Speis

I eat the air, promise-crammed: you cannot feed capons so. - Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 2

Vincent Browne vomiting his bile all over our deputy editor was both depressing and disgusting. - Gwen Halley, Sunday Independent.

Yesterday as a class we looked at an opinion piece by Gwen Halley from the Sunday Independent. I’ll be honest, I’ve never heard of this person before but her article certainly got me thinking. It was riddled with innuendo, misdirection and crafty omissions. A couple of things I noticed about her attack on Vincent Browne:

Two-faced too, because the attack revealed him as an avid reader of the Sunday Independent. This is the same huffer who told my media law class in Griffith College three years ago that he doesn't read the Sunday Independent.

There’s a difference between reading a newspaper and following a newspaper.

Actually you could say he is addicted to attacking Independent News & Media. In the past few weeks, he has attacked our group in every single organ he owns or works for - in Village, the Irish Times, the Sunday Business Post and RTE.

Notice that she doesn’t go on to say that his attacks have been inaccurate.

Suppose I said that his daughter Emma Browne, a reporter with Village - who sometimes shares a byline with him - is ideologically influenced by her father?

This line casually insults Emma Browne. by saying that Vincent doesn’t like working with strong women, it immediately implies that Emma is weak.

Actually I would never assume she shared her father's primitive prejudices. But she should have protested at the blatant sexism of her father's fulminations. And why the silence from all the feminist firebrands in Women's Studies, who would be quick to defend a similar sexist attack on Mary Lou McDonald? And why no sound from Seamus Dooley of the NUJ who is normally so fast on his feet to slate real or imagined crimes against political correctness?

Maybe it’s because they don’t see anything wrong with his actions. Maybe this whole conspiracy is in your head, Halley.

But I still thought that he might help one of his own former students in her first job. In the summer of 2003, the Sunday Independent commissioned me to ask a few personalities about their best and worst summers. As a former student of his, I felt