's family moves to Seal Beach, which is where I moved right out of college.  So we were probably both there at the same time...just hanging out with different gangs.

Turned out at the time this was all revealed, Jim's brother was living in a Seal Beach apartment less than two blocks away from where I lived for four years.

Jim was a wildlife photographer before getting into TV.  I can't tell you how many times he'd stop in the middle of a field, put all of his gear down, so he could run down a snake.  I don't know if he still does that kind of thing. 

So I was just noticing that I've got over 12 thousand images stored here since going digital.

 

I figure if I'm going to share them all with you I need to start now!

And pay attention 'cause there'll be a test.

Hey you! It's me Peggy! HOW MANY?

12,432 to be exact!

 

YOU GOTTA be KIDDIN'?  Nope. 

Oh, I probably won't show them all, and hey, they won't all be on the test?

Cubed

Know these women up here? Really? You don't?

Well let me get back to that in a minute.

I'd say most people cherish those pictorial moments when they've been captured with a star athlete, a President, a movie star. Not Me.

Here's the picture going up on my mantle. I'd rather be captured as friend of those behind the scenes, the ones that MAKE IT HAPPEN. In this case, THE PRODUCERS.

Wasn't it General Douglas Mac Arthur, who said to congress as he was being booted out of military, " Old producers never die, they just produce something else?"

Okay, it wasn't producers, (rather soldiers) but it also wasn't Mac Arthur who coined the sentence.  And I don't see him out there "fessin' up." I think my artful editing is less of a crime than his lack of attribution.

But, ah, I'm getting off message.

I heard Harry Smith on the CBS morning show proclaim this to be the 40th anniversary of the work cubicle.  Ironic, since that's where I found the two women you see up there.  They were hard at work in their cubicles at High Noon Productions.

The woman on my left? Glenna Stacer-Sayles.  On my right? Muffy Steinhoff. They are both PRODUCERS in case my foreshadowing fell short of the target.

I worked with both of them in news back in the 80's and 90's. I knew Glenna when she was just Stacer, and Muffy Steinhoff was nee Shumway.  (I'm not kiddin when I say they haven't aged a bit, certainly not in my perception.) 

This picture is a second TAKE. Just like a producer, Muffy demands a reTAKE because she blinked.

So what are they producing now? That's why I think it's interesting for YOU to see them.

I'll bet a huge percentage of you reading this have seen their work. Food channel freaks?  Ever watched "Unwrapped"? Well that's Glenna's nut to crack. Cool Tools on HGTV? That's Muffy's fault.

We had a wonderful time picking our way through the past.  Isn't it amazing how much hyperbole accompanies reminiscence?  We jammed a lot of stories into an hour together.

That's kind of it for now.  I just wanted to let you see what a producer looks like.  You'll never see their faces on billboards or cabs. That's even though they are a lot better looking than Zero Mostel.

Oh, wait.  I'll bet you'd like to see that first take where Muffy blinks.

 

She is going to slay me. It is ...kind of like when a reporter wants another ten seconds for his or her story?

Oh, some day let me show you the picture of me with my arm around "Flo Jo," and then there's that shot of me by Air Force One where I'm shouting at Nancy Reagan, "Why do you always wear Red?"

OKAY, that's it.

Well?

What do you know about that?

Peggy thinks I'm too locked into hands and feet with my watercolors, so I've slipped back into FOWL for a while. I let this one dry over night and get up this morning to touch a few things up. That is when it happens.

Peggy, who is into acrylics and oils, used to watch the late Bob Ross on TV. Some of us remember the pop-artist for the fun phrase, "happy accidents." 

Well as it turns out I have one of those this morning, a happy accident. Ironically it has nothing to do with my painting.

I don't operate well in the morning without coffee. So even before wetting a brush, I pause to go through the coffee makin' routine.

 

 

This little snapshot is loaded with information, but please focus on the bag of coffee beans. You should probably know it was full a few minutes ago.  You see I am getting ready to pour a few beans into the grinder.

 

 

 I do that whilst looking at my painting over my shoulder. (for the record one should not attempt this at home.)

 

 

It is a little out of focus, but this is what three quarters of a pound of coffee looks like on a kitchen floor.

 

 

Here's a little tighter shot.

 

 

Here's a shot of "most" of three quarters of a pound of coffee swept up.  So what do I do with it?  Just throw it out?  

 

 

Here's a shot of three quarters of a pound of coffee, that's been on the floor, being poured into a colander. Move over spaghetti.

 

Just run a little water over that three quarters of a pound of coffee, that has been on the floor, and it will be just like new.

 

 

Just to be safe we'll apply the fire hose level of force.

So what's the happy accident?  You know how when you're trying to sell your house? Realtors tell you to have fresh chocolate chip cookie odor enticing would-be buyers? And, THEY say, ALWAYS have a fresh pot of coffee brewed?

 

Well there is no way I got all those loose beans. So that  coffee aroma is going to be there IF and WHEN we ever try to sell the house.  Isn't that a happy accident?

Oh, and I find a small piece of celery in with the beans in the colander? Celery that might have clogged up the garbage disposal trap? Now that's a happy accident.

