My Other Life

Photojournalist by week. Writer by weekend, although right now I'm focused more on putting together a marketing strategy for my novel MOTOR DOLLS (website www.motordolls.com). I've learned a lot over the last couple of weeks about creating a viral presence on the web. Publishing houses are going through tons of changes, especially for the debut author, and getting the book out there now falls primarily on the author's shoulders. I want to be prepared. Premature? Maybe. But I'd rather have everything in place so I'm not scrambling when it happens.

January, I parted ways with my agent, and now that I'm free of that contract, I'm forging full speed ahead toward publishing. I have two agents currently reading, and have entered the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award, making the first cut from 10,000 novels to 2000 novels. I'm also checking into smaller publishing houses and other options, like e-publishing and self publishing. The world is changing, both in the news world and in the writing world, and I want to roll with those changes rather than cling to dying standards.


Every option will be explored. And now... I'm off to write.

Can you say EW?

Did you know in California we have wild parrots? Tons of them. They come out at sunset everyday in certain parts of Orange County, in giant flocks, sounding their trademark screech. Today while setting up my liveshot, it actually startled me. I looked up to a blacked out sky from the birds flying overhead. Bizarre. No one knows how they ended up here, although there a lot of urban myths. (http://www.ocregister.com/news/parrots-30083-birds-wild.html).

 

COURTESY OF AMAZORNIA.US

Speaking of bizarre...  Remember my long day yesterday? It went Twilight Zone on the drive home. Here's the scene: I'm in a giant news van with a huge peacock on the side--kind of impossible to be incognito.  It's about one in the morning. I'm on the freeway. This SUV full of drunks comes up beside me. It started innocently enough with them flipping me the bird (and no, not a parrot). No big deal. It happens. I've learned to ignore it. Then they mooned me. Yep. Whatever. I've seen butts. Oh. And then they turned around... Let's just say I saw entirely too much stranger anatomy--and not just from boys. A girl too. When one of them put his butt out the window, and, uh... defacated... that's when I called CHP.

So when you see a news van, wave and smile. We're actually pretty swell people! No need to S**T on us! Ew?!!! Who does that??

In the news realm, we covered the verdict on a 30 year old serial murderer case. He's been convicted three times, but keeps appealing, putting the families through hell.

 

Once again, he was found guilty of all charges, but the family of Robin Samsoe, twelve years old when she was murdered, has a hard time finding solace in that considering Alcala keeps appealing. As they said, it's like burying Robin all over again every time they go through this.

When covering a big case like this, it's too disruptive to let every media outlet into the courtroom, so we use what's termed a "pool camera"--one camera shoots and feeds out to everyone else. The scene in the hall of the eleventh floor was nuts, full of cameras and tripods and recording decks.  Most courthouses have restrictions on where we can photograph, otherwise I would have snapped a shot of the pandemonium.

From there, we rushed down to the second floor--the only place in the courthouse where we're allowed to do interviews--and set up a mic stand so the family could make their comments. Pictured here is DA Matt Murphy giving his statement. If you look behind the woman in the white blouse, grey vest, and black flower (my reporter) you'll see the top of my head. For the most part, we try to keep things civilized (like this), leaving a good pad of space between our mic stand and the cameras. Of course, it doesn't always happen this way.

Next, this case goes to the penalty phase, and I'm sure we'll be back to cover it. (A link to our news story. About halfway down, you'll see the video link: http://www.nbclosangeles.com/news/local-beat/Verdict-Rodney-Alcala-Trial-85385252.html)

So what's on tap for tomorrow? I have absolutely no idea. It's the best part of this job, never knowing where I'll be, who I'll be meeting, and what I'll be learning about. It's endlessly interesting.

Until tomorrow...

A rewrite of yesterday's blog....

I'm afraid I came off a bit angry and negative yesterday--not my point. So consider this a do-over.

