I Have Returned!

I have FINALLY gotten my Internet situation straightened out. It's a long and complicated story, so I won't bore you with the details here. Let's just say that since my roommate Suzanne can't manage the bills, I'm the only one in the house with Internet access now.

I do have some old stuff to catch up on, so I'll start back at the holidays.


December 18: The Company Christmas Party

"Are you guys going to the party?" the weekend producer asked us Sunday evening as we were leaving for the night. My reporter and I had had a full day, but we actually got out in time to make it there.

"I can't go," I said. "I didn't know if we would be done in time, so I didn't return the RSVP."

"You can still go," my reporter said. "They always plan for a few extra."

I should say that I'm not really good at parties. Although my writing might give a different impression, I'm not really good with conversation, especially with people I don't really know; and I really don't know that many of the people at the station well enough to hold a decent conversation. Besides that, I have rapidly discovered that people in the news business aren't the slightest bit interested in the topics of conversation in which my weird group of college friends engaged.

On the other hand, there was going to be free food. I was running late Sunday morning and didn't pack my lunch, so I hadn't eaten all day. My stomach started growling at the thought.

My stomach won.

I ran home to put on a tie and jacket. I had heard various versions of the dress code for this party, from business attire to regular street clothes. I figured I couldn't really go too far wrong with a casual business look, something like a cross between a contractor and a college professor.

The party started at 7:30, but it was after 8:30 when I finally got there. Luckily there was still food, and it was good. I had a good dinner for the first time in a while.

There was also a cash bar. That's a cruel thing to do to television people. Let's throw a party for people who can't afford their own alcohol and then make them pay for their drinks.

Despite the fact that it was Sunday night and many of them had to be at work Monday morning, the folks who could afford the booze were enjoying it immensely. A couple of the sales guys were already well on their way to smashdom. By the end of the evening, the human resources lady was actually hanging from the general manager's neck, red faced and barely able to stand.

I didn't have to be at work until 2:30 Monday. But I still couldn't afford to spend money on the cash bar. Cruel.

I had missed some of the earlier festivities, including the general manager's speech to his assembled underlings. Still, he made his way around the room, mingling with the employees. When he got to me, he called me Mike and asked how I was settling into my new job.

"Just fine, sir," I said.

"That's great, Mike, great." Before I could decide whether to correct him, he had moved on to other underlings.

Several of the photogs ended up at a table together, but the conversation rarely drifted away from sports. I'm just not a sports guy, so I couldn't really participate. After some fifteen minutes or so of listening to football talk, I got up to "get another drink" and didn't return.

I tried to latch onto a conversation here or there with little luck. A reporter might introduce me to someone who works upstairs somewhere. There would be a polite interrogation concerning how I liked the city and the station. Then the conversation would turn to matters of which I had either no knowledge or no interest, and I would find myself outside some imaginary boundary even though I was standing right in their midst.

Suzanne showed up for a while. She had to work Sunday night, but the studio crew came over for a bit between shows. I tried to talk with her, but she was more interested in flirting with Brian, that guy I saw nailing her in her room when she left the door open.

I finally ended up where I usually find myself at parties, sitting off to the side somewhere just watching. That's when Wendy, the producer who screwed me over with the ND, approached.

"Havin' fun?" she asked. I doubt they pay Wendy much more than they pay me, but she wasn't letting that stop her from enjoying the bar. She wasn't plastered, but her face was a little red.

"Sure," I said. I was a little uncomfortable talking to her, considering that I hated her.

"Oh, come on," she said. "You need to have more fun."

"I'm okay like this," I said.

"You don't have a drink," she said. "You need a drink."

"Naah, I'm gonna pass tonight."

"Oh, good," she said. "You can be my ride home."

Great. Just fucking great. The last thing I wanted to do was spend time with Wendy.

"Uh, well, the heater in my truck doesn't work," I said. "It gets pretty cold."

"That's okay," she said.

"Uh, okay," I said. I'm such a pussy.

Wendy wasn't ready to leave just yet. But she also wasn't interested in the party, either. Instead, she sat there and talked with me. Oh, the joy.

"I don't really like parties," she said. "I never can find anything in common with people to talk about."

