On the way to the mall, walking through Denver's strip of parking lots and office buildings--one lot attendant to another: "The guy got a replacement eyeball and he said he never wanted to  see the person it was  coming from.  He said it just kept lookin at him."

This set the tone.

The mall is crammed with people.  Not the kinds you'd necessarily imagine.  Some were delegates, easy enough to spot in their suits and conspicuous nametags and their happy grins.  Some were tourists, all ages (especially teenagers) from all over the city, all ethnic types, all shapes, all weaving through and seeming to have a good time.  It is very carnivalesque; a lot of people are drinking from cups, people drinking liquor in the sidewalk cafes, people laughing.  While there is an armed brigade of police in riot gear on every corner, in the middle of every street, literally everywhere, it doesn't diminish the generally gleeful mood.  People are really happy about the Obama thing.  (Sure the press is full of accounts of disgruntled Hillary people, but they weren't very obvious about it.  I saw very few Hillary signs, saw very few people looking angry.  Maybe the press assumes that all middle aged women are Hillary supporters?--because there were many middle aged women around, particularly among the delegates, all of them exceedingly well groomed.)  There was a guy on stilts and an Uncle Sam outfit carrying his signs, and a random T-shirt booth trying to pass off the Hillary gear, but other than that....It felt all about unity, man.  Progression, all that good stuff.  The glee was apparent at night when people would stumble out of the clubs, trying to figure out how to find a taxi in North Denver.  It actually did have a feeling of hope.  

Though hope was not particularly apparent in the music that I heard that day.  The street musicians were singing folky songs, but nothing that would offend--nothing that you wouldn't hear from any standard street musician in any given city.  Like the pan flute--oh, yes, we had one.  And a guy with a clown nose playing Dylan on a harmonica.  You couldn't really hear the 5 piece doo wop group who sat against a downtown wall that entire day, collecting money for independent musicians (according to their sign).  They were mostly drowned out by the anti-abortion protesters not far from them, who were rather vocal in their disapproval of the Democratic party.  They were the most obnoxious and obtrusive of all the protesters I saw on the street during the convention.  They positioned themselves at an intersection and proceeded to block the sidewalk so that it was nearly impossible to get around them, and thus were forced to actually listen to them.   Another vocal protester was the nutjub who walked down the street chanting "Democrats are Crybabies!!"  He was engaged in vociferous debate with a tidy young man until a police officer strode over to add his views on the matter.  Also drowned out were the clipclops of the horses ridden by some of the officers, who mostly hang out in groups and talked about their horses.  The token German Shepherd was also led around by riot police looking for drugs? bombs?  Once the dog started fiercely barking, sounding like he was tearing off someone's leg; when I walked past, the officer told another, "I love this dog's bark, it sounds so ferocious."  And the dog was just hanging out, not looking particularly threatening, but looking rather German nevertheless.  Occasonally, too, you'd hear the rev of a group of cops racing their motorcycles down the center of the mall (causing consternation among the crowd, who scrambled to grab their children).  Also bullhorns blasting out views of various varieties, most of them conservative, actually.  

"This place has a bad vibe, man," I heard one teenager say.  

But I did spent quite a lot of time at the center of radical activity, the Civic Center park.  This was where the hippies, the protesters, the rowdy professorial types, the media, the curious set up shop.  Ther e were booths promoting the legalization of pot, booths against the war (of course), booths for animal rights (veganism, anyone), booths selling tshirts and buttons and such of course--maybe 12, 20 booths in all, scattered around the periphery of the park.  There was a bus for Rock the Vote (which never garnered a bit of attention the whole time I was there).  It all felt very sixties and early seventies, as in the days when I went to college at the hippie school (Sangamon State in Illinois) and there would be protests emanating from some of the residents of the nearly communes and from radical faculty and such.  People even dressed the same, had the same beards, but they were young, and so that was strange, that was quite timewarpish.  You'd think that they'd have some new styles, something other than the long hair and braids and peasant skirts, but maybe it's just that "back to the earth" thing.  I liked the face paint.  Anyway, they were all very quiet, these people, sitting in their little roped off areas playing guitars and singing folk songs and (maybe?) getting high (though with the police presence, maybe not).  They looked a little bored, a little disappointed, because really,  not a lot of protesting was happening, and there weren't that many of them.  It felt a little lonely somehow.

So I saw a band there.  I'd tell you their name, but I don't know it, because I didn't get there at the beginning of the set and they weren't exactly handing out programs.  These were the free concerts, "for the people," and they performed in this well area where the acoustics aren't too bad.  The band was, I believe, a Puerto Rican-American hip hop band from Chicago.  Five or so people who played instruments and sang along with their rapping. And they were pretty good.  They added some flavor, and while I thought I was just observing, I actually got into them.  The listening crowd was pretty sparse--maybe 50 people up front paying close attention and a lot of scattered observers--and so their chants about liberation and the murdering pigs kind of fell flat.  The murdering pigs, by the way, were there, but they stayed far back from the action, hanging out on their bicycles and talking about their lives.  They seemed to be pretty amused by the whole thing, and didn't rise to the bait.  "You have to be willing to DIE for your beliefs!"  Right.  And it's true.  Unfortunately, they were being ignored by the authorities at the time, even though I never shook that sense that we were all being watched.  Because we were, and having our pictures taken, too.  I walked around the park area while they were playing, taking in the scene, and I'm posting a few pictures of what I observed there.  Despite my own cynicism, I was taken in by the feel of the thing; it felt important that it be there and people be allowed to say what they felt.  Maybe it was that old sixties laid back feel of optimism and community that I was trying to find.  They were lucky to find it so simple.

The media did outnumber everyone else there.  And I have to say, I found that exciting.  The documentary crews (announced by their shirts, which said Documentary Crew).  The CNN, MsNBC, Associated Press, the unidentified, it was interesting to watch the interplay between them and the people being observed.  It added to the sense of it all being staged, right down to the peace & love (although I know that the kids were sincere).  It felt like something I was watching from a distance.

I left when a performance poet, a really bad one, came on--preceeded by an announcer who said:

"Come to the liberation source!"  (And just where was that again?)

"Art is not free!"  Which was a lead in to:  "Come on out and buy some product!"

Hmm.  You mean over at that Free Trade Booth?

It's hot as hell and my feet hurt.  It's starting to get dark and the police are looking ancy; they start challenging some of the people working in a booth; someone, I hear, gets robbed.  Everyone is drooping.  On the way back, a man carrying a Hillary sign is laughed at uproariously by a man in shades sitting in a sidewalk cafe--Hillary guy starts yelling "Chill out!  Chill out, man!"  And the guy laughs louder and louder as the crowd looks at the Hillary guy runs away.  

Even so, it is mostly quiet.  "Freedom ain't no joke, ya'll" were the last words I heard from the performance poet.  Mexican workers begin carrying in chairs from the middle of the mall.  The shops begin to close.  The mall empties as people head to the speeches, to the parties, to the food.  I think I even saw Angelina Jolie throwing out her lemonade.

