There are two great things about Over: The American Landscape at the Tipping Point. One: Pictures? On National Public Radio’s website? Fret all you want about journalism dying; there really are some “old” media outlets embracing the idea of multimedia content, and doing it with quality. It makes sense for NPR to embrace slideshows as a way of presenting information – for those of us who spend way too much time reading (thanks, humanities courses!) it’s always nice to be presented ideas in a different way, be it audible or visual. If I was an NPR nerd before, now I’m a full-on fanatic. And I'm not alone.
Of course, the other reason I was inspired by this Picture Show in particular was because of the straightforward, frightening way it presents a particular aspect of this country: urban sprawl, freeways, aqueducts, and other features of our indulgent lifestyles. Aeriel photography provides a viewpoint that is just unfamiliar enough to provoke a whole new way of understanding the homogenized, isolated places that some of us live in. At the same time, as a Westerner, I found the images of expensive developments built on the shoreline and subdivision after subdivision depressingly familiar. The photographs also provide a sense of cause and effect – an image of a three-quarter-mile long freeway intersection is followed a few slides later by an oil tanker, part of what the caption calls the “unseen network” that fuels our personal transportation.
Even more shocking than those photos, however, are the images of the places that oil and freeways can take you to. A suburb stuck randomly in Utah farmland. A community (if we can call it that, although it doesn’t look very communal) called “Harborwalk” built on a Texas wetland, complete with artificial beaches. The places that future archeologists will uncover, shake their heads and ask, “What were they thinking?”
Showing posts with label media. Show all posts
Showing posts with label media. Show all posts
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
The digital age has arrived: A eulogy for broadcast
Television is dead. Long live television!
As of this morning, my TV doesn’t work anymore. I didn’t do anything to provoke this, and it’s not as if I wasn’t warned. The FCC set this date months ago for the final tradition to 100% digital broadcasting, and I, as usual, am behind the curve.
Considering that my rabbit ears were on their last legs, delivering a snowy and erratic signal to my screen, and that I only actually employed them once a week for Sunday night Desperate Housewives, this doesn’t have a huge impact on my life. My roommate and I will continue to watch previous seasons of Lost online and The L Word on DVD. Instead of investing $70 for the converter box that will allow us to receive the new digital signals, I’ll spend a few bucks on one of those cool cables that lets you put your computer screen on the television screen. When Sunday nights roll around, the wireless connection had better not go out.
But there are qualities about watching TV the old-fashioned way I’ll miss, and it’s not just the fun of trying to squint out what the ever-devious Housewives are up to in that suburban blizzard of static. The first thing is the inflexibility of it. DH is a big deal in my group of friends, and on Sunday evenings, there’s usually about eight of us squeezed into my living room. We tease and nag each other before turning on the TV at 9 to watch the same thing happening among older and more beautiful people on screen. How will I get everyone to shut up at 8:59 if they know we can now actually roll the show whenever we want? Come to think of it, how will I get them there in the first place? It won’t be too long until we’re all calling each other saying “You know, I just have too much homework, how does Monday night work for you?” Monday turns into Tuesday, then Wednesday, and then another week goes by without this important social event.
Another thing I like about broadcast television is ads. Yes, I usually mute them, but I live in a happy bubble of forward-thinking, largely unmaterialistic (mostly because we’re poor) people. How will I be reminded that people actually buy – no, wrap their entire lives around having – crap made by Lexus and Adidas if the television isn’t there to remind me that I should be too? I might grow large-headed without that constant sense of brand inadequacy.
So, TV, it’s sad to see you turned into no more than a very bulky laptop screen. Those rabbit ears are cute, but they’ll be out by the dumpster as soon as one of us gets around to getting rid of them, and some slightly less useless item will take their place on top of the stereo speaker. Perhaps my leftover New Year’s party hat or a kitchen appliance that I don’t have room for on the counter. I have no use for digital signals. Sorry, FCC, you may just have to change your name to Federal Internet Commission.
As of this morning, my TV doesn’t work anymore. I didn’t do anything to provoke this, and it’s not as if I wasn’t warned. The FCC set this date months ago for the final tradition to 100% digital broadcasting, and I, as usual, am behind the curve.
Considering that my rabbit ears were on their last legs, delivering a snowy and erratic signal to my screen, and that I only actually employed them once a week for Sunday night Desperate Housewives, this doesn’t have a huge impact on my life. My roommate and I will continue to watch previous seasons of Lost online and The L Word on DVD. Instead of investing $70 for the converter box that will allow us to receive the new digital signals, I’ll spend a few bucks on one of those cool cables that lets you put your computer screen on the television screen. When Sunday nights roll around, the wireless connection had better not go out.
But there are qualities about watching TV the old-fashioned way I’ll miss, and it’s not just the fun of trying to squint out what the ever-devious Housewives are up to in that suburban blizzard of static. The first thing is the inflexibility of it. DH is a big deal in my group of friends, and on Sunday evenings, there’s usually about eight of us squeezed into my living room. We tease and nag each other before turning on the TV at 9 to watch the same thing happening among older and more beautiful people on screen. How will I get everyone to shut up at 8:59 if they know we can now actually roll the show whenever we want? Come to think of it, how will I get them there in the first place? It won’t be too long until we’re all calling each other saying “You know, I just have too much homework, how does Monday night work for you?” Monday turns into Tuesday, then Wednesday, and then another week goes by without this important social event.
Another thing I like about broadcast television is ads. Yes, I usually mute them, but I live in a happy bubble of forward-thinking, largely unmaterialistic (mostly because we’re poor) people. How will I be reminded that people actually buy – no, wrap their entire lives around having – crap made by Lexus and Adidas if the television isn’t there to remind me that I should be too? I might grow large-headed without that constant sense of brand inadequacy.
