We've got 1 minute!" the frantic director bellows into the mic on his headset. "we're gonna float!" "floating," is a no-no, "floating," is industry jargon meaning your story is not going to make it on air on time, and for reporters and photographers, "we're gonna float," means you have sinned against the news gods. If you "float," you must hang your head in shame as members of the production crew, the producer, other reporters and the boss shoot sharp glances your way as you make the humiliating trudge back to your desk.
Aside from getting the fact straight, there are few things more important than making your "slot."
On this night, the night of the second Presidential Debate, something warns me that the evening is going to be a pressure cooker, only compounded by the fact that I have tossed out the idea of using a brand new gizmo obtained by the TV station.
2News has recently added a new, massive, interactive big screen to our coverage. It allows reporters to manipulate the gleaming glass like a gargantuan smart phone, to do tasks like pull up data by touching the screen and displaying it to the audience, we can also draw on the surface and bring attention to certain issues. You've likely seen something similar to this on CNN during election coverage. It is a breathtaking new technology, but if you don't touch the right part of the plasma screen you might find yourself dragging a long yellow line across a graphic instead of pushing the colorful statistic out of the way. In short getting it right takes practice.
Other than photographer and editors using the Telestrator to draw glasses and mustaches on the head shots of reporters during their down time, the screen has not yet been utilized by any on-air types, and certainly not been used on television. I for some reason have volunteered myself as the proverbial test rat.
My task is to analyze data provided to us by Google. The company keeps track of everything users search and they will do so during the presidential debate. The search term, "binders full of women," increased by 435% after Mitt Romney mentioned it during the presidential face-off.
The Google guy, says expect the data to be posted 30 minutes after the debate, "an hour tops," he adds a chipper yet ominous warning. In the final analysis, more like an hour and a half, and that means the data drops at 9:30, half an hour before news time.
So all I have to do, is cull the data (9:40), pick the best bits (9:43), write a script, talk to the fellas in graphics, (9:47) who have to import the data, create a graphic, transfer to a hard drive(9:49), transfer the graphic from the hard drive to the big screen. (9:50) Now grab a photographer, have him shoot my presentation on the big board (9:55), run to the editors have them piece it all together (9:57), Jay wraps that up at 9:59, just in time for us to hear, "we're gonna float!"
Usually the editors must take that file and drop it into some other file that goes into the news program, but that process takes about 2 minutes, unfortunately we only have one. "We'll have to roll it from here," shouts the editor. That means instead of letting the sophisticated computer do all the work, Jay will have to listen to the anchor, and push the buttons himself to make the story end up on TV. "are we gonna make it!?" the producer's voice quivers the question at me on my cell phone, "Yes!" I pop into the receiver "Now Google tracks all this data," I hear anchor Mark Koelbel over a nearby monitor, calmly and pleasantly telling viewers, "Chris Jones has been looking over the data, Chris," Mark recites, "go!" blasts the director, and that is exactly what Jay does, and there I am, on TV, to the viewers at home it was seamless, to our crew behind the scenes it was utter chaos. No "floating" tonight, as I take my pulse, and collapse in my chair.
Showing posts with label 2News.. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 2News.. Show all posts
Monday, October 22, 2012
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
The Guessing Game
When Ryan Vitale of Salt Lake City, barrels around the left side of Mike Paproski, high above Golden, Colorado, he looks like a man, or more to the point, a teenager desperate to win, the Buffalo Bill Downhill Bloodspill.
Nobody atop Lookout Mountain, wants to see a challenger zip past them in this raucous long board race to the finish line, and it appears no wildlife wants to witness that either, as Ryan finds out in an eye-popping internet theater.