This is human drama at its highest level, and Sarah Palin, who is running for Soccer-Mom-in-Chief is a shoo-in for awards season.  It wouldn’t surprise me if the McCain campaign already knew about this because if they’ve been following the numbers for this story line on film and TV, this was the best thing they could do for their ratings.

One of the surprise television hits of the year has been ABC Family’s The Secret Life of the American Teenager, which tells the story of how a family deals with an unmarried teen’s pregnancy, and I bet you know how that story ends (and it isn’t with an abortion).  This closely follows the cheery and cheeky but oh-so-sweet movie Juno, about a teenager who didn’t mean to get pregnant, but after considering all of her options realized that carrying the baby to term and finding it a good adoptive home is the best way to live her life.  This movie was a hit at the box office last year and surprised everyone with Oscar nominations at year’s end.  Clearly, teen pregnancy is a story that is quite resonant with audiences, especially since they all make the surprising choice to keep their babies, no matter how unpopular that idea seems at first.


Narrative has overtaken journalism in American culture, and there is no “news” anymore that isn’t a “story.”  Reporting that contains characters you can identify with, a clear conflict, and a surprising outcome now completely dominates our news coverage.  Initially this was a style called New Journalism when it was became popular two decades ago but now it is neither “new” nor “journalism.”

Whether you see Sarah Palin as a hero or villain in the story of this campaign, she is exactly the kind of character that we are accustomed to from movies and television, and she brings familiar and relatable stories to the news cycle.  Whatever her policies may be (and they will hardly matter), her inclusion in this race may have been one of the savviest character choices anyone has ever made in order to hit all Four Quadrants of the marketing department’s audience analysis for this election movie.

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Segunda-feira. Primeiro post. 25/8.

Hoje faz 24 anos que morreu um camarada chamado Truman Capote, que, meio sem querer, se tornou um dos grandes nomes do New Journalism, movimento jornalístico que valoriza a narrativa e o estilo e que surgiu na década de 1960 nos Estados Unidos. Se não o conhece por aí, pode ser que já tenha ouvido falar da obra-prima que escreveu, A Sangue Frio. Esse livro, que lhe rendeu fama mundial - e de dois milhões de dólares -  traz o relato em forma de romance de um crime que marcou o estado do Kansas. Capote chamou de Romance de não-Ficção, mas o próprio Tom Wolfe, que foi quem escreveu o manifesto do New Journalism, afirmou que o livro foi de grande importância ao 'movimento'. O livro também foi adaptado ao cinema e levou cinco Oscar. Vale a pena conferir.

O Gazeta ALT bebe (e muito) da fonte do New Journalism e da obra de Truman Capote. Fica a nossa lembrança.

"Todas as pessoas têm disposição para trabalhar criativamente. O que acontece é que a maioria jamais se dá conta disso" (Truman Capote)

***

25/8
- Dia do Feirante;
- Dia do Soldado;
- Dia do Exército Brasileiro;
- Nietzsche, Friedrich Wilhelm, filósofo alemão, autor de "Assim Falou Zaratustra"; morte, em 1900;
- Sean Connery, ator, nascimento, em 1930;
- Truman Capote, escritor norte-americano; morte, em 1984;
- Pato Donald; morte do criador , o desenhista norte-americano Carl Barks, em 2000;
- Philippe Leótard, ator e cantor francês, um dos fundadores do "Théatre du Soleil"; morte, em 2001.

***

Até mais

Equipe ALT

Literary journalism isn't dead, of course, and may be doing better overseas than in the U.S. Just this week I got an e-mail promoting a new international academic journal titled Literary Journalism Studies, sponsored by the sponsored by the two-year-old International Association for Literary Journalism Studies. But this style of journalism (in-depth journalism with a point of view, in which the author is obviously involved) seems today to often be a result of an individual (perhaps not a "journalist," but instead someone like a political insider) becoming involved incidentally, though his/her work rather than the result of an avowed journalist plunging into the issue. The result may be informative, but it typically isn't "literary." Those of us who appreciate good writing know that sometimes poetry offers more truth than statistics can hope to convey. The best literary journalism feels more like the former, while encompassing both.

Back to my conversation, which was with Norman Sims, the author of True Stories: A Century of Literary Journalism and the editor of a couple of literary journalism anthologies. He noted that most of today's good literary journalism came from books, though after I complained about the lack of such fiction in magazines he commented that some good work could still be found in magazines, citing Esquire as an example.

While I don't disagree with Sims' assessment, to me his example is the exception that proves the rule, demonstrating a problem with modern literary journalism. Most people (including me) typically won't wade through the male equivalent of Vogue in search of journalistic enlightenment. The problem is similar to one I noted several years ago with magazine fiction: Some of the best short stories could be found in Redbook and Playboy, but as a male faculty member at a Christian university (and a rare member of a women's studies program who has moral qualms about both of those publications) I am unlikely to find and read those stories.

When I asked Sims what he thought of the prospect of the Web enhancing literary journalism options, he expressed doubt. Most magazines and newspapers, he pointed out, are too often unwilling to go beyond two or three Internet screens, "and that's too short," he said.

True enough. But the very next day I happened to attend a luncheon intended in part to promote J-Lab, which just moved to American University and calls itself "the Institute for Interactive Journalism." Its mission is to help "news organizations and citizens use new information ideas and innovative computer technologies to develop new ways for people to engage in critical public policy issues." For many people at the luncheon, the means of engagement seems to begin (and perhaps end) with blogging. But as I've noted previously, everybody seems to be blogging, while most blogs are exercises in vanity and self-delusion.

Unrelated to blogs, but very relevant to modern journalism, was the recommendation (from Howard Owens of "content provider" GateHouse Media) to "print what you know, when you know it." He was talking about breaking news, of course, and some of us who recognize how often journalists get the first reports wrong cringed a bit (though Owens cautioned about speculation on the part of reporters). Still, the comment reminded me that modern media users don't "read" media--especially online--the way they once did.

Muckraking magazines once ran thorough investigative series over many issues. For example, Ida Tarbell (one of my heros) wrote am 18-part expose' of Standard Oil--based on more than FOUR YEARS of research--for McClure's. Lincoln Steffens wrote separate articles for the same magazine about corruption in Minneapolis, St. Louis, Chicago, New York, Pittsburgh and Philadelphia. Will Irwin produced a scathing critique of journalism, titled "The American Newspaper," spread over 14 or 15 articles, for Collier's magazine.

Presenting information in small pieces may be what the Web does best. Not coincidentally, gathering small pieces from here and there is how modern news junkies "read" the news. Sims and newspaper publishers may be right that most readers won't go beyond two or three screens. But why should they, given their current options?

It seems to me that a savvy producer of literary journalism might produce a site in which the story is spread out over many pieces. That would let readers read the story in bits, as if reading chapters, reflecting on the pieces, rather than trying to gorge on the whole thing (or, more typically, ignoring it and looking for a book review summary or two). Good writing--the kind that is the hallmark of literary journalism--would bring them back for the next segment, and the next, and the next. An existing popular magazine might use the strategy only on its Web site, bringing visitors back more often, while running a summary in the magazine itself.

Done right, such a site might produce a "new journalism" that would combine meaningful in-depth information with more interesting writing than most Americans typically encounter--a kind of journalism that might even make Ida Tarbell proud.