Some days, life as a photojournalist can get pretty challenging. It's not like I go into an office, punch the clock, have lunch at noon, and go home when the quittin' bell rings at the end of the day. When news happens, we need to be there to cover it, regardless of the time or circumstance. It's part of the excitement of doing what I do.

Like today.

I'm working my second double this week. I'm starting with a sleep deficit, have a headache, and am two and half hours from home. Our live shot isn't until after the Olympics at 11:30 pm, and we also have to do a hit for San Francisco. Then, I have to break down the shot, put the gear away, and drive the two and half hours back to the OC. So I'm guessing I won't get home until about 2:30 am, and then be up all bright and shiny the next morning (or rather, later that morning) to report for duty. Not an easy deal.

You say (if you read yesterday's blog!), "But I thought you were doing a story about water bottles?" Yeah. That's how the day started off. We had the story three-quarters of the way shot. We had fun with it.

And then, the dreaded phone call: "We're changing your story."

Sadly, a female whale trainer at Sea World Orlando was killed by a whale. What does that have to do with Los Angeles news? we asked. There's a Sea World in San Diego. So we had to drop our water bottle story (sales are down, did you know?) and head south. SD Sea World planned to close all of their Orca shows until further notice.

Mind you, it was one o'clock, and our newscast comes on at five. It would take us two hours to get there.

Our angle on the story was to find tourists who were in the San Diego park when

they closed the Shamu show. Luckily, we found a family visiting from Wisconsin who went to Sea World just to see the killer whales. While standing in line to get in, the announcement was made, and they didn't get to see the show. We ran across this family just as we parked at a nearby seaside amusement park--which helped immensely with our time crunch. Sometimes it's challenging to find people relevant to the story. Not today.

Next, we chose our live spot (Sea World wouldn't
let us onto their property), the reporter wrote the story, I edited the story, set up the live shot.... all the while with the clock ticking ever closer to four-thirty--our deadline for the five..

But we did it. As we always do.
A hit at 5. A hit at 6.

And then the phone call...

"We need you to stay and do a hit for the post-Olympic show at 11:30pm." Oy. I wanted to say, "Hell no!" but I didn't. This is my job. And even with the challenges, I love what I do.

In this line of work, you've got to keep things in perspective. It sucks working a double shift. It sucks having to make the drive home afterward. It's really going to suck getting up tomorrow morning. But I'm still alive. Unlike Dawn Brancheau, I will go home. She went into work this morning with no idea it would be her last. 

So really... who am I to complain about working a double shift? Would I want to be doing anything else? No.

Until tomorrow....

Check out this guy...

My news assignment yesterday. Talk about genius marketing. Michael Williams, twenty-eight years old, found himself unemployed, but instead of kicking back on the couch with government cheese, he took his future to the streets. Literally.

 

He gets up in the morning, puts on his suit, and takes a sign to a busy street corner in Irvine. What does it
say? SEE MY RESUME. All day, he stands there, holding his sign, trying to drive people to his website, www.joblessredhead.com. And you know what?
It's working.

He's a good looking guy, very well spoken, and driven. To do what? He's not really sure, but he  knows what he doesn't want to do: 100% commissioned sales. He likes to be challenged. He likes marketing. Ideally, he'd like to work with youth ministry since his master's degree is in Youth and Family Ministries. He simply wants someone to give him a chance.

 

People smile at him. Give him thumbs up. Wave at him. He's had over 2000 hits on his website 

and a few interviews, but still hasn't been offered the right opportunity.

If you want to read more about him, go check out his

website. In case you didn't get it, it's www.joblessredhead.com.

These are the days I seriously love my job. Shooting the story was a blast, it was fun to edit, and I made contact with a really terrific human being--the best part about being a photojournalist.This story had its challenges too. All of the b-roll (the video to cover the reporter's words) was of one thing: Him holding a sign. It took a lot of creative angles to make it work, a lot of tight shots to sequence. The end product? Something I was very proud of. And the producers liked it to! Used it in two shows instead of the usual one.

It was a good day.

