Hillary's Media Makeover

Let’s face it, no matter what you think about her, Hillary Clinton could use a media makeover. I mean, have you ever even seen one snapshot of her exercising? Shopping? Eating? Plain ‘ole everyday things we (voting) American women do all the time?

Fellow Atlanta blogger, Sara, of the popular Going Through The Motions, and I stopped by Hot Political Air Night (any Tuesday, any season) at Manuel’s for a cold one last night and compiled our helpful hints Top Ten list. Since I’m all hot for lists now, of course.

Then again, it was compile lists or try to out-shout Tom Houck and Michael Maloof over the composition of Atlanta city politics come 2009. So here ‘ya go Hillary. Have at it:

1.) Get a dog. A Beagle would do nicely.

2.) Be seen with a Diet Coke in hand. Often.

3.) Get caught working-out, or at least power walking in soccer mom ‘hood.

4.) Drop by Global Coffee Chain; bonus points: use laptop while in Global Coffee Chain

5.) Photo-op at a hospital in am, preferably with sick children; then get snapped later same evening on celeb’s yacht. (This strategy worked great for Diana.)

6.) Visit with Chelsea, wherever she is. Have nails done together.

7.) Stop by a Whole Foods and chat with immigrant staff about organic produce in West African nations.

8.) Cook something. Suggestion: A simple, yet fresh and tasty pasta dish.

9.) Dump Bill.

10.) Take him back.

Redneck Literati Awards

I'm sorry, I know it's only March, but submissions for Best of Redneck Literati '07 are now closed. You'd have to go way hard, long and deep to top this loony motherfucker's, uh, "prose." A sampling:

Inside, Rene heard boots thunder across the decrepit floor. The whole camp shook. With a slam and a tug, the door raked across the bare floor. Nancy crinkled her nose. The smell of stale cigarettes and mildew was subtle, like a shovel in the face. The odor was so thick they could taste it. “Ooh...” Nancy gagged. Before she could get another word out her eyes bulged.

Standing before them in a dazzling white robe and dunce cap was one the biggest Klansman they had ever seen. Sun spilled in through a smallish window across the room, giving the Grand Dragon an aura of godliness. “Miss Patrick, come in. You’re even prettier in person than you are on TV.” A booming voice, cane syrup smooth and twice as sweet, flowed from behind the patch of bed sheet that veiled Earl Bumfus’ face. With that one sentence, he struck just the right tone, respectful, flattering, and playful. Nancy giggled.

In full here, if you can take the cracker-fried heat. Mon Dior!

Turdpolisher On Literary Fire

The Turdpolisher might be a mighty fine TV news cameraman down there in Louisiana, but his real talent lies in writing B movie-like literature. Here's a full-throttle sample:

Gerald watched the Warden waddle out of sight, then lay back on his mattress. He thought of the last time he saw Chastity, and smiled a heavy-hearted smile. She was a fine young thing, hair pulled in a big, blonde ponytail, short-shorts showing off the bottom of her tight, tanned ass, and a pink crop-top with “Tease” written across it in bubble letters. Like anyone who saw her would have doubted it.

He could see her standing in the dirt yard outside her trailer like it was yesterday, her sandaled foot propped on the tire of a dead Cutlass 88. Gerald traced the curve of her calf in his mind. Her skin was soft and smooth. He reached to hide the swelling in his crotch, just like he did on that day. She had a way of doing that to him…that bitch.

“Don’t be ashamed.”

“Who said anythin’ ’bout shame? I’m rememberin’ good times, Father.”

More here.

And TP hon, this post touched even my cold 'ole heart. Had to go get a hanky. Can you put the Valentine's Day package online for us to link to? Or send a URL to one?

Who Polishes The Best Turds?

Or rather, who best polishes the simple turd? According to the Turdpolisher's blog description:

Turdpolishing is slang we TV photogs use for turning an utterly worthless story into something that sticks to video tape -- polishing a turd. Be careful or you'll get some on you.