The activism draws criticism from even among others at the News, who worry that it compromises the newspaper's credibility. The concern is worth consideration, complicated by the proliferation of blogs coming from news organizations throughout the country. But the fact is, for most of those organizations, credibility in a traditional sense is pretty much a lost cause for a couple of reasons. First, if "credibility" is code for "objectivity," there's no such thing as an objective reporter (or historian, or teacher). Second, Americans like the news media in general just a bit more than they like George W. Bush or Congress.

Journalism is changing, as it always has. The term "New Journalism" has been used most prominently with the journalism of the 1880s and 1890s and then again with the literary journalism of the 1960s and 1970s, but has also been applied to the Penny Press of the 1830s and the civic journalism movement of the late 20th century. "New" just keeps happening.

Besides, campaigns by newspapers are far from new. Newspapers have always advocated for issues they saw as being for the civic good (even if far too often their biases corresponded with the desires of the Chamber of Commerce). My own local daily, the Spokesman-Review, recently devoted an entire month of front-page attention to the issue of child abuse, and its own annual Christmas fund is front-page news every day from the day after Thanksgiving until Christmas.

We know that bloggers are changing news, even if--as recently reported by a Poynter Institute columnist and others--the most popular blogs tend to look and act much like mainstream news organizations. That shift worries people on both sides, though a careful reader could be much better informed about issues by relying only on blogs than on a local newspaper or--God forbid--television news.

One of the most interesting things I got out of last week's Association for Education in Journalism & Mass Communication convention was a discussion that--combined with the CJR article (which I read on the train on the way home from AEJMC) and some other tidbits of information--prompted the idea that blogging might actually "save" the 1960s-style literary journalism, which has faded significantly from the types of magazines that most Americans actually read. More on that in an upcoming post.

The book isn't just about kustom kars though. The 22 essays contained within this book don't really relate to eachother in any meaningful way. However they all, in one way or another, capture and address the trends and American aesthetic of the 1960s.

The most critically acclaimed piece within this book is "The Last American

Hero," a piece on Junior Johnson. Robert Johnson Jr. is a god in the stock racing world and in the underground moonshining business. He is also thought to have discovered drafting. Wolfe wrote this piece in such a way that you felt like you were Johnson's friend and lived this life as his right hand man - privy to all details. You know how it was.

This story was so well written that it was actually turned into a movie in 1973. Jeff Bridges as Johnson.

Wolfe is a demi-god with all of his rambling calculated speech. Kandy-Kolored Tangerine Flake Streamline Baby hinges on this kind of "new journalism" and Wolfe excels at it.

And last but not least. When the book was released, there was an incomplete quote on it by Kurt Vonnegut (may he rest in peace), "Verdict: Excellent book by a genius." Which was actually supposed to read, "Verdict: Excellent book by a genius who will do anything to get attention." At least we agree that he's brilliant.

Tom Wolfe begründete den »New Journalism« mit seiner Geschichte über »Das bonbonfarbene tangerin-rot-gespritzte Stromlinienbaby«. Weitere wesentliche Vertreter der Stilrichtung sind Hunter S. Thompson, Erfinder des Gonzo-Journalismus«, Truman Capote und Norman Mailer.

Im Internet-Buchverlag werden bevorzugt Kolumnen, Grotesken und Reportagen aus dem realen und virtuellen Leben veröffentlicht.

This type of thing is certainly nothing new - the entire field of Western literature has been heavily weighted in favor of men for centuries. What got me thinking about this genre in particular is that it's happened before.

Glass writes that he believes we live in a "golden age" of nonfiction writing. He chose the pieces he did based on some fairly vague criteria, one of which was that each piece had to include some actual reporting, as opposed to just essays. He wanted them to be entertaining, and includes writers who jumped into the story, AP style be damned. Trubek points out the direct lineage between Glass' subjects and the New Journalism that emerged in the 1960s, and then the New New Journalism of Robert S. Boynton. I contend that the genre, and the sexist bias within it, go back much further.

In college, I wrote a paper about the "stunt-girl reporters" of the turn of the last century, of which Nellie Bly, Djuna Barnes and Ida B. Wells were the most famous: Bly had herself committed to a madhouse for 10 days and Barnes submitted to force-feeding, among other risky, high-profile assignments. The gender bias was completely ingrained then; when a male reporter, like Jacob Riis, did such a thing, it was called participatory journalism. When a female reporter did it, it was called a stunt.

While there is a great and proud tradition of reporters-turned-authors, it has always been an old-boy's club. No matter how dangerous her assignments, how long and hard she has to work on a story, or how great her literary skill, the supposed benefits of a journalistic background are just never accorded to women authors the way they are to men.

So who are the new queens of nonfiction? For one, I nominate Mary Roach. Not only is her subject matter fascinating, she goes to some pretty great lengths to get to the bottom of it, and she's hilarious to boot. The fact that she wasn't included in Glass' book just proves that he really needs to broaden his literary horizons.

Another self-starter helping others

I’ve written before about newsroom heros that take it upon themselves to learn video, and then decide they’re going to help others in their newsroom get up to speed too. Lisa Fernandez organized a training brownbag. Ron Sylvester created “DIY training.”

Now, along those same lines, Stephen of the Anchorage Daily News has created a crash course video handout for the reporters and photographers in his newsroom who are starting to learn video.

Here’s a PDF of the handout from his site, Beyond Alaska Photo.

Does anyone else have stories to share about how you are helping others in your newsroom learn video?

]]> http://hoipolloi.wordpress.com/?p=867 Fri, 13 Jun 2008 20:00:05 +0000 Angelo http://hoipolloi.wordpress.com/?p=867 A Pew Research story this week based on research into The Daily Show by Jon Stewart says that he blurs the line between comedy and journalism, but also followed the agenda of the news media, albeit selectively.

However they also note that:

• "The Daily Show performs a function that is close to journalistic in nature -- getting people to think critically about the public square."
• "its use of news footage to deconstruct the manipulations by public figure ... performs a function that is close to journalistic in nature -- getting people to think critically about the public square."

Maybe controversial. May it's pushing the envelope, but when all other envelopes are being pushed, bent out of shape and torn to shreds, Stewart could be setting the stage --or reflecting a shift-- in the new journalism.

What's interesting about Ms. Fowler is her employer. She's an unpaid volunteer in the Huffington Post blog experiment called "Off The Bus", where volunteer bloggers follow the campaign and write stories that the mainstream media presumably might miss.

Ms. Fowler got herself into the closed Obama event for donors where he made his impolitic remarks because she is a Obama supporter, donating the maximum $2,300. This is certainly something that mainstream journalists wouldn't be allowed to do, even those supposedly "in the tank" for Obama. Ms. Fowler muses that she hestitated in releasing the "bitter" comments because she knew the effect it would have on the Obama campaign. She also tried to minimize the effect of the "scumbag" remarks by dumping them onto the internet on Friday afternoon, but to no avail.

