To Serve and Deject

This week it became glaringly obvious to me that a certain police department was not vying for “Nice Guys of the Year.” Yes, sometimes reporters can make inexcusable mistakes, like being born, but is that really a reason to talk to us the way you’d talk to a criminal who just led you on a high-speed chase through an elementary school parking lot? Even the Casey Anthony interrogation tapes sounded a lot more civil than the press briefing that members of the media had to endure this week in which a certain lieutenant vowed to answer all of our questions unless they had anything to do with the actual crime that had just occurred. As you can imagine the briefing was about as informative as a barking dog (a pit bull at that). “Was someone killed? Injured? Hurt? What? What are you trying to tell us?” Truth is, Lieutenant “Didn’t-you-hear-what-I-just-said?” wasn’t trying to tell us anything other than reporters are all scum. Even questions like, “How are you doing?” were answered with a sneer worthy of a French waiter. That’s when I knew it would be pointless to ask him why – in fact – he insisted on being a needless jerk.

Now I’m not saying reporters AREN’T scum; every one of us has done things we aren’t proud of, like changing our major from pre-med to broadcast journalism. But those mistakes are in the past and they can’t be changed now because it took us 10 years (and several small towns) to realize it. What I AM saying is that it is not necessary to act like a complete jackass just because the most interaction your small-town agency has had with reporters is watching the movie Anchorman. We aren’t all the egotistical narcissists portrayed by Will Ferrell. Well, at least not all the time. Sometimes we’re sleeping.

I know I shouldn’t take it personally. After all, I meet all kinds of mean people on my job, but usually when someone looks at the camera the way I look at a Jack Black movie he’s wearing the handcuffs on his wrists, not his belt. You just expect a sworn officer, who is allowed to carry a gun, a can of mace, and a baton to have more tact than a lima bean.

Leaving me breathless

As I sit at home watching the inauguration I am overcome with an emotion so powerful it leaves me breathless: claustrophobia. Seriously, to look out upon the sea of eager faces all I can think is, "What do you do when you have to pee?!!" It could take a few days to maneuver your way to the closest port-o-potty and you risk the possibility of losing a spot with the really good view of the back of someone's head. But that really is a small price to pay when you consider that those people will be one of only 94,258,075 who will be able to say, "I witnessed – first hand, mind you – the swearing in of President Obama, and vice-president what's-his-name." Sure, they may have had to sleep in their cars for a few days because any hotel within a 100-mile radius was charging $32,876 a night, if you have a coupon. But years from now, when their grandchildren ask them "What was it like to watch Beyonce Knowles shake her ass at the Lincoln Memorial?" They will be able to say, "It was history in the making."

The coverage truly is powerful to watch, though. Americans are proving that at a time of economic uncertainty, during an awe-inspiring event meant to evoke hope and unity, they can still act like complete jackasses when the camera is on. But the one issue that came up too often to be ignored is that Washington D.C. – without a doubt – is very cold in January. Days before the inauguration, when there really wasn't enough to fill 24-hours of inauguration coverage, much of the talk-back consisted of asking the reporter how cold it was. And, from what I gather, it was COLD.

But really, today isn't just about the weather (even though it's really, really, cold); it was about people of all races, religions, political parties, and sexual orientations coming together to tell Joe the Plumber, "Na na na na na na!" Where was he by the way?

Just speculating

10 years from now every Orlando reporter will remember exactly where they were on December 11th, 2008. Some will say, "I was just waking up - still drunk mind you - when I got the phone call." Others will brag that they were the first to break the story after seeing it on another station. Personally, I will have to flip through my old day planner and see that 1) it was pay day, and 2) I had a dentist appointment that day. Yup, while I was enjoying the pleasant and mind-numbing fumes of nitrous oxide, my fellow reporters spent an entire rain-soaked day informing viewers of a very serious issue. The issue of "speculation"

This week I learned you can say pretty much anything you want as long as you follow it with, "Of course, I am speculating here." It was the foundation of the Caylee Anthony coverage. Anchors and reporters reveled in being able to finally (gasp!) share their own opinion under the guise that they are "of course, just speculating here." It made for some interesting liveshots and talk-backs between anchors and reporters: "Jane, I understand this news broke about two minutes ago and bounty hunter Leonard Padilla is NOT on scene yet, so maybe he really isn't an attention-seeking leech. Of course, Jane, we must remind viewers that we are simply speculating here."

