1,001 Words

Tuesday, June 27, about 11:00am, along the middle of Chain Bridge between NW Washington DC & McLean, Virginia

So it’s been raining a bunch here in Washington.  Not that I’ve seen it all, since I was out of town.  But after a false start, the good people of JetBlue finally got me back.  Is it wrong to think, somewhere slightly inside, that the plane I was on but got off Sunday night would crash, if only to prove some kind of powers?  Yeah, that’s wrong.

Every day I drove home from work across the Potomac, usually across the Chain Bridge.  Most days at 7:45am, the river is silently moving towards the Chesapeake.  There are some dudes who fish on the rocks (just off to the right, and in the background), and there are plenty of bikers and hikers who are on their way to work in Dupont and Georgetown and nice offices where they have showers.  I like looking at the river as I’m stuck in traffic: it’s calming, it’s nice, and as I’ve mentioned before, I like water.  I’ve even received a few honks when I’ve totally zoned out on the water going by.  Today, a different story.  The river is brown.  Usually it’s that dark blue that East Coast water is, which freaks out Floridians and people from the West Coast because our water isn’t pristine (go screw yourselves).  Today it was churning brown (hello, Crayola!) and it was zipping along.  A photo doesn’t do it justice, but when I was standing on the bridge, looking straight down at the water, and a truck went by rattling the bridge, I got a little dizzy.  It was kinda cool.  You can go down on those rocks and explore and stuff, but I didn’t figure this was the right day to fall on a rock and have my lifeless body get torn asunder by the current and sharp rocks, only to be found somewhere near the Tidewater, half eaten by fish.  Especially after the latest book I read.  Especially with my vivid imagination.  I’ll save the exploring for another day.  For today, lots of rain.  I think they’re calling for the same thing tomorrow.  This still beats 97° and humid.

Title is a song by Creedence Clearwater Revivial

It’s sad when you think that waking up at 3:45am for work is sleeping in.  And it is.  That’s what I did today, going downtown to field produce for 9’s coverage of the Komen National Race For the Cure.  It’s a big event for our station, with (far too) much time devoted to it.  It’s a pet project of one of my anchors, God love her, so it’s fun to do.  Frankly, any time this desk monkey can get out in the field and do something, it’s a good time.  My job was to talent wrangle Mike Walter, find a few guests, and try not to let rain destroy anything.  Oh, and to crack jokes on the conference call between all the crews.  Honestly, the best part may have been biking down there, owning the streets from Virginia Square, through Georgetown, to the Mall - just a handful of cars, and plenty of lanes.  A 5:45am drunken phone call from an unnamed individual was also a highlight.

Where:  The National Mall, 4th Street and Jefferson Drive NW, right across from the American Indian (or whatever) Museum.

When: Saturday, June 3, about 7:00am.  I lost track of time.  Not good for a TV person.

Why: The first shot features the Johnsons, who were visiting DC from Birmingham, Alabama.  Mom Johnson survived breast cancer, and her son was running in the race along with her (or maybe walking, I don’t know).  The other picture (the one with the big domed building in it) is after the "Parade of Pink", where a whole mess of survivors get together and listen to people talk about beating breast cancer.  I find the whole mindset against cancer very interesting.  It’s the one disease where a lot of people just hold up their middle finger and vow to push on.  I have no idea if I could do that.  My friend Steve says he doesn’t want his obit to say "Steve lost his brave fight against cancer," but rather to say, "Steve went whimpering and whining into his last moments, before the tumors finally shut him up."  Yes, Steve is a news person, explaining his gallows humor.  So I must say that I think it’s cool that so many people decide to tell cancer to go away, especially something like breast cancer, which wasn’t spoken of in polite company until about 25 years ago.  Sure, more people die of heart disease, and suicide is more preventable, and it would be nice to see men get out there and be as visible fighting testicular cancer or prostate cancer.  But it was cool to meet some survivors: Deb, who was diagnosed on Valentine’s Day 2006 and has no hair; Joyce, whose husband left her and she’s been cancer free for 7 years; and the woman who’s name I didn’t catch but has been a survivor for 41 years.  Good for them.  And good for Marcy, Shawn, Heather, Todd, Cindy, Bruce, and all the other 9ers who finished the race.

PS: These pictures made it onto my station’s website.  Fun!

Title from the song "Walk of Life" by Dire Straits