The question in my mind is what value does Ms. Fowler add to the campaign? As an Obama fan myself, I was upset at the attention paid to "bittergate" by the media. But its value is the focus that the Obama campaign needed to make on people not naturally inclined to support Barack. Of course, the mainstream media, the Clinton oppo reseach team and the Republican hate machine all tried to spin the story into the mainstream mold: elitist latte-drinking limousine liberal just doesn't understand real folks. That Obama was able to refocus the campaign on what his Presidency would do to help all Americans was beneficial, despite the short-term blowback.

The Bill Clinton "scumbag" flap was more like the tripe the mainstream media throws out and calls news these days. Yep, Bill was increasingly losing his shit out on the hustings. Bill blames everyone for his wife's slowly eroding campaign EXCEPT his wife, her handlers and himself. Big deal. The Vanity Fair article was also of questionable merit. Find upset staffers to squeal about the shortcomings inside the campaign and to throw innuendo on the fire about Bill's personal life. Ms. Fowler's piece had some staying power because a lot of people have fond memories of our former President and are not used to seeing ex-Presidents being that earthy.

I haven't read much of the "Off The Bus" stuff, but what I have seen is relatively good--instead of just soaking up the stale campaign circus and reporting on the horserace, some of the bloggers actually seek out real voters and interview them. Now that's some innovative reporting that I'd like to see spread out of blogging and into the mainstream media. Ms. Fowler's batting .500: and that's good in any league.

This blog is the story of my journey from being a normal citizen to being a journalist in my own right. 

My reasons for starting this blog...wow.  I already have two blogs.  You can check them out here: http://millionlittlereasons.blogspot.com and http://glimpsesofafrica.wordpress.com.  So why another one?  Well, I recently finished the classroom portion of a journalism bootcamp in NYC (the most amazing city in the world...if I do say so myself...I know...a journalist is not supposed to be bias...well...in this case I'm going to express my opinion...its just the introduction right) and there were some suggestions made about blogs.  One of those suggestions...personal blogs should be just that..personal and private.  Another...blogs are a great way to get unpublished work out there for public reading.  Million Little Reasons is my personal blog... a place where I can talk about my life...post pictures of myself, my friends, my family, my activities...its not really about anything serious...and it rarely has anything of real journalistic value.  I started Glimpses of Africa to be my more serious blog.  I live and work in Kenya, Africa and hope to be doing some moving around Africa in the near future so Glimpses of Africa was the perfect idea...until I realized that at times I enjoy writing articles of journalistic value which have no relation to Africa.  So this is the place for just such articles.

Another reason:  I want to document my journey as a journalist for others taking the same trip, now or in the future. 

Hopefully I get a chance to write some about the past six months and the journey I've started before getting into what's happening now.  I also will be posting interesting stories, articles, thoughts, opinions on a whole random variety of topics.  Enjoy walking the road less traveled with me. 

Conceptul inventat şi pus în practică de scriitorul Truman Capote, fost ziarist. Acum,în era informaticii expeditive şi a fluxului continuu, jurnalismul revine la rădăcinile sale telegrafice şi descoperă că poţi face ştiri de senzaţie şi cu un mesaj de text scurt. Mai precis, cu numai 140 de caractere, echivalentul unui SMS. Acesta este spaţiul maxim pus la dispoziţie de Twitter, popularul serviciu de microblogging care face furori printre utilizatorii cei mai avansaţi de Internet. Acum începe să fie folosit şi de unii reporteri din SUA pentru a acoperi campania electorală în curs, informează revista italiană Panorama.
Ştiri scurte precum un SMS aceasta este noua modă a reporterilor americani care relatează despre cursa pentru Casa Albă. Ziarul The New York Times vorbeşte deja de naşterea "micro-jurnalismului". Totul a început de la un "twit" aşa se numesc mesajele Twitter publicat la 5 ianuarie de John Dickerson, corespondentul politic al revistei americane online "Slate".
"Tocmai l-am văzut pe Bill O'Reilly îmbrâncindu-l pe unul din oamenii lui Obama". După tam-tamul în reţea, multe ziare au preluat ştirea privindu-l pe O'Reilly, una din gazdele cele mai cunoscute ale Fox News. Dickerson este considerat un pionier al noilor frontiere ale informaţiei. După mai mulţi ani petrecuţi la revista Time, a trecut la jurnalismul online Slate, experimentând blogurile iar de câteva luni şi Twitter. "Una din sarcinile mele de reporter este să conduc oamenii acolo unde ei nu pot intra. Twitter este mult mai autentic deoarece scrii în timp ce lucrurile se întâmplă, pentru că eşti cu adevărat în acea cameră", a afirmat el într-un interviu.
Twitter este o modă care contaminează şi reporterii din SUA care abordează o campanie electorală tot mai constrângătoare. Recent, doi corespondenţi de calibrul Anei Marie Cox de la Time şi Marc Ambinder de la The Atlantic au creat un profil pe Twitter. Ei îl folosesc pentru "a capta emoţiile" momentului şi ale împărtăşi cu cititorii de o manieră mai directă şi mai expeditivă.
Jurnaliştii redescoperă însă în prezent stilul telegrafic - stilul scurt, eventual satiric, care a înflorit datorită limitării cuvintelor impuse de tehnologia telegrafului. Astăzi se pune problema limitelor impuse de scurtarea mesajelor.
"Este un indiciu de cât de nerăbdătoare este această generaţie", a spus Ana Marie Cox, care a precizat: "Nu mai trebuie să deschid computerul şi nu necesită mai mult de 140 de caractere".

Eis o link para elas:

O FIM - Sobrevivência da imprensa pode estar nas mãos de reportagens interpretativas e bem elaboradas. É um novo começo?http://portal.rpc.com.br/gazetadopovo/cadernog/conteudo.phtml?tl=1&id=762263&tit=

"JORNAIS SÃO PARA EMOCIONAR" - Jornalista que trabalhou na Folha de S. Paulo faz uma lista de motivos para as pessoas jamais deixarem de ler os jornais impressos http://portal.rpc.com.br/gazetadopovo/cadernog/conteudo.phtml?tl=1&id=762239&tit=

O DOMÍNIO DO TEMPO - O que um gênero como o perfil, consolidado pela revista norte-americana The New Yorker, tem a ensinar para o jornalismo “apressado” que se pratica nos dias de hoje              http://portal.rpc.com.br/gazetadopovo/cadernog/conteudo.phtml?tl=1&id=762402&tit=

TENTATIVA E ERRO - Brasileiros, piauí e Rolling Stone tentam substituir a revista Realidade,ainda considerada o expoente do jornalismo no país http://portal.rpc.com.br/gazetadopovo/cadernog/conteudo.phtml?tl=1&id=762405&tit=

ESTANTE BÁSICA- Confira uma seleção de títulos indispensáveis (todos disponíveis no Brasil) para qualquer um interessado em jornalismo. http://portal.rpc.com.br/gazetadopovo/cadernog/conteudo.phtml?tl=1&id=762409&tit=

(for Talese's article, click here)

As a journalist, I sometimes feel like a psychoanalyst trying to have my interviewees reveal the most telling information about themselves -- preferably an anecdote or slip of the tongue. In his celebrated article on Frank Sinatra, Gay Talese achieved all of the above without even interviewing Sinatra.