But far worse than the speculations was the number of people who bought into them. People who's lives - I can only speculate - are about as interesting as a carrot stick. What else is the motivation behind complete strangers standing outside the Anthony family's home for hours in the cold (well, cold for Florida) waiting for... what? Leonard Padilla to come strolling by just begging to have his picture taken? Well, they weren't disappointed on that end. Really. But I wonder if he resented the fact that this time Geraldo Rivera stole his thunder by promising to do everything within his power to get more face time than Leonard. Geraldo succeeded, but just barely. Of course, in a stunning upset for both men, attorney Jose Baez managed to put together a high-profile defense team made up of world-famous experts who still believe OJ is innocent and Phil Spector is normal.

But not all of the onlookers (or "no-lifers" as I like to call them) were there to gawk at the circus that is the media. One shaggy-haired blond with a tear-drop tattoo was legitimately interested in becoming a "news person." My conversation with her went a little like this:

Her: So how did you get started in news?
Me: Well, I was dropped on my head a lot as a child, but I also went to college.
Her: For like a year or something?
Me: More like four. But I did so many drugs that the Journalism department was the only one who would take me.
Her: Oh, look, it's that bounty hunter guy!!! I recognize him from the toothpick in his mouth. I'm gonna get a picture with him.

That's about the gist of my weekend. It would've been made easier if all the media outlets would just agree to go in on a port-o-potty together; set up right in front of the Anthony's home. It would be a good investment, trust me, because I don't see any stations saying, "Gosh, this family has been through so much, maybe we should give them some privacy over the next few weeks." Of course, I'm just speculating here.

Singlitis

I have something to confess. I have singlitis. There. I said it. SINGLITIS: plagued by the absence of a mate. The only known cure is finding your one true love, or simply settling for the one person who irritates you slightly less than the rest. I wouldn't say I "suffer" from it, because - believe it or not - the male species is not essential to my happiness or feelings of self-worth (unless it's an adorable little male kitten). But try explaining that to someone in a relationship and it's like explaining homosexuality to a Mormon bishop, "How can you possibly be okay with THAT kind of lifestyle?!?!"

My photog, A. Mason, and I were discussing this in the live truck the other day (right after talking about all the angles we haven't covered in the Casey Anthony story; it was a short conversation, as you can imagine) and he brought up a very poignant question: "Why do people in relationships hate single people?" It's like they are on a mission to rid the world of singlitis one blind date at a time, and their hatred makes them desperate: "I have someone who's perfect for you!! You lived in IDAHO for a while, and he grew up in IOWA, and they sound very, very similar. You'll have so much to talk about!" I can't even order an appetizer at a restaurant without having my best friend (bless her heart) lean over and whisper, "Hey, what about the server??"

Relationship-burdened people always assure us it's because they "want to see us happy," but how could I possibly be happy with a man who talks about his cat the whole time (in a monotone voice, for that matter)? And what do I have in common with a geophycisit who lives in San Francisco... other than the fact that he, too, is Filipino? As much as I wish I was making this up, these have been actual blind-dates for me.

The truth is.. the words "I have someone who's perfect for you" are like cryptonite to me (and Mason, for that matter), because if I do (for some god-forsaken freak reason) meet the person YOU think is perfect for me, chances are the only thing I'll realize is that you are a complete jackass who doesn't know me at all.