So, TV, it’s sad to see you turned into no more than a very bulky laptop screen. Those rabbit ears are cute, but they’ll be out by the dumpster as soon as one of us gets around to getting rid of them, and some slightly less useless item will take their place on top of the stereo speaker. Perhaps my leftover New Year’s party hat or a kitchen appliance that I don’t have room for on the counter. I have no use for digital signals. Sorry, FCC, you may just have to change your name to Federal Internet Commission.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
The death of mainstream media?
The Eugene Weekly this week ran a blurb about UO School of Journalism Dean Tim Gleason's cry for help for dying newspapers around the state and country. Apparently, he spoke on the subject at a recent City Club meeting. Someone then questioned him about the need to actually support the advertising-driven, PR-clogged mainstream media. The statistic that 75% of news stories come from press releases was mentioned. Gleason made some indignant response about the public benefitting from the close ties between public relations (ie advertisers) and newspapers, they just don't realize it. The Weekly's position was, well, if nobody wants to read that drivel any more, why should anybody pay reporters to produce it?
A logical argument. But I've been writing a lot of those "My Goals in Journalism" essays lately, part of several journalism internship applications (yes, it seems I'm addicted to the temporal, cold-water-plunge thrill of intern gigs), and I have a few cents to contribute to this discussion.
Yes, the state of mainstream media in this country is pretty sorry. Even a person who hasn't spent the past four years scrutinizing media outlets will probably admit that a lot of the stories we see on television and in magazines and newspapers are shallow, blatantly pro-[insert disliked industry here], and generally useless. In the meantime, we have security camera footage of the Airbus crashing into the Hudson, and anyone with a blog and access to a computer can have a readership. (Hi, readership! Thanks for supporting this 100% PR-free blog!). And this is just the beginning - once every grandma has a video phone, we'll all be silmultaneous consumers and producers of media content. So, you may ask, why keep journalists around?
Well, hate to say it, but a lot of us are better at it than you. Grandma might have seen Mrs. Plum get murdered with the brass candlestick in the drawing room, but she probably doesn't know how to scour the microfilm at the library to get Mrs. Plum's complete criminal history and shed more light on the situation. I'm talking about the good reporting that does still happen, the other 25% (and shrinking) of stories. Yes, it may be more efficient to have a whole army of citizen reporters working through online media providers, providing egalatarian, user-picked content, but that doesn't make it better. As the Weekly pointed out, "The most popular, widely read article online of any newspaper in the Northwest in recent years was a story about a man who died after having sex with a horse." Sometimes, the newspaper's primary purpose isn't to give readers the content they want to see but the content they need to see.
Not to say that the current state of affairs doesn't need fixing - a lot of fixing. If people aren't reading those important stories, it's probably a sign that the storytelling has not been adequate. And this whole selling out thing needs to end, somehow. I, for one, feel that the integrity of my Journalism degree (which I will recieve, godwilling, this June) has been compromised by the fact that I share it with Public Relations and Advertising students coming out of the same school. Not that these fields are not legitimate and can't be put to good use (check out greenwashingindex.com). It's just that, in most professional applications, they stand for everything news reporters should stand against. Twisting of the facts for profit. Hiding other certain facts to make your employer look better. When you think about it, these degree programs should be placed as far away as possible from the true Journalism programs. Like, in the business school.
A logical argument. But I've been writing a lot of those "My Goals in Journalism" essays lately, part of several journalism internship applications (yes, it seems I'm addicted to the temporal, cold-water-plunge thrill of intern gigs), and I have a few cents to contribute to this discussion.
Yes, the state of mainstream media in this country is pretty sorry. Even a person who hasn't spent the past four years scrutinizing media outlets will probably admit that a lot of the stories we see on television and in magazines and newspapers are shallow, blatantly pro-[insert disliked industry here], and generally useless. In the meantime, we have security camera footage of the Airbus crashing into the Hudson, and anyone with a blog and access to a computer can have a readership. (Hi, readership! Thanks for supporting this 100% PR-free blog!). And this is just the beginning - once every grandma has a video phone, we'll all be silmultaneous consumers and producers of media content. So, you may ask, why keep journalists around?
Well, hate to say it, but a lot of us are better at it than you. Grandma might have seen Mrs. Plum get murdered with the brass candlestick in the drawing room, but she probably doesn't know how to scour the microfilm at the library to get Mrs. Plum's complete criminal history and shed more light on the situation. I'm talking about the good reporting that does still happen, the other 25% (and shrinking) of stories. Yes, it may be more efficient to have a whole army of citizen reporters working through online media providers, providing egalatarian, user-picked content, but that doesn't make it better. As the Weekly pointed out, "The most popular, widely read article online of any newspaper in the Northwest in recent years was a story about a man who died after having sex with a horse." Sometimes, the newspaper's primary purpose isn't to give readers the content they want to see but the content they need to see.
Not to say that the current state of affairs doesn't need fixing - a lot of fixing. If people aren't reading those important stories, it's probably a sign that the storytelling has not been adequate. And this whole selling out thing needs to end, somehow. I, for one, feel that the integrity of my Journalism degree (which I will recieve, godwilling, this June) has been compromised by the fact that I share it with Public Relations and Advertising students coming out of the same school. Not that these fields are not legitimate and can't be put to good use (check out greenwashingindex.com). It's just that, in most professional applications, they stand for everything news reporters should stand against. Twisting of the facts for profit. Hiding other certain facts to make your employer look better. When you think about it, these degree programs should be placed as far away as possible from the true Journalism programs. Like, in the business school.
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