Oh, and I don't know what it means but Peggy just tells me she's found a coffee bean on the stairs twenty feet away from the kitchen.  Now that must be a happy accident of some sort.

Fine Whine

That's my branding logo for our Media Support group. What do you think?

Well never mind. What I really want to talk about is yesterday. At the risk of being the poster boy for Phil Graham's "Nation of Whiners," I have to share with you the events of the day.  AND? TO MY CREDIT? I laughed with and at myself all day long.

Peggy is out of town, so any crises that arise, I'm on my own.

So while we out of town for a week...last week?  Word is it was hot and dry here at home for those seven days. We don't even need an official report.  That is because our lawn looks very much like the Mojave Desert.  I guess I forgot to set the sprinkler system. 

Well, I remedy that as soon as we get home, setting the automatic system to run for an hour on every station every third day.  But you know what I discovered early yesterday morning? The system isn't working at all.

(Apparently I actually HAD set it when we left town.)

But THAT means I haven't watered for yet another week.   So I immediately vow I'll get someone out to work on it. 

I thumb through the phone book, reach for the phone, start to dial, and.....POP! And POP is followed by darkness and total silence in that order.

The POWER goes out.  And you know that power decides to "take a powder" on a day when temperatures are predicted to be very near or at 100 DEGREES.

And this power outage comes just after I've gone to the market to buy a bunch of fresh fruits, veggies and TV dinners.

(I've covered enough of these stories to know it takes about 12 hours of outage to wipe out the stuff in the fridge.)

Well, anyway, since I can't call the sprinkler guy, or the power company because my phone is out?  I set off on the daily mission of hunting down my cell phone.

I find it.   I am about to dial when I get the little warning beep that it too, the cell, is about to take a nap.  

I'm now totally incommunicado and set off on the long list of predictable faux pas that go with an outage. I try to turn on the TV to see if there is a massive accident somewhere, followed by trying to warm up some coffee in the micro wave, followed by trying to use the remote to let the deck awning out for a little shade, followed by trying to turn on the fan in the "persons room," followed by trying to electronically open the garage door (because I need to drive around in my car so I can charge up the cell phone.)

Well in time I make contact with my neighbors whose cell phones are doing just fine.  But the news they give me is not fine.

Deb Kwit says to me, "they said  the power'd be back up at 12:15 (noon fifteen) but now they are saying it's going to be at least another four hours. "

Well it has already been four hours, so I either have to tough it out or take some drastic action.

My drastic action is to manually open the garage door, plug my Cell phone into the cigarette lighter, and head out to take care of some errands. 

With errands complete I note on a local town thermometer the unofficial mercury reading is 98 degrees.  So in my new role as "man of action" I choose not to return home and watch all my groceries melt.  Instead I'll go to the show.  It is air conditioned.

(I see Hancock starring  Will Smith.  It's a pretty hokey plot but he really is getting to be one of the more believable performers in any role he steps in to.  That's all I'm going to tell you 'cause you may be on the way there now.)

Following my strategic venture into the movie theatre I note I am parked right in front of a bar and restaurant. Well why not "belly" up to the bar and get a fish sandwich and a COLD beer in a nice air conditioned environment. 

(Peggy hates fish so I try to gorge myself with as much of it as I can when she's out of town.)

Well I finally give into responsibility. I hop into the car hoping I've driven enough to charge my cell. I get home and push the remote button to open the garage door?   Oh, yeah, no power.

So I do all those manual things necessary to gain entry.

(I wonder if anyone under 20 would know how to manually gain entry?)

Well to my surprise the power, in fact, IS back on.  Half the lights in the house, two TVs and a laptop are all noisily active. Buzzers are going off.  I set about to re set all the clocks.

(Isn't it nice that with cell phones we don't have to call somebody to get the exact time for clock resetting? That is of course if our cells are charged.) 

Well with these tasks complete, I remember that I've devoured one of those mini watermelons in the morning 'cause I don't want it to succumb to the heat.  I've left cut up rind in the sink and then hit the go button on the garbage disposal to get rid of it? One more task that requires power.

So it was time to revisit that failed mission.  Well it rumbles into action, powerfully cranking away on the hide of this sweet fruit.  Everything seems to be back on track.......but.........

WHAT'S THIS?

 

I hate plumbing chores.  Turns out it isn't the watermelon rind stopping up the sink "per se."  It is actually a twig from a bunch of grapes that defies going through the trap...hence trapping everything else that wants to get by. That in course has nasty water full of rotting flora rising to the lip of the sink. It stops just short of over flowing. "The Sink is more than Half Full." (Take that Phil Graham!)

Oh, yeah....I'd grabbed those grapes to east because I thought they too would succumb to the big melt down.

So once again, Phil Graham,  I really am not waiting for the next "shoe to drop."

I just think it is a pretty funny (weird funny) day.

And how about this for anti-whiniing.

"The student becomes the teacher."

A former student of mine, Psalm by name, is a wise role model for those of us befuddled by such circumstances.  Once a year she just freely shuts off all her power for a week. She does it she says so she'll appreciate what she has, and gain confidence that if need be, she can live without it.

I'll never be that wise.