Sometimes, a liveshot goes so right until it goes so wrong.

In my three years in Charlottesville, I’ve covered two hurricanes, a derecho, a microburst, a few heat waves and an earthquake.

(Yes, I had to look up some of those words, too.)

All of that prepared me for the most complicated weather coverage yet: snow.

When I first moved to Charlottesville, there was about a foot and a half of snow on the ground. Then, two more systems over the next month dumped an additional 18 inches each. Since then, relatively nothing.

I had to shovel my four-wheel drive SUV out of my parking lot and got to work around 7:30 a.m. on the morning of the snow. By this point, about 6 to 8 inches had fallen.

I got to work to discover the phone lines at the station were down. That meant reporters in the field (as I was supposed to be) had no official contact back at the station, namely to the anchor desk to hear the anchors toss to the field.

What to do? Improvise.

Awaiting my first liveshot on our station’s weather terrace (aka the front stoop), I saw a man trudging along the sidewalk in skis. The news gods gave me a live interview just like that.

During my second liveshot from the weather terrace, a pick up truck began intentionally ramming a tree that had fallen in the street in front of the station. The anchors and I simply watched in amazement. More good graces from the news gods.

A few liveshots later, once the phones came back, I was at a local diner that had power and was serving up breakfast. In my shot, I told the anchors how I was surprised the place still had power. It was usually without it during some of the other storms we’d had. Almost to the second that I sent it back to the studio, and while I’m still on camera, the power at the diner goes off.

More off-the-cuff events from the news gods. And you can see my reaction in the picture above.

After about eight-and-a-half hours of wall-to-wall coverage, we called it a day when the snow slowed down. But our work wasn’t done.

I shot three looklive packages – one on plowing, one on sledding and one on a business boom – edited them, and called it a day.

Three days later, it was 70 degrees.

The roads were treacherous. Trees and power lines came down. People were without power for days. Weather events like this carry some severe consequences.

But, at the same time, it was a day for kids to have fun on the Charlottesville hills and the news kids to have fun showing them off. So until next year…

The article, wonderfully written by Jenna Johnson, suggests a “struggle for control of the university’s agenda and priorities” continues behind the scenes, as evidenced by numerous emails obtained by the Washington Post.

The emails show Dragas sent Sullivan a list of 65 goals to achieve before the end of the school year, something Sullivan contested as being unrealistic. Sullivan suggested this in an email to the university’s governing body, the Board of Visitors.

“I am not averse to stretch goals,” Sullivan said in emails, according to the article, “but I also do not care to be set up to fail.”

The article goes on to ask one of the Board of Visitors’ newest members his thoughts on the tension. According to the article, Richmond businessman Willam H. Goodwin was “angry that the internal e-mail was shared with The Post and argued that the news media should not report on issues that cast U-Va. in a poor light. He said there is no tension between the board and the administration.”

But here’s the kicker, as Goodwin is quoted as saying:

“You are making a mountain of a molehill. My involvement is really going smoothly. The only deterrent is the Freedom of Information Act.”

The Freedom of Information Act, or FOIA, can be a journalist’s – and the public’s – best friend. Each state has a different version. Here’s an excerpt from Virginia’s code:

“…The General Assembly ensures the people of the Commonwealth ready access to public records in the custody of a public body or its officers and employees…. The affairs of government are not intended to be conducted in an atmosphere of secrecy since at all times the public is to be the beneficiary of any action taken at any level of government.”

Transparency has been the primary issue facing the University of Virginia since last summer’s attempted ouster and reinstatement of Sullivan. And apparently, it continues to be.

Even FOIA requests obtained by local media have not yielded many answers to the questions raised during the saga.

But to suggest that FOIA is a deterrent to how a public institution is run is simply absurd. Public institutions, by definition, are funded by the public. The public should have a right to know how its dollars are being spent and how its institutions are being run.

Furthermore, Goodwin’s argument suggesting the media should not cover items that cast a negative light over Thomas Jefferson’s university goes against the First Amendment. Journalism isn’t meant to please everyone all the time. The point of journalism is to be a watchdog, especially when it comes to the public – public institutions, public funds and the people who manage them.

