The Space.

Sadly, that’s an overstatement. Because when I say the word “space” I think of something needing exploration or something either exciting or at the least useful. If it’s a space that isn’t exciting there is always a way to spice it up. But that’s not this space. I’ll get back to that in a minute.

The Space

The technology in “The Space” is space-age. The motto here should be “To the future and beyond!” The people who set it up are running one smooth operation. NBC’s News Channel is a well oiled machine of competent workers. You may have seen their building in Charlotte right next door to WCNC. It’s run by an unassuming guy named, Bob Horner. He is essentially George Jetson. His wife Jenee (pronounced Jinn-AY) is no slacker either. She patiently listens to my bizarre requests (“Hi, Jenee, can I have 36 visitor passes? I have a bunch of Italian cousins and they are outside right now. And I really want to give them a tour, puhleeeeeze?”) and juggles the requests of 100 other TV stations in The Space.

So you know, NBC News Channel Charlotte absorbs the news from all over the world 24 hours a day and breaks it into digestible pieces, then immediately sends it back out to the whole world again in a usable form.

Here in Torino in one week they transformed an empty exposition center (picture the old Charlotte Convention Center, an hour before demolition) into a fully operational television station/distribution center capable of managing the needs of a couple hundred TV stations back in the United States.

They installed huge furnaces to keep us all at room temperature. We even have a caterer. Three squares a day. And a full bar! It’s like working in 1970. You know when your boss had a booze cabinet the size of a Dodge van in his office and he pours you a drink before telling you an inappropriate joke. I’m writing this while sipping a fine Russian Vodka.

By the way, you know I’m making up some of this stuff right? We do have a caterer and a full bar. I’m not drinking Vodka. And my 12 bosses DO NOT tell inappropriate stories… EVER.

Our blue and grey coats

Wanted to make that clear in the event my Human Resources director is reading along. Hi, Marcia. (Marcia is my HR boss. Of my 12 bosses I think she is number 4 or 5. Not sure what her rank is. I have never received a flow chart on such matters.) Anyway, Marcia, I have not offended anyone in Italy since arriving, save for Andy. However, there are one or two Americans reading the blog who I have offended, or they think I am offensive to Italians, something like that. You should probably contact them so we can have a hearing on the matter.

But rest assured there are no actual Europeans upset. Because, clearly, Italians love me! And I love them! These folks are what I call, “party-ready.” Prepared to share a bottle of wine and delightful conversation at the drop of a hat. They drink wine at lunch on workdays! I love this place and this culture.

Okay back to, “The Space.” If I told you I understood a small fraction of what News Channel has going here, I’d be instantly crushed to death by a full-grown donkey, hurled from the heavens by the Almighty Himself.

Suffice that I have a place to write my journals and my TV stories and somehow magically my stuff ends up in Charlotte and not Idaho. And the other jillion reporters here from Seattle to New York are having the exact same experience I am. Stuff here works.

The Space.

It’s hard to overstate how drab it is. In fact the word drab is too colorful for this. Take out the vowel. Drb. That’s more accurate. Andy’s other nickname for it is “The Gulag.”

Not sure if it’s the grey floors, walls, ceilings or chairs? Hard to say exactly. NBC didn’t have any choice in that matter. When you grab an Italian real estate agent and say, “We need to lease a building for one month the size of three American football fields.” The list of potential sites shrinks to underground government bomb shelters… and this place.

It has a colorful name, Palazzo del Lavoro, but the color ends there. Turns out that Del Lavoro in Italian means, “Go ahead and with your own thumbs gouge out your eyes right now so the long term effects of this place will be slightly reduced.” I’m not making that up.

Sometimes I close my eyes so the blankness of the inside of my eyelids brightens up the place.

I’m making jokes here but on a serious note, this place makes me think of people who have actually suffered hardship (not us). Those who have suffered the injustice of being wrongly convicted and sent to a lifeless, colorless prison. Or how about hostages who are kept in dark, cold rooms for days and days and weeks and weeks and months and years. I can’t even picture that. When your eyes swallow nothing but the dreary for so long what is the long term damage from that?

The Space

I’ve heard reports about how American cities with the highest number of cloudy days each year also have the highest suicide rates. I never know what to think of those types of stories. I can tell you now one here at The Space has killed himself or herself. I have witnessed a couple career suicides only.

Forgive these tangents, but also I wonder about blind people. Is it better to have been blind from birth so you have never seen color at all or is it better to have seen all the beautiful colors in the world and then go blind?

I know my mind takes me down some odd roads. But these are the thoughts I have. I probably need an espresso.

Sorry if this journal isn’t snappy and up beat. I am having a great time here, I think I’m just homesick. I miss my friends. You would be shocked to know what a huge homebody I am. Ask anyone who knows me. I live in my yard and garden from March to November. December through February I do indoor home improvement projects. I’m kind of a loser. Surely you have figured that out by now.

I’m not kidding when I say this: A photographer from the Indianapolis NBC station just walked in and said sarcastically stated, “Welcome to Happyland! We’re in Happyland!” A man does what he must to survive. Denial works for a spell. Bless him.

Maybe I should hit the NBC bar here at Palazzo del Lavoro.

See you on TV later,

Mike Redding