DAY 24

I need to vent. I figure venting here is at least a little more productive then screaming to myself in the car. So for all of you who don't want to listen to a bitch fest, I suggest you turn the page.

So here goes...

When I see camera, I think, news.

When I see a groupd of people with physical disabilities (including visual impairment) riding bicycles up the steep inclines of Gold Camp Road, I think, inspiration.

When I see a large van with flashing hazard lights following the physical impaired bike riders, I think, safety.

That's what I think. Apparently others in the community don't think quite like I do. And apparently, they think that because I am carrying a camera and driving a news truck, I have to give a shit about what they think.

So by now you are probably asking yourself what the hell I'm talking about. Let me start at the beginning.

I walk into work around nine am and plop myself down at the computer. I've been "one man banding" for a while now, so when our assignment editor hands me information about "learn to race" bike camp for disabled athletes, I'm not suprised. I make some calls and quickly realize that any hope for squeezing a nat pkg out of this is definitely out the window. All week long the campers have been training in places condusive to shooting video: the velodrome at memorial park, the weight room at the olympic training complex. Today of course, they are going on a road bike ride up Gold Camp Rd. For me, this means that unless I have a driver who is capable of chauffering me up the hill while I shoot video out of the back hatch of the truck, my nat pkg hopes are gone.

Now that that is settled, and I've accepted vsv duty once again, I load my gear and head up to the designated meeting area. The first thing I notice when I get there is a large Olympic training center van moving about 2 miles per hour. As I pull up behind, I see that there is a group of about 20 bikers moving just as slowly infront of it. Luckily the driver stops when he sees me, and informs me that the staging area is actually about two miles up the road. He is just moving slowly to protect the riders from speeding cars. Some of the cycles are not bicylces, but hand cycles. They are made for riders with little to no movement in their lower body. He explains to me that these cycles sit very low to the ground and can be hard to see for a driver who is not paying close attention...thus the large white van.

I decide my best chances of getting any good video is to make my way around the riders, find a pull off a little further up the road, and do my best to get enough video as they ride past me. I inch around the car and crawl past the cyclists taking great pains to stay a safe distance away from them on the narrow road.

Once I'm infront of the lead rider, I start a slow acceleration. Considering the age of the car that I'm driving, my acceleration to about 15 miles per hour sounds like I'm jumping off the start line at a NASCAR race. The engine is churning, and obviously working way to hard for the speed I'm going, but when you are the lowest photog on the food chain, you take what you can get.

That's when I hear the first comment of the day that makes me want to stop the car, get out, and tell the woman who is talking to me to shove it! "SLOW DOWN!" she screams, "GEEZ! YOU PEOPLE ARE GOING TO KILL SOMEONE. YOU HAVE NO RESPECT! THERE ARE PEOPLE OUT HERE!"

Ok, so first let me point out that I realize that there are "people out here." I just drove two miles an hour past a group of blind and paralyzed bike riders...at this point, careful is my middle name. Second, let me point out that I was going under 15 miles an hour on a road where the speed limit is 25! Thirdly, and this is the last thought that I had time to formulate before my next encounter with an angry neighbor, I have complete respect for people using the road for recreational purposes, and I don't appreciate telling me that I don't, when she knows nothing about me!

Moving on. I make my way up the road, find a nice pull-off, and get my camera ready to go. That's when angry neighbor number two pulls up. Something in my eyes much scream, "Please come bitch at me and tell me about all your problems, before you insult me to my face!" That's what I feel like sometimes... anyways, I digress.

Mr. Neighbor, as I shall refer to him for now on, stops his SUV in the middle of the road. As he is rolling down his window and waving me over, my only thought is, "I hope this is quick so I don't miss my only opportunity for some semi-decent video." I walk up to the truck and prepare myself for an earful.

"Let me tell you missy. You work for the news don't ya!?! Well, let me tell ya... what they are doing here is shameful. Awful. They should not be on the road. Someone is going to get hurt trying to avoid them. They need to find someone else to go."

I interrupt with, " Well Sir, I don't control where the bikers decide to ride, but this is a popular road and I'm sure they aren't the only people on it today."

"I know! That's just my point! Someone is gonna get hurt. People come speeding up and down this road, on their bikes, and in cars... not looking where they are going. People are going to get hurt! They should be banned from this road. You want a real story. You know what you should focus on?"