After what many have called an embarrassing and disgraceful shakeup at UVa last summer, it’s now even more of a pressing issue for the media to cover what public business happens beyond closed doors. But that’s always easier said than done.

Many of the questions asked on June 10, 2012 – the day Sullivan’s (forced) resignation was announced – are still left unanswered today. And there’s been little to no effort on behalf of the Board of Visitors to change that, which only means pressure from the press will continue.

It’s not just a matter of importance for university students, faculty, staff and alumni. It’s a matter of importance for the public.

An incident involving an assault rifle took place in Charlottesville Sunday night. As the acting weekend managing editor, I chose not to run the story that our television competition and local paper did.

It started on the police scanners in the newsroom. We heard that a man in his 20s was walking into a local grocery story carrying an AR-15 assault rifle. It was almost casual. According to the scanner traffic, he was not posing any other threat than carrying a weapon.

Some customers noticed this and left the store, calling police.

Ultimately, police arrived on the scene, questioned the young man and released him. The supermarket manager banned him from ever returning to that store.

The reason I chose not to run the story — the man did nothing legally wrong. He was not charged with any crime. In Virginia, it is perfectly legal to walk into a business with a gun, unless that business expressly prohibits it. This supermarket, presumably, did not have a sign near the entrance to say it prohibits guns.

Of course, at the first sound of this, your mind travels to what it could become. But what could have become never did. Police did not perceive any threat to public safety; otherwise, presumably, they would have detained the subject. No one was injured. The only news element out of this was that a man was banned from a supermarket.

If I included the story in the newscast, I would be reporting on an incident in which nothing illegal happened. Therefore, is it news? Yes, there was minor police activity for a few minutes. Yes, a number of other customers may have been scared. But a car accident on the side of the road has the same effects. And even though they don’t always make the news, someone typically ends up getting charged with something.

So, what would you do? Run it? Or hold it?

It was just a simple reaction.

Late one night, I was browsing CNN.com as I normally do every now and then. One of the stories posed the question — “Do you still wear your Livestrong band?”

This query was posed just days before Lance Armstrong’s tell-all interview with Oprah, where he admitted to doping in all seven races in which he won the Tour de France. Armstrong himself stepped down from the charity he helped create a few months earlier, apparently on his own accord.

So, I signed up for iReport. I wrote a personal story. Those who know me know I’m not good with expressing emotions. I’m good at internalizing things. But don’t get me started on cancer unless you want to hear some stories.

I posted my simple response to the question on Facebook and Twitter. Next thing I know, people I haven’t spoken to in years, people I barely know at all and people I don’t know began sharing, recommending, “liking” and commenting on the post. I received emails and Facebook messages from friends and strangers. The support was overwhelming.

In all, the post received more than 2,000 views. I hope above all, the following resonated:

To me, this band I’ve worn for more than eight years doesn’t stand for cycling, for doping, for honesty, for dishonesty, for shame or for Lance Armstrong.

It stands for strength, for courage, for fearlessness, for pride and for life. It stands for Alex, Anna, Alyssa and Ethan and thousands of other kids and adults around the world.

I know that I’ll be getting some sort of judgment by those who see my band but don’t know my story. Those who hold some sort of grudge against Lance Armstrong despite only knowing his public persona and his public actions as a liar. But that’s the message that they’ll hear should I receive a snide (or perhaps supportive) comment.

Of course, I type this as my Livestrong band has gone missing. So, as I said in the article, I currently feel naked all the time. I won’t be getting a tattoo, as other iReporters had done, but rest assured the band will return to my right wrist as soon as it falls out of the woodwork (aka the dirty laundry on the floor).

A mother of two young children learned the hard way at Philadelphia International Airport that such a deliberate act is unacceptable. At the security check, she went into a nasty tirade directed at the Transportation Security Administration agent.

“Are you personally going to give me the $40?” she asked.

“No, I’m not giving you $40,” the agent responded. I never found out why she wanted $40 for a snowglobe.

On the other side of me, a man in his late 20s was sitting in a chair facing two TSA agents. He was shaking, too obviously nervous.

“I swear. I just. I. I don’t know how that got in there,” he kept telling them. I never found out what “that” was, because I thought my attempt at trying to overhear any more of the conversation might be perceived as a threat.

