I don’t know what the hell’s going on in this picture, but I profoundly disapprove. That many in-house lenses trained on a single colleague reeks of conspiracy, the kind of back room huddling that ends with me babysitting six cameras at once while someone counts backwards from twenty in my ear. I’m not kidding! Once a secret meeting ran three hours and before I could hoark down the first doughnut, I was marooned in a hot air balloon with a mobile hop and a leaky car battery. You ever tried to point a dish at a spot on the horizon while battery acid ate away at the rotting wicker bottom that separates you from a sudden plunge? I have and no amount of word games or shadow puppets will make the memory fade. So before you and your executive pals come up with a new way to stretch me and our station’s resources to unspeakable lengths just so some doofus can swivel from grin to grimace eight times over, think of the affiliates in River City who don’t have the gear to stage this kind of ordnance! What’s next – crop circles in the weather garden? Chopper shots of the main anchor’s old trench-coat collection? Pray tell, what kind of hopped-up navel gaze-a-thon could justify this kind of lens expenditure? What’s that? It’s for a ‘Photog Special’?
I guess that would be okay.