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A change of pace
Jun. 15th, 2009 04:32 amI would like to take a break from writing essays about the media to blog about the media.
For those of you unfamiliar with the term, "newspapers" are those things you wrap your fish and chips in and use for house training your pet/child. I was reading an article in such a publication the other day and found an article on UQ's journalism school in which one of the professors stated that most students were still aspiring to work as print journalists when they graduated. I was a little taken back. Personally I accepted the death of newspapers even before we entered the new millennium when my father got the sack after working for The Courier Mail for as many years as I've been alive. This coupled with my general geekdom means that I've generally been grooming myself for online reporting, something aforementioned professor said that very few people even considered. This is both a blessing and a curse- for one it means that for once my deviating from the norm may be beneficial, however as we all know most online journos are unpaid freelancers. We're at a time in history where editors have realised "WE SHOULD BE CHARGING FOR ONLINE CONTENT, O SHI-" but no-one really knows how to go about it. As a man said on Four Corners last week, whoever figures out the formula to making online news profitable enough to keep journalists in a job will be a wealthy person indeed.
Until then, prospective journos have three options:
1. Move to country towns like Kingaroy and Roma where people rely on papers because the Internet tubes don't stretch that far;
ii. Do what most others have done and trade in their integrity for the $$$ that comes with being a P. R. spin doctor;
c. C is for Centrelink.
As someone whose qualifications lie in art and writing, I guess I know what my future car is going to look like.
On a note that's more related than you can imagine, last night's party at Catlin's was indeed a welcome study break. It was also a chance to see just how many women in petticoats I could cram into my Echo. We so could've fit more in.
| The Daily Show With Jon Stewart | Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c | |||
| End Times | ||||
| ||||
For those of you unfamiliar with the term, "newspapers" are those things you wrap your fish and chips in and use for house training your pet/child. I was reading an article in such a publication the other day and found an article on UQ's journalism school in which one of the professors stated that most students were still aspiring to work as print journalists when they graduated. I was a little taken back. Personally I accepted the death of newspapers even before we entered the new millennium when my father got the sack after working for The Courier Mail for as many years as I've been alive. This coupled with my general geekdom means that I've generally been grooming myself for online reporting, something aforementioned professor said that very few people even considered. This is both a blessing and a curse- for one it means that for once my deviating from the norm may be beneficial, however as we all know most online journos are unpaid freelancers. We're at a time in history where editors have realised "WE SHOULD BE CHARGING FOR ONLINE CONTENT, O SHI-" but no-one really knows how to go about it. As a man said on Four Corners last week, whoever figures out the formula to making online news profitable enough to keep journalists in a job will be a wealthy person indeed.
Until then, prospective journos have three options:
1. Move to country towns like Kingaroy and Roma where people rely on papers because the Internet tubes don't stretch that far;
ii. Do what most others have done and trade in their integrity for the $$$ that comes with being a P. R. spin doctor;
c. C is for Centrelink.
As someone whose qualifications lie in art and writing, I guess I know what my future car is going to look like.
On a note that's more related than you can imagine, last night's party at Catlin's was indeed a welcome study break. It was also a chance to see just how many women in petticoats I could cram into my Echo. We so could've fit more in.