Airport security is supposed to make us feel better. But sometimes, it appears to have the opposite effect. This is not because of the work of the TSA agents, but rather the, dare I say, outdated security policies.

I hadn’t flown in four-and-a-half years before taking a strip to Seattle this week. Waiting in the screening line for 30 minutes, I watched a series of TSA-commissioned videos that I’m sure are seen in airports across the nation. They show a woman dressed as a TSA agent (whether she actually is one, I guess we’ll never know) explaining why you can only carry bottles of liquid in increments of 3 oz. on a plane. Why you must remove your shoes for security sweeps. And why you must show identification before boarding.

The ID part is fairly logical. Moving on…

The 3-oz. rule is questionable. A bottle of water, a cup of coffee, a snowglobe are not and should not be considered threats. OK, so some angry chemistry teacher could pack a lethal combination of explosives and wreak havoc. But you’d think as that chemistry teacher puts the chemicals on the conveyor belt for screening, some X-ray would allow for a red flag.

After all, they have body scanners that allow TSA agents to see you naked. Why not some infrared system to identify what’s a liquid someone might drink and what’s not?

The TSA agent in the video says we must remove our shoes because terrorists love to use shoes to store improvised explosive devices. That is one term that I, for one, don’t want to hear before boarding a plane. She also tells us there are new scanners in the works that will one day eliminate the need for flyers to remove their shoes for security.

So if that’s the case, why can’t we develop something that lets me bring my Starbucks vanilla latte on board, as well? I assumed incorrectly – there is no Starbucks in PHL.

I empathize with the snowglobe victim, but I don’t blame the TSA. Rules are rules. They’re paid to enforce them, and you basically agree to comply with them when you purchase an airline ticket.

So maybe the TSA is actively trying to make the screening process more convenient for us all through one day allowing us to keep our shoes on and take our drinks on board.

Or maybe they just want to build their collection of snowglobes.

In the wake of national tragedy, it’s almost expected in America that citizens will join together and start paying it forward. Such an act can be as simple as holding a door or saying two words.

It’s unfortunate that this phenomenon has to follow a tragedy. But tragedies remind us of how fortunate we are to live as we do.

The latest uptick of kindness to others comes out of the Newtown, Conn., school shooting. Twenty first-graders and six adults lost their lives at Sandy Hook Elementary School in a senseless act – an act that no amount of analysis or scrutiny will lead to understanding such a loss.

Out of this tragedy and during the holiday season, many Americans chose to take part in 26 Random Acts of Kindness – one act for each of the Sandy Hook victims.

I spoke to a family in Greene County on Christmas Day who did just this. Amandalyn Schrader and her mother, Barbara, said they always pay it forward around the holidays, trying to help someone in need. This year, they wanted to help 26 people.

Barbara Schrader went around town, giving out gift cards to strangers in the mall, paying for take-out orders for strangers in the drive-thru. But as she told me on Christmas Day – it doesn’t take money to be kind. It takes an attitude.

An attitude I embraced driving from Charlottesville to suburban Philadelphia two days later, allowing cars to merge in front of me instead of choosing to be an aggressive driver (which is known to happen occasionally). That’s all it takes. At times through the trip when I needed to merge, I felt thankful to the drive behind me who slowed down to let me in. So I know the sacrifice of a few miles per hour translates into a personal satisfaction for myself and a little victory for the other driver.

In a Facebook post following the Sandy Hook tragedy, Philadelphia news anchor Jim Gardner posted an appropriate reflection, writing in part:

But the children, oh the children. I think of the families that must eventually come to grips with the fact that there are birthday parties not to be had, soccer games not to be played, graduations not to be attended, marriage toasts not to be made, and grandchildren not to be held. It’s a nightmare with no end. As a country, I somehow feel it’s our obligation to do something more than just feel badly for the families that have experienced unbearable loss. I just don’t know where to start, but we better start thinking about it.

Gun-gontrol debates and mental-health discussions may not yield tangible results.

Twenty-six random acts of kindness can’t prevent another tragedy. But these acts, especially in honor of the innocent victims, can make us heal as a society and show deserved respect toward other people.