What Talese did was trailblazing in the realm of journalism. He gave the traditional who-what-when-where-why a fictional-writing twist. Talese talked to perhaps anyone who knew Sinatra in one way or another: his bodyguard, manager, family members, or even those Sinatra vaguely remembered. But these pieces of information tell us more about Sinatra than perhaps what he knew about himself: his anguish of living up to an idolized public image; his bruised ego seeing the coming of age of the Beatles; his hidden toupee and arthritis; and his Italian-American heritage.

“Frank Sinatra Has a Cold” was written more than 40 years ago, but Talese provided vivid contexts that even those who have never heard the voice can feel connected to the singer. He immortalized an icon who represents not only a music genre but a generation, and whose influence remains undying.

But don’t mistake Talese’s fictional-writing style for a sloppy and unaccountable attitude. He spent three months researching and writing about Sinatra, according to a NPR interview. Talese’s new journalism style has much to offer – particularly as print journalism faces serious transitions. Good writing as well as reporting cannot be replaced by the speed-driven blog enterprise. And it is the journalist's commitment to offer his and her best to the world.

Journalism has usually been credited for bringing information to the public. Its stylistic writing approach is more factual than fiction, and most of the time, objective and written in the third-person. Of course there have been many journalists throughout the years who have challenged the fundamentals of journalism. Some approaches have worked, others have not, but most endeavors have at least gained recognition. Some changes to journalism have been embraced, others rejected. But perhaps the one thing that most journalists have always tried to maintain is the truth in their writing. One of these journalists who not only challenged the fundamentals of journalism, but tried his best to write truthful accounts (albeit, in his own weird, strange way) was Hunter S. Thompson.

Before focusing on Hunter himself, one must note the times in which Thompson was writing. Before moving into his personal history and the history of his writing, one must realize the journalistic movement that made it possible for Thompson to succeed with his unique style of writing. This movement was called New Journalism. In the early 1960’s New Journalism had begun to surface with journalists around America. “The New Journalism movement was one that expanded journalism’s rhetorical and literary scope by placing the author at the center of the story, channeling a character’s thoughts, using nonstandard punctuation and exploding traditional narrative forms (Boynton, pp. xii).” New Journalism articles also formed from the practice of the “stream of consciousness,” conversational speech instead of quotes and interviews, and the writer’s personal opinions, thoughts, and feelings opposed to straight facts (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Journalism). Pioneers of this newly embraced form of reportorial journalism were most notably Tom Wolfe, Gay Talese, Joan Didion, P.J. O’Rourke, George Plimpton, Terry Southern, and, of course, Thompson, among others (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Journalism). The name, New Journalism, was born unto Wolfe, after he was having trouble writing a piece for a publication, and sent the editor a letter containing his notes rather than a tightly woven article. The editor decided to publish the piece as it was submitted, and New Journalism was born (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Journalism). In Wolfe’s 1973 Introduction to New Journalism, he “argued that nonfiction—not the novel—had become ‘the most important literature being written in America today’ (Boynton, pp. i).” At the time, most publications weren’t ready to accept this new approach, but some embraced it, such as magazines like The New Yorker, New York Magazine, Esquire Magazine, and Scanlan’s Monthly (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Journalism). Thompson readily accepted New Journalism, but added his own strange twist to his writings, later coined as Gonzo Journalism. Anyone who knew Thompson from his early years would feel that New Journalism, and his own Gonzo Journalism was not far from Thompson’s own rebellious and strange behavior.

Hunter Stockton Thompson was born in 1937 to Virginia Ray and Jack R. Thompson, who died in 1952, leaving Hunter and his three brothers to be brought up by their alcoholic mother (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Journalism). His birth-town and “old stomping grounds” was Louisville, Kentucky. Hunter had always been fond of sports, writing, and rebellious and reckless behavior. “Some began to dismiss Thompson as a hoodlum, a good boy gone bad, another example of what ill could befall a fatherless boy (McKeen, pp.3).” Others recognized Thompson’s charismatic influence he had on people. Virginia Thompson said, “Hunter had this peculiar quality, {it was a} kind of charisma. It’s like being in the eye of a tornado, being in a room with him. You never know what’s going to happen next. And yet he doesn’t seem to be doing anything. There’s just a terrible sense of expectation and excitement when Hunter’s around. He’s always had this fascination for people, ever since he was a little boy (pp. 3,4).” Little did Virginia, or any others for that matter, know that Thompson would one day be considered to be a great American writer and public figure, but I’m pretty sure they weren’t surprised.

After a couple run-ins with the law, Hunter enrolled himself in the Air Force. It was there he had his first crack at journalism. Lying about his background and credentials, Thompson landed himself a job as the editor for the Eglin Air Force Base Newsletter (pp. 6). Many were impressed with Hunter’s writing talents and praised him for it, “Airman Thompson possesses outstanding talent in writing,” the chief of the base’s information services wrote. “He has imagination, good use of English, and can express his thoughts in a manner that makes interesting reading (pp. 6).” Despite Hunter’s talents, his attitude and twisted sense of humor did not agree with military lifestyle, “Airmen Thompson has consistently written controversial material and leans so strongly to critical editorializing that it was necessary to require that all his writing be thoroughly edited before release…although talented (Thompson) will not be guided by policy or personnel advice and guidance. Sometimes his rebel {sic} and superior attitude seems to rub off on other airmen staff members. He has little consideration for military bearing or dress and seems to dislike the service and wants out as soon as possible (pp. 6).” Shortly after, in 1958, Thompson still squeaked by with an honorable discharge.

After the Air Force, journalism was still calling Thompson’s name. On his G.I. Bill, Thompson attended the Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism (http:en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hunter_s_Thompson). “Journalism has always seemed a good way to get someone else to pay to get me where the action really is,” Thompson said, referring to his interest in journalism (Whitmer, pp. 82). Although, his writings showed promise, Thompson struggled with the professional demands of publications. Thompson was fired from his first job with the Record in Middletown, New York. He had tried to work for other publications, but attempts failed due to his surly and abrupt behavior. For example, at one publication he destroyed an editor’s car, at another he insulted an advertiser and destroyed a candy machine in the break-room. Thompson even had a shot at being a writer for Time Magazine, but was dismissed for “poor attitude towards work (McKeen, pp. 6).” Giving up, Thompson leaned toward the popular, new subculture, the beatniks. He went cross-country to California to join other beatnik gurus like Jack Kerouac and William S. Burroughs. Temporarily residing in places like San Francisco and Big Sur (Whitmer, pp.82), Thompson had attempted to work on his “Great American Novel,” but failed to finish it (McKeen, pp.6).

