As part of an experiment, WKAT-TV � Gatesville�s one and only NBC affiliate � has embedded me here at city hall to provide the best, most comprehensive coverage for viewers of our award-winning news programming. For inspiration and guidance, I have turned to the expert journalists who blogged away during Operation Iraqi Freedom, the U.S.�s successful campaign to bring freedom and democracy to Iraq. Because those journalists are the pros, I have followed many of their elements of style.

Read all the details of my embed at my WKAT-sanctioned blog, www.mckloskiefiles.com. A few excerpts:

Tuesday, 4/1

8:10am. Day One of my embed. I am overwhelmed with excitement; this daily reportage on complex city affairs represents an entirely new ball field for me, and I�m praying to score a couple home runs in the �scoop� department. But I am also nervous about the potential dangers � primarily, hordes of angry constituents. While the metal detectors in the entrances guarantee that no one armed will roam the corridors, they cannot keep out silent threats � for instance, potential bioterrorists, or Chinese people with SARS, who should be arriving in Gatesville at any moment. In these chaotic, post-9/11 days, no place is safe from terror; our innocence has been forever lost.

I stuff my brand-new, monogrammed gas mask and a cyanide pill into my laptop bag, and don my khaki vest, custom-made elbow and kneepads, and the new combat boots I purchased at the army-navy store. Tightening my lucky tie, I mourn a silent minute over the recent death of Michael Kelly, one of my favorites, with a poem I�ve recently written in his honor:

I pledge allegiance to Michael Kelly, fallen columnist hero of the United States of America. And to the New Republic, for whatever it stands, but not The Nation, which is indefensible. Amen.

After I finish praising Kelly�s skillful descriptions of ordinary humans and brave stance against anti-war protesters, I look in the mirror and smile. �You�ll do great, Champ,� I tell myself, before walking downstairs to kiss my wife Jenna goodbye. She hands me the meal she�s packed to relieve my mid-day hunger. Swiftly in my Acura I go.

8:25am. Arrive at city hall after a five-minute drive. No one�s around except the janitor, a wiry man in his sixties named Jesco. He greets me with a frown. �What the hell you doing here so early, boy?� he asks, spitting brown juice into an enormous gray garbage bin.

�I�m reporting for duty, sir.�

�What duty? Ain�t nothing going on. Just me cleanin� up people�s old paper and stuff � Hey, you look ready for battle.�

�You never know what�s lurking in these halls,� I say, my voice enriched with seriousness. Life seems so precious now.

8:45am. The troops file in and take their positions. There�s Maggie, the phone commander. From her tiny workstation, accented with tiny potted desert cacti, she transfers calls to �soldiers� in city hall�s many divisions. A 53-year-old mother of two with pinkish, permed short hair, she wears a red cotton top with a small American flag pinned on her right breast. Later in the day, Maggie�s round face will light up the room when she cries, �the snack man�s here! The snack man�s here!� Then she will run down the hall with a dollar in her hand and a bell in the other, which she rings with delight.

Maggie�s cohorts, James �Jimmy� Creeker and Wanda Chirot, do administrative work involving stacks of papers. They are quiet and focused. I admire their great Protestant work ethic, for it is that upon which American prosperity is truly based.

Tuesday, 4/8

10:30am. Day 8 of my embed. I am crouching behind a tall trashcan in the hallway with my laptop, hiding from the constituent hordes. After the story I wrote yesterday about �city hall pests,� I fear their leaders � one Sissy O�Flary and her obnoxious cohort, Richard Trundler � are headed down here to HQ to give me a thorough browbeating.

I could probably take on Sissy and her man, but what might come after them? The frontlines of municipal government harbor the infinite promise of surprise. Hours pass quietly, then suddenly armies of citizens appear from nowhere, ambushing you with rapid-fire questions: Where is my water? When is that pothole on my street going to be fixed? Rat-a-tat-tat.

In this beautiful, placid moment behind the garbage can I am surveying the tile-covered floorscape, absorbing the culture of city hall on my own terms. I peer out to look at the faces of my allies: the janitors, the desk workers, the officials. We have all learned each other�s names, buy our diet sodas from the same vending machine, use the same washbasins. Together, we are one.

Thursday, 4/10

3:45pm. Day 10 of my embed. As all of us embedded journalists know, immediate access to council members can be tricky � particularly on meeting day, when members are likely to eject anyone who disrupts the proceedings. Despite knowing this, I was shocked yesterday when Council Member Danny Agnew had security remove me, a well-respected journalist with a wife and two beautiful daughters, from a meeting about a 10-foot height variance sought by Blue Ridge Bank. My crime: Yelling from my seat, "This is a great day for democracy!"

Agnew saunters down the hall, dressed in a plaid jacket and blue nylon pants. He is stoop-shouldered, the result of a car accident he suffered several years ago. I approach him with a slight frown and some questions about yesterday�s action.