Just a few minutes into a practice run of this very popular annual event, Vitale is racing, then blinks, then finds himself hugging one of the locals, a fully grown Mule Deer. Seconds later his body is skating, not his board, across the dust dirt and rocks of Lookout Mountain, as he is hit, at 45 miles an hour by that scampering mammal searching for food, but somehow stumbles with his hoofs tapping unsteadily onto the black asphalt and into a hipsters paradise, of brightly clad, helmet wearing teens, bolting around on long boards, and oozing words like "Rad," and "Bro," as they chug tall cans of Rockstar, and bump fists. Vitale's mind-blowing collision is scary, but remarkably, he is OK, no broken bones, just some road rash, and some bruises.
Vitale's colossal collision is even more head spinning because we get to see it on line A camera mounted to Paproski's headgear is rolling and captures the entire, ridiculous crash. Check it out below, but be warned there is some dirty words towards the end of tape.
By Monday the video is, as the kids might say, "blowing up," on line, and just about every boarder, long or otherwise is replaying, re-posting, and regurgitating it with their jaws, slacked. After a short Google hunt, I discover, Vitale is a pretty accomplished skater, he even appears to have some association with a line of long boarder clothing. An indication that he has a bit of a following in the mostly underground skater world.
I figure a monumental spill like this is something a kid like Vitale will love to spill about.
"Hello," Ryan answers, as if I might be his father on the other end, angry about a report card dusted in "D's and "F's," "Hi, Ryan, this is Chris Jones with 2 News, how are you?" After a tense pause, he finally breaths into his smart phone, "Yeah." I'm taken aback a bit, this is the response I expect to receive from a man accused of exposing himself at the park, not a kid who is part of an Internet sensation.
"Oh, uh," I try to regroup, "this is a pretty remarkable tape of you on the Internet," I chirp sprightly, "It's not a big deal," he retort, "I hit a deer on my board, got up, went to the hospital, whatever," he barks, annoyed that he has to talk to me.
"OK, well we'd love to talk to you about it if you're up to it," I suggest. "Uh, can I text you back in a second?" he responds. In my line of work, if someone says, "I'll call you back," or "I'll text you back," that is code for "I WON'T ever talk to you again." People, I've learned, don't like to tell you "no," they don't want to disappoint others, and saying "I'll call you back," is a way of avoiding that discomfort, I've heard it a million times, and I begrudgingly get it.
Oddly in this case, Ryan does text me back, and proclaims, He is "overwhelmed by the attention the video is getting, and is "bugged," by calls from guys like me.
Meanwhile Mike Paproski, the man whose camera catches the collision, is "blowing up" as a minor, 15 minute star. He is interviewed by websites, magazines, TV stations in Denver, even by ESPN. The attention he says is "unf#$ing believable."
I'm still to this day, stumped by the question of who will, and who will not speak to a reporter. Paproski, revels in the attention, Vitale, skates quickly away from it.
I've found myself, over the years rolling up on far more tragic scenes than the one that spilled across the face Lookout Mountain.
I am often tasked with the heavy lifting of approaching family members, devastated by crime, disaster, and death. Some people will wave you off with disgust and animosity, others will politely decline your invitations to do an interview. Still others, and I would argue, the majority, will welcome you graciously and grant you your request.
What a surreal existence. At least once a week, I have the unenviable job of rapping on the front doors of families who have just experienced something terrible. As the GPS blips out directions without emotion, you know the emotion inside the home when you reach it will be palpable.
You also sense the address of the tragedy without glancing at your notes, because it is the home with cars surrounding the house, squeezing into the driveway, filled with somber well-wishers, gently delivering, flowers, potato casa-roles and hugs to the people inside.
As the news car creeps towards the house, I always steady myself with a deep breath. This is without question, the most oppressive part of the job.
When the door opens, you find yourself face-to-face with raw, painful sorrow, the person creaking the door ajar has been weeping for hours, and facing friends and family at this portal for just as long. And then, all of a sudden...Here I am.
Sometimes they usher you off, but more often than not, that person will invite you in, and stand you awkwardly in living room, as they search the house for a spokesperson who might be willing to talk to you. There I am in my suit, an uncomfortable photographer at my side, lugging, a massive camera, large clanky tri-pod, and a bag full of lights and stands.