I want to say, "actually no sir, I couldn't give a shit what you think my story should be about." But I don't. I nod, and let him keep talking.

"You should focus your story about how dangerous this little experiment on biky riding is... and how the neighbors want them gone."

At this point I notice that the bikers are coming up over the hill. This is the only chance for video that I am going to get, but how do I respectfully step away from this ornary old man? I point to the bikers and tell him that I need to get this video. At that remark he respectfully tells me, " You have no idea what you are doing. You are missing the bigger story! You a stupid for passing this up. Dumb girl!" And then he rolls up his window, and is gone.

I'm left standing there, fumbling with my camera. I miss the shot the money shot and have to settle for vid of the slower riders who arrive a few minutes after the pack. When I'm done with my interview and climb back in my car, I finally realize how pissed off I am.

First beef... why does a camera on my shoulder make you think that you can speak to me with utter disrespect. I would not scream at you if you had a camera on your shoulder. I would not call you stupid. No, I wouldn't think twice about doing that... probably because I learned when I was about 3 about the Golden Rule. Treat people the way that you would like to be treated. No, I wouldn't call a stranger that I barely knew stupid, because I wouldn't like them to do that to me.

Second issue... When you see me standing with my camera shooting video, why do you think that you know better then I do, what makes a good story. Do I come to your place to work and tell you how to do your job? No. You want to know why? I don't tell you how to do your job, because I don't know how to do your job! The same holds true for angry neighbors. You have no idea how to do my job, what makes a good story, or what I should shoot... so do me a favor. Don't pretend like you do!

Third concern... Does compassion exist in this world anymore? I mean seriously. These are people with crippling disabilities. Seeing them ride up and down a road that I can't even make it up is inspiring. As moral citizens, we should be encouraging them, cheering them on. I can't imagine the genuine lack of care that must be in the heart of a man who curses them for trying.

So what I'm saying is, the next time you see a photog standing on the side of the road shooting video, don't pull over and give her a piece of your mind. She doesn't give a shit! Don't tell her what to shoot, or how to do her job. She already knows! And if you notice a pack of disabled bike riders attempting a challenge that you yourself would fail... give them a cheer of encouragement.

That is all.

DAY 23

Coming off of a good day yesterday, I can't help but think today will be hell. That's how it normally works in news... It must be the collective news karma that does it. Walking into work and discovering my fate is door knocking on a widows front step kills an excitement buzz like none other. But I'm not jinxing myself yet. Yesterday I was told that I will be shooting a photographers piece on an annual machine gun shoot at a local shooting range. Fingers crossed, that plan hasn't changed.

When I walk in the newsroom the only dayside reporter is already out getting a pkg about some hikers that were lost in the woods overnight. That's good for me because it means that I'm on my own today. I quickly call and set up the story at Dragon Man's... Now they have to let me do it!

I twiddle my thumbs till ten thirty... When I'm supposed to be leaving for the range. That's when I hear a rather unfortunate medical call come across the scanner. "RP is reporting that the victim is sliced in half. Old Pueblo Rd..." Silence. Part of me wants to slip out the door before our assignment editor turns his attention to me. I could pretend that I forgot my phone at home, or it was on vibrate and I didn't hear it... And then I could still do my story. But I stay planted in my seat, and sure enough, within seconds he tells me to head that way. DAMN! I was actually excited for the machine guns.

When I get to the scene I immediately notice a covered body laying next to a large yellow tractor. Police tape surrounds the area and police are walking up and down the dirt drive... Looking important, but doing nothing. I shoot as much video as possible for the side of the road and head out quickly... If I hustle I can still make it to Dragon Man's before all the cars are blown up.

Forty five minutes later, gun shots already ringing in my ears, I pull off Curtis Dr. into Dragon Mans. Deep breathe, here goes nothing. I immediately notice Mel, the Dragon Man, talking to some customers outside the shop. After a quick handshake, he hurries me down to the range... Time for the flame thrower! Six people telling me where to stand, a crowd of about a hundred surrounding me with cameras, and Mel dressed in the most absurd outfit that I've ever seen, leads me to believe that I'm in for more then I've bargained for. Then I hear... The flame thrower is homemade! Oh no...this could quickly turn from a "happy machine gun story" to a "dead gun range owner story."

