It's not easy this video-making lark.
I had great intentions of making my video about the Adventure Challenge and submitting it to JCNN, James Cook uni's news network, but I don't think my effort is good enough. I didn't realise that I'd missed so many shot sequences until I came to edit it all together.
I think it also suffers from its missing music track. I made one in GarageBand, but it didn't make it through the Vimeo upload process. Maybe it's out there in cyberspace somewhere, waiting to attach itself to someones iTunes download.
If you get a version of something that sounds vaguely like dance music but was obviously made by someone clueless in the ways of dance music (or any music, now I come to think of it, I only believe it's dance music because it said so on the button I clicked in GarageBand) don't complain to Apple. Just smack it on it's little digital bum and send it to home to me.
I should have planned the shoot better. I should have interviewed more people (I did start but then got busy moving the camera everywhere to really mix up my shots and make the video extra confusing). I should have written a voice-over and put narration on it. I should have...well, you get the picture, there's lots of things I should have done.
Will I make the same mistakes again? Yep, I sure will, and new ones too. I'd love to be able to say that I'll never make "that" mistake again but I'm old enough to know that isn't the way it works in Chris world.
Some people find it impossible to admit they've made a mistake in the first place, and I think they miss out on one of the best life lessons of all.
When I did my engineering apprenticeship with George from the Ukraine many years ago, he taught me many things. I think his most valuable lesson though was teaching me how to get myself out of the poo when I'd dropped myself in it.
George always had a trick up his sleeve. Whether it was something that he'd saved from an earlier job or something he'd salvaged from around the factory (he used to make me sift through the cleaner's floor sweepings for odd nuts and bolts and then save them in old tobacco tins for when they were needed) he could always come up with something that would fix the problem. He was MacGyver before MacGyver.
It would be nice to be good at everything straight away but life doesn't work like that. We have to keep plugging away at things to get better. Unless it's skiing. My decision to quit that after two lessons was appreciated by everyone at Thredbo, especially the people in the ski class I knocked over.
Tuesday 17 September 2013
Monday 16 September 2013
On a Mission Multi-Sport Adventure Challenge
The 'On a Mission Multi-Sport Adventure Challenge' held at Mission Beach yesterday.
On a Mission Adventure Challenge from Chris Holmes on Vimeo.
On a Mission Adventure Challenge from Chris Holmes on Vimeo.
Wednesday 28 August 2013
News Writing for Beginners
In my journalism class this semester we've begun to delve deeper into the art of news writing. Journalists figure out the most important bits of a story, then just string a whole bunch of words together in the right order to tell a story. Right? Sounds easy.
If you follow the rules of establishing the five W's and the H - that's the who, what, when, where, why and how - you're certainly closer to writing your story but there's plenty of other things that can trip you up, as I keep finding out.
In our initial journalism exercises we were given all the facts to write a story, they just weren't always in the right order. Figuring out the news values that make a story interesting, as well as the five W's and the H, isn't too hard if you're given a simple car crash to report on, for instance.
Try wading through a 15-page transcript of one of Barack Obama's speeches to find the story. I had a few goes at it and I still couldn't find one. My lecturer, Amy, assures me there's one in there somewhere.
If we assume that you've found the story (honestly, is it too much to ask that he gives a little sign when he gets to the important part of his speech next time?), then comes the tricky part of writing the lead (or the lede, or the intro; it's the same thing, it just depends on where you're from). This usually follows the inverted pyramid style of news writing where the most important parts of the story are placed right at the beginning, just in case the editor needs to prune your story to make room for something more important, such as a beer ad. Hmm, beer. Readers also skim stories, so you need to get all the juicy bits up front to grab their attention.
We get to put all this into practice soon and go out gathering facts for our own stories. That'll be fun, 50 journalism students wandering around Townsville looking for people to interview.
I wonder if we could all report on the same incident? 50 accounts of the same nobody-injured, nose-to-tail car crash in a suburban back street could be quite entertaining, I seem to remember that bystanders are less than reliable in their accounts sometimes.
"In Townsville today a cat/dog/child ran out in front of a blue/green/red car that was driving at, under or over the speed limit, causing the car/van/ute behind to crash/smash/bash into the back of the yellow/brown/orange car in front."
Perfect, the facts must be in there, somewhere.
If you follow the rules of establishing the five W's and the H - that's the who, what, when, where, why and how - you're certainly closer to writing your story but there's plenty of other things that can trip you up, as I keep finding out.
In our initial journalism exercises we were given all the facts to write a story, they just weren't always in the right order. Figuring out the news values that make a story interesting, as well as the five W's and the H, isn't too hard if you're given a simple car crash to report on, for instance.
Try wading through a 15-page transcript of one of Barack Obama's speeches to find the story. I had a few goes at it and I still couldn't find one. My lecturer, Amy, assures me there's one in there somewhere.
If we assume that you've found the story (honestly, is it too much to ask that he gives a little sign when he gets to the important part of his speech next time?), then comes the tricky part of writing the lead (or the lede, or the intro; it's the same thing, it just depends on where you're from). This usually follows the inverted pyramid style of news writing where the most important parts of the story are placed right at the beginning, just in case the editor needs to prune your story to make room for something more important, such as a beer ad. Hmm, beer. Readers also skim stories, so you need to get all the juicy bits up front to grab their attention.
We get to put all this into practice soon and go out gathering facts for our own stories. That'll be fun, 50 journalism students wandering around Townsville looking for people to interview.
I wonder if we could all report on the same incident? 50 accounts of the same nobody-injured, nose-to-tail car crash in a suburban back street could be quite entertaining, I seem to remember that bystanders are less than reliable in their accounts sometimes.
"In Townsville today a cat/dog/child ran out in front of a blue/green/red car that was driving at, under or over the speed limit, causing the car/van/ute behind to crash/smash/bash into the back of the yellow/brown/orange car in front."
Perfect, the facts must be in there, somewhere.
Friday 9 August 2013
His Name's Peter...He's Here To Help
I'm not really sure that I should be introducing politics on my blog, it's certainly not a subject that I'm especially knowledgeable about, even after taking Introduction to Political Science PL-1001 last semester, sorry Associate Professor, but here goes anyway..
I listened to the Kevin Rudd/Peter Beattie news conference on the radio yesterday and couldn't believe what I was hearing. Peter Beattie and his wife moved into his brother's house in the electorate of Forde that morning and if elected will buy a house and move into the area immediately. Well, that must give locals confidence in how committed Mr Beattie is to representing them: vote him in, he'll stay, if you don't, see you, bye.
I know modern elections are often more about stunts and publicity than policy, and that marginal seats are the ones that get all the media attention during an election campaign, but I do wonder what the Australian Labor Party thinks of the voters in the Forde electorate. Are they expected to be dazzled by a celebrity candidate and forget all the things that have been said in the past? Mr Beattie has previously stated that he wasn't interested in federal politics and supported Julia Gillard over Kevin Rudd as prime minister, that all now appears to be irrelevant.
In his speech, Mr Beattie bemoans the fact that Labor has seven seats in State Parliament and eight seats in Federal Parliament and says "that's simply not fair". Hang on, I thought that was the whole point of a modern representational democracy. We all vote and if your party gets less votes than the other lot, they win and you lose. Labor has seven seats in State Parliament because that's what the majority of Queensland wanted. Of course, they might be thinking differently now after some of Mr Newman's job cuts, but that's the way politics works. If we vote them in, then we have to live with the consequences until it's time to vote them out again.
OK, rant over until something else annoys me. I can't say I'm a big fan of either major party, and I live in Bob Katter's electorate so my vote doesn't do much anyway.
I listened to the Kevin Rudd/Peter Beattie news conference on the radio yesterday and couldn't believe what I was hearing. Peter Beattie and his wife moved into his brother's house in the electorate of Forde that morning and if elected will buy a house and move into the area immediately. Well, that must give locals confidence in how committed Mr Beattie is to representing them: vote him in, he'll stay, if you don't, see you, bye.