On a whim, Thompson moved from the sunny state of California all the way south to politically disturbed and completely impoverished South America. There he set up camp and began submitting freelance articles to American daily newspapers (http:en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hunter_s_Thompson). Most of Thompson’s experiences in South American inspired him to write one of his several books— submitted many times to multiple publishers, but only published one in 1998—and long after he had become famous—The Rum Diary. William Kennedy, (a fellow journalist Thompson befriended in Puerto Rico) said that “he and Thompson were both failed novelists who had turned to journalism in order to make a living (http:en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hunter_s_Thompson).” And make a living he did. Hunter began working for The National Observer, a sister publication to the Dow Jones owned Wall Street Journal (Mckeen pp7), as a foreign correspondent. Hunter sent in fabulous pieces about outrageous stories, everything from tin-miners and indigenous Indians to jungle bandits and drug smugglers (pp 7). One article Hunter had written, titled “A Footloose American in a Smuggler’s Den” marks accounts of Hunter coming across a drug-smuggling village:

Upon arriving in a tiny Columbian village, the “first tourist in history” is greeted by the entire population of the village, “staring grimly and without much hospitality.” He had learned in Aruba that the men of this village wear neckties knotted just below the navel—and nothing else. “That sort of information can make a man feel uneasy,” Thompson wrote, “and as I climbed the steep path, staggering under the weight of my luggage, I decided that at the first sign of unpleasantness I would begin handing out neckties like Santa Claus—three fine paisleys to the most menacing of the bunch, then start ripping up shirts (pp 18).

Hunter’s colorful and descriptive writing was just the thing that The National Observer was looking for. According to Barney Kilgore, editor of the Observer, said, “We don’t need more people telling is what has happened as much as we need people who can put together events and explain them (pp.18).” It seemed Thompson was their man. He landed the front page most of the time and finally began making a decent income for his writings, but for restless Thompson the “good times got old” (pp.7).

Rio was the end of the foreign correspondent’s tour. I found myself 25 years old, wearing a white suit, and rolling dice at the Domino Club—the foreign correspondent’s club. And here I though, ‘Jesus Christ, what am I gonna do now?’ Then I would roll dice more and write less and worry about it until I’d have a nervous breakdown. It makes you change whatever you’re doing. So, I just came back here (America) in a sort of a frenzy of patriotism—Kennedy, Peace Corps. -Thompson (pp 7)

Back in America, Thompson continued to write for the Observer for another year “producing a score of articles, including several book reviews…Thompson chose to portray outsiders and outcasts. He wrote about leftover beatniks, American hitchhikers (including himself; he claimed to have set the all-time distance record for hitchhiking in Bermuda shorts), frustrated miners, deer hunters, the beginnings of the Indian rights movement, and the last days of Ernest Hemmingway (pp 24).” After Thompson’s dealings with the Observer, in 1965 he was approached by The Nation magazine to do a piece on the Hell’s Angels (Whitmer pp 84), a rough and violent motorcycle gang quickly gaining infamous popularity. This was just the job for the “outlaw” journalist, and Thompson eagerly accepted for a pay of one hundred dollars—little did he know this would be considered his “big-break” in journalism.

The Hell’s Angels article was just the beginning of public recognition for Thompson’s work as the one and only Gonzo journalist…although the term ‘gonzo’ was still in the imagination of someone, anyone, trying to think of something to call Hunter’s outrageous, weird, and talented work. For a year Thompson mingled with the Harley-Davidson riders, inviting them to his house (much to his wife’s disapproval, and concern for their son, Juan’s, safety), going on rides with them, and even introducing them to the new favorite drug of the time LSD or “acid.” Hunter began his piece with a frenzy of fragmented sentences and incomplete thoughts:

The Menace is loose again, the Hell’s Angels, the hundred-carat head-line, running fast and loud on the early morning freeway, low in the saddle, nobody smiles, jamming crazy through traffic and ninety miles an hour down the center stripe, missing by inches…like Ghangis Khan on an iron horse, a monter steed with a firey anus (Mckeen pp 29).

“It was a ten-page piece of craziness. I don’t think I ever went back to it at all (Whitmer pp 85),” Thompson said of his article “The Motorcycle Gangs: Losers and Outsiders”. That “ten-page piece of craziness” rose in popularity, leading to offers from several publishers for a book. The book Hell’s Angels: The Strange and Terrible Saga of the Outlaw Motorcycle Ganges was published in 1966 (http://en.wikipedia.org/ wiki/ Hunter _S._Thompson). Thompson’s book of the experiences he had with the Angels brought him “face-to-face with some insights that changed the direction of his career, or perhaps better put, provided him with a career (Whitmer 85).” The fast-selling book and popularity was much to the dismay of the Angels themselves. The Angels accused Thompson of making profit off of their gang and demanded a share of whatever he was making. In the end, Thompson ended his yearlong “brotherhood” with the Angels by receiving a severe and brutal beating (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hunter_S._Thompson).

After the Angel’s bit, Thompson and his family moved to Aspen, Colorado. Hunter wrote for various publications like Pageant and Playboy in order to make a living and provide for his family. After Playboy rejected Thompson’s profile of a famous skier, Jean-Claude Killy, he submitted the article to publisher Warren Hinkle’s new magazine Scanlan’s (McKeen 35). Hinkle and Thompson’s publisher/writer relationship flourished, Thompson persuaded Hinkle to fund a trip to his home state, Kentucky, to cover the Kentucky Derby (35). There, Thompson met up with British artist, Ralph Steadman to cover the event. There a life-long friendship presented itself. “I think what he saw in this connection was somebody who saw the thing in picture as he saw it in words and that seemed to me to be part of the whole chemistry of it, our chemistry there made Gonzo possible,” Steadman said of Thompson’s and his partnership/friendship (BBC Interview). The article “The Kentucky Derby is Depraved and Decadent” focused more on the people Hunter encountered at the derby, rather than the derby itself, as well as the heavy influence of drinking and drugs along the way:

Clearly, we were going to have to figure out some way to spend more time in the clubhouse tomorrow. But the “walkaround” press passes to F&G were only good for thirty minutes at a time, presumably to allow the newspaper types to rush in and out for photos and quick interviews, but to prevent drifters like Steadman and me from spending all day in the clubhouse, harassing the gentry and rifling the odd handbag or two while cruising around the boxes. Or Macing the governor. The time limit was no problem on Friday, but on Derby Day the walkaround passes would be in heavy demand. And since it took about ten-minutes to get from the press box to the Paddock, and ten more minutes to get back, that didn’t leave much time for serious people-watching. And unlike most of the others in the press box, we didn’t give a hoot in hell what was happening on the track. We had come there to watch the real beasts perform (http://www.derbypost.com/hunter.html).

After reading the article, good friend of Hunter’s and writer for the Boston Globe wrote Thompson to tell him that the article was “pure Gonzo Journalism (McKeen 35). Thus, Hunter’s colorful and detailed, first-hand accounts were given a name: Gonzo Journalism.

Gonzo Journalism had eventually landed a place for itself in the dictionaries, “Gonzo, his own brand of journalism, has even found it’s way into the new Random House Dictionary, which uses such words as bizarre, crazy, and eccentric to define it. No one else gets credit for Gonzo journalism in the dictionary; but then not many journalists would want it,” Herbert Mitgang wrote in a review ( 36). Thompson said that he “never intended Gonzo Journalism to be anything more then just a differentiation between the New Journalism” simply stating that the word ‘gonzo’ merely means ‘too weird’ in Portuguese (Breakfast With Hunter). According to Thompson, “True Gonzo reporting needs the talents of a master journalist, the eye of an artist/photographer and the heavy balls of an actor…because the writer must be a participant in the scene (Perry 160).” Now that Hunter had something to define his unique work, he would go above and beyond by writing his most notable Gonzo-journalistic piece in his history of writing.