Today's assignment? Water bottles. They're on the decline. 

Until tomorrow, 

Later gators.

Standing on a Corner...

...in Winslow Arizona!

Funny how song lyrics can make a town famous.

 My best feller has this fantasy about packing it in from the big city (Los Angeles area) and moving to a small town in the middle of nowhere, so this week--for his birthday--we trekked to Winslow, Arizona, made famous by the Eagles song, and you know what? I actually liked it.

Besides being a historic Route 66 town, it has an interesting art and architecture scene.

The people were fantastic throughout town, especially at The La Posada Hotel. What a phenomenal place. I mean, seriously, seriously cool stuff. Go to the linked website and check it out. What the owner did to bring it back from the brink is unbelievable.

Birthday boy Brian at the
entrance to La Posada with
his friend the camel.

Live guitar music
at La Posada. I could
have sat all night and
listened.

We fell in love with a building.
And hey! It’s for sale!

But here’s the deal. Winslow is
about population 10,000. Small.
Really small. I’ve lived in big cities
for most of my life. Could I handle such
an extreme change? I’m pondering.



                                                                

Especially after going
 from this gorgeous
desert sunset...

...to this hideous LA traffic.                             










Who knows? Maybe I could be right at home in Winslow. Just hole up, and write.

Day Twelve--Pioneertown, CA to HOME in The OC

We weren’t ready for it to end, but until a bucket of money drops onto our heads, I reckon all vacations must have a last day. So we headed out of beautiful Pioneertown toward home. From Pioneertown to the I-10, life was good.

Then it went downhill.

The closer we got to LA, the worse it got. Bad roads, horrible traffic, the smog… wow. You forget about the smog when you’re living in it. When you come back, the thick layer hanging over the basin becomes that much more obvious and disgusting.

But I refuse to end this trip on a negative, so I'll point out the positives.

Ummm… let's see... something good, something good… Oh! The weather got cooler the closer we got to home.

We reunited with The World’s Worst Cat, Zoe. She missed us and loves us. I can tell.

I would say it was nice to sleep in our own bed, but we seriously need a new mattress. The hotel beds were much more comfortable.






Overall, we went 2400 miles, saw six states (… kind of. New Mexico we didn’t actually ride through, but I did put my hand in it at Four Corners.) The terrain changes throughout each day amazed me, how within the course of a couple of hours, things could shift from mountains and pines, to dry flat desert. The rock formations through Utah were astounding. The beauty of Colorado with its rivers and trees, overwhelming. Best of all, I’m glad to see there are still small towns that haven’t been overrun with strip malls, chain restaurants, and Wal-Marts. We met the nicest people along the way. Not a bad day in the bunch. It truly was the perfect trip.

Next year, we’ll ride to Nashville. I can’t wait.

For a final portrait of the two of us, I set the camera on self-timer in front of our Pioneertown room. You’ve gotta love self-timers. Here are a couple of the initial attempts trying to get the timing right.




















Finally, we got a nice one.

Forgive me, I’m going to wax poetic for a bit. We’re back home now, and I’m feeling a bit sad. There’s something incredibly invigorating about being on a motorcycle for so many consecutive days. As my feller put it, “Somehow it feels important…” although we both know it’s not. All the clichés are true. The feeling of freedom. The wind in your face. The independence of being just you, the machine, and the road. It’s the kind of vacation where you get in touch with yourself and what you want out of life.

Thanks so much to everyone following our blogs. Sharing the experience with friends made it even more fun, and forced us to sit down at the end of the day and chronicle our experiences. Already, I’m having fun re-reading the adventure.

So until next year...

Later gators.

Day Eleven--Flagstaff, AZ to a very cool destination

Howdy! Sorry to disappoint you (mom) by not having our blogs posted last night, but we were out in the middle of nowhere—no phone connection, no wi-fi at the motel. Now, (sadly) we're back in civilization, so here it is, the eagerly anticipated Day 11 Blog!