Luckily no one is injured in the flame thrower display. The crowd disperses and I am left mingling amongst the uber conservative gun slingers with "GOD HATES LIBERALS" plastered across their camo t-shirts. This is where I turn on the charm, and keep my political inclinations to myself. I'm pointed to the owner to machineguntours.com, who tells me about the fantasies people fulfill when they come shoot their machine guns. "maybe they saw Rambo on tv last night... Now they can come out here and fulfill that fantasy. They can shoot with the gun that Rambo used." I let him finish before I throw in my jibe about how none of my fantasies include shooting machine guns. Luckily, he lets in slide and the interview continues.

In between great sound bites I jump at the bangs and boombs that continually ring out. Everyone around me keeps telling me to relax, but how do you relax when there are hundreds of automatic machine guns blasting right next to you? Once again, I find myself out of my element.
One hour later, after watching an original world war 2 canon shoot a car on fire, and a six year old shoot a gun bigger then him, I've gathered enough video that I can muster. Plus, my ears are begging me to leave... I need a better set of ear plugs.

Before I do so however, I need to give these babies a try. Alan, my earlier interview, has been hounding me about getting behind one of the guns the entire time that I've been here. I decide to give in to his wishes and try one out.

He puts me behind a Russian PKM, or what he calls "the bad guy gun." He gives me a quick tutorial about how to stand and where to look. I stupidly inquire, "is it going to jump back at me and hurt my face?" He laughs and points to the tripod... Obviously not. The next dumb question to come out of my mouth is, "so will it fire a bunch of bullets at once?" Again, he laughs. I guess that is a yes. Like I said, I know nothing about guns.

Finally I get in place and pull the trigger. I can't really see what I'm supposed to be looking at, and I'm sure that I look like a total idiot. I stand up and give him a glance... I think I'm doing something wrong. "are you left handed?" he inquires. "No." "Well are you looking out of your left eye?" "ummm.... Yes." "well, then you need to be shooting left handed."

"Well that would be nice to know!" I switch to the other side and fire it again... Much better! After a few rounds go off, most likely hitting absolutely nothing, I step back and give my mentor a high five! Wow! What a rush! Who knew firing a gun could feel so liberating. Now, I'm still the same Buddhist pacifist that I was before. Guns are bad mmmmmmk. I'm all for outlawing gun ownership, and keeping machine guns to military use only. But, and this is a big leap for me, I do admit shooting was fun. There I said it! I'm a little ashamed. But its true. It was a rush like no other... And yes, it was fun.

Here is the story that I put together after the whole ordeal...

DAY 22

I don't bleed red, white and blue. I don't really care whether someone removes their hat when the National Anthem is playing. I'm not offended when someone burns a flag in protest. I do however think it is important to take at least a moment of my day each September 11th, to acknowledge the sacrifice of so many brave American men and women.

Honestly, as embarrassed as I am to admit this, when my assignment editor told me I had to be into work early to shoot a flag display at UCCS, I asked why? It didn't dawn on me that it was part of a larger ceremony honoring the victims of 9-11. While working in news has its down sides (for instance not having Saturday and Sunday off) it is important to point out one aspect that I am grateful for.

Working in news forces to me to keep defining moments in American history at the forefront of my mind. It allows me the opportunity to attend commemorative ceremonies, and talk to people who have taken on the task of keep memories alive. While at a Tribute Bike Rally today a man said to me, "in America we are too quick to become complacent. It isn't an option for me. It is my duty as an American to make sure these men and women, these hero's, didn't die in vain. Some people serve their county by going into the military. Others become firefighters, police officers or EMT's. While this rally may be small, it is our way of serving our country."

As I watched the 400 bikes ride past me on the street, I couldn't help but contemplate those words. Eight years removed from the horrors of September 11, 2001, we as Americans have lost sight of some of the most important lessons of that day. The unity, the patriotism, the genuine care and concern for our neighbors is gone. In the middle of a heated healthcare debate, where citizens are screaming at their elected representatives, elected officials are lashing out at their president, I can only hope that this anniversary puts things in perspective.

What exactly are we fighting for? The America I love is the one where we respect diversity of opinions. The America I love is the one where we can engage our fellow citizens in a heated debate, and pat each other on the back when we are through. The America I love is the one where we look out for the welfare of those less fortunate, where we strive to be the best we can be, and where respect those who sacrifice their own lives in order to keep others safe.