Thompson first began communicating with Rolling Stone magazine after one of its staff writers went to cover Thompson’s brief campaign for running for Aspen Sheriff. Hunter lost the election, but only by an inch, after “promoting decriminalization of drugs and the sale thereof, tearing up the streets and turning them into bike paths, and renaming Aspen, Colorado to “Fat City”, amongst other things (http://en.wikipedia.org/ wiki/Hunter_S._Thompson).” After the election, Thompson became one of Rolling Stone magazine’s most prized journalist. He would write under the pseudonym Raoul Duke, and sometimes under his birth name. The previous articles he wrote for the Stone lead up to his “failed experiment” (Boynton, pp.48).

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas began by Sports Illustrated asking Thompson to provide a couple hundred words on the Mint 400 Motorcycle race in Las Vegas for a photo essay they were working on (pp 48). During the time he was there, Thompson brought along with him Oscar Zeta Acosta a Chicano attorney he had met and befriended for another article he was writing. Thompson knew that if he got Acosta to Las Vegas:

We would both go crazy and try to outdo one another. And that’s exactly what we did. We fucking stomped the ground in Vegas. We took enough speed to keep Hitler awake in the bunker for fifty days and enough acid to make him think he was in the Austrian Alps. We ran up such a massive hotel bill that it was frightening. And the most frightening thing of all was that Oscar flew back to Los Angeles after the weekend and left me to cope with everything (Perry 158).

Needless to say, Thompson’s “article” was rejected by Sports Illustrated. Thompson spent thirty-six hours writing notes and trying to remember everything that had gone on the previous two days, compiling the notes into a sort of manuscript. He handed the “manuscript” to the new managing editor of Rolling Stone, Paul Scanlon and editor, David Felton (160, 161). Before Thompson could finish the “story” he had started, ironically, Felton sent him to Las Vegas once more to cover a narcotics convention being held there. Thompson and Acosta were off once more. Six months passed and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas appeared on the desk of Scanlon, “completely polished and cleanly typed” (165). There sat the beginnings of “Raoul Duke’s” (Hunter S. Thompson) and “Dr. Gonzo’s” (Acosta) psychadellic adventures in Vegas. On the first page, the now famous opening, read:

We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold. I remember saying something like "I feel a bit lightheaded; maybe you should drive..." And suddenly there was a terrible roar all around us and the sky was full of what looked like huge bats, all swooping and screeching and diving around the car, which was going around a hundred miles an hour with the top down to Las Vegas. And a voice was screaming: "Holy Jesus! What are these goddamn animals (161)?...We had two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high powered blotter acid, a salt-shaker half full of cocaine, and a whole multi-colored collection of uppers, downers, laughers, screamers...also a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of beer, a pint of raw ether. Not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can...(http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Fear_and_loathing_in_Las_Vegas).

And the rest was history. Soon Thompson’s wild Vegas accounts were transcribed into a major, best-selling novel complete with strange and twisted illustrations by Ralph Steadman and was eventually turned into a film starring Johnny Depp and Benicio Del Toro.

Thompson had already reached the success of a novelist, pioneer of Gonzo journalism and considered to be among the most influential American Writers of the 20^th century (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hunter_S_Thompson). Thompson continued to criticize American politics and culture which inspired him to write his last book Kingdom of Fear. He also wrote a Web column titled “Hey Rube” for ESPN, while maintaining a relatively low, yet noticeable in the small town in which he lived.

Hunter’s adventures as a journalist have elevated him to a kind of cult hero. His articles are obsessed with a vision of America gone wrong. The phrase, “Fear and Loathing” appears in nearly all his titles, an indication of the violence and paranoia that marks his work and has been associated with his personality. His reputation gives him access to just about every major figure in politics, show business, and sports. Hunter’s influence as a political commentator is recognized by all leading politicians (BBC interview).

Since 2001, Thompson resided in Aspen, Colorado on a fortified compound called Woody Creek he and his wife owned, complete with peacocks, Dobermans and plenty of rifles and ammunition—his favorite pastime. Despite the fact that he was now a literary icon of his time he still mainly kept to himself, still aiding his drinking and drug habits saying, “I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence or insanity to anyone, but they’ve always worked for me (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hunter_S_Thompson).” According to Thompson, he was still living a pretty normal life, but always felt pressured to become the characters that he had created in his wild adventures (not that he wasn’t far from them in the first place):

I own a ranch in Colorado and I have a wife and a child, peacocks, Dobermans, and, uh...I am living a normal life, but right along side me, there's this myth that's roaring, mushrooming, getting more and more warped, and, uh...When I get invited to speak at, say a university, I'm not sure if they're inviting Duke or Thompson, yeah, I'm not sure who to be. I suppose my plans are to figure out some new identity, kill one off and start another (BBC interview).

On February 20^th, 2005 Thompson did exactly that. Juan, Thompson’s son, had found Thompson dead in his Aspen home due to a self-inflicted gunshot to the head (www.cnn.com/2005?SHOWBIZ/books/02/21/thompson.obit/). Thompson’s family reported to the press that they did not believe his suicide was out of desperation, but was a well thought out act resulting from Thompson’s many painful medical conditions (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hunter_S_Thompson). Thompson’s reasons were survived by a piece of paper written in marker four day’s before his death titled “Football Season is Over”:

No more games. No more bombs. No more walking, No more fun. No more swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. I am always bitchy. No fun—for anybody. 67. You are getting greedy. Act your old age. Relax—This won’t hurt (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hunter_S_Thompson).

It seemed to be that Thompson’s fear and loathing had slowed to a stop, and yet many admirers, family and friends tried their best to carry out Thompson’s wishes. Thompson had planned his memorial with good friend Ralph Steadman well before his death, but it was up to his closest friends and family to carry the plans out. As requested, Thompson’s ashes were fired from a 150-foot cannon in the shape of a double-thumbed fist clutching a peyote button, (the official Gonzo symbol) with red, white, blue, and green fireworks to follow. Actor Johnny Depp funded the ceremony saying, “All I’m doing is trying to make sure his last wish comes true. I just want to send my pal out the way he wants to go out (http://en.wikipedia.org. wiki/Hunter_S_Thompson).”

In closing, perhaps Thompson did finally break free from the characters his Gonzo mind had created, or perhaps he joined them. Ralph Steadman wrote:

He told me 25 years ago that he would feel trapped if he didn’t know that he could commit suicide at any moment. I don’t know is that is brace or stupid or what, but it was inevitable. I think that the truth of what rings through all of his writing is that he meant what he said. If that is entertainment to you, well, that’s ok. If you think that it enlightened you, well, that’s even better. If you wonder if he’s gone to Heaven or Hell— rest assured he will check out them both, find out which one Richard Milhous Nixon Went to— and go there. He could never stand being bored. But there must be football too—and peacocks…(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hunter_S_Thompson).