I’ve gotta tell ya… my feller is brilliant. We left Flagstaff yesterday morning with the intention of either driving through to Barstow for the night, or making a bonsai run all the way home. My feller, however, came up with a much better plan, the perfect way to end our great motorcycle adventure.




But first… a recap of the day.

I didn’t expect the first half of the ride to be so great. For the first hour or so, we remained in the pines, the weather stellar, the road smooth, the smells...well... I tell ya, the most neglected sense in a car is smell. With the windows rolled up and the a/c blasting, the outdoor smells become non-existent. On a motorcycle, you smell everything—the sun on the asphalt, the pine, fresh cut hay, roadkill—and best of all, the port-a-potty truck that pulled in front of us just outside of Ash Fork. Mmmm… so fragrant. Fortunately, he was moving fast. I reckon he had someplace to go.

We passed lots of bikes heading east, probably on their way to Sturgis. Pretty cool to see them on the road and give them a happy little wave hello. Oh wait... that doesn't sound very biker, does it. No, no, I meant to say... give them a knee-level peace sign and a scowl as we roared past one another. Yeah. Or flipped each other the bird. Hell yeah!!

We took a little detour onto historic Route 66 through Ash Fork, everything you want in a Route 66 town: picturesque, charming. But that was nothing compared to Seligman. My feller has been talking about Seligman for the last couple years, after he first went through on his way by motorcycle to Tennessee. It lived up to his raving. Seligman has an interesting history in connection with Route 66. It’s where the whole “Historic Route 66” movement began, by a barber whose business nearly collapsed after Route 40 went in, diverting traffic around his little town. I won’t bore you with the entire story here, but if you’re interested, check out their website. Next May, they're doing a vintage car event in town. I’m hoping my old ’48 Ford truck will be up to the task. I think it would be great fun to participate.






Speaking of old trucks… I’m astounded by the number of old trucks rotting in fields through Utah, Colorado, and Arizona--great old trucks from the 30s, 40s, and 50s. It broke my heart to see them parked that way. In So Cal, they’d actually be worth something.










My truck (above) came from Utah. Considering her condition, she very well could have been a field truck too. Poor old Mae. I’m glad she was one of the lucky rescues.






But back to the ride.

The route from Seligman on was purty darned hot, with long stretches of nothing. Before Ludlow, we got off of the Interstate, and returned to Route 66 through Amboy. Amboy’s one of those places my feller loves to go, even though the only thing there is a defunct motel/gas station. A restauranteur bought the place a while back and promises to bring it back to it’s full glory. Why? Roy’s is a very cool place. Great sign. Interesting architecture on the motel lobby. They do have functioning gas now, which made my feller giddy. He’s been waiting a long time to conduct business at Roy’s.

Now we're at the part of the journey where my feller’s brilliance comes in. From Amboy, it’s about 70 miles to Barstow. It was nearing five o’clock, and the sun was directly in our eyes. My butt had a good burn going, so I didn’t think there was anyway I could make it all the way back to The OC—which would mean a couple more hours in the seat. Plus, I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to our vacation yet. It’s been such an amazing trip. Our option to stay in Barstow didn’t sound particularly interesting (sorry to any Barstow fans—if there are any). Just out of Amboy is the turn-off to Joshua Tree. We love Joshua Tree, go at least once a year. It’s a small town with a very alternative attitude nestled in the Joshua Tree National Forest and on the edge of the National Park (which is a stunning ride, btw). We like to stay in the motel where Graham Parsons accidentally overdosed. My feller is a huge fan of his music. Anyway, so we take the turn, and head sixty miles to Joshua Tree. Feller pulls over, and says, “How ‘bout going to Pioneertown?” BRILLIANT. Pioneertown was a movie set built in 1946. It’s a great ride to get here through a curvy road up into the rocky hills. Because so many people liked the area, Pioneertown gradually became real. Sort of. There’s not a whole lot, other than a very cool motel, and great restaurant, Pappy and Harriets, where we watched a few bands until after eleven. The room is filled with rustic antiques, they have great toiletries, and you can’t beat the old west charm. The price? $58 bucks. Astounding. Truly the perfect punctuation mark to our adventure.