A perfect case-in-point is a bit from this Turdpolisher entry, Got AIDS?, about trolling for news only the suits can use:

Can I tell you... the only thing worse than attending a poetry reading about AIDS is actually having AIDS. But it gets better, the poets are 11 years old. What do these kids know about AIDS, how one contracts it, lives with it, or prevents it? Luck was on our side...we were late. We got there just in time to shoot the winners getting their checks. But there's still that nagging need for a story tonight.

Having just produced a network shoot this past Saturday, I was reminded, yet again, of just how elaborate the T polish can be applied.

See this hardworking crew dress a set for instance. The crew used-up about an hour of good manpower time creating a curtain to block light so that they could pop-off a couple of interior shots, a couple of shots inside a filthy shack. Of course, you simply can't get a good shot with full sun blaring right into your lens, whether you're using a $150 DV cam from Circuit City or a customized Betacam, as this crew was using that can run you or your network 50K or more.

We were not there to do a story about poverty though, so the camera crew could light and frame to capture a "nice" setting anyway they saw fit, conveniently ignoring the ramshackle squalor our interviewees were living in. (Filth and grime and poverty? What's that to a feature story about overcoming anxieties!? But I diverge. I was just the hired hand on this one. The folks in NYC want a story about an anxiety disorder, that's what they're gonna get. It's not the place of a freelance producer to even THINK about contributing to the editorial direction. You show up on time, you smile and nod, and you ship the NY desk their tapes immediately. That's what they want from us folk on "the ground." Nothing more. Nothing less.)

So here's your case for "real" citizen journalism. And this does not mean just giving a newsroom of highly educated journalists a DV cam and a lesson on iMovie, as only when the stories bubble-up organically from the ground, by any means necessary I suppose, and then go straight up to the suits, and not the top-down method by which we're accustomed to receiving news, will turd polishing become less important. Only then will the TV news audience begin to recognize a genuine turd for what it often is -- the crap or non-news item or PC bullshit or outright lies (WMD) it often is.

And will the print folks ever be able to simply catch up? Should they even try to catch up with video? Should writing and video be mutually exclusive? Tune-in to the blogosphere to find out more. Exciting times we do live in, folks.

NOTE: Do not miss Turdpolisher's short story either, The Blond and The Klan. Hilariously underwritten in a loopy style perfect for capturing the sheer lunacy of a Louisiana local news station. Get this guy an agent!

Who's Got The Biggest Atlanta Press Club Party Line?

Let's see, other than being utterly boring and overpriced, the lines last night at the annual Atlanta Press Club's Holiday Author Party were longest for Mike Luckovich. Everybody likes Mike! And what's not to like? The dude wears vintage suits, is unfailing polite to the old folks, has beautiful manners, is wicked funny-clever. Won a Pulitzer if you don't believe me. Best of all, he blogs. (Well kinda sorta. It is, after all, a fake AJC blog.) Still, enough to make you swoon, for chrissake.

Mike is adorable-precious too, but no-go ladies as he's very married to a gorgeous blond. Little one at home, stuff like that. But, if you were toiling away over your Perfect Guy hot cauldron, as I've been known to do when the broom's in the shoppe, you probably would cook-up a potion that would deliver to your doorstep Mr. Luckovich. One of the best APC events I've ever been to was one where Luckovich and his French (also adorable, bien sur) counterpart from Le Monde led an overhead projected, draw-off "discussion." Priceless it was, ummm hummm.

Another book that sold-out while I was there was for this interesting title, The Race Beat. I'll add that one to the nightstand pile to eyeball longingly as I crash from the usual mommy-exhaustion. Lots of Christmas shopping accomplished though, and even ran into an old radio comedy show ensemble co-writer pal, Walter Sorrells, a veritable writing machine if ever there was. Walter remarked that he'd cranked-out ten books this year alone. My repy, "I wrote ten blog entries this year."

Still, was it worth the $20 cover and the $7 gin-and-tonic? Hard to say. Although there was a funny moment when Tom Hauk's name badge somehow got tangled in Maria Saporta's gorgeous tresses. Was hoping to run into yet more Southern writer pals, but writers are so notoriously narcissistic that they won't come the the annual event unless they have their own book to sign that year. Me, on the other hand, I've never gotten close to writing a book, let alone publishing one, so I go every year.