I know modern elections are often more about stunts and publicity than policy, and that marginal seats are the ones that get all the media attention during an election campaign, but I do wonder what the Australian Labor Party thinks of the voters in the Forde electorate. Are they expected to be dazzled by a celebrity candidate and forget all the things that have been said in the past? Mr Beattie has previously stated that he wasn't interested in federal politics and supported Julia Gillard over Kevin Rudd as prime minister, that all now appears to be irrelevant.
In his speech, Mr Beattie bemoans the fact that Labor has seven seats in State Parliament and eight seats in Federal Parliament and says "that's simply not fair". Hang on, I thought that was the whole point of a modern representational democracy. We all vote and if your party gets less votes than the other lot, they win and you lose. Labor has seven seats in State Parliament because that's what the majority of Queensland wanted. Of course, they might be thinking differently now after some of Mr Newman's job cuts, but that's the way politics works. If we vote them in, then we have to live with the consequences until it's time to vote them out again.
OK, rant over until something else annoys me. I can't say I'm a big fan of either major party, and I live in Bob Katter's electorate so my vote doesn't do much anyway.
Saturday 3 August 2013
Neil Davis: Great-granddaddy of backpack journalism?
The backpack journalist, a.k.a. APJ or all-platform journalist, is supposed to be a new form of reporter, a jack of all trades capable of tracking down news and recording it in various forms; someone competent in video and audio capture, photography, interviewing, story writing and editing.
Some books and websites would have you believe that this is a new phenomenon brought about by media downsizing, the rise of internet news and the introduction of new technology. TechNewsWorld has described journalist Kevin Sites as the "granddaddy of APJs" however, the more I looked at this form of journalism during my first semester at uni, the more I was reminded of the work of Australian cameraman Neil Davis.
In Vietnam he chose to cover the fighting with the South Vietnamese troops, believing that they were the ones doing the hardest fighting. This meant that he often had to walk for days at a time while out on patrols, carrying all of his camera and sound equipment and with no chance of helicopter evacuation if he was wounded. When other Western journalists left the country as North Vietnamese forces reached Saigon in 1975, Davis stayed behind and captured the iconic footage of Communist tanks driving through the gates of the Presidential Palace.
This is an excerpt from David Bradbury's 1980 documentary about Davis, "Frontline".
Davis went on to cover wars in Africa and the Middle East, however with the introduction of video he was forced to work with a sound engineer who carried the heavy audio equipment. He was killed in Thailand in 1985, along with his soundman Bill Latch, while filming a short-lived coup.
If you want to read more about his fascinating career, try Tim Bowden's excellent biography of Neil Davis called "One Crowded Hour", a reference to the lines of a poem that Davis wrote in the front of all his work diaries, lines that he saw as his own personal motto: "One crowded hour of glorious life is worth an age without a name".
Some books and websites would have you believe that this is a new phenomenon brought about by media downsizing, the rise of internet news and the introduction of new technology. TechNewsWorld has described journalist Kevin Sites as the "granddaddy of APJs" however, the more I looked at this form of journalism during my first semester at uni, the more I was reminded of the work of Australian cameraman Neil Davis.
I think Davis was a backpack journalist forty years before the term was even thought of. Born in Tasmania in 1934, he learnt his craft at the Tasmanian Government Film Unit and the ABC before moving to South East Asia in 1964 to cover the various conflicts that were flaring up in the area. He usually worked alone, not wanting the responsibility of looking after a sound engineer, preferring to record his own sound as well as shooting film. He was also adept at doing stand-up reports in front of the camera and wrote copy when required.
In Vietnam he chose to cover the fighting with the South Vietnamese troops, believing that they were the ones doing the hardest fighting. This meant that he often had to walk for days at a time while out on patrols, carrying all of his camera and sound equipment and with no chance of helicopter evacuation if he was wounded. When other Western journalists left the country as North Vietnamese forces reached Saigon in 1975, Davis stayed behind and captured the iconic footage of Communist tanks driving through the gates of the Presidential Palace.
This is an excerpt from David Bradbury's 1980 documentary about Davis, "Frontline".
Davis went on to cover wars in Africa and the Middle East, however with the introduction of video he was forced to work with a sound engineer who carried the heavy audio equipment. He was killed in Thailand in 1985, along with his soundman Bill Latch, while filming a short-lived coup.
If you want to read more about his fascinating career, try Tim Bowden's excellent biography of Neil Davis called "One Crowded Hour", a reference to the lines of a poem that Davis wrote in the front of all his work diaries, lines that he saw as his own personal motto: "One crowded hour of glorious life is worth an age without a name".
Saturday 15 June 2013
Happy Birthday Mum
Happy Birthday Mum.
You'd have been 88 today if the vagaries of the British National Health Service hadn't let your diabetes run rampant. Lots of things have happened since you've been gone, some good things, though more bad. Terrorists have taken over the world, causing mayhem and madness wherever they so choose. You'd probably remember them from your time in London during the war, though they were called GI's back then.
I've just been out taking photographs and thanking the universe that you didn't pass on your photography skills to me. They'll probably invent an app soon that automatically crops off heads and frames feet in the shot but you could do all that manually, you didn't need fancy new technology to do it.
How would I even try to explain PC's, DVD's and smart-phones to you? You had enough trouble with the VCR. To this day I have no idea how you managed to record Michael Jackson's Thriller video when it was first shown on TV. I suspect you were trying to record EastEnders or Coronation Street on a completely different channel on a different day and at a different time, but I'm glad you did it, whenever I see that video now, it reminds me of you.
You did pass on your love of reading and your interest in crosswords for which I'm grateful, but you also gave me your short-arse little legs, which I'm less thrilled about. Your other great passion was knitting. I remember all the jumpers you churned out on your knitting machine, and the fights we used to have because I refused to wear any of them. You could never understand why a teenage boy would refuse to wear a jumper that was: a) made by his Mum and b) had a pattern on it so alarming even Val Doonican would have refused to wear it...but that didn't stop you trying.
Happy Birthday Mum, from your 40th birthday present. Yes, I never had any excuse for forgetting your birthday, did I? Some women get champagne and flowers, you got me instead, though looking back on my grunting teenage years, I'm sure you'd have swapped me in a heartbeat for a bottle of Guinness and a bunch of daisies.
Your loving son, Chris
XXX
You'd have been 88 today if the vagaries of the British National Health Service hadn't let your diabetes run rampant. Lots of things have happened since you've been gone, some good things, though more bad. Terrorists have taken over the world, causing mayhem and madness wherever they so choose. You'd probably remember them from your time in London during the war, though they were called GI's back then.
I've just been out taking photographs and thanking the universe that you didn't pass on your photography skills to me. They'll probably invent an app soon that automatically crops off heads and frames feet in the shot but you could do all that manually, you didn't need fancy new technology to do it.
How would I even try to explain PC's, DVD's and smart-phones to you? You had enough trouble with the VCR. To this day I have no idea how you managed to record Michael Jackson's Thriller video when it was first shown on TV. I suspect you were trying to record EastEnders or Coronation Street on a completely different channel on a different day and at a different time, but I'm glad you did it, whenever I see that video now, it reminds me of you.
You did pass on your love of reading and your interest in crosswords for which I'm grateful, but you also gave me your short-arse little legs, which I'm less thrilled about. Your other great passion was knitting. I remember all the jumpers you churned out on your knitting machine, and the fights we used to have because I refused to wear any of them. You could never understand why a teenage boy would refuse to wear a jumper that was: a) made by his Mum and b) had a pattern on it so alarming even Val Doonican would have refused to wear it...but that didn't stop you trying.
Happy Birthday Mum, from your 40th birthday present. Yes, I never had any excuse for forgetting your birthday, did I? Some women get champagne and flowers, you got me instead, though looking back on my grunting teenage years, I'm sure you'd have swapped me in a heartbeat for a bottle of Guinness and a bunch of daisies.