Wow. That sounds familiar. "Uh, yeah, same here."

So Wendy started asking me questions about myself, and college. She told me about her background. This is her first job out of school also, but she's been here a year and just signed another year's contract with the station. I was surprised to hear that a producer at this market level was under contract, so we talked about that for a while.

Before I knew it, I realized I was getting along pretty well with Wendy. Maybe it's just because she was tipsy.

Finally she decided she was ready to go home, so we left. As I walked out the door, one of the other photogs stepped up close to me and said, "Nice."

Ah, crap. Now what kind of rumors could I expect Monday?


Monday

Yes, I did end up fielding some of the rumors, primarily from Lizzie. I worked with her the next day.

"Sooooo," she said, once we were in the van on our way to our story. "I heard that YOU took WENDY home last night."

"I just gave her a ride," I said.

"Oh, I'll bet you did."

"Shut up."

"Ha! You're turning red!"

"Shut up."

"That's so adorable!"

I managed to convince her that nothing happened and that I had not the slightest interest in Wendy, but it didn't stop her from ribbing me the rest of the week.

The problem was that, as lonely as I have been here, for a brief moment I found myself actually considering Wendy as a possibility. Shudder. Lucky for me she showed her true colors again before the week was out.


December 22: The Nat Pack

I have discovered that not everyone reading this works in news, so a little terminology lesson is in order.

When you watch the news, you'll see and hear several reporters and anchors delivering the stories throughout the newscast. If you listen closely, you'll notice that the stories themselves are often pre-recorded segments with the reporter's narration (called the voice track), video and soundbites from interviews all edited together. Usually these segments are between one and two minutes long and are called packages, because everything is "packaged" up in a neat, cohesive whole. A reporter may introduce her package herself, live, or an anchor may introduce it.

The video that you see in these packages usually has audio with it from the scene. That audio is called natural sound, because it is the sound that occurs naturally when the video is recorded (as opposed to sound added later in the editing room). For example, if you see video of kids on a playground and hear them also, what you hear is natural sound. Natural sound usually gets shortened to nat sound when we talk about it.

I mentioned that packages usually have a reporter's narration in them. Sometimes, however, we can make what is known as a nat sound package, usually shortened to nat pack in conversation. A nat pack is a package without a reporter's voice, where the interviews tell the story themselves. One of the major networks used to do an "In Their Own Words" segment occasionally, where the big newsmakers of the week would tell their own story in one of these nat packs.

Back in college I took a documentary class that was offered through the film program, in which we had to make short documentaries. The first assignment was to make a three minute documentary without any narration. The major storytelling requirement was that the documentary had to have a beginning, middle and end, just like any other story; but we had to use the interviews to construct it. It was basically the same as a nat pack.

When I first started here, CP Rick showed me where he kept a stash of tapes of the winning stories from news photography contests sponsored by the National Press Photographers Assocation. On those tapes I saw a number of nat packs. "Wow," I thought, "These are just like shorter versions of that documentary I had to do." Ever since watching the tapes, I've been itching to do a nat pack myself for air.

The week of Christmas I found my chance. During one of my multiple holiday shopping stories during the week before Christmas, I noticed that the gift wrapping service at the mall was staffed by some entertaining characters. What's more, while the service itself was free, they were actually doing it to raise money for a childrens program and were asking for donations. Some of the kids were helping out, so it looked like I had a good story.

The problem was that I couldn't do that story by myself AND get my regular reporter package done during a regular workday. I decided instead to come in on Thursday before Christmas, which was my regular off day. I wasn't sure whether I would get paid for the day or not. I just really wanted to see how I would do with my first nat pack.

So I went out to the mall and stopped by the office. They were customarily rude, but I had already talked with the giftwrappers about the story and arranged the story with them, so the mall cops left me alone.

Personally, I think the material was very good. The guy in charge was a very vocal effeminate man wearing a red Santa hat. He kept running around cooing suggestions at people. I had a hard time keeping up with him, but he made for great sound. He was also a great interview, and I had no trouble using his soundbites to frame the story with a beginning, middle and end. Then, to fill in the spaces, I had interviews with one of the ladies doing the wrapping and one of the kids, plus a whole lot of ripping, taping, crunching and crinkling of wrapping paper.