�How did it feel to throw me out of the room yesterday, Council Member?�

�What do you mean, �how did it feel?��

�I mean, were you angry? Did you feel in control?�

�What is this � Oprah?� Agnew chews on the end of his cigar, and spits a wad of tobacco on the ground. �I don�t know or care how I felt, I just did it,� he continues. �If you piss me off like that one more time, you�re gone for good.� He begins to walk away.

�Failing to answer my questions isn't good for journalism,� I yell behind him. He ignores me and continues walking. �I know the truth about those missing general funds,� I say.

Quickly he spins around and smiles. �You know I was just joking, Mattie.�

�Mike.�

�Right. Mikey.�

�Another question for you, Council Member.� I inquire about the day�s resolution of the landmark case involving Blue Ridge Bank. Council agreed four-to-one to grant the variance; Agnew was the only nay. Using a large word we would never use on television, I ask him if he believes Council has irrevocably set in motion the destruction of downtown�s small-town charm with their vote.

�We granted a 10-foot height variance, Mike. I do more important work in the bathroom than vote on10-foot variances.� Like so many issues, this one is touchy for Agnew. He wipes away a trickle of sweat dripping down his forehead. �Now please excuse me,� he says. �I�ve got to go downtown to emcee St. Bede�s fish fry. Jerry & the Polka Chasers are playing. Gonna be fun.� He takes his leave.

Fish fry. Yum. But I must pass up this chance to savor the fried haddock of the St. Bede�s Ladies Council, for my work is not quite over. My stomach churns, rumbling desperately.

Monday, 4/14

9:52am. Day 14 of my embed. Today I am embedded with Water and Wastewater Utility, one of the city�s most fearless divisions. Earlier this morning WWW and I shared a traumatic experience involving an unexpected knock at the door at 8:30am. Those of us stationed at our desks believed an invading army had come to turn us into hostages, a la those American P.O.W.s we all had seen on CNN�s morning program. But it was just the flower deliveryman at the door, carrying a giant bouquet for Candace, aide to Division Director Jim Chunga. Candy is 35 years old, with a turned-up nose and long brown hair that she often wears in a bun. When she wants to use the Internet to download new recipes for her recipe bank, I let her use my computer. Chunga prohibits his employees from such unauthorized activities, which pains me. We should not ignore our human side, even though the duty to provide efficient city government is tangible and great.

Accompanying Candace�s flowers is a card that she reads aloud: �To my beautiful Desert Queen. Someday I will take you away from all this.� Candace announces that she likes the idea of leaving the world of sewage and treatment plants �in theory�: where else would she work? �And I�ve never been to the desert, unless you count the Grand Canyon,� she says. Perhaps the bouquet is a drone?

�Put that down, Candace!� I yell, and knock the bouquet to the ground. Shards of crystal vase mix with the tiny pools of water beneath her desk. No signs of grenades or poison cartridges emerge. But it�s better to be safe than sorry.

�You idiot!� Candy screams.

�It�s better to be safe than sorry,� I repeat aloud.

Thursday, 4/17

3:15pm. Day 17 of my embed. I receive a call from WKAT. My editors say they enjoy my vignettes of human interaction, but want to see some �real news� in this blog. So far, they say, I�ve reported nothing that they would send a camera crew to capture on film. They�re beginning to think that my City Hall coverage isn�t worth it. I tell them that this place is swinging, and that the journalists who fought in Iraq have made such human-interest vignettes qualify as real news. We�ll see, the editors say.

The biggest rumor circulating in the trenches: The police want more money for homeland security. They�re worried that this year�s Easter Parade might be disrupted by terrorists, anti-war activists, or those Chinese people infected with SARS, who still might arrive in Gatesville at any moment. Chief Mac Ponietkowski wants his 14-man force to receive riot gear and several hundred canisters of pepper spray at the price of several thousand dollars. This year�s budget is tight. But all the council members campaigned on a tough-on-terrorism platform; if they renege, it may cost them future votes.

I stop by Agnew�s office for a comment, just because it�s the first door I cross on my way down the hall, but his secretary says he�s at the hospital �again.� So it�s off to see Mayor Wayne Garvey. At WKAT, we call him �the big cheese.� Garvey�s secretary lets me have a few minutes with the Cheese.

�We must keep the citizens of Gatesville safe,� Garvey says. �Ponietkowski knows we face many threats. The need for weaponry has never been higher.�

�So, will you grant the funds he wants?�

�Ultimately, it�s up to Council to decide,� says Garvey. �I can only lobby them to act in the public�s best interest. Our budget is under some strain, I know. But if one little child dies from a suicide bomber or other kind of terrorist attack at this parade, that blood will be on all our hands.� The steely look in his eyes makes my insides quake. Such conviction, such concern for the safety of all Gatesville � no one can surpass Garvey in this regard.

�Thank you, Mayor,� I say. �You have really shown me your true colors, and they are red, white, and blue-tiful. Now excuse me, I must blog.� As I leave his office, Garvey gives me a thumbs-up.