Your loving son, Chris
XXX
Sunday 9 June 2013
Exam Cheer(s)
Sorry. My blog posts have been absent this week, all thanks to my ongoing struggle with revision for my political science exam next week. When I read the books they make perfect sense, then I close them and zoom, whatever I thought I knew just disappears, gone. Maybe I should just leave the books open and never shut them.
Yesterday I threw myself into...watching a borrowed copy of Underbelly: Badness. Today, however, after taking the DVDs back, going to the supermarket to get cat biscuits and having a nap, I really threw myself into it. No, stop laughing, I did, in fact I've just finished a revision session where I incorporated my new secret weapon, beer. (OK, yes, you're right, it's the same secret weapon I always use so it's not much of a secret, or much of a weapon come to that)
I'm not sure I can class it as performance enhancing, but I did just write four short practice essays in less than two hours. On the day I have to write three essays in two hours, though now I think about it, they have to be legible essays that make some sort of sense. Maybe there's a correlation between previous beer drinking and the fact that I can never close a textbook ever again?
I'm certain a calming beer before the big event would be a great way to settle the nerves but I think I'd be more inclined to stay in the pub than turn up for the exam. Maybe the uni would be okay if I arrived at the exam with a six-pack? Some people bring Tic-Tacs or gum, why should I be singled out because of a few beers and/or a hip flask?
We're living in a democracy and not an authoritarian state after all. Hang on, maybe something did sink in. Let's drink to that, cheers!
Yesterday I threw myself into...watching a borrowed copy of Underbelly: Badness. Today, however, after taking the DVDs back, going to the supermarket to get cat biscuits and having a nap, I really threw myself into it. No, stop laughing, I did, in fact I've just finished a revision session where I incorporated my new secret weapon, beer. (OK, yes, you're right, it's the same secret weapon I always use so it's not much of a secret, or much of a weapon come to that)
I'm not sure I can class it as performance enhancing, but I did just write four short practice essays in less than two hours. On the day I have to write three essays in two hours, though now I think about it, they have to be legible essays that make some sort of sense. Maybe there's a correlation between previous beer drinking and the fact that I can never close a textbook ever again?
I'm certain a calming beer before the big event would be a great way to settle the nerves but I think I'd be more inclined to stay in the pub than turn up for the exam. Maybe the uni would be okay if I arrived at the exam with a six-pack? Some people bring Tic-Tacs or gum, why should I be singled out because of a few beers and/or a hip flask?
We're living in a democracy and not an authoritarian state after all. Hang on, maybe something did sink in. Let's drink to that, cheers!
Saturday 1 June 2013
Uni. Almost done...for now
Just a few thoughts on my latest uni (mis)adventures.
I've a photography assignment due next week, so obviously it hasn't stopped raining in Innisfail for days. It can be sunny everywhere else in the world and it'll be raining here. Guaranteed. I'm starting to think I'm related to the Munsters or maybe the Addams family, as our house always seems to have a thunderstorm hovering permanently above it.
Maybe I'm just being too cynical and I'm looking at it all wrong. I should be thanking the universe for turning the backyard into a paddy field, it now reminds me of holidays in Vietnam and Thailand. If life gives you lemons...ah, forget that make lemonade nonsense...lets drink tequila!
Once my photo assignment's done, the only thing left to do this semester is to revise for my political science exam. Won't that be fun? I haven't chosen my elective subject for next semester yet, though it's a pretty safe bet it won't be anything to do with political science. You don't have to be Tom Waterhouse to work out those odds.
Driving to Townsville and back every week got to be a chore pretty quickly. Singing to myself to pass the time wasn't working so I thought I'd liven the journey up with an audio-book from the library. I chose Peter FitzSimons' Kokoda for my first audio-book, and while I can't vouch for it's historical accuracy, it was certainly a great piece of story telling. 16 hours and 50 minutes worth in fact, on 14 CDs, read by Lewis Fitz-Gerald, whose narration was excellent and brought the story to life. Loved it.
I've a photography assignment due next week, so obviously it hasn't stopped raining in Innisfail for days. It can be sunny everywhere else in the world and it'll be raining here. Guaranteed. I'm starting to think I'm related to the Munsters or maybe the Addams family, as our house always seems to have a thunderstorm hovering permanently above it.
Maybe I'm just being too cynical and I'm looking at it all wrong. I should be thanking the universe for turning the backyard into a paddy field, it now reminds me of holidays in Vietnam and Thailand. If life gives you lemons...ah, forget that make lemonade nonsense...lets drink tequila!
Once my photo assignment's done, the only thing left to do this semester is to revise for my political science exam. Won't that be fun? I haven't chosen my elective subject for next semester yet, though it's a pretty safe bet it won't be anything to do with political science. You don't have to be Tom Waterhouse to work out those odds.
Driving to Townsville and back every week got to be a chore pretty quickly. Singing to myself to pass the time wasn't working so I thought I'd liven the journey up with an audio-book from the library. I chose Peter FitzSimons' Kokoda for my first audio-book, and while I can't vouch for it's historical accuracy, it was certainly a great piece of story telling. 16 hours and 50 minutes worth in fact, on 14 CDs, read by Lewis Fitz-Gerald, whose narration was excellent and brought the story to life. Loved it.
Tuesday 28 May 2013
Addiction, Journalism and David Carr
Do you ever get the feeling that the universe is pushing you in a certain direction and you'd be wise to just let yourself be taken where it wants you go? I'm talking about those times when a name or place that you've never heard before just keeps popping up.
Last week in our journalism lecture, Marie had us watch the documentary Page One: Inside the New York Times. One of the journalists featured in the movie was David Carr. He reminded me a bit of Tommy Lee Jones, only crankier. Marie said he was on Twitter and was an interesting writer to follow. It was mentioned in the movie that he'd recovered from a twenty-year drug addiction and that rang a bell with me. I was sure I'd heard of him before.
I checked him out later and that bell was ringing because I'd seen his book, The Night of the Gun, while I was looking at journalism books on Amazon. It recounts his investigation into his life when he was on drugs; his own recollection was a little...shall we say hazy... and he uses his skills as a journalist to go back and interview his friends and family to find out what he really got up to all those years ago.
Today after uni, I went into the shops to buy a new notebook (it's an exciting life!) and as I was passing QBD, I thought I'd go in and have a quick look. Yep, you've guessed it, there was The Night of the Gun calling out to me from the top shelf, it even had that special university student sticker on it...NOW: $4.99.
I'm up to Chapter Five and Marie's right, he is an interesting writer. Very interesting.
Last week in our journalism lecture, Marie had us watch the documentary Page One: Inside the New York Times. One of the journalists featured in the movie was David Carr. He reminded me a bit of Tommy Lee Jones, only crankier. Marie said he was on Twitter and was an interesting writer to follow. It was mentioned in the movie that he'd recovered from a twenty-year drug addiction and that rang a bell with me. I was sure I'd heard of him before.
I checked him out later and that bell was ringing because I'd seen his book, The Night of the Gun, while I was looking at journalism books on Amazon. It recounts his investigation into his life when he was on drugs; his own recollection was a little...shall we say hazy... and he uses his skills as a journalist to go back and interview his friends and family to find out what he really got up to all those years ago.
Today after uni, I went into the shops to buy a new notebook (it's an exciting life!) and as I was passing QBD, I thought I'd go in and have a quick look. Yep, you've guessed it, there was The Night of the Gun calling out to me from the top shelf, it even had that special university student sticker on it...NOW: $4.99.
I'm up to Chapter Five and Marie's right, he is an interesting writer. Very interesting.
Sunday 26 May 2013
Yungaburra Markets
It's not often that my brilliant idea to go to Yungaburra markets actually gets us there. It's usually because I've got the day or the week wrong, or forgotten that we're going somewhere else, but yesterday the market gods and I were in perfect harmony for once.
The sun was shining, so we followed the advice of our Innisfail friends and wore just about all of the clothes we own. They're of the opinion that anywhere on the Atherton Tablelands will always be at least five degrees colder than here in Innisfail, and it was advice we did well to follow. The sun may have been out but there was an icy wind whistling through the stalls.