It took me almost three hours to edit it. The end result told the story but had lots of energy and what I thought were pretty good visuals and sound. Santa Hat's interview really made the piece. I was proud of it.

So I went to Wendy, who was producing the late show, told her what I had and asked if she would be interested in running it.

"Oh, I don't know, " she said. "How long is it?"

"A minute fifteen," I said.

"What is it, like rollout video?" Our newscast isn't always full, so occasionally the producer will eat up time at the end of the show by rolling credits while the anchor just sits there and makes small talk with the studio crew. If there's extra video from the newscast, sometimes we'll run credits over video instead. That's what she meant by "rollout video."

"No, it isn't rollout video," I said. "It's a nat pack. A package."

"A package? Who did the track?"

"Nobody," I said. "It's a nat pack. You know, the interviews tell the story. I can show it to you--"

"Oh, that's okay. I'll use it as a kicker." (For those who don't know, the kicker is the last element of the show, usually a light or funny story.)

Cool! My first nat pack on the air! I could hardly wait.

It was pretty late by then, so I stuck around and hung out in the control room during the newscast to see it on the big monitor and hear it on the big speakers. Thirty five minutes never seemed like such a long time. Finally we came back from the last commercial break.

Anchor: "Finally tonight, we leave you with the sights and sounds of giftwrapping."

Director (in the control room): "And... music full."

What? No! No music! They're trying to use it as a rollout!

Sure enough, they blasted the music over the top of the opening sequence of giftwrapping sounds. I had a good five seconds off the top of paper rustling and Santa Hat encouraging the wrappers. Then his interview started.

"Hey, what? There's soundbites in this!" said the audio board operator. He dropped the music a little bit so it could be heard.

"What is this, a package?" the director asked.

"Yes, it's a package!" I said from behind him.

"No, this is rollout!" said Wendy.

"Kill the audio and bring music back full," said the director. Santa Hat fell silent in mid sentence, without explaining anything about what the hell they were doing there. It just left a talking head on screen saying something the audience at home couldn't hear.

NO! I thought, but the damage was really done by then.

"We're out in ten," said the director, after the package had only run for thirty seconds. Then he counted them down to the end of the show. All my hard work faded to black, not even halfway through.

The director, who probably had no idea that I was the one who shot it, took his headset off and said, "What the FUCK was that?"

I was shellshocked and couldn't even think of what to say. I was infuriated with Wendy and wanted to scream at her. Instead I just left the room, went out to the Hate Van and drove home. She didn't say anything at all as I left.

I was depressed through the weekend, especially having to work Christmas day and do another story about feeding the homeless that was almost identical to the one from Thanksgiving. We even saw the creepy plastic smile woman there again.

Monday morning brought a bit of redemption. The morning show producer came walking through the newsroom after the show. I don't think I had ever talked to him before, but he stopped where I was sitting.

"Hey, you're Max, right?" he asked me.

"Yeah," I said.

"Hey, I've been meaning to compliment you on your nat pack the other day."

"Oh, thanks," I said, "But it wasn't supposed to look like that. It was supposed to run as a package."

"Yeah, I know," he said. "That's how we ran it."

"Huh?"

"Friday morning. We ran it in the morning show Friday morning."

"Really? I didn't know that," I said. "It looked okay?"

"It looked great," he said. "Why? Was something wrong with it?"

"Uh, no. It's just that Thursday night they ran it as rollout video."

"Well THAT's stupid. Didn't you tell Wendy it was a package?"

"Yeah," I said, "But she didn't understand it."

He laughed. "That kinda figures. Well, we really enjoyed it, and I always have room for something like that in my show. Next time just bring it to me. I especially like fresh material nobody else has run."

I was happy to hear that. At the same time, I was still irritated with Wendy. She's been here a year and doesn't know what a nat pack is? If it were a matter of her not having time in her show, I would have understood. But she just made a train wreck out of it. There went any progress we made at the Christmas party toward any kind of mutual respect.

At least my hard work did actually air. Too bad I didn't see it.