So it’s Friday morning now. I’m sitting outside the room with the sun warming my back, the sounds of birds and my feller quietly playing Graham Parson’s song Wild Horses on his computer, wishing this trip wouldn’t end. But it has to. We have about a hundred miles left to go until we get home, and then it’s back to work. Don’t get me wrong, I actually like my job, but the last two weeks have opened my eyes once again to how great our country is, and how much exists outside of our little bubble we call home. It does a brain good to get out and explore.

And with that… time to hit the road for our final leg.

Until my final wrap-up tomorrow…

Later Gators.


--Eventually my feller will stop snoring, and publish his blog for Day 11 with all of our super-fantastic photos. Keep checkin' www.socal67.com. Maybe I'll go kick him and wake him up.

Day Ten--Bluff, Utah to Flagstaff, Arizona

Awww... look at this adorable little toad we saw last night! Isn’t he precious??











After a fry bread breakfast at the Twin Rocks café (gee, I wonder how they came up with that name?), we headed toward Monument Valley. If you’re wondering what it looks like, well, look at the café picture and imagine more rocks like this, that go on and on and on. Pretty phenomenal stuff. Nature’s sculptures. I can’t imagine what the first explorers thought when they stumbled across this stuff. I mean, even for those who haven’t seen Monument Valley, there are enough photographs that everyone can picture it, right? From a distance, they look like castles on hilltops. Those early explorers must have been majorly ticked off when they saw them, thinking they’d discovered a new territory only to see others had built castles before them. Sadly, I have no pictures to show you. Because of the threat of rain, the cameras stayed stowed away, but you get the idea.




We stopped for gas in Tuba City. Not the best looking place in the world.







Brian found another vending machine in the gas station bathroom, one he was so excited about, he felt compelled to do a Facebook mobile upload.

Amazingly, just on the other side of Tuba City, it got crazy beautiful again. Other than the insane guys in pickup trucks making incredibly unsafe lane changes, the ride was great.

We made good time to our destination for the night, Flagstaff, and met my parents for dinner who are in town to escape the stifling Phoenix heat. Deep down, my mom wants to be a biker. She even stripped down to climb on my bike and pose for a picture.

During our walk around downtown Flagstaff, we discovered a very interesting fact: Flagstaff is an anti-pie town. No one had pie. NO ONE! Can you believe it? When I asked the girl in the coffee house where we could find pie, she said, “You won’t find pie in Flagstaff.” What???!!!! I told you my family is all about pie. No pie in Flagstaff is a very, very sad thing.

I’m too depressed to go on. Go to www.socal67.com to find out about our bitchin’ lodging for the night. He’s not as depressed about the pie as I am.

Until tomorrow…

Later gators.

Day Nine--South Fork, CO to Bluff, UT

Whoa. We had the most INSANE day, full of contrasts and extremes, rife with conflict and terror… okay, terror might be overplaying it just a tad. But it was one of the wildest days I can remember having—and worth every minute.

It started innocent enough. The bed and breakfast served a great three-course breakfast: Fruit with fresh baked poppy-seed muffins, Quiche Lorraine, and an Apple Dumpling for desert. Desert at breakfast! How cool is that???

We hit the road to beautiful blue skies and ideal weather, nature luring us into her net. The ride through the Colorado Rockies had everything you’d expect, pine trees, log cabins, dead skunks… truly spectacular. I saw herds of cattle, herds of horses, and in Cortez, a herd of wild Goths, complete with tutus and skull shirts. As we continued our climb, the sky broke open, and it rained—not too much, enough to be fun, not enough to be a pain in the butt. And when you hit the sunny part of the road once again... Ahhhh... you appreciate it so much more.

