A TV Script for the Snowpocalypse
The nice thing about this column is that it's truly timeless. This winter, next winter, every winter, until forever: Rest assured, TV news will flip out in a completely disproportionate and hilarious way.
Originally published February 27, 2011
This past week, two entirely predictable things happened:
- There was precipitation in the Willamette Valley during the winter.
- The media totally flipped out.
I realize making fun of this is really, really low-hanging fruit. We media people do this all the time, and people mock us all the time, but we can't help it.
Two easy tests for evaluating newsworthiness are: 1. Is it fraught with implied threat and suffused with more importance than day-to-day life? Buildings that don't burn are much less newsworthy than the ones that do; and 2. Does it personally affect you?
Snow is (relatively) out of the ordinary, potentially treacherous and affects everyone. It is perfect, and we can't get enough of it. The only thing that could make it any better would be if someone figured out how to combine frozen precipitation with threats to your children posed by scary strangers.
I can't pretend as if the Statesman Journal is totally innocent in this, but at least no one hands us microphones and gives us eight hours to fill. Although, with the Internet, we are now able to digitally transmit our brand of froth in real time.
We face our own challenges in that we must say something about the snow by 10 p.m., printing deadlines and hoping that it is still relevant at 7 a.m. (Headline: "It hasn't snowed yet, unless it has"). So there are tradeoffs.
Anyway, I wrote a TV news script for an alternative universe where the level of media coverage was proportionate to the event itself.
(CUE GRAPHIC: "CHILLY END TIMES" with a Grim Reaper dusted with snow)
Anchor Chris Parcia: Hello, and welcome back to Channel 27's continuing round-the-clock coverage of what, by all appearances, is the end of life as we understand it.
If you're just joining us, we've seen nearly 20 feet of snow fall in the Portland metro area today, reducing most homes to rubble under the terrible white weight. The storm is expected to last through April.
(CUE "CANNIBALISM IN CANBY" graphic)
Anchor Chris: And now, Stephanie Stephanopoulis brings us the story of one office's horrific ordeal.
(Female Voice-Over) Kenter-Astler was just your typical accounting firm, until the snow started falling. Almost immediately, madness set in, and as of earlier this afternoon, 13 of the 48 employees have been consumed by their coworkers.
(CUE INTERVIEW)
Guy with wide, scared eyes: Yeah, we made it six or seven hours, but you get desperate. I don't know. The snow was so thick and so cold.
Stephanie: Does your office have a vending machine?
Guy: It does, but we had run out of everything but those meat and cheese sticks. What are those called?
Stephanie: I don't know.
Guy: (voice breaking) Neither do I.
Stephanie: Back to you, Chris.
Anchor Chris: Just chilling, and now, let's check with the Salem area.
(TAKE LIVE SHOT from Keizer, opening on male reporter wearing a station logo windbreaker, station turtleneck, station beanie, station ear cozies and station eyebrow warmers. Behind him is a high ice cliff with what appear to be human bodies encased in it. Their mouths are open mid-scream.)
Karl Koffenbugle: Chris, I'm here in Keizer's McNary Estates where a devastating glacier formed just about an hour ago, trapping all in its path. Now, obviously this isn't how glaciers normally form, but this storm is powerful enough to bend large, persistent bodies of ice to its will.
And so now, these poor souls are forever stuck in this frozen suburb of the damned. It's like a modern-day Pompeii, except cold. For Channel 27, I'm Karl Koffenbugle.
Anchor Chris: Thank you Karl.
(He is joined on set by Lifestyle Reporter Summer Strosenstedtfeldsson)
Summer: Chris, can you believe that the apocalypse is happening here on our watch?
Chris: I cannot. Yes, this is truly a horrific time. You can tell because we have preempted our normal coverage as if it's the Challenger explosion or something.
Summer: Well, Chris, we here at Channel 27 only act as if people are in grave danger when they are actually in grave danger. To do otherwise is irresponsible and a breach of the public trust. Plus there's that whole boy-who-cried-wolf thing.
Chris: Absolutely. OK, we're going to break for commercials, but when we come back, Summer will give us some survival tips for you and your family.
(CUE GRAPHIC: Which of your children do you like best, really? Now is a good time to decide.)