It was pretty easy to pick the locals. For the most part they were the ones rugged up in ski-jackets and ugg boots. The tourists were easy to spot too, blue skinned and shivering, they were the ones warming themselves in the steam from their over-priced coffees. Occasionally, we'd spot that Queensland oddity, the barefoot man, clad in shorts, singlet and a beanie - to keep out the cold.
For me, a trip to the markets always seems to have the thrill of a treasure hunt; I don't know what's there but I suspect it's something good and it's out there somewhere, I just have to find it. It may be an interesting book at the second-hand stall, a spicy pastry triangle to tempt the taste buds and/or spill down my shirt or the latest nut cracker/torch/socket set/pocket knife gadget, all have to be checked out.
Cyndi found her treasure at a stall that was just closing for the day, a purple skirt for a dollar. She was the only successful treasure hunter yesterday, I found nothing. No repeat of the cappuccino ice-cream discovered at Port Douglas markets, or the $8 autobiography of an Australian prisoner of war who'd worked on the Thai-Burma railway, found at Rusty's market a week after getting back from Hellfire Pass in Thailand.
I did consider buying a couple of books at the book stall but figured I'd never have the time to read them, something I find quite ironic. I thought going to uni would mean lots of reading, and I guess to a certain extent it does, though it's more skimming to gather information than reading for pleasure. Still, by the time I finish my degree in a few year's time, I'll have a couple of Lee Child or Stuart McBride novels to catch up on. By my calculations, there'll also be around 250 new James Patterson novels on the shelves by then too.
It was pretty easy to pick the locals. For the most part they were the ones rugged up in ski-jackets and ugg boots. The tourists were easy to spot too, blue skinned and shivering, they were the ones warming themselves in the steam from their over-priced coffees. Occasionally, we'd spot that Queensland oddity, the barefoot man, clad in shorts, singlet and a beanie - to keep out the cold.
For me, a trip to the markets always seems to have the thrill of a treasure hunt; I don't know what's there but I suspect it's something good and it's out there somewhere, I just have to find it. It may be an interesting book at the second-hand stall, a spicy pastry triangle to tempt the taste buds and/or spill down my shirt or the latest nut cracker/torch/socket set/pocket knife gadget, all have to be checked out.
I did consider buying a couple of books at the book stall but figured I'd never have the time to read them, something I find quite ironic. I thought going to uni would mean lots of reading, and I guess to a certain extent it does, though it's more skimming to gather information than reading for pleasure. Still, by the time I finish my degree in a few year's time, I'll have a couple of Lee Child or Stuart McBride novels to catch up on. By my calculations, there'll also be around 250 new James Patterson novels on the shelves by then too.
Saturday 25 May 2013
Investigative Journalism
Of all the journalism lectures this semester, the ones I looked forward to most were the ones on photojournalism and investigative reporting.
The photojournalism is probably easiest to explain. I've been interested in photography for years. I bought a camera, learnt the basics of exposure and composition and studied the works of the great photographers to learn how they captured their images. The ones that fascinated me the most were the photojournalists and the war photographers. Robert Capa. Don McCullin. Larry Burrows. James Natchwey. I loved the way Burrows and W. Eugene Smith told entire stories with their photo essays.
As for the investigative journalism? Well, that seems to be a natural extension of an interest in whodunnits, cryptic crosswords and sifting through documents looking for lost relatives. I also get pretty cranky at the various abuses of power that occur in society and I'm a firm believer that one of the main roles of the press is to hold the powerful accountable for some of their less reputable decisions. It's an area of journalism that I'm certainly interested in pursuing, though according to the books on investigative journalism in the uni library I'm not alone; just about every other journalism student sees their future in it too!
John Pilger believes that the term investigative journalist is wrong as every journalist is, in theory, supposed to investigate and check facts before publishing. Other authors however disagree and consider that investigative journalism differs completely from general news reporting. Investigative reporters have to take their suspicions of wrong doing, whether it be an abuse of power or an official cover-up, and then find the evidence to prove their story. It's a long term process, one that requires evidence gathering and fact checking. If you read "All The President's Men" you'll discover the meticulous care that Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward took in trying to ensure that their facts were correct in their Watergate investigation (you'll also discover the consequences too when they slipped up).
In the lecture we looked at the attributes an investigative journalist needs to possess. An interest in whodunnits, cryptic crosswords and sifting through documents looking for lost relatives wasn't specifically on the list though having good research skills was, along with determination, patience and good reporting skills.
Marie also spoke of the need to ensure that a story has public interest; a community should either benefit from a story, or be disadvantaged by not knowing it. She gave us a few examples of stories and we had to decide if they could be classed as examples of investigative journalism. I have my own example, one that appeared in the Sunday Mail last year. At the time I wasn't too impressed with this story; it seemed to me that listening in on a driver's phone call was more an invasion of privacy than investigative journalism, especially if it was recorded so it could be translated later. Looking at the whole story again, I think I can add a lack of public interest to my list of objections, though at least they didn't call it Currygate.
The photojournalism is probably easiest to explain. I've been interested in photography for years. I bought a camera, learnt the basics of exposure and composition and studied the works of the great photographers to learn how they captured their images. The ones that fascinated me the most were the photojournalists and the war photographers. Robert Capa. Don McCullin. Larry Burrows. James Natchwey. I loved the way Burrows and W. Eugene Smith told entire stories with their photo essays.
As for the investigative journalism? Well, that seems to be a natural extension of an interest in whodunnits, cryptic crosswords and sifting through documents looking for lost relatives. I also get pretty cranky at the various abuses of power that occur in society and I'm a firm believer that one of the main roles of the press is to hold the powerful accountable for some of their less reputable decisions. It's an area of journalism that I'm certainly interested in pursuing, though according to the books on investigative journalism in the uni library I'm not alone; just about every other journalism student sees their future in it too!
John Pilger believes that the term investigative journalist is wrong as every journalist is, in theory, supposed to investigate and check facts before publishing. Other authors however disagree and consider that investigative journalism differs completely from general news reporting. Investigative reporters have to take their suspicions of wrong doing, whether it be an abuse of power or an official cover-up, and then find the evidence to prove their story. It's a long term process, one that requires evidence gathering and fact checking. If you read "All The President's Men" you'll discover the meticulous care that Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward took in trying to ensure that their facts were correct in their Watergate investigation (you'll also discover the consequences too when they slipped up).
In the lecture we looked at the attributes an investigative journalist needs to possess. An interest in whodunnits, cryptic crosswords and sifting through documents looking for lost relatives wasn't specifically on the list though having good research skills was, along with determination, patience and good reporting skills.
Marie also spoke of the need to ensure that a story has public interest; a community should either benefit from a story, or be disadvantaged by not knowing it. She gave us a few examples of stories and we had to decide if they could be classed as examples of investigative journalism. I have my own example, one that appeared in the Sunday Mail last year. At the time I wasn't too impressed with this story; it seemed to me that listening in on a driver's phone call was more an invasion of privacy than investigative journalism, especially if it was recorded so it could be translated later. Looking at the whole story again, I think I can add a lack of public interest to my list of objections, though at least they didn't call it Currygate.
Monday 20 May 2013
I Say About My Essay
My political science essay has been tweaked enough. If it's not ready for the attentions of the Associate Professor by now, it probably never will be. My first essay at university, a labour of anything but love.
It's my own fault though. I'm the one who chose it. We were told to select a political puzzle that interested us and then unravel it using comparative political science. I had the (possibly not so clever) idea of finding out why Australia gives less foreign aid than we promised in 2000, and Norway gives more. Lots more.
It turns out that the reason the Australian government gives less foreign aid than they should is because they can get away with it. Labor or Coalition, it doesn't seem to matter who's in power, they're not held to the promise, so they happily use the aid budget as they see fit. In fact, now that $375 million of foreign aid that was originally destined to be used overseas is being spent here on asylum seekers, we've become the third highest recipient of Australian aid!
After sleepless nights knowing that the deadline was looming, I knuckled down and did something else. I knew the essay was still there though, just waiting, biding it's time throughout the day and calling out to me at 4am. I did eventually start it though, and more importantly managed to finish it, whether it makes sense or not is a different matter.
