A Little G in a Big D

You know, I almost totally missed it — and to be honest, I’m dumbstruck by how quickly the time has passed — but the close of this month marks my first full year at The Dallas Morning News.

I’m sure I’ve said this before and it doesn’t need repeating, but what the hell. I never in my wildest dreams thought I’d end up at this paper. It’s been humbling and inspiring to work along some of the finest photojournalists (and editors, and scribblers) in the country.

This job has given me some incredible opportunities and experiences. Rangers spring training in Phoenix. Road games with the Cowboys. The Stanley Cup series. A month with homeless people. Recipients of life-saving organs meeting the family of the donor. A Segway tour through downtown Dallas.

And through it all, I’ve managed to take some really terrible photos.

[cue the jarring, record-screech sound]

That’s right, folks. In there interest of keeping the navel-gazing here light and fun, I offer you what I think are the 20 worst photos I’ve taken over the last year. Actually, that’s the narrowed down version — my original selection (taken off our wonderfully-archived database) was 34. That’s averages out to almost three stinkers a month. Terrible.

And here’s where it gets BETTER — all of these photos were published (the database says to). Some how these bombs got past some really talented editors and layout folks and were printed (several rather large) on the pages of one of the best newspapers in the country.

So without further ago, away we go. Keep your eyes open for the large number of portraits in the bunch. I actually put “learn to take better portraits” on my first yearly employee review worksheet. And that was before I saw these images. Ha!!

***

Well, I finally did it. After only a few short months of life, I managed to completely kill off my office plant, Sven the Succulent IKEA Cactus …

He was starting to look the worse for wear a few weeks ago. By the time I brought him home to rehab, he was pretty much a goner, maybe just a hair wisp of green. But this morning, brown and crispy to the touch.

I have no idea what I did wrong. I don’t think I over-watered him, and for a good time there he had a decent amount of light. Then somebody decided to unscrew one of the fluorescent lights above my desk (Courtney???) and it was all downhill from there. I should have brought him home sooner.

Obviously, I’m a little sad about it (hence the blogging); doesn’t make matters better that a couple of Michelle’s container herbs (who were living suspiciously close to Sven’s hospice area) are looking worse for wear, too. Apparently I have the Midas touch of death right now …

Seriously, though, I hate killing things — even bugs. And this being the first job I have with my own, private desk, I was rather proud of Sven and the various, festive pieces of flair I’ve pinned and taped to my half-cubicle walls.

That plant really tied the room together, man. Sure, I can always getting another one, but after killing this one, what’s the point?

Funny enough — I’m halfway tempted to take Sven back to my office and leave him on my desk. Nothing quite says “Don’t touch my sh*t” like rotting foliage, I imagine.

So anyway, sorry to have sent you to an early grave, Sven. God speed, little doodle.

- gerry -

… If catch the Waits reference, by the way, then “I like your style, Dude.” (oh no — a Lebowski reference, too!) …

Anyway, hey all. Funny story I thought I’d share …

So yesterday I was in the middle of shooting the Rangers three-day series with the Atlanta Braves over at Rangers Ballpark in Arlington. Having spent the previous day bouncing around the first- and third-base photo wells, I decide to grab the longer glass and head up high.

Just below the press box — and behind the second level of fan seating — is maybe a 10-foot-wide concrete walkway. Not a bad angle. You have the whole perspective of the diamond, not a lot of obstructions and a good throw from home to second … little loose in the deep outfield.

I’d not shot from this vantage point before, though I knew from previous games it was totally foul ball territory; at least a handful of times before I’d watch a sloppy at bat sail backwards and slam into the press box’s Plexiglas windows.

So maybe like an inning or two into the game … I’m standing up there, basically between third base and home, little closer to the former. A Braves batter (didn’t catch the jersey number) knocks a foul ball right my way.

Of course, everyone tries to make a grab for these things, and figuring it would make a swell picture, I had a body and wide ready on my right shoulder for just such a thing. No dice this time, though — something about the speed with which it happened, my inability to grab the wide body in time and a simple desire not to die … I miss the whole thing and just sort of half run and watch.

Damned if the ball doesn’t slow as it sails up and knock this guy, six feet from me, right in the middle of the forehead. He was totally fine. Medics checked him out — all smiles, small lump. He spent the next inning calling all his friends and trying to find out if it had been on FSN or not.

Not sure what kind of photo it would have made. I was sort of behind the guy and to the left, so I wouldn’t have had a clean shot of the hit. Would have had some fun reaction from everyone around him, though. I was miffed I missed the photo …

Fool me once.

Bottom of the fourth inning. I’m now on the other side of the walkway, between first and home. About ready to pack it up and head down to transmit a few images and move to the field level spots. Michael Young at bat, foul ball once again comes sailing my way.

This one had less speed, a higher arc; plus, it wasn’t heading right for me … more to my right. I sort of half grab the wide body and bring it up part way … not quite shooting from the hip — more like top of the love handle, bottom of the rib cage. Let the motor drive rip …

Not a great image, maybe, but a little funny. That guy on the right totally spilled his beer everywhere, all over the wall, as he spun around (he had been walking by) to grab the ball. The guy behind him had literally leapt from his seat, over a few folks, in a mad dash to get a piece, too.