So what is a girl to do? The bar scene in Orlando is nothing but a cesspool of reality-show contestants waiting for their big break and I've covered enough "internet" stories to know that my chances of a predator mistaking me for a 15-year-old girl are too high to ignore. So I've found the perfect solution! The Hug Me Pillow: a pillow shaped like half a human chest attached to a human arm (see below).



It reminds me slightly of that story I covered about the suicidal guy who jumped off the I-4 overpass and was shredded to death by 15 different cars. However, it's the perfect gift for your single friends. It lets them know you think they are totally pathetic, but you "just want to see us happy."

Now THAT's what I call thorough

Today was a very productive day for me. Well, it was my day off and I didn't do a damn thing, but it was productive in the sense that I didn't have to partake in the Caylee Anthony drama. I watched bits and pieces of the coverage from the comfort of my kitchen as I cleaned and came to two conclusions: 1) It was definitely a great day to be off and, 2) Pine Sol really DOES smell lemony fresh.

I'll tell you though, once it was discovered that the bag of supposed bones and toys wasn't really anything at all (and certainly not the body of little Caylee), it was refreshing to see all the news media drop the story and move on to more important issues, like the economy. Ha ha!! Kidding, of course. But one thing you CAN say about the coverage - well, there are a lot of things - but one thing you can say is that it was thorough. Most stations had quadruple team coverage! A significant feat considering that most stations have laid off all their employees to the point where photographers will soon be driving around on mopeds while wearing helmet cams.

Anyway... I especially liked the minutes spent pouring over the alleged shamrock found inside the bag... the significance being, "If you squint really hard it kinda resembles a circle, which is how this case has been going... in circles." Turns out it wasn't a shamrock at all, it was - no lie - a Gumby doll. One diver was quick to point out that, "Gumby has been known to change himself into all sorts of shapes."

Where was Leonard Padilla (pronounced Pah - DILL - Ahh) in all this? Well, for the first part of the day he was exactly where we knew he would be: in front of a camera vowing to do whatever it takes "to get more face time." And he succeeded until deputies threw him in a patrol car and whisked him off to see the wizard, where no doubt he would be asking for a soul and - if there was time - some common sense.

Deputies hold a press conference announcing that Padilla (pronounced CHEE - zee) has agreed to take a lie detector test to see if he's "really that clueless about how annoying he is." Deputies have questions of their own, the most pressing one being, "When will the media get tired of this story?" That illicits a few giggles from members of the media who themselves have been asking, "When will the viewing public get tired of this story?" The answer to both questions is, "When Nancy Grace stops using hairspray." This is a story where all the characters have been flawlessly cast, the script has been carefully played out (up to now), and all there is to do is wait for the final act. To tune out now would be like putting down a John Grisham novel before finding out who-done-it.

Patience is the most overrated virtue

If you were to ask me what was the hardest part about covering this weekend's search for Caylee Anthony… I would be hard-pressed to choose between the emotional efforts of the volunteers and the lack of media parking. But this time around those two things paled in comparison to having to deal with a photographer of network status. "Network" being Latin for, "Undeserving sense of self-worth." At least in this context.

I'm sure his experience and skill in the art of photojournalism is what landed him the gig with a network news station, because it certainly wasn't his people skills or his thoughtful consideration for other news crews. And I'm willing to bet he didn't score high in mathematics either.

Take this math problem for instance: There are five television stations about to interview one man. Using some reductive reasoning we can assume there are also five microphones. However, because the noon newscast is an hour away, there is only one reporter (keep in mind she only has two hands and one short, fiery temper). Even a 5th grader can look at this equation and say, "Hmm, there's going to have to be some sort of compromise." And that compromise is going to have to be a little more accommodating than, "WE are the ones who set this thing up!!!" Without going into detail let's suffice to say that I spent the first five minutes of a press briefing arguing with a photographer who had about as much class as an artichoke (and even less hair).