Now for the exam...
It's my own fault though. I'm the one who chose it. We were told to select a political puzzle that interested us and then unravel it using comparative political science. I had the (possibly not so clever) idea of finding out why Australia gives less foreign aid than we promised in 2000, and Norway gives more. Lots more.
It turns out that the reason the Australian government gives less foreign aid than they should is because they can get away with it. Labor or Coalition, it doesn't seem to matter who's in power, they're not held to the promise, so they happily use the aid budget as they see fit. In fact, now that $375 million of foreign aid that was originally destined to be used overseas is being spent here on asylum seekers, we've become the third highest recipient of Australian aid!
After sleepless nights knowing that the deadline was looming, I knuckled down and did something else. I knew the essay was still there though, just waiting, biding it's time throughout the day and calling out to me at 4am. I did eventually start it though, and more importantly managed to finish it, whether it makes sense or not is a different matter.
Now for the exam...
Saturday 18 May 2013
Let Me Sell You A Story...
Our last two lecture sessions were spent presenting our final journalism assignment for the semester, the story pitch.
We had to develop a story idea, find all the information and sources needed, figure out the best type of medium to use in telling the story and then decide on the most appropriate media outlet to approach with our idea. We also had to identify the associated news values and outline any ethical dilemmas.
After gathering everything together, we had to present our story idea to our classmates - and Marie - who played the role of the editorial board for our chosen outlet. They then picked our idea apart, looking for glaring omissions or errors in judgement. If that wasn't enough pressure, the story pitch assignment was worth 40 percent of our final grade and we only had four minutes to make our presentation.
I initially thought of a story explaining the benefits of the National Disability Insurance Scheme, but the 2018 implementation date didn't make it a timely enough story, one that is relevant right now. Of course, the week I made my pitch, the increase to the Medicare levy to pay for the scheme had just been announced, making my untimely idea one of the hottest stories of the week.
I found another story idea, a convoluted tale full of intrigue and political dealing, possibly even political misdealing, though my dilemma was how to present it. I felt that to understand the parts of the story that I wanted to investigate and report on, the editorial board would need to know their relevance in relation to a complex chain of events.
I bought a book on presentations which recommended writing a single word summation of your key points on Post-it notes to get your thoughts in order. This worked well until I turned the fan on and my supposedly super sticky little yellow squares fluttered around the room like jaundiced suicidal butterflies. Still, they'd stuck long enough for me to work out what I wanted to say, my next problem was how to say it.
My book said to forget torturing your audience with PowerPoint presentations, an idea I whole-heartedly agreed with. I'd had enough problems fighting an uncooperative Excel spreadsheet during my media diary assignment, and certainly didn't want to wrestle with yet another recalcitrant Microsoft product during this one. I decided to write a script and read it out. The book said not to, but I have trouble remembering a drink order at the pub (except my bit, I always get that right) and there was no way I'd remember the entire story pitch.
I practised reading my script out in a strong, clear voice until I could do it flawlessly. My ideas flowed, my story had impact and I could explain it all in under four minutes. I was pumped, I was primed, I was ready to pitch. Of course, on the day, my new found presenting skills deserted me and I stuttered and spluttered my way through my pitch before gratefully collapsing back in my seat, happy that the easy part was over. The hardest part, that nerve-racking wait for the result, had only just begun...
We had to develop a story idea, find all the information and sources needed, figure out the best type of medium to use in telling the story and then decide on the most appropriate media outlet to approach with our idea. We also had to identify the associated news values and outline any ethical dilemmas.
After gathering everything together, we had to present our story idea to our classmates - and Marie - who played the role of the editorial board for our chosen outlet. They then picked our idea apart, looking for glaring omissions or errors in judgement. If that wasn't enough pressure, the story pitch assignment was worth 40 percent of our final grade and we only had four minutes to make our presentation.
I initially thought of a story explaining the benefits of the National Disability Insurance Scheme, but the 2018 implementation date didn't make it a timely enough story, one that is relevant right now. Of course, the week I made my pitch, the increase to the Medicare levy to pay for the scheme had just been announced, making my untimely idea one of the hottest stories of the week.
I found another story idea, a convoluted tale full of intrigue and political dealing, possibly even political misdealing, though my dilemma was how to present it. I felt that to understand the parts of the story that I wanted to investigate and report on, the editorial board would need to know their relevance in relation to a complex chain of events.
I bought a book on presentations which recommended writing a single word summation of your key points on Post-it notes to get your thoughts in order. This worked well until I turned the fan on and my supposedly super sticky little yellow squares fluttered around the room like jaundiced suicidal butterflies. Still, they'd stuck long enough for me to work out what I wanted to say, my next problem was how to say it.
My book said to forget torturing your audience with PowerPoint presentations, an idea I whole-heartedly agreed with. I'd had enough problems fighting an uncooperative Excel spreadsheet during my media diary assignment, and certainly didn't want to wrestle with yet another recalcitrant Microsoft product during this one. I decided to write a script and read it out. The book said not to, but I have trouble remembering a drink order at the pub (except my bit, I always get that right) and there was no way I'd remember the entire story pitch.
I practised reading my script out in a strong, clear voice until I could do it flawlessly. My ideas flowed, my story had impact and I could explain it all in under four minutes. I was pumped, I was primed, I was ready to pitch. Of course, on the day, my new found presenting skills deserted me and I stuttered and spluttered my way through my pitch before gratefully collapsing back in my seat, happy that the easy part was over. The hardest part, that nerve-racking wait for the result, had only just begun...
Tuesday 14 May 2013
Muster Musings
When Cyndi told me last week about her plans for pulling a 4WD on Sunday at the Ute and Truck Muster in Innisfail, I thought I'd be able to take some photos and write a blog post about the event. However, other mysterious forces came into play and conspired against me. I feel I didn't do a very good job on the photos and I thought I'd explain why.
I woke on Sunday morning feeling very seedy. Yes, I'd had a few drinkies the night before, but not enough to explain the way I was feeling. Little old ladies have annoyed me for years with their inability to describe what "squamy" felt like after I'd been called to treat them as a paramedic. After Sunday morning I think I have a pretty good idea of what squamy feels like.
It seems to sum up quite nicely the gurgling, churning, cramping, just-about-to-vomit-feeling I experienced. I can't say if weapons-grade farts are part of feeling squamy but they are a part of drinking Guinness, so I'm not sure whether I can officially put that down under the confirmed signs and symptoms of squamy. However, I can testify that Cyndi wasn't the least bit impressed with my swamp gas aroma and banned me from doing anymore, anywhere in her vicinity. In fact, a suburb away was probably still too close.
I rallied though. Cyndi dosed me up with her herbal remedies, and I eventually got my act together, sorted out my camera gear and off we went to the Muster. I have to admit though, my heart wasn't in it. The cramping had returned and I was more worried about accidentally opening up a very different aperture to the one on my camera.
The announcer explained that Ty Williams, the footy player, would soon be parachuting in. I saw a photographer walking out to the landing zone to take photos and briefly considered explaining that I was a JCU journalism student hoping to get closer to the action. I then calculated the distance from the landing ground to the safety of the nearest toilet and decided against it. I wasn't wearing my brown pants and certainly had no intention of upstaging Mr Williams with a heart-stopping free-fall of my own.
For a nano-second, I even considered taking the ride in the crane to get a birds eye view of the crowd and the show grounds, but the same distance from toilet equation came into play, this time multiplied by a constricting harness and the fact that a crane driver, many metres below me would need to let me down, before I let myself down. The added danger, of course, was if the accompanying nausea got too much for me while dangling over the crowd. A family's day out could be ruined by an ugly incident along the lines of "Look Dad. Is it a bird or a plane?" "Neither son, it appears to be last night's garlic prawns and a couple of pints of Guinness".
So I just pottered about, taking some ordinary looking photos and cheering on Cyndi in the 4WD-pulling race. Oh, and to the bloke who started looking under his ute just after I walked by, your LPG tank wasn't leaking, that was me. Sorry.