On countless occasions I've discovered myself propped up in the middle of a families most challenging moment. Inside a house filled with people, all of them quietly looking at me.
You can see the disgust in the faces of some, as they push the funeral potatoes around their paper plates with a plastic fork, others will give me a gentle, forced grin, with weary eyes, punctuated with redness. On occasion, a young child will buzz past me, perhaps a toy plane in hand, maybe rolling a Tonka truck over my loafers, someone will say, "that's his son," referring sadly to the person who has died, or is currently in the hospital.
After all these years I am unable to wear a stoic face, when I walk gently into sadness like this I still find myself absorbing the hurt that fills these homes. It's reassuring actually, it's a note to my soul that my humanity is still intact even after years of taping countless interviews with countless families destroyed by murder, fire, and accidents.
Finally the door greeter has found someone reluctantly willing to speak to me.
I always ask people in these situations "what do (not did) you love about your brother, father etc?" It is heartening, as they beam past tired, crying eyes, and tell you an anecdote, about a camping trip, a Halloween prank, or a show of charity displayed by a lost loved one. I know, despite what some might think, that I give the heartbroken family member an opportunity to tell those in their community who never had the pleasure of meeting their father, brother, cousin or sister, that this person is important, that this person is loved, and this person mattered immensely. Seldom do they crave the attention, almost to the person, they have one agenda, and that it to share the love they have for a family member with those watching the screen.
Ryan Vitale, didn't suffer a tragic crash, thankfully, and he also isn't in the mood of replaying the amazing collision, I would have never guessed that. That being said, trying to guess who will talk to a reporter and his camera is almost as impossible as predicting when a murderer will spill blood, a tanker truck will explode, or a wayward deer will tackle a teenager.
Nobody atop Lookout Mountain, wants to see a challenger zip past them in this raucous long board race to the finish line, and it appears no wildlife wants to witness that either, as Ryan finds out in an eye-popping internet theater.
Just a few minutes into a practice run of this very popular annual event, Vitale is racing, then blinks, then finds himself hugging one of the locals, a fully grown Mule Deer. Seconds later his body is skating, not his board, across the dust dirt and rocks of Lookout Mountain, as he is hit, at 45 miles an hour by that scampering mammal searching for food, but somehow stumbles with his hoofs tapping unsteadily onto the black asphalt and into a hipsters paradise, of brightly clad, helmet wearing teens, bolting around on long boards, and oozing words like "Rad," and "Bro," as they chug tall cans of Rockstar, and bump fists. Vitale's mind-blowing collision is scary, but remarkably, he is OK, no broken bones, just some road rash, and some bruises.
Vitale's colossal collision is even more head spinning because we get to see it on line A camera mounted to Paproski's headgear is rolling and captures the entire, ridiculous crash. Check it out below, but be warned there is some dirty words towards the end of tape.
By Monday the video is, as the kids might say, "blowing up," on line, and just about every boarder, long or otherwise is replaying, re-posting, and regurgitating it with their jaws, slacked. After a short Google hunt, I discover, Vitale is a pretty accomplished skater, he even appears to have some association with a line of long boarder clothing. An indication that he has a bit of a following in the mostly underground skater world.
I figure a monumental spill like this is something a kid like Vitale will love to spill about.
"Hello," Ryan answers, as if I might be his father on the other end, angry about a report card dusted in "D's and "F's," "Hi, Ryan, this is Chris Jones with 2 News, how are you?" After a tense pause, he finally breaths into his smart phone, "Yeah." I'm taken aback a bit, this is the response I expect to receive from a man accused of exposing himself at the park, not a kid who is part of an Internet sensation.
"Oh, uh," I try to regroup, "this is a pretty remarkable tape of you on the Internet," I chirp sprightly, "It's not a big deal," he retort, "I hit a deer on my board, got up, went to the hospital, whatever," he barks, annoyed that he has to talk to me.