Now you can’t see her, but a lady is seated between the guy with the black shirt with his back to me, and standing striped shirt guy. The ball had bounced from the wall (beer stain) then across and OFF HER HEAD (TOO!!) and back to to the center there. It was wild. The whole sequence is actually kind of a trip, but the images were a little soft up until about this frame. The sun was already setting and it was a little dark out, so I couldn’t stop down the aperture enough … le sigh.

She was fine too, though she accepted a medic’s ice pack, unlike the guy a few innings before. I actually told her about the previous incident on my way back down. I made light of it and, joked, “I kind of think I’m cursed today,” laughing. She didn’t. Stared me right back with one of the dirtier looks ever. Oh well … she had just been beaned with a ball, so she’s getting plenty of slack cut …

That’s my story, folks. Through and through. We’ll see what kind of luck I have at the final game today here in a few hours. If you want to see more photos, slideshows are here (click links below):

06/17/2008 — Rangers 7, Braves 5

06/18/2008 — Braves 5, Rangers 2

Cheers,

- gerry -

You know, like two seconds after I uploaded the kind of joking (yes, I wrote it mostly in sarcastic jest), flippant post that precedes this one, I wondered if I’d regret it a little. Sure did this morning …

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/06/17/business/media/17paper.html?ref=business

Bad news all around. I have friends at McClatchy papers so this really hurts. Granted, that’s 10 percent of total staff, but they’re still gonna hit their newsrooms hard; and, as the article notes, they just did that less than a couple of years ago.

It really is kind of a weird, sometimes scary time to be a print journalist. And on a more personal note, while I never thought I’d get anywhere like the DMN, it’s a little disheartening to finally make it to a great metro right as the rug seems to be coming out from under us.

Oh well … things could be a lot worse so I count my blessings …

- Family and friends;
- Health and happiness;
- A roof over my head;
- Cold beer (and some food) in the fridge;
- The useless but nonetheless entertaining ability to quote obscure Simpsons lines on demand.

Take care, all …

- gerry -

I rarely talk about work-related stuff on here, so humor me while I indulge this once.

So, I guess most of you have heard this whole thing about newspapers and declining circulations and loss of ad revenue and how we journalists are all going to be forced to kill ourselves by stabbing at our eyes with pica rulers and all that jazz.

Some of that is true (the thing about the pica rulers probably isn’t). I fought it for a while, but being at a large, metro newspaper, I see it a lot more clearly now; I don’t know what it was about Columbia, but I was more shielded there from some of the realities of our business.

As money gets tighter around newspapers, so do belts. In just the year I’ve been here I’ve seen cuts in travel budgets, freelance assignments, etc. Not great signs, but not the end of the world, either.

No, that moment came this past Friday during our monthly photo staff meeting. One word: “CheeseNipsGate” …

[ok, ok, that's more like three jammed into one, but you get the idea]

A little background …

So, over by the image tech station in our department (photo) there lived a rather large assortment of food stuffs. For all practical purposes, the kinds of things you’d find in the “salty snacks” aisle at the store — assorted nuts, those weird, peanut butter-filled crackers that have the orange hue of a safety vest (how appetizing!).

One of my personal favorites were the first-sized pretzels that came in a giant tub. They burst into a million fragile pieces in one bite, and the sound of chewing them (at least to others, I’m told) was not unlike a beer bottle-cap stuck in a disposal.

These salty snacks were all over the newsroom. Each department had its own stash of readily available quick-fixes. And they came in handy — nothing smoothes over a late night of editing or hard day or shooting like a two heaping palmfuls of NILLA® Wafers (thanks, NewsArt!).

Well, friends, turns out these goodies where all company supplied. I’d always assumed so, but never outright new …

… until the staff meeting … when they told us that cost was being cut to save money.

Silly as that may sound, the number they threw at us was quite high. Don’t remember the exact amount (me and math have a “it’s complicated” relationship), but suffice to say we’re talking a few thousand dollars saved by not paying for cholesterol-raising pick-me-ups.

Having been gone a week on vacation, this was all news to me; but I could tell from the general looks of disappointment around the room that the measure had not gone over without some back-and-forth (hence the phrase “CheeseNipGate,” aptly named for one of the more common snacks around the office).

Following the meeting, I sprinted back to the lab tech area to see with my own eyes — no more oily cans of mixed nuts; no more individually-sealed granola bars; no more bags of smelly, microwavable popcorn (now with more butter!) All that was left was a small barrel of these weird, graham-covered cookie things that aren’t that good. And there were about four of them left.

TDMN Photo’s handy snack shop was effectively closed. I was crushed. I now have to either bring my own snacks to work or keep a healthy amount of crisp $1’s around to buy stale chips from the vending machine.

The irony about all this is one of the main talking points at the staff meeting was about company morale (draw your own conclusions from that). As one manager remarked at the close of the meeting, “You’d be amazed what peanuts can do for morale.”

Change “peanuts” to greasy mouthfuls of roasted cashews and I’m right there with you, bub.

At least we still have jobs …

- gerry -