Many might still wonder why he did it, after all his struggles and success. Many might think it a terrible way out, many might think it the only way out for Hunter S. Thompson—“too weird to live, too rare to die” (Thompson).

Copyright©NicoleQueen: This is purely a scholastic paper for research and background purposes, it is not to be distributed or used as your own paper. Do your own homework!

Hi, Clara!
How are you?

My name is Tatiana and I am currently a senior at the University of Tampa. You have recently commented on Beth Kanter's blog post that featured my project on the impact of the internet marketing of social media and its users.

You have a very interesting and unique perspective on this issue and I was wondering if your could share it on my blog and contribute to my project.

http://tatianatugbaevafinalproject.blogspot.com/

Tatiana's personal branding strategy is impressive. She has a regular blog and a project that communicate the online phenomenon about individual self-marketing, thoughtful research and writing.

Young people today, like Tatiana, are very cognizant of the web, and you could even say they definitely use it more intelligently than those of us who were weaned off of early AOL IM, chat or even intra net BBS green-type systems with MS DOS commands. I used to think I was of the privileged technology generation, able to code simple HTML on Geocities, but now it's really changing beyond that.

I would even go so far as to say that Tatiana's peers and college students are smarter about using the web than those of us who got used to the web tech in the 90s.

The differences between Gen X, Gen Y and Gen Me
In my peer group, some have heard of wikis, but most think of Wikipedia. Others may have a Facebook profile but avoid it like the plague because of spammy apps. Some use IM to communicate incessantly, but others don't. This is the group most likely to possess "information fatigue," because generically speaking, I've observed that we don't digest information as well as the younger crowd.

Too much internet information doesn't sit well with us, because we did grow up with our parents reading the local brand newspapers and magazines. My dad has stacks of the National Geographic and the San Jose Mercury that he refused to throw away.

We're a little bit harder to reach online. I still have friends who are very active on LiveJournal with very private profiles available to only a select few, while I prefer Facebook or IM. (More on social media hierarchies and usage soon.)

How Internet Media and Professional Profiles has Evolved
Gone are the days when profile surveys are sent in the form of email-chain-letter-forwards between friends. This evolved to LinkedIn professional profiles, then of course there were HR crises on MySpace where your boss finds your drunken pictures (thus giving social networks a bad rep). Now all that has moved outwards where some are pro-actively taking a stand on which pages show up on Google through blogs and the form of online portfolios. Now we've almost made the full circle to Geocities homepages, but instead of focusing on our hobbies or interest, like dogs, or random pictures and animated gifs, the web 2.0 era has a strong interest in aesthetic, design and professional image.

This means we've got a powerful advertising vehicle on our hands that could be tackled...or not. The questions to ask are: Which Audience and Which Type of Media?

First the shock that another voice of peace had been silenced, then the fear that America was spinning out of control, and the very real feeling that something BIG was coming down. Notions of conspiracy, and of revolution, and talk of what we would do if the violence reached us.

America burned in the days to follow. One hundred cities saw rioting. Days later, driving through the gutted, burned streets of Cincinnati with my Uncle Joe and Grandpa Sandy, we surveyed the damage. It felt surreal. It felt like a War Zone.

My Rabbi at the Indianapolis Hebrew Congregation had marched with Dr. King, identifying with the civil rights struggle as so many liberal Jews did. He spoke to our congregation about the widening division between Black and White, rich and poor, capital and labor. He preached the need for involvement. I embraced that notion of social activism, and made a commitment that I would be part of the solution, not the problem. A commitment that eventually led me to join the Peace Corps and serve as a volunteer in Central Africa for 2 years.

So it is 40 years later, and the cities of America have long since stopped smoldering. And yet, while much progress has been made, the same struggle for human, civil and economic freedom continues to rage on. Today a stifling political correctness pervades our culture. Gone is the heady sense of freedom and potential that the Sixties and its imminent change suggested. Today our 'leaders' feed us a steady diet of fear and fabrication. Tracking chips in our passports, and invasion of our privacy, and armed soldiers on our streets and in our subways is a fair exchange, we are told, for a sense of security. The enemy is terror, and he is everywhere and coming for us soon. We are engaged in a moral war, and yes, a very real global war as well.

The prospect of our first Black President gives me occasion for hope. Barack Obama is a man who epitomizes the social activism we espoused back in those brutal days. His candidacy suggests that the country might just be ready to transcend the ugliness that drove the events of that April day back in 1968. One can only hope.

This is a day for reflection.

Today I took a mid-day ride
and nearly lost my life
A large-framed man
in a too-small car
cut me off on the Garden State

He desired my place in lane
first sped up, then hit the brakes
I swerved and skidded to avoid a scene
and the loss of time that an accident takes

He waved his finger
Fuck you he screamed
red-faced and bloated
behind the Kia’s tinted screen

I breathed
out the stress
and in the bliss
before I saw the exit
that I had just missed

New Jersey doesn’t care about convenience
ten mile breaks before any off ramps
and then you end up behind mom in the mini van
at CR-657 and the Junction of 22 West

I didn't really believe it before but journalists apparently do get angry about being under appreciated for their talents. Good writers are getting quickly trumped by technology and the paper boy isn't worth much to me either. As far as I am concerned, I don't want a wad of paper delivered to my home every day, especially when my News Central is right at my desktop after I check my e-mail.

I visited <a href="http://www.angryjournalist.com>The Angry Journalist</a> and the most recent gripe by Angry Journalist #2201 is a fairly amusing gripe about Social Media:

"Does journalism even exist anymore? A five-line blurb on the Web? Whoop de doo. Get a real job."

It's not really clear what his gripe is about exactly, it could be the idea that newspapers don't publish new news and blogs are ubiquitous at this point. But yeah, I get that. Journalists are struggling to keep up, but just like everybody else, journalists have to innovate themselves. After a few months at a local daily paper, entirely paid by local advertisers, I knew I had to get out. The newspaper's publisher at the time refused to even archive their paper on the web.

As a girl who met her first Apple computer at age 9, I thought this was just ridiculous.

Angry Journalist #2201, I get where you are coming from. News quality is decreasing and the level of information on the web is just crazy. But maybe, just maybe, "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em." Who said journalism has to be owned by a select few? The first newspaper was probably started by a guy who was experimenting with a printing press and just went around talking to people. No joke.

Didion's writing examines the desire to create a functional, understandable narrative within the context of journalism.  She analyzes journalistic conventions, particularly those associated with naming (i.e. not naming rape victims, not naming juvenile suspects) and places these practices within a greater social and historical context.  Her description of the coverage of this trial provides an illustration of media bias, and the ways in which journalistic coverage both informs and shapes public perception.

Her explanation of the public's fascination with crime ("crimes are universally understood to be news to the extent that they offer, however erroneously, a story, a lesson, a high concept")  is further developed into an exploration of what crimes are reported, and how we understand these crimes.  Her writing is concise, informed, and possesses a bent for the absurd detail  that undermines authority.  I'd recommend this essay to anyone interested in literature or sociology, as it is a stylistically sophisticated, articulate exploration of the ways in which the media helps to shape our reality.

-amanda vaden