I woke on Sunday morning feeling very seedy. Yes, I'd had a few drinkies the night before, but not enough to explain the way I was feeling. Little old ladies have annoyed me for years with their inability to describe what "squamy" felt like after I'd been called to treat them as a paramedic. After Sunday morning I think I have a pretty good idea of what squamy feels like.
It seems to sum up quite nicely the gurgling, churning, cramping, just-about-to-vomit-feeling I experienced. I can't say if weapons-grade farts are part of feeling squamy but they are a part of drinking Guinness, so I'm not sure whether I can officially put that down under the confirmed signs and symptoms of squamy. However, I can testify that Cyndi wasn't the least bit impressed with my swamp gas aroma and banned me from doing anymore, anywhere in her vicinity. In fact, a suburb away was probably still too close.
I rallied though. Cyndi dosed me up with her herbal remedies, and I eventually got my act together, sorted out my camera gear and off we went to the Muster. I have to admit though, my heart wasn't in it. The cramping had returned and I was more worried about accidentally opening up a very different aperture to the one on my camera.
The announcer explained that Ty Williams, the footy player, would soon be parachuting in. I saw a photographer walking out to the landing zone to take photos and briefly considered explaining that I was a JCU journalism student hoping to get closer to the action. I then calculated the distance from the landing ground to the safety of the nearest toilet and decided against it. I wasn't wearing my brown pants and certainly had no intention of upstaging Mr Williams with a heart-stopping free-fall of my own.
For a nano-second, I even considered taking the ride in the crane to get a birds eye view of the crowd and the show grounds, but the same distance from toilet equation came into play, this time multiplied by a constricting harness and the fact that a crane driver, many metres below me would need to let me down, before I let myself down. The added danger, of course, was if the accompanying nausea got too much for me while dangling over the crowd. A family's day out could be ruined by an ugly incident along the lines of "Look Dad. Is it a bird or a plane?" "Neither son, it appears to be last night's garlic prawns and a couple of pints of Guinness".
So I just pottered about, taking some ordinary looking photos and cheering on Cyndi in the 4WD-pulling race. Oh, and to the bloke who started looking under his ute just after I walked by, your LPG tank wasn't leaking, that was me. Sorry.
Sunday 12 May 2013
Far North Queensland Ute and Truck Muster
Today the Variety Club hosted the Far North Queensland Ute and Truck Muster at the Innisfail Show Grounds. It's not normally the sort of event I'd find myself at but Cyndi had been co-opted into the Queensland Police Service's womens team who were competing in the six wheel truck pull.
Other events included the mens truck pull competition and Innisfail-born, North Queensland Cowboy's player Ty Williams parachuted in to say hello.
 |
| Ty Williams |
Innisfail-based pilot Andrew Biggs then wowed the crowd with an aerobatic display in his Pitts Special.
Aerobatic pilot Andrew Biggs in action
Thursday 9 May 2013
Finding My Voice
Today in our journalism tutorial Marie set up a press conference. We had to ask our volunteer interviewees enough questions to enable us to write a story about them. For the most part we only had five minutes and were allowed to ask five questions each.
Our press conference was a very sedate affair, no shouted questions, no camera flashes, no pressure. And I struggled. I really had trouble coming up with questions that were open-ended enough to gain material to use in an article.
I've always admired the journalist who can think on his or her feet. They ask a question, listen to the answer and quickly analyse it to figure out the next question to ask or point to refute. I worry that I don't have the analytical mind to be able to do this. Or I worry that I'm just too polite. How many times in my life have I met someone, listened to their views and decided that I totally disagreed with them but have just nodded and walked away? Is it because I don't feel that I can adequately argue my point or is it because I just don't want to make a scene?
During our lecture this week, some of us (the rest do it next week) had to present a story pitch to an editorial board. We had to find a news story that we wanted to report, identify why it was important in terms of news values, ethics, etc and then speak about it in front of the class who were playing the role of the editorial board for our chosen media outlet.
While researching my story pitch, I'd emailed the senior reporter of the local newspaper for some information. During our email exchanges he wrote about the perils of the press conference and recounted how he'd asked the Premier an important question during one such event. The Premier apparently decided not to answer the question and went off on a tangent instead, forcing him to keep asking the same question until he had something that resembled an answer. He says he then spent nearly all of the next week defending claims by the Premier's senior media advisor that he'd misrepresented the Premier's remarks. He advised me to remember that journalists in training need "courage under fire" in these situations, especially when, as he found on this occasion, other journalists were quite happy to sit back and watch him go it alone.
It's a good point to consider. If I want to be a voice for the voiceless, I have to speak up, possibly even shout. Since being at uni, I've learnt that people there are prepared to listen to me. They may not agree with what I have to say, and I have to be ready to back up what I do say with evidence (political science, PL1001!), but they will listen. Maybe this is exactly what I need?
I've already surprised myself at how many times I put my hand up and speak during journalism classes, I even to do it in political science lectures now, somewhere I feel less confident in my abilities. I've always believed I'm much more articulate in print than in person, which is possibly a slight problem for someone doing multimedia journalism, but I'm at the point now where I don't care about embarrassing myself, if people want to teach me, then I want to learn.
I figure I've got things to say, and I'll be standing up to say them. I'd just appreciate it if they'd give me a few minutes to collect my thoughts, I've still got my L-plates on.
Our press conference was a very sedate affair, no shouted questions, no camera flashes, no pressure. And I struggled. I really had trouble coming up with questions that were open-ended enough to gain material to use in an article.
I've always admired the journalist who can think on his or her feet. They ask a question, listen to the answer and quickly analyse it to figure out the next question to ask or point to refute. I worry that I don't have the analytical mind to be able to do this. Or I worry that I'm just too polite. How many times in my life have I met someone, listened to their views and decided that I totally disagreed with them but have just nodded and walked away? Is it because I don't feel that I can adequately argue my point or is it because I just don't want to make a scene?
During our lecture this week, some of us (the rest do it next week) had to present a story pitch to an editorial board. We had to find a news story that we wanted to report, identify why it was important in terms of news values, ethics, etc and then speak about it in front of the class who were playing the role of the editorial board for our chosen media outlet.
While researching my story pitch, I'd emailed the senior reporter of the local newspaper for some information. During our email exchanges he wrote about the perils of the press conference and recounted how he'd asked the Premier an important question during one such event. The Premier apparently decided not to answer the question and went off on a tangent instead, forcing him to keep asking the same question until he had something that resembled an answer. He says he then spent nearly all of the next week defending claims by the Premier's senior media advisor that he'd misrepresented the Premier's remarks. He advised me to remember that journalists in training need "courage under fire" in these situations, especially when, as he found on this occasion, other journalists were quite happy to sit back and watch him go it alone.
It's a good point to consider. If I want to be a voice for the voiceless, I have to speak up, possibly even shout. Since being at uni, I've learnt that people there are prepared to listen to me. They may not agree with what I have to say, and I have to be ready to back up what I do say with evidence (political science, PL1001!), but they will listen. Maybe this is exactly what I need?
I've already surprised myself at how many times I put my hand up and speak during journalism classes, I even to do it in political science lectures now, somewhere I feel less confident in my abilities. I've always believed I'm much more articulate in print than in person, which is possibly a slight problem for someone doing multimedia journalism, but I'm at the point now where I don't care about embarrassing myself, if people want to teach me, then I want to learn.
I figure I've got things to say, and I'll be standing up to say them. I'd just appreciate it if they'd give me a few minutes to collect my thoughts, I've still got my L-plates on.
Wednesday 8 May 2013
Alarm Triggers SOCA Evacuation
The Queensland Fire and Rescue Service was called to JCU's School of Creative Arts complex just after 5pm tonight after a fire alarm triggered an evacuation. It turned out to be a false alarm and the few students still in the complex at the time were allowed back in once fire officers had checked the buildings. "False alarms at the uni are quite common" one of the fire officers said.