K. Williams Brown is the entertainment reporter for the Statesman Journal. She switched her major from broadcast to print journalism her sophomore year.
Originally published February 27, 2011
This past week, two entirely predictable things happened:
- There was precipitation in the Willamette Valley during the winter.
- The media totally flipped out.
I realize making fun of this is really, really low-hanging fruit. We media people do this all the time, and people mock us all the time, but we can't help it.
Two easy tests for evaluating newsworthiness are: 1. Is it fraught with implied threat and suffused with more importance than day-to-day life? Buildings that don't burn are much less newsworthy than the ones that do; and 2. Does it personally affect you?
Snow is (relatively) out of the ordinary, potentially treacherous and affects everyone. It is perfect, and we can't get enough of it. The only thing that could make it any better would be if someone figured out how to combine frozen precipitation with threats to your children posed by scary strangers.
I can't pretend as if the Statesman Journal is totally innocent in this, but at least no one hands us microphones and gives us eight hours to fill. Although, with the Internet, we are now able to digitally transmit our brand of froth in real time.
We face our own challenges in that we must say something about the snow by 10 p.m., printing deadlines and hoping that it is still relevant at 7 a.m. (Headline: "It hasn't snowed yet, unless it has"). So there are tradeoffs.
Anyway, I wrote a TV news script for an alternative universe where the level of media coverage was proportionate to the event itself.
(CUE GRAPHIC: "CHILLY END TIMES" with a Grim Reaper dusted with snow)
Anchor Chris Parcia: Hello, and welcome back to Channel 27's continuing round-the-clock coverage of what, by all appearances, is the end of life as we understand it.
If you're just joining us, we've seen nearly 20 feet of snow fall in the Portland metro area today, reducing most homes to rubble under the terrible white weight. The storm is expected to last through April.
(CUE "CANNIBALISM IN CANBY" graphic)
Anchor Chris: And now, Stephanie Stephanopoulis brings us the story of one office's horrific ordeal.
(Female Voice-Over) Kenter-Astler was just your typical accounting firm, until the snow started falling. Almost immediately, madness set in, and as of earlier this afternoon, 13 of the 48 employees have been consumed by their coworkers.
(CUE INTERVIEW)
Guy with wide, scared eyes: Yeah, we made it six or seven hours, but you get desperate. I don't know. The snow was so thick and so cold.
Stephanie: Does your office have a vending machine?
Guy: It does, but we had run out of everything but those meat and cheese sticks. What are those called?
Stephanie: I don't know.
Guy: (voice breaking) Neither do I.
Stephanie: Back to you, Chris.
Anchor Chris: Just chilling, and now, let's check with the Salem area.
(TAKE LIVE SHOT from Keizer, opening on male reporter wearing a station logo windbreaker, station turtleneck, station beanie, station ear cozies and station eyebrow warmers. Behind him is a high ice cliff with what appear to be human bodies encased in it. Their mouths are open mid-scream.)
Karl Koffenbugle: Chris, I'm here in Keizer's McNary Estates where a devastating glacier formed just about an hour ago, trapping all in its path. Now, obviously this isn't how glaciers normally form, but this storm is powerful enough to bend large, persistent bodies of ice to its will.
And so now, these poor souls are forever stuck in this frozen suburb of the damned. It's like a modern-day Pompeii, except cold. For Channel 27, I'm Karl Koffenbugle.
Anchor Chris: Thank you Karl.
(He is joined on set by Lifestyle Reporter Summer Strosenstedtfeldsson)
Summer: Chris, can you believe that the apocalypse is happening here on our watch?
Chris: I cannot. Yes, this is truly a horrific time. You can tell because we have preempted our normal coverage as if it's the Challenger explosion or something.
Summer: Well, Chris, we here at Channel 27 only act as if people are in grave danger when they are actually in grave danger. To do otherwise is irresponsible and a breach of the public trust. Plus there's that whole boy-who-cried-wolf thing.
Chris: Absolutely. OK, we're going to break for commercials, but when we come back, Summer will give us some survival tips for you and your family.
(CUE GRAPHIC: Which of your children do you like best, really? Now is a good time to decide.)
K. Williams Brown is the entertainment reporter for the Statesman Journal. She switched her major from broadcast to print journalism her sophomore year.