It's a weird, manic, exhilarating time
Or else I'm really turning into an asshole.
Monday - In the morning I'm covering the investigation of a man who mamaged to shoot his three brothers-in-law with two 12-gauge shotguns at a range of 30-40 yards before the men manage to get more than a few feet out of their pickup truck. One died at the scene, another died a short while later at a local hospital, and the other survived. At that point I'm not sure whether to be horrified at the carnage or be impressed with the suspect's artistry with a shotgun at that range.
Monday night - I'm supposed to be finishing off a newspaper, but instead I'm standing in the middle of the wreckage from a collision between a Chevy Blazer and a Dodge pickup, covering the death of an apparently stupid young man whose dead hand was still clutching the cell phone he was using when he crossed four lanes of traffic. Five members of the family in the truck survived. The four-month old daughter in the truck died Tuesday morning.
Tuesday - Despite having to stay up till 3:45 a.m. that morning since I had to play reporter and layout editor, I was feeling pretty decent because I actually got three hours of sleep before I had to make a 70-mile drive to send pages to the press. And despite four different kinds of software glitches, the paper actually sent to press. I made it home by 9 p.m. without killing any trick-or-treaters either.
Wednesday - I wielded my staff like a claymore (either imagine me swinging a big honkin' sword or turning my newsroom properly with "this side toward enemy." Needless to say, we'll have a full paper and, if all goes well, a local electoral board member will have massive heartburn and look especially stupid.
And now I've finally gotten my laptop rigged for satellite radio and I'm listening to Astrud Gilberto and Walter Wanderley.
This is one of the stranger three-day stretches I've had in a while . . .
Monday - In the morning I'm covering the investigation of a man who mamaged to shoot his three brothers-in-law with two 12-gauge shotguns at a range of 30-40 yards before the men manage to get more than a few feet out of their pickup truck. One died at the scene, another died a short while later at a local hospital, and the other survived. At that point I'm not sure whether to be horrified at the carnage or be impressed with the suspect's artistry with a shotgun at that range.
Monday night - I'm supposed to be finishing off a newspaper, but instead I'm standing in the middle of the wreckage from a collision between a Chevy Blazer and a Dodge pickup, covering the death of an apparently stupid young man whose dead hand was still clutching the cell phone he was using when he crossed four lanes of traffic. Five members of the family in the truck survived. The four-month old daughter in the truck died Tuesday morning.
Tuesday - Despite having to stay up till 3:45 a.m. that morning since I had to play reporter and layout editor, I was feeling pretty decent because I actually got three hours of sleep before I had to make a 70-mile drive to send pages to the press. And despite four different kinds of software glitches, the paper actually sent to press. I made it home by 9 p.m. without killing any trick-or-treaters either.
Wednesday - I wielded my staff like a claymore (either imagine me swinging a big honkin' sword or turning my newsroom properly with "this side toward enemy." Needless to say, we'll have a full paper and, if all goes well, a local electoral board member will have massive heartburn and look especially stupid.
And now I've finally gotten my laptop rigged for satellite radio and I'm listening to Astrud Gilberto and Walter Wanderley.
This is one of the stranger three-day stretches I've had in a while . . .
posted by Frontier Editor at 20:35
5 Comments:
I don't know how you manage to do your job and stay sane. So much to do on no sleep. I applaud you.
I'd have been sent to a menal institution long ago.
And how sad for the families of the boy and the baby. Senseless.
Pam,
Standing there and waiting for the crews to pull the dead driver out of there, I was thinking first what a shame for his parents and any significant others in his life. Then I thought about how the police were checking by radio and hearing how the baby was trying to breathe on its own. And then I finally thought how I wanted the driver to come back alive so he could see what an incredibly stupid, wasteful thing he'd done.
And I really think I'm starting to go places I really don't need to be with no sleep. It stopped being fun a month ago and it's really starting to affect my behavior and attitude in ways I don't like.
I do not envy you your job Mr. FE. When the mainstream media pisses me off (which is at least three times a day) I remember some of the stories you've related here and cut them a little slack. A little. Most of the morons on tv were where you are now, once, and have forgotten what it's like and what it means and how important real journalism is. Big bucks and bright lights do that to one, I suppose.
When I become Queen of the Universe I shall make men wear tuxedos 24x7x365, make cheesecake a food group necessary for survival and outlaw cell phones. Those damn phones are responsible for more death and carnage than most people recognize.
And I thought my work in the CCU was interesting. Matter of fact, I think I wouldn't mind having your job for at least a week. I would love for once to be able to write first-person stuff instead of having to simply spin what I get from other sources. I can't write about much at work due to privacy concerns.
LE - please cut me a touch of slack and let me wear white dinner jackets occasionally.
Da Mike - the only thing I needed to round out the week was to juggle chainsaws.
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