So what am I trying to say? I guess what I mean is that on this anniversary of the 9-11 terrorist attacks, I've been reminded of not only why I love being American, but also why I love working in television. If I was anywhere else I wouldn't get to stop and talk to the man who stands on the corner of Galley and Academy every year waving his flag while honking horns speed by. If I didn't work in TV wouldn't get to talk to the college senior who was 13 when the towers fell, but still has the news clippings from that day. If I wasn't here, I wouldn't have taken the time to remember.

DAY 21

There is this new thing called an MMJ. Apparently I am it. I don't quite know what it means, but I'm the "guinea pig." My new tasks (on top of all the photographer duties that I have) include writing stories, shooting everything on my own, and getting paid the exact same amount. Don't worry, I'm excited. I've been complaining about the lack of intelligent thought that is required of me during most shifts... Now (for better or for worse) I have a chance to change that.

It has been a few weeks since I've really started embracing this new role... Ok, let's be honest... I'm really not embracing it at all... but it has been a few weeks since I've accepted my fate. I've been cheerfully riding solo, carrying my tripod, and conducting interviews on my own. I've been dipping my toes into the writing side of things... Crafting vsv's at a snails pace and sending them to producers for feedback. I haven't really been trained to be a reporter, but I guess I can fake it well enough to make people believe me.

Today however, I'm about to strike out. My news director just threw me a curve ball, and I didn't even see it coming. First she said the words, "one person band"... No big deal... I didn't bat an eye. It was the words that followed it that sent me back to the bench. "I think you're ready for a package!"

I'm not the type of person who says "I can't" so I take the curve ball in stride and pretend not to be phased. At least the story I'm doing is visual... Maybe I won't have to say much at all. I cling to my hope as I load into the truck and pull out of the station. The radio is silent today... I need to think.

I begin driving to a nursing home on the South end of town where I am meeting a Black Forest woman by the name of Ginny. Ginny and her miniature horse Peanut have been visiting nursing homes for almost nine months. It's a new version of animal therapy. If I didn't have a mountain of fear filling me up right now, I might actually be excited about this.

I arrive at the nursing home before Ginny. My stomache is clouded with butterflies and my mind is racing with questions. I can't seem to shake the crushing fear of failure. I know once she pulls up with Peanut in tow I'll relax a little and let habit kick in. I try to remind myself that I've shot these stories before. Nothing is new about this one... Nothing except that when I get back I won't be passing it off to any reporter. When I get back the monumental task of writing and voicing the package is all on my shoulders.

Finally I see a trailer round the corner in front of me. One deep breath later, I'm introducing myself, putting a microphone on Ginny, and marveling at Peanut's gym shoes. I've done this before. Ginny is relaxed and easy to talk to. I can tell right away that she is passionate about the work that she and Peanut are doing. She is grateful that I am here, helping her get her message out to the community.

We quickly pow wow about her game plan, before I run ahead to get set inside the nursing home. I'm not in photographer mode. My fears about what I will write when I return to the station are briefly shuffled to the back of my mind. I'm concentrated on getting a good white balance, keeping everything in focus, and capture a few of those priceless moments on tape (so that I actually have something to write about later). Luckily my subjects tell the story themselves. Their faces light up and their voices crack. One alzheimers patient begins telling a story of a horse that he had growing up. I am truly moved.

When the visit is over I grab a quick interview with the son of one of the patients. He is in town from Japan, where he is stationed with the US Marine's. He tells me that the visit was both exciting and engaging for his father. He can't believe the joy it has brought him. I can't help but smile to myself as I walk away... I can't believe I was worried about not getting enough sound to tell this story. The photographer in me is thinking about how great a natural sound package this would make. Who needs to hear my voice, when someone else can tell it better?

Maybe that's just a cop out. Maybe that is my fear shining through. Either way, this will be a reporter package when I get back. This will have my voice attached, whether it sounds good or not. The only way to learn how to ride is to hop on the bike and try... Regardless of how many times you fall. I must admit that the competitor in me doesn't like the idea of failure. I may not be a perfectionist, but I work hard to get things right. I've only been a photographer for two years, but I pride myself on the fact that my work doesn't reflect my inexperience. Today may tell a different story.

I follow Ginny to one more home and finish shooting my video. I impressed with the amount of natural sound I've captured, and the quality of my interviews. If my voice isn't too awful, I might actually be able to put together a nice little story out of this. It is only noon, but I hustle back to the station without grabbing lunch. Five hours seems like a lot of time, but I'm worried about how long this will take me to write. The video loads while I log the interviews. The butterflies are coming back now...