If nothing else, we owe that to the victims.

And for the record, every statement in this post should have an asterisk with the footnote “all politics aside.” This is not a partisan post.

Every odd-numbered year is a Virginia House election and a Charlottesville city council election. Virginia senators are elected to four-year terms on the odd years. And then, of course, the even years give us U.S. House elections, the occasional U.S. Senate election and the ever-dramatic presidential election.

The year 2012 shaped up to be quite the contest in a number of races. The last time I covered national elections like this was in spring 2008, when then-Sen. Hillary Clinton won the much-hyped Pennsylvania primary against some guy by the name of Barack Obama. All politics aside, it was an exciting atmosphere. Seeing Clinton joined by her husband and daughter on stage at the end of the night is something I’ll never forget.

The room at a posh hotel in Center City Philadelphia exuded enthusiasm and relief. It was widely believed whoever won the Pennsylvania primary would go on to win the Democratic nomination for president that year.

Sometimes, political analysts like to play jokes, I guess.

This year, I had the privilege of covering Tim Kaine’s victory headquarters in Richmond. The former Virginia governor set up a campaign against another former governor and former U.S. Senator – George Allen – to pick up the seat vacated by retiring Sen. Jim Webb.

The race between Kaine and Allen had been deadlocked for much of the 19 months of campaigning. The last poll numbers gave each governor 50 percent of the vote. I went into this night knowing it would be exciting.

Reporters spend a lot of election night sitting around. There’s not much to do. It’s not like you’re going to get an exclusive with the candidate. We all got a chance to do a one-on-one with Kaine before the crowds arrived.

Then, when the crowds do arrive, all you can do is watch them drink alcohol and have a good time as the results trickle in.

There was a point in the night, though, when Allen took a hefty lead in the results. The anxiety and stress in the room was hard not to feel.

It was at this point where I thought – if Kaine lost, this night wouldn’t be as fun as I thought it’d be.

Of course, that’s a completely self-serving sentiment. Election night is not about me. I’m not supposed to have fun. Think of the candidate and his staff, who have lived this campaign 24/7 for 19 months. It’s about them.

But sometimes, a perk of a journalism job is having fun, since that’s what the folks you’re focusing on are doing.

I imagined the Allen campaign headquarters at this time. Instead of stress and anxiety, there was elation and optimism. But quickly, the two headquarters would swap.

Kaine ended up winning the election by a more-than-definitive margin. His victory speech was emotional and inspired. His wife and the now-senior senator from Virginia, Mark Warner, joined him on stage. Both of them shared the excitement.

On the Allen side, though, what can you say? No words, especially immediately after an election loss, can soften the blow. No words can convey the blood, sweat and tears spent on a losing campaign when they all expected a much different outcome.

At some point in my career, I’ll cover the other side. And I’ll have the task of trying to convey a fraction of the disappointment the candidates are feeling. I look forward to that day, obviously not for their sake, but for mine.

Until then, take in the victories.

“It’s just like driving a bulldozer.”

Well, I’m glad I just got my bulldozer’s license renewed.

Charlotteville pilot Steve Sargeant invited me and my photographer buddy, Mike, on a sightseeing trip above the city. The plane ride was planned. My copiloting was not.

“You’re going to taxi us to the runway,” he told me. That’s when he mentioned taxiing the plane was like driving a bulldozer. Left means right. Right means left. There’s no steering with your hands. It’s all done with your feet.

And then he told me I’d be in charge of take up.

“Pull this back, and as you’re pulling back, push this up to 25. Then stop. Then once you get to 25, push it all the way up. And keep pulling back.”

What?

There was no practice. This was in real time.

If you question the success – I’m sitting here, writing this today.

The views over Charlotetsville are quite amazing. Traveling the skies is the easiest way to make your way from the northern part of Albemarle County to Charlottesville – a much better alternative than Route 29. You still see how majestic Monticello is, even from 2,500 feet above. An empty Scott Stadium is almost haunting. And the airport runway does not look nearly as long as it should be.

The larger story that allowed me a brief sightseeing trip was a feature on an organization that Sargeant volunteers with called Angel Flight.