"OK, well we'd love to talk to you about it if you're up to it," I suggest. "Uh, can I text you back in a second?" he responds. In my line of work, if someone says, "I'll call you back," or "I'll text you back," that is code for "I WON'T ever talk to you again." People, I've learned, don't like to tell you "no," they don't want to disappoint others, and saying "I'll call you back," is a way of avoiding that discomfort, I've heard it a million times, and I begrudgingly get it.
Oddly in this case, Ryan does text me back, and proclaims, He is "overwhelmed by the attention the video is getting, and is "bugged," by calls from guys like me.
Meanwhile Mike Paproski, the man whose camera catches the collision, is "blowing up" as a minor, 15 minute star. He is interviewed by websites, magazines, TV stations in Denver, even by ESPN. The attention he says is "unf#$ing believable."
I'm still to this day, stumped by the question of who will, and who will not speak to a reporter. Paproski, revels in the attention, Vitale, skates quickly away from it.
I've found myself, over the years rolling up on far more tragic scenes than the one that spilled across the face Lookout Mountain.
I am often tasked with the heavy lifting of approaching family members, devastated by crime, disaster, and death. Some people will wave you off with disgust and animosity, others will politely decline your invitations to do an interview. Still others, and I would argue, the majority, will welcome you graciously and grant you your request.
What a surreal existence. At least once a week, I have the unenviable job of rapping on the front doors of families who have just experienced something terrible. As the GPS blips out directions without emotion, you know the emotion inside the home when you reach it will be palpable.
You also sense the address of the tragedy without glancing at your notes, because it is the home with cars surrounding the house, squeezing into the driveway, filled with somber well-wishers, gently delivering, flowers, potato casa-roles and hugs to the people inside.
As the news car creeps towards the house, I always steady myself with a deep breath. This is without question, the most oppressive part of the job.
When the door opens, you find yourself face-to-face with raw, painful sorrow, the person creaking the door ajar has been weeping for hours, and facing friends and family at this portal for just as long. And then, all of a sudden...Here I am.
Sometimes they usher you off, but more often than not, that person will invite you in, and stand you awkwardly in living room, as they search the house for a spokesperson who might be willing to talk to you. There I am in my suit, an uncomfortable photographer at my side, lugging, a massive camera, large clanky tri-pod, and a bag full of lights and stands.
On countless occasions I've discovered myself propped up in the middle of a families most challenging moment. Inside a house filled with people, all of them quietly looking at me.
You can see the disgust in the faces of some, as they push the funeral potatoes around their paper plates with a plastic fork, others will give me a gentle, forced grin, with weary eyes, punctuated with redness. On occasion, a young child will buzz past me, perhaps a toy plane in hand, maybe rolling a Tonka truck over my loafers, someone will say, "that's his son," referring sadly to the person who has died, or is currently in the hospital.
After all these years I am unable to wear a stoic face, when I walk gently into sadness like this I still find myself absorbing the hurt that fills these homes. It's reassuring actually, it's a note to my soul that my humanity is still intact even after years of taping countless interviews with countless families destroyed by murder, fire, and accidents.
Finally the door greeter has found someone reluctantly willing to speak to me.
I always ask people in these situations "what do (not did) you love about your brother, father etc?" It is heartening, as they beam past tired, crying eyes, and tell you an anecdote, about a camping trip, a Halloween prank, or a show of charity displayed by a lost loved one. I know, despite what some might think, that I give the heartbroken family member an opportunity to tell those in their community who never had the pleasure of meeting their father, brother, cousin or sister, that this person is important, that this person is loved, and this person mattered immensely. Seldom do they crave the attention, almost to the person, they have one agenda, and that it to share the love they have for a family member with those watching the screen.
Ryan Vitale, didn't suffer a tragic crash, thankfully, and he also isn't in the mood of replaying the amazing collision, I would have never guessed that. That being said, trying to guess who will talk to a reporter and his camera is almost as impossible as predicting when a murderer will spill blood, a tanker truck will explode, or a wayward deer will tackle a teenager.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)