Normally I don't use this forum as a play-by-play of the days of my lives (infinitely more forward moving than the soap opera), but this 48 hour day I just lived--I just gotta get it off my chest.

I started it off on a positive note. I was feeling very comfortable operating the camera and very amused watching the grimaces on the faces of the CTA board when they threatened to severly cut L services. I got a killer shot of the board's president rolling her eyes as a civilian condemned the board's inefficacy. I also wormed my way into a large and seemingly impenetrable press circle (the CTA board decision being the biggest news in the city) with a camera perched on my shoulder. Not bad for a pip-squeak.

Back in the newsroom, later that day, I was freed from my indentured servitude as camera bitch. Wanting to reduce as much anxiety as possible for the next day (my reporting day), I sat down to dig myself up a story idea. The Madeline Albright speech was out at that point on account of a serious lack of b roll, and I found myself drawn to the announcement of the World Boxing Heavyweight championship to be fought at the United Center in May. Turns out I wasn't the only one--everyone and their mom was calling Windy City Boxing to get exclusives with hometown boxer Andrew Golota, set to fight Lamon Brewster. The owner of the gym was like, yeah take a number.

Ever the enterprising giornalista, I set about finding another angle...three hours later, I got me one in the form of the Chicago Golden Gloves Amateur Torney--fighting not three blocks from my apartment. Nice! I call up the number I found, which ended up being the very annoyed Windy City gym manager I had spoken with earlier. I was directed six ways to Sunday and found myself talking to the voicemail of a very ornery press lady--who happened to have spent 36 hours straight with Don King a media circus. In the end I got disgruntled permission to show up at the fights that evening. Nice again! One issue...no camera person...80 pounds of equipment...car uptown...not dressed...rush hour in Chi-town...have two hours to remedy all of these issues.

This is where I praise my hero and savior for the week, Iamnotawerewolf. If that spectacular human being were not in my life, I don't know where I'd be. He agreed to drop all of his plans to be my "bodyguard" for the evening.

I haul ass (ironically on the L, knowing what I know about their exec board after this morning) uptown, sprint to my apartment, throw on some more respectable attire and run out to my car...Roomie ain't there, but her car sure was--blocking mine in the driveway. Shiiiit. Thankfully Rob was home and could move his car enough for me to squeeeeeze my tiny civic out of the driveway. I narrowly avert serious automobile disasters as I gun uptown further. I got to Evanston, grabbed my darling brother, winced at having to turn down a phone conversation with one of my favorite people, and hit the road again. Problem...no gas. Had to stop at the sketchy Howard Street gas station, which to my great relief, is the cheapest gas in this town.

I'm all kinds of freaking out at this point because we're a little on the late side (I wanted b roll of the opening bell) and I still have to get all the way down to the loop to grab the camera equipment. We made it alive, somehow, and I literally threw $16,000 worth of equipment into the back of my car. I carelessly sped back to Wrigleyville facing the tail end of rush hour and made it to the gym on Addison where the fights were just starting.

I got a nasty reception from the overworked match supervisor and a "get your damn tripod out of there." Shit, are you telling me I have to report and shoot at the same time with a camera on my shoulder? Greeeeaaaaat. My first time shooting live sports to boot. Fantastic.

I won't go into the details of the next two hours except to say that I actually had the time of my life shooting and got to interview two of the hottest men I have ever seen...without their shirts on.

I took the bro for a quick dinner in extreme gratitude for his bodyguarding services at our favoritest chinese restaurant on the planet, and sped home afterword with the irrational fear jammed in my head that none of my shots that night had come out well enough.

Slept about three hours total, rose at 5 a.m. to read the newspaper, watch the morning newscast and tune into WBBM. Junkie? Not yet, I think it will get worse. Regardless, I hoed myself up for the camera, jumped in my car, picked up Kimmie on Irving Park and hightailed it to the overpriced newsroom parking lot.

Fortunately the b roll came out fabulously--I know because Gary was suitably impressed, and he is haaard to please.

I called up the disgruntled boxing match guy with some follow up questions. He apologozed for being an ass the previous night, but not before he told me the press lady hated me for pestering her in her Don Kingdom yesterday and sternly warned me not to be a nuisance. And I'm still trying not to take that personally.

I showed the ladies my hot men on camera, I fumbled through writing the script and I recorded narration. Then it was off to the Windy City Gym to get some b roll and do a standup. To my great idiocy, Kimmie and I took a cab instead of driving. Too bad Windy City is way the f-- Southwest in sketchyville. I paid the cabbie half of my life savings for the trip and we had to carry the equipment up the dirtiest stairwell I'd ever climbed.

The gym was like something straight out of a Rocky movie. Guys were sweating all over the place. It really was a beautiful thing. I had to fight with the poor guy managing the gym (in place of the abrupt gentleman with whom I had bargained last night to let me come in the first place, who was out on a 12 hour media stint with Golota and Don King) because he thought I was trying to get a profit out of filming the gym! No sireeeeee, I'm paying for this out of my own pocket! Fine, he said, you got ten minutes before I'm kicking you out.

About twelve Rockys watched us fumbling like idiots to set the camera up. We get a cheesy ass standup of me next to a punching bag. I wanted sooooo badly to wear boxing gloves and go at the bag myself on film, but alas it was not an option (for more reasons than I care to share). We finished before we got the boot and landed ourselves out on the shadiest street corner. No cabs anywhere in sight. Twiddling my thumbs and hoping not to get jumped...

I'll skip the dull story of our return to the newsroom except to say that the cabbie told us he used to drive an electric purple hot rod and we got stopped at a light in front of my old haunt, the Cook County Juvenile Center. I shuddered to even think of it.

Back in the newsroom, I threw together my package. Anne watched it as was like, um yeah, cut half of it out, it's too freaking long. Forced with the option either of redoing my entire package tape to tape or teaching myself to do it on Avid, I chose the latter.

To my great surprise, I re-edited and got the heck out of there by 6:30. But I didn't get home til 7:30 because of stinking traffic.

And now I'm about to pass out. But not before I admit that even though next to everything went wrong for me, it was kinda fun...And how much fun will it be someday when I actually get paid to do stuff like that???