That was my first lesson in patience. The second lesson could be heard loud and clear over the speakerphone as Equusearch team leaders shouted out the first rule of Equusearch: "You are NOT allowed to talk about Equusearch." Well, technically it was, "You are NOT allowed to talk to the media!!!" That rule was pounded into the minds of all volunteers who began to look at me like I was personally responsible for the demise of Caylee Anthony. Suddenly, without having done anything more than carry a microphone, I was the enemy. You could see it in their faces. They glared at me as I walked up with a timid smile and asked them to share their thoughts. They responded with a gruff, "I can't tell you!" when I asked where the nearest port-o-potty was. I found it ironic that – without the stories we'd been running all week – these people would not have known there was a search going on, yet they treated us like we had some nerve showing up with cameras. Some of them truly were worried about getting in trouble if they talked; others simply loved the power of saying "no" to the media. I'm guessing it's the same feeling they get when playing a rewarding game of World of Warcraft.

I'm starting to grow weary of the love/hate relationship that I seem to form at just about every story I cover. They hate the media with all their might, yet – in some perverse, masochistic way – they need us. If this were a real relationship one of us would be going to jail.

Campaign-in-the-ass

Now that the election is over we can all eagerly look forward to the end of petty bickering among Republicans and Democrats. Ha! No, really. At the very least we can have the psychiatrist cut our Xanax prescriptions in half… at least for those of us who work in the media. Because while elections are over, news is not. Take - for instance - the Casey Anthony saga, which is slated to end around the time Madonna decides to act her age.

But before I move on to blogging about the hard-hitting, investigative, and thought-provoking journalism that Orlando is known for (the other day I was told to do a jailhouse interview with a homeless guy who - I'm not making this up - shoplifted from Sears. I KNOW! I, too, was shocked when I didn't win an Emmy!!), let's look back at the past few campaign-in-the-ass months that can be summed up in one word: Who?

That's the question we asked about Obama's reverend, a man with about as much sense as Jesse Jackson when he thinks his mic is off. The same question we asked when McCain announced his running mate. A question McCain rebutted by accusing the media of asking prying and inappropriate questions such as, "Is Alaska still a state!?" The same question arose when Republicans spent weeks bashing Obama for his ties to people "who are really, really bad," and "if given the chance, would abort your babies." And who can forget Joe the Plumber (I think some of us are still asking, "Who?!"), or Tito the Builder, or Elizabeth Hasselbeck the Shrilly-Voiced Reality Show Girl Who Was Booted Off Survivor? Who? Who? Who? And every time the media brought up a new "Who" the viewing public tuned in to hang on every word while simultaneously complaining that "news sucks" and there weren't enough stories about Casey Anthony. The networks fixed this by occasionally bringing in bounty hunter Leonard Padilla to comment on the latest Gallup polls. His only qualification being that he really, really, likes face time.

But there were a few "who's" I got to interview these past few months:
1) Fred Thompson. The actor?!? Yes, but also the former senator. He was very tall.
2) Dr. Jill Biden. After reading numerous stories and blogs about how down-to-earth and "real" she was I was kind of looking forward to our one-on-one interview. But as soon as she sat down she threw her hands up in a defensive motion in front of her face and gasped, "Could you turn that light down?" That's about the only question I remember from that interview.
3) Rudy Guiliani. He doesn't like the liberal media any more than the rest of the Republicans; unless, of course, we're praising him for his work during 9/11.

From the media pen at the numerous rallies I attended I was able to see from a distance:
1) Barack Obama. Sources tell me he actually walks on water before floating up to the stage.
2) Sarah Palin. Who?
3) Hillary Clinton. Her heart-felt speech about voting for Obama lost its affect when she couldn't unclench her teeth.

Overall it was an exhausting, nail-biting campaign. Even if you don't follow politics no doubt you were heavily spammed by emails accusing Democrats of being inexperienced jerks, and Republicans of just being really annoying. So what will the next four years bring? Only time will tell, but I personally am looking forward to day-to-day updates on how the Obama children are adjusting to having a father who is a democrat.