It's 1 pm before I finishing going through all my interviews. I've tried calming my racing heart, but have resorted to just ignoring the pounding in my chest. This trying new things idea isn't as fun as I thought it would be.

Five minutes later, still trying to conceal my full state of panic, I'm relieved when my assignment editor informs me that my story is being held for the weekend so that I can be a photographer for our nightside reporter. I feign disappointment while doing the happy dance in my head. Thank God! Now I have a full night to think about what I'm going to say... And an entire day to get my voice to sound good! My mind is still racing about the task that I have ahead of me tomorrow, but at least I've bought myself some time.

DAY 20

They smell like goat, but they bahhh like sheep...and I'm in Penrose surrounded by them!

Another day short staffed, and even shorter on story ideas has landed me in the tiny town of Penrose, Colorado. After a quick stop at Happy Apple Farms, I'm now surrounded by dozens of Jacob's sheep... which I must admit, look a lot more like goats then sheep.

So I'm out of my element, and a little on edge... which began as soon as the road went from pavement to dirt. I've pulled in to a compound of houses and out-buildings that are holding animals I've never heard of, let alone seen. A plump woman wearing a mickey mouse shirt is waving exictedly in my direction. A quick breath of stale car air later and I'm inhaling the sweet smell of country.

I climb out of the truck, grab my gear...and of course, put a smile on my face. Yvonne is friendly, excited, and a bit eccentric. She has pictures to show me, bags full of sheep wool, and wool blankets straight off the press. I don't have time to cringe at the skull she has had bleached that is sitting in the front seat of her car because my hand is already being plunged into the bag of wool...and no, it hasnt been cleaned. We haven't even started the interview, and I'm already ready to wash my hands and call it a day!

I sheepishly (haha, get it!) follow her back toward the pens and can't help but stare at the odd configuration of horns on these animals. It is definitely a sight to see. Some have two, others four...but the most interesting have six horns situated oddly on their tiny head. They are bahhing like it's their job...and chewing like they've got nothing else to do. I mic up Yvonne and start fumbling my way through questions. Interviews are always hard when you know absolutely nothing about the topic that you are covering. How do you ask insightful questions about an animal when you can't even tell what it is? Luckily my interview is eager to share her vast knowledge on the topic of sheep...and I don't have to do much work. I'm sure I should have been a bit embaressed about some of the things that came out of my mouth...but I was so cluelessly uneducated on the topic that I didn't even know if I should be sticking my foot in my mouth.

After my interview I'm blessed with an individual tour of the pens... not fun! First of all, it smells...bad. Like sheep. Secondly they don't stand still. They are so obnoxiously scared of every movement that either they are running around like a chicken with their head cut off, or standing facing the corner of the pen avoiding all types of eye contact. I can't stand these things! I'm done shooting video after the first pen, but Yvonne insists on not only showing me the pen of babies, but also the large pen where the females are kept. She has names for all of them...Blue, Mickey... the list goes on and on. I don't think that I would even name my children if I had that many, but hey, to each their own! She talks to them like babies, coaxing them out of the corner, and trying her best to stay in control. I hang in the corner... trying not to smirk. I am so obviously a city girl.

I get over my initial fear of the obnoxiously large horns and eventually find myself petting one female that has lodged herself in the corner between me and the fence. That's when Yvonne informs me that she bottle fed that particular sheep...and thinks the sheep likes people better then her own kin. Once again, the smirk is swallowed.

Thankfully my extended tour eventually ends, and I lead the way back to my car. It's hard to hide my excitement about the possibility of entering urban society once again. I smell like farm, and sweat. My hands are oily from the wool and my camera dirty from the...well, the dirt. As I pull out of the driveway I lift my hand for a brief wave through the rearview mirror... so long Penrose!

Day 19

The newsroom feels empty today. It is eerily quiet. While I would normally enjoy such a serene work environment, I know that it is only a facade... hiding the inevitable chaos that is sure to crash down on us later this afternoon. We have more desk people then reporters... more scanners then photographers... more managers then cameras on the street. Something is wrong here people.

In the last week we've lost two of our own. One has moved on to a bigger market, the other out of the business completely. While Denver is only a few miles up the road, it is a jump not many have been able to make. I'm happy for him, really I am... what I'm not happy about is the hole that he has left behind.