Once we passed Mesa Verde, things changed dramatically. Gone were the lush agricultural fields and frolicking colts...

















...replaced with the barren, brown landscape of the high desert.

























Oh, but more wild changes were in store.


First, we had yet another traffic stop for construction. I actually like these, because it gives me a chance to get off the bike and take some pictures. Generally, if we’re going 65-75 mph, I don’t shoot while I ride. Only on the slow roads (okay, mom? See?)




Look at that sky, will ya?! Perfect blue, with puffy white. Just what you want to see, right?

Ha! What false bait that was!

I first noticed it on the distant horizon, a spectacular contrast of light. The hot sun made the brown scrub of the desert glow golden, while up ahead, the darkest cloud I’d ever seen blacked out the sky. I wanted to stop and shoot it, but heck, if I stopped to shoot everything that moved me, I’d never get anywhere.

The closer we got, the darker the sky became. Considering it had been blazing hot for the last hour or so, I couldn’t wait to get in the rain and cool down.

But it didn't come... yet.


Even with the impending storm, we pulled off as planned at the Four-Corners monument to grab some shots—a quick side trip, since we both knew the sky would open up at any minute. I pulled off to an overlook so we could get some cool shots...




...then we rushed over to the monument to do the classic, “Look, mom! I’m in four states” shot.

That’s when all hell broke loose.

It began with a couple of raindrops. Then the wind kicked in, which stirred up the dirt, creating a wild dust storm. When the sky opened up, it turned the dust to mud, flying at 50 mph through the wind. We took cover.

Oh… but it gets worse. Wait, first take a look at this video so you get an idea of the storm’s intensity:










I remembered I hadn’t secured my gloves because I thought we’d only be there a minute, so I walked back over to the bikes. When you see me running, that’s not to escape the rain, it’s because the wind pushed me. Hard.

And then… IT STARTED TO HAIL. I’m not kidding you.

One of the nice vendors let us take cover until the worst of it passed. The second it started to ease, we took off. For probably fifty miles, we rode in the rain. Remember how excited I was about the lightning on Day One? Well that was cute lightning. The lightning flashing overhead today was evil, chasing us down the road, flashes so bright, my chrome tank lit up. Insane.

Oh, but that’s not all.

We went to our planned gas stop. The gas station was closed. So there we were, in the middle of the Navajo Nation Indian Reservation, in the rain, with bikes that can go only 120 miles or so, and we had about 60 miles or so already on our tanks. “No worries,” says my feller, “there’s another small town down the road.” Yeah. Well, the gas station in Red Mesa? Closed due to a power outage.

I asked, “Are we screwed?”

Feller said, “Nah.”

So we continued toward our destination, Bluff, Utah. My odometer read 98. The mileage marker for Bluff? 30. Ummm… I’m no math whiz, but that adds up to 128, right?

Yeah…

Thankfully, we’d been getting great gas mileage. The good news? We made it to Bluff.

The bad news? Power outage there, too. No gas. But hey! No worries. We planned to stay in Bluff anyway. Fortunately, the steakhouse down the road cooks on an outside grill, so they were still serving food—which was a good thing, considering we skipped lunch. The food was great, the hospitality outstanding. The Desert Rose Inn is charming, the views spectacular.














The company, stellar. Life is good.

Growing up, I never saw myself as particularly adventurous, but I think I may have changed my mind today, ‘cause I had a ridiculous amount of fun. The more the weather turned to chaos, the more I laughed in my helmet. I swear, you just can’t pay for entertainment as spectacular as Mother Nature. Wind storm. Dust storm. Mud storm. Hail. Lightning. Thunder. And oh! Did I mention the flying tumbleweeds aiming for us as we whizzed down the highway? My feller hit one, and it exploded. So cool!

To see some of the cool people we met on the road today, check out my feller's site, www.socal67.com.

I reckon it’s time to get myself off this swinging bench, away from the sunset view of the red bluffs, and wash the road grime away. Until tomorrow…

Later gators.