This particular division of Angel Flight is based in Philadelphia. Its purpose is to transport people who need medical care but can’t fly commercially from one location to another. The pilots donate their time, their planes and their fuel to make it all possible.

I had the privilege to meet an Angel Flight patient and his wife. Unfortunately, this was the last trip the patient would make, as he was recently told doctors couldn’t do anything else for his leukemia treatment.

But the emotional way he and his wife spoke about the Angel Flight program and its pilots lets you know what kind of impact such a service makes. Someone else is on your side. An angel or two, if you will.

Sargeant showed the same hospitality taking Mike and me for a ride. We paid for it, though. Mike nearly collapsed on the tarmac once we stepped out of the plane. I stood in place for a few minutes. I have no problems flying in commercial planes, but a six-seater was a new experience.

But the disorientation was more than worth meeting the Angel Flight pilots and patients. A program that really does feature some angels right here on earth.

And, as an additional benefit, I can now add bulldozer operator to my résumé skills.

“You’re going to the Outer Banks tomorrow.” From my boss.

Less than 24 hours later, I was en route to Chocowinity, a small town in eastern North Carolina. CBS19′s sister station, WITN, needed a few extra hands to cover Hurricane Irene as the storm prepared to make landfall. Within one week, I covered a national headline-grabbing earthquake, and now I’m reporting on what’s supposed to be the strongest hurricane to hit the U.S. in a few years.

I left Charlottesville early Friday morning to embark on the four-hour drive to North Carolina. Upon arriving, I was almost immediately sent to interview the interim county manager for Beaufort County. And then I shot a quick story on the supermarket running out of milk, bread and eggs as people began stocking up on supplies.

I left my hotel room shortly before 6 a.m. Saturday, apparently just minutes before it lost power. Hurricane Irene was in full force. I was first sent to a car wreck that was 20 minutes away from the station. After an hour and a half of navigating rural roads I’ve never seen before, I still can’t find the scene. I hit many roadblocks (literally) in the form of downed trees and power lines, flooded roads or some sort of combination. By the time I get close, a firefighter tells me the scene was cleared, but I interviewed him on the condition of the roads. The rest of the day was spent covering the storm itself before spending 12 hours in a powerless, humid motel room.

The busiest day by far was Sunday. The town of Washington, just north of Chocowinity, was covered with water the day before. I covered the damage — a toppled gas canopy, a few missing roofs, countless trees and power lines in the roads — before searching for the Belle of Washington. For that remarkable story, check out the video below.

After three days of 12+ hour shifts, I took had one final sleep in my air condition-less motel and headed back to Charlottesville. It was an eye-opening weekend spent in Mother Nature’s wrath, and I managed to return home relatively dry and with experiences many reporters dream of. (And yes, I did shoot a standup where I am getting dowsed by Hurricane Irene’s heavy rains while trying to maintain balance with the winds. You have to check that one out here.)

From the epicenter of the earthquake to the eye of the hurricane. Maybe the Weather Channel has an opening… (Kidding.)

I looked around, and no one seemed to react. I wasn’t sure what I had just felt, so my natural reaction — I tweeted. “Did I just feel an earthquake!?” My phone then exploded with texts from my brother and friends asking if I was OK or alive.

I rushed home, saw the CNN coverage and tried calling work. Couldn’t get through.

I swapped my shorts for jeans, put on my newly purchased Old Navy flip-flops and ran out the door to work. Within 30 seconds of stepping into the newsroom, I was sent to Mineral, Va., the epicenter of the earthquake.

What amazed me most about covering the earthquake was how eerily normal everything appeared. Sure, there was damage from the earthquake — two homes were destroyed, many others heavily damaged — but you had to look hard for the damage. Still, it was very easy to empathize with those who lost a lot, like the Brunson family I interviewed (in the video below).

Mineral is a small town between Charlottesville and Richmond. There aren’t many tall buildings, if any at all. That might not provide much comfort to those with damaged homes, worrying if insurance will cover the cost of repairs, but should something have happened closer to a metropolis like Richmond, there might have been more than the zero fatalities or serious injuries Central Virginia saw.

As far as news goes, it was exciting to cover a major event in our own backyard that had a national impact. But even one week after the quake, the cleanup continues.