News organizations are like school sports teams. While we may practice together day after day, inevitably at the end of every year somebody graduates (one day it will probably be me!). After they are gone the team is altered, for better or worse, and must rebuild. I can speak for personal experience, the rebuilding isn't always pleasant. I don't like it. It is different, harder. It means filling gaps by doing the job of two, sometimes three. It means no lunch breaks, live shots in every show, and a doubled story count. No, I don't like it.

With furloughs and vacation on top of the inevitable summer cold that is cirrulating the newsroom right now... we are bare bones. While I could sit here complaining about the current state of our news organization, I'd rather focus on the potential good that may come out of this. I must admit that part of me is excited to step into new shoes and fulfill new roles. My brain has felt a bit underutilized lately, so this may mean new challenges for me to conquer.

I've been told my fate today is another nat pkg, but one only needs to glance up from the computer to know that won't last long. I predict it changes before noon. The good news, I guess the powers that be liked my last one about a group of elderly women who have picked up the game of volleyball.

Click here to watch it: http://tinyurl.com/glams

The story today is about service dogs. Colorado Springs is the home of the first peanut sensing allergy dog. His name is Rock-O and he is quite the pup.

A few months ago he was given to an 8 year old named Riley, who up until now has lived her life in constant fear. She couldn't go to the park, eat at many restaurants, or even attend a public school. Now she can. She can slide down a slide without worrying that a peanut shell is waiting for her at the bottom. She can eat with a group of friends, without wondering if something in their lunch box could kill her. Rock-O has changed her life... and now her mom wants dogs (like Rock-O) to change the life of other children with deathly, but hidden, allergies.

It's 10:30 am, time for a change. The nat pkg idea has been pulled, not enough people... go figure. I'm now attached at the hip to our only reporter for the day. I predict a hectic afternoon. Luckily he has two photographer working with him, so I'm off the hook for some of the work. But my grand plan of telling a great visual story about training allergy dogs has pretty much dissipated. Added on to my list now, a school bus safety story... boring!!!

I shoot the dog story quickly, managing to sneak in a few belly rubs while I'm at it. After that it's Subway in the car on my way to the bus barn. Oh, August. Why is it that when you are out of school, you still get stuck dealing with it? I thought I was done with buses, school supplies and homework... no such luck! Now I'm talking about bus safety, preventing the flu, and not speeding in school zones. I swear it never ends.

By 4 pm I've finished everything but my liveshot... the daily lightning storm is building in the mountains, so that may be canceled anyways. No breaking news has hit... Nothing has crashed... Suprisingly we've squeaked by. The funny thing is, our average viewer probably won't even noticed the difference. That's what's so interesting about this business. There are days when four reporters isn't enough.... when there is so much news that we are in a constant rush to finish everything in time for air. Then there are days, like today, when one person doesn't even have enough to do.

I love the fact that when you walk in the door you don't know why type of day it will be... which way the pendulm will swing. There is no predicting one hour from the next, let alone one day from the next. You constantly have to be on your toes, ready to react, ready to run. I love the calm before the storm. The quiet newsroom that suddenly errupts into a chaotic, well oiled engine, with a simple call on the scanner. It is unpredictable. It is quiet. It is calm. It is sometimes boring. But then, as if offended by the silence, it rapidly deteriorates into an all out riot. There is no other way to describe it. It is news and there is nothing like it.

DAY 18

Two interesting things happened today.

First, I almost got arrested. No, it is not the first time this has happened... but considering my sunny disposition toward police officers and sheriffs deputies, it is quite shocking to imagine that anyone would want to cart me away and lock me up.

Secondly, my reporter seriously told a deputy that he wasn't familiar with the term "dick". The comment followed a lengthy, and quite humorous conversation... that taken out of context is probably the funniest thing that I've heard in a while.

The real interesting thing... this all happened on Rampart Range Rd, while covering an accidental shooting death. Why are reporters talking with sheriffs deputies about dicks at a crime scene? Why are photogs being threatened with arrest? Well my friends, let me explain.

I get paid to shoot video. I do this by pointing my camera at the most interesting thing I can find, switching it on, and hitting record (with a few steps in between to ensure that it is focused and properly white balanced). So, when I show up at a crime scene, sectioned off by yellow police tape, I normally walk right up to the tape and plop myself in the most inviting spot.

