I'd thank to the Academy

I have been lame, I'll admit it.

But I've been busy building my film journalism repertoir.

Yup, I'm a one man band. Hitting the streets with the camera, tripod, lavaliere, cords, batteries, voice recorders and all the rest in tow.

Except that the company I bought the camera from neglected to send me the very professional bag that comes with it - you know the one with the cleverly placed pockets and mesh lining perfect for extra tapes? Yeah, didn't have it. But what I did have was a pleather shoulder bag. I may not have had any of that nifty protective padding, but I did have the blinding sheen of daylight on pleather. Classy.

I planned my most professional looking outfit: they're not called jeans, but...slacks? Yeah, there were some of those, a black button down and even a vest-type thing. I felt comfortable enough to leave my "I'm a journalist, for real" sign at home.

My subject in question was a family going through foreclosure who was kind enough to share their story with me.

I headed west in my professional outfit and pleather camera case. I overshot my first bus stop and had to back track. The time crunch made me break into a sweat immediately and unleashed a blizzard of butterflies in my tum.

I made it to the family's house on time, despite or maybe because of my jump-the-gun anxiety.

Now, when you're doing a video story you need to film something called B-Roll
I was told you should have more than you think - not just a one minute shot here and there but up to 30 minutes or more, if you can stand it.

And stand it, I could not. Filming is awkward. Perhaps because my camera (and everything else) is not the large professional one that comes out of the white television van and screams "I have a purpose (a.k.a I'm not a creep!)."


I wasn't sure what to expect with the family, though I had met them once before. For the situation they are in, they were amazingly open and welcoming. They had three boys who were at school at the time of my visit. I interviewed the husband and wife and the husband's mother who had never lived anywhere but that home. For this family of six, this house was TINE. EY. I mean, damn. It was impressive. Moma foreclosure gets a room. Parents Foreclosure get a room (the husband's childhood room - still powder blue) and the three boys share the room in between.

Granted maybe the smallest boy could still fit comfortably in a corner and you wouldn't have to worry, but if these boys' growth mirrors their father's I'd be really concerned that they'll pop the roof off the home Alice in Wonderland style.

So I asked: would you want to see you boys grow up here...would you want to stay in this home if you could? Yes, definitely yes. If and when the foreclosure process ends they hope to turn the attic into rooms for the boys (dear god can someone please do this for them).

Younger Moma forelcosure gave me a tour of the home and then I sat them down for a one on three interview. I had senior moma foreclosure sit along with the parents on the couch and there was a divide so much greater than the vanilla cushion between them. Oh my. I had stumbled into a Jerry Springer warm up.

My friend advised me prior to my shoot to TAKE CONTROL. You are the journalist. You're the one with all the equipment. Feel free to guide them, tell them what to do and make them repeat themselves if unplanned noises take over the shoot.

If you're reading this (especially this far down) you'll probably already know that taking control is not, shall we say, my strong suit.

When a chorus of cell phone rings took over the first five minutes of our interview, yeah, I let it go. When family foreclosure put on a spontaneous phlegm-ism version of Beethoven's 5th, who was I to cut them off? And when their full-sized bull dog lept up over the child gate and into my camera, what are you going to do?

The interview lasted a little bit longer than planned. But we pulled something out and wrapped up. I said my goodbyes and let them know that I'd probably be doing a walk around the outside of the house for a few more shots. Ten minutes into these final filming, younger moma forelcosure walks out of the house with my tape and voice recorder (absolutely necessary components!). CLASS. EE.

Clearly, I'm meant for this - just think of where I could end up. You can check it out the final video for yourself. Get excited. Or depressed, cause that is a sad situation for family foreclosure.


xoL