(Sorry, maybe not too newsworthy, but I had to do something while my movie soundtrack assignment possibly burnt to a crisp.)
I Wish To Complain About This Cat Tower What I Purchased Not Half an Hour Ago From This Very Boutique...
A controversial cat tower installed at great expense in an Innisfail household last week, continues to be a source of great outrage to it's main opponent. The man, who wishes to remain anonymous, happens to bear an uncanny resemblance to The Inverted Pyramid's one and only reporter.
At a fiery meeting last night, the man again made his stance against the tower's purchase clear, "I knew it would be a waste of money, they're outdoor cats, if they want to climb on something there's a perfectly good fence in the backyard." the man said.
The person in charge of the purchasing decision, Finance Minister Cyndi Holmes, said that the purchase had only been made after an extensive assessment of the needs of the household's two cats had been undertaken."I looked at all the different models of cat towers available, compared their features and checked their suitability for the cats we have in the house, then I picked the biggest, cutest one they had. It's got a ladder and a platform with a hole in it. If I were a cat I'd be up that ladder in a flash" she said.
Minister Holmes scoffed at the man's allegations that a rigged voting system had been used in relation to the tower's purchase. "He was asked if he agreed with buying a cat tower. Just because he said no at the time, and on the fifty or so other occasions the tower was brought up, doesn't mean he was against it. It just means he was wrong" she said.
The man produced a photo of a ginger cat, lying on a chair next to the tower as evidence that the purchase was a complete waste of money.
Minister Holmes then made a counter claim, producing a grainy photo of what she alleges is the same cat sitting on the tower.
The meeting quickly degenerated into a Pythonesque farce reminiscent of The Dead Parrot Sketch as the man made a counter, counter claim, claiming that if it were indeed a cat, then it had been stuck to the tower with BluTac.
The pending court case will be reported in due course.
No cats were harmed in the reporting of this story.
At a fiery meeting last night, the man again made his stance against the tower's purchase clear, "I knew it would be a waste of money, they're outdoor cats, if they want to climb on something there's a perfectly good fence in the backyard." the man said.
The person in charge of the purchasing decision, Finance Minister Cyndi Holmes, said that the purchase had only been made after an extensive assessment of the needs of the household's two cats had been undertaken."I looked at all the different models of cat towers available, compared their features and checked their suitability for the cats we have in the house, then I picked the biggest, cutest one they had. It's got a ladder and a platform with a hole in it. If I were a cat I'd be up that ladder in a flash" she said.
Minister Holmes scoffed at the man's allegations that a rigged voting system had been used in relation to the tower's purchase. "He was asked if he agreed with buying a cat tower. Just because he said no at the time, and on the fifty or so other occasions the tower was brought up, doesn't mean he was against it. It just means he was wrong" she said.
The man produced a photo of a ginger cat, lying on a chair next to the tower as evidence that the purchase was a complete waste of money.
Minister Holmes then made a counter claim, producing a grainy photo of what she alleges is the same cat sitting on the tower.
The meeting quickly degenerated into a Pythonesque farce reminiscent of The Dead Parrot Sketch as the man made a counter, counter claim, claiming that if it were indeed a cat, then it had been stuck to the tower with BluTac.
The pending court case will be reported in due course.
No cats were harmed in the reporting of this story.
Tuesday 7 May 2013
Taxi!
While looking through the Townsville Bulletin for story ideas a few weeks ago, I came across an ad for an information night being held for prospective taxi drivers at the Yeatman Street headquarters of Townsville Taxis. I booked myself a spot, and a couple of nights later found myself sitting in a conference room with ten other people to learn what it takes to get behind the wheel of a cab in Townsville. One of the company's older drivers came in to share some real world tales of life on the road and it soon became evident that a few of the guys sitting around the table had worked as taxi drivers before and were there to see what they needed to do to re-enter the industry.
The process doesn't seem to be too difficult, though there's lots of paperwork. Candidates need to have an open Queensland drivers licence, pass an English assessment and obtain a health clearance from their doctor. If they meet these basic standards, they then have to enrol in a seven module training course that covers the operational aspects of taxi driving including safety, customer service, financial transactions and communications. They also have to get their hands dirty and demonstrate they can change a wheel. Drivers may also choose to complete an eighth module that allows them to operate wheelchair accessible cabs.
After successful completion of the four day course, the would-be cabbie takes his or her growing pile of documentation to the Department of Transport and Main Roads. There, after handing over approximately $125 for a criminal check and a processing fee, the driver eventually receives a Provisional Driver Authorisation, which is valid for six months.
The driver then does 40 hours of unpaid workplace experience, the first 36 hours as a passenger and then the final four hours undergoing practical assessment, before being signed off to work as a taxi driver. Cabbies work as self-employed drivers, usually picking up 50 percent of the money they take on a shift. Working hours are flexible, some drivers prefer to work nights, others have full-time jobs and pick up casual taxi shifts at the weekend.
While it was an interesting evening, I don't see my future in the taxi industry. Most of my experiences in cabs have been the result of boozy, blurred trips to the pub, experiences apparently much more suited to my new adventures in the world of journalism. I'll stick with what I know.
Sunday 5 May 2013
Security to the Self-Checkouts Please
Does anyone else have the same problems with those swipe-your-own-groceries-through-the-check-out-and-put-someone-out-of-a-job machines as me?
I don't want to suggest that they're evil but the ones I've encountered all seem to share the same human-hating genetics as the Daleks in Dr Who. Maybe I'm being slightly fanciful but deep down, I know they'd happily steal my identity, eat my card and short change me, all in the blink of an infra-red eye. I seem to recall swearing at a less than honest chocolate vending machine when I was younger, but that was all. There was no violence, we didn't come to blows, I just learnt that sometimes life can be cruel and, Twix-less, moved on.
These new machines though, oh, they're cunning. It doesn't seem to matter if I only have one item, that'll be the only item in the entire store that refuses to scan. Or maybe it will scan but it'll do it twice, three times if it's just swallowed a foreign coin and is feeling in an especially bad mood.
Failing that, the old "unexpected item in bagging area" is always good for a laugh. If you listen carefully, you'll even hear the other five machines sniggering at that old favourite, after all, it's the oldest trick in the e-book. The pitiful looks I get from the shop assistant with the magic fix-everything-swipe-card make me want to explain that it's not my fault, his cheating, stealing grandfather and I knew each other years ago but didn't get on. But that would just make me look weird.
I don't want to suggest that they're evil but the ones I've encountered all seem to share the same human-hating genetics as the Daleks in Dr Who. Maybe I'm being slightly fanciful but deep down, I know they'd happily steal my identity, eat my card and short change me, all in the blink of an infra-red eye. I seem to recall swearing at a less than honest chocolate vending machine when I was younger, but that was all. There was no violence, we didn't come to blows, I just learnt that sometimes life can be cruel and, Twix-less, moved on.
These new machines though, oh, they're cunning. It doesn't seem to matter if I only have one item, that'll be the only item in the entire store that refuses to scan. Or maybe it will scan but it'll do it twice, three times if it's just swallowed a foreign coin and is feeling in an especially bad mood.
Failing that, the old "unexpected item in bagging area" is always good for a laugh. If you listen carefully, you'll even hear the other five machines sniggering at that old favourite, after all, it's the oldest trick in the e-book. The pitiful looks I get from the shop assistant with the magic fix-everything-swipe-card make me want to explain that it's not my fault, his cheating, stealing grandfather and I knew each other years ago but didn't get on. But that would just make me look weird.
Friday 3 May 2013
My Thoughts: Ethics and Kevin Carter
In our lecture and tutorial this week we were talking about ethics and Kevin Carter's haunting Pulitzer-prize winning photo came up again.
Some felt that the photograph illustrates his psychological state, saying that he had to have been mentally ill to sit for twenty minutes waiting for the vulture to spread it's wings behind the little girl. I don't agree.
Carter was an experienced photojournalist and had documented the violence and suffering of South Africa's township wars. He knew the news values of a good photograph, and all about the so-called rules of photography. If you examine the photograph with the rule-of-thirds in mind, the girl is at the bottom right intersection, the vulture is at the top left intersection, with room around it to spread it's wings and still keep them in the frame. Photographically, it's a strong enough image to win the Pulitzer prize, how much stronger would it have been with the vulture's wings spread?
The West suffers from compassion fatigue. We tend to switch off when we see the familiar photographs of refugee camps and lines of people queuing up for water or rice. If you're a professional photojournalist looking to make an outstanding photograph, one that will move people and make the world take notice of the Sudanese famine, you have to come up with an image completely different to the ones we've seen a hundred times before.
Stalin said that one death is a tragedy, one million is a statistic. I believe that Carter used one girl's misery to highlight the suffering of millions.
Having said that, personally, I couldn't have left her there. Marie said in class that Carter had been told not to interfere or help any of the refugees. If I want to sleep at night, I have to operate by my own moral code. I'd like to think I'd have somehow managed to get her to the aid station, but I'm enough of a realist to know that terrible situations lead to equally terrible outcomes. Sometimes in life, there are no happy endings.
Some felt that the photograph illustrates his psychological state, saying that he had to have been mentally ill to sit for twenty minutes waiting for the vulture to spread it's wings behind the little girl. I don't agree.
Carter was an experienced photojournalist and had documented the violence and suffering of South Africa's township wars. He knew the news values of a good photograph, and all about the so-called rules of photography. If you examine the photograph with the rule-of-thirds in mind, the girl is at the bottom right intersection, the vulture is at the top left intersection, with room around it to spread it's wings and still keep them in the frame. Photographically, it's a strong enough image to win the Pulitzer prize, how much stronger would it have been with the vulture's wings spread?
The West suffers from compassion fatigue. We tend to switch off when we see the familiar photographs of refugee camps and lines of people queuing up for water or rice. If you're a professional photojournalist looking to make an outstanding photograph, one that will move people and make the world take notice of the Sudanese famine, you have to come up with an image completely different to the ones we've seen a hundred times before.
Stalin said that one death is a tragedy, one million is a statistic. I believe that Carter used one girl's misery to highlight the suffering of millions.
Having said that, personally, I couldn't have left her there. Marie said in class that Carter had been told not to interfere or help any of the refugees. If I want to sleep at night, I have to operate by my own moral code. I'd like to think I'd have somehow managed to get her to the aid station, but I'm enough of a realist to know that terrible situations lead to equally terrible outcomes. Sometimes in life, there are no happy endings.
Wednesday 1 May 2013
Ethics in Journalism: Black, White or Shades of Grey?
I sat in the uni library tonight with a stack of books in front of me and wondered where to even begin writing about ethics in journalism.
The ethical implications involved in producing main stream media seem large enough to be almost overwhelming: plagiarism, cheque-book journalism, invasion of privacy, libel, confidentiality, celebrity. I decided that staring blankly at the books wasn't helping and it would be better to put them back on the shelf and start again. A book on multimedia journalism seemed a better bet, after all it's what I'm there for but that only complicated things further: problems with attributing social media, image manipulation, gaining permission to use material across various media platforms. Aghhh!
Of course, not having any experience in the industry leaves me feeling less than qualified to comment on the issue, especially when professionals with years of experience can't always agree on ethical points. In a hypothetical situation it's easy to say that you'd stand up and be counted, but if it came down to keeping or losing your hard-won, just finished three years at uni and now have to pay for it job, would you actually do it?
Maybe if your editor wanted you to go out a rob a bank so you could write a story about what it's like, then the choice would be easy, but I can't honestly see that being a daily dilemma. I suspect the ethical problems are more pragmatic; I want 300 words about the car crash story by 5pm, make it so. Any ethical concerns are yours to deal with as long as you come back before 5pm with the required 300 words.
Various codes of conduct have been developed for journalists to follow and can help up to a point but, once again, nothing is ever straight forward. David Salter, in his book "The Media We Deserve" points out that the Media, Entertainment and Arts Alliance's Code of Ethics gives journalists leeway for all manner of interpretation. An industry built on words and the art of stringing them together is going to find plenty of interpretive scope in a code of conduct that uses "strive for", "guard against" and "do your utmost".
I guess that's the problem in making ethical decisions. Everyone has a different opinion, there's often no right or wrong answer, though I'm prepared to go out on a limb here and say that journalists shouldn't rob banks. Maybe the answer is to write every story with the thought that you may have to stand up someday, either in court, a disciplinary hearing or even in front of your mum, and defend your actions.
The ethical implications involved in producing main stream media seem large enough to be almost overwhelming: plagiarism, cheque-book journalism, invasion of privacy, libel, confidentiality, celebrity. I decided that staring blankly at the books wasn't helping and it would be better to put them back on the shelf and start again. A book on multimedia journalism seemed a better bet, after all it's what I'm there for but that only complicated things further: problems with attributing social media, image manipulation, gaining permission to use material across various media platforms. Aghhh!
Of course, not having any experience in the industry leaves me feeling less than qualified to comment on the issue, especially when professionals with years of experience can't always agree on ethical points. In a hypothetical situation it's easy to say that you'd stand up and be counted, but if it came down to keeping or losing your hard-won, just finished three years at uni and now have to pay for it job, would you actually do it?
Maybe if your editor wanted you to go out a rob a bank so you could write a story about what it's like, then the choice would be easy, but I can't honestly see that being a daily dilemma. I suspect the ethical problems are more pragmatic; I want 300 words about the car crash story by 5pm, make it so. Any ethical concerns are yours to deal with as long as you come back before 5pm with the required 300 words.
Various codes of conduct have been developed for journalists to follow and can help up to a point but, once again, nothing is ever straight forward. David Salter, in his book "The Media We Deserve" points out that the Media, Entertainment and Arts Alliance's Code of Ethics gives journalists leeway for all manner of interpretation. An industry built on words and the art of stringing them together is going to find plenty of interpretive scope in a code of conduct that uses "strive for", "guard against" and "do your utmost".
I guess that's the problem in making ethical decisions. Everyone has a different opinion, there's often no right or wrong answer, though I'm prepared to go out on a limb here and say that journalists shouldn't rob banks. Maybe the answer is to write every story with the thought that you may have to stand up someday, either in court, a disciplinary hearing or even in front of your mum, and defend your actions.
Monday 29 April 2013
Puppy Dog Tales
Innisfail dog trainer Wendy Craven runs dog training courses using positive reinforcement methods to reward a dog for it's correct behaviour. I met with her a few weeks ago at the Innisfail Showground after I saw her card on a noticeboard and rang her for a chat about dog training. She was running a one-on-one training session and invited me along to watch. Wendy says she's been involved in canine training in one form or another for around thirty years now and has been running her TOP DogS training courses for the past six years.
This type of training was initially developed for dolphin training and later adapted for use with other animals, and involves signalling to the dog using a small clicker, and then once the dog has done the desired task, rewarding it with a small treat. The technique uses only positive reinforcement, there wasn't a choke chain in sight.
Wendy offers a range of classes, including a puppy class where dogs learn to socialise with each other and practice basic tasks such as learning to sit, walk and stay. More advanced courses continue the clicker training and dogs learn better walking behaviour as well as practice longer stays at greater distances.
Wendy says it's important to build a bond between the handler and the dog. She showed me how well the technique works with her 6 month old working kelpie, Gidgee. A small piece of food was placed on the ground in front of Gidgee and it was obvious that she really wanted to eat it but she resisted the temptation. Wendy says this type of training is important and can prevent an inquisitive puppy from getting too close to toads and snakes.
 |
| Wendy Craven and Gidgee |
If you're interested in Wendy's dog training classes, she can be reached on 0418 871 982.
Sunday 28 April 2013
Sunday Morning in Port Douglas
Port Douglas this morning. The after effects of the night before. And no, nothing to do with me. Would you believe drinking in public places including roads and on public footpaths in Queensland is prohibited under the Liquor Act 1992 and carries a $110 on-the-spot-fine. Doesn't bother some people, obviously.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)