Today, I did just that. When we arrived at the shooting range, sheriffs cars already lined the dirt pathway. The Memorial Star helicopter was parked in the general parking area, next to an ambulance and some more cop cars. At first I didn't even see the crime tape. As I climbed out of the truck however, I realized that the scene was down a slight embankment, and around the corner... blocked by a bush. Not to worry though, I could still see emergency personel standing in a huddle. I couldn't quite tell what they were working on, but I'll take what I can get.

I stand in one place shooting video for about five minutes. Finally I decide to take a few steps to my right, just to see what I can see. Almost immediately I heard a booming, not so pleasant voice, screaming at me. "GET BACK! GET AWAY FROM HERE!" Normally, I'm the first photog to argue with the police. My usual line goes something like this, "Officer I don't mean to be rude, I'm a little confused. I'm behind the crime tape, on public property. I'd be more then willing to back up, if you would like to extend your scene, but until you do so, I'm going to stay here."

Today however, I'm in no mood to argue. I know shocking... but today, I'm actually willing to back up. I move back to the spot I was in five minutes ago. Thinking that I've satisfied the deputy's wishes, I turn the camera back on COMMERCIAL CAMERA AND DESTROY IT. AND THEN I WILL TAKE YOU TO JAIL. IF YOU DON'T MOVE RIGHT NOW, YOU WILL BE ARRESTED!!" I glance behind my shoulder, thinking surely he must be talking to someone else. Afterall, I've already moved back... and nobody seemed to care when I was in this spot five minutes ago. Then it comes again. "I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO MOVE." This time he is moving towards me. That's when I realized he is serious, he is talking to me, and now is not the time to argue. Reluctantly I retreat back behind another sheriffs vehicle, where I can see absolutely nothing, and wait.

Now, I haven't been in this business very long. Afterall, I'm only 24. But, in the two years that I've been shooting news, there are a few rules that I've mastered. First and foremost, never cross police tape...ever. I got that. My question is, why do they put crime tape up, if they want you to stay three blocks behind it. I don't know if it is just the law enforcement in this town, or if it happens everywhere... all I know is that it is starting to get old. For some reason Joe Schmoe from down the street can walk right up to the crime tape, lift it up and continue walking down the sidewalk... but if I show up with a camera, I'm automatically interfering with their investigation and the safety of the public. I get my ass chewed for being there and sent a mile and a half away (most likely shooting directly into the sun). Does something seem a bit fishy to you? I don't like it. I swear... if law enforcement spent half the time do their job that they spend reprimanding me (for not breaking any law) this city would be the safest place in the world.

Depending on my mood, I argue, I comply, I pretend like I don't hear... but it happens either way, and I'll continue to deal with it until my time in news is over.

Moving on to my favorite comment of the week...the reason why news is a fun business to work in. After my verbal reaming, I shot enough video to last a week and a half and retreated back to the safety and comfort of the air conditioned car. Being out of cell service and therefore unable to text, I twiddle my thumbs for a while before I send my reporter to go make nice with the cops and see if we can get someone to talk. This is the conversation that follows...

Reporter: Hello there sir. Is a PIO on the way? Do you have any information about when someone will be available to talk to us?
Deputy: The PIO isnt coming. She lives too far away.Silence.
Reporter: Well, is there someone that could go on tape with a little bit of information?
Deputy: You can talk to one of the "dicks" when they get here.

Silence... more silence... now it's getting awkward.

Reporter: One of the dicks?
Deputy: Yeah, one of the dicks. They are on the way. They should be here shortly.

Reporter nodds. Shakes his head, and looks like there is something he wants to say. More awkward silence.

Reporter: I'm sorry sir. I'm not familiar with that term. Can you tell me what a dick is?

Now, there are many responses to this question. In the term that he is refering to, a dick is a detective. In everyday conversation, this question would merit some sort of snide remark about something sexual and completely out of line. I can think of a lot of things I would say in response... but I'll hold my tongue.

Today the response is simple.

Deputy: Detective.

(Now at this point in the reenactment of the story, I am on the ground of the car laughing hysterically. The deputy has walked away, and is also laughing and slyly pointing toward our vehicle.)

When the detectives arrive they are briefed on the situation, and of course told about the interesting converstaion that was exchanged only moments ago. Nothing is said when he finally comes over to chat, but we all know what he is thinking. At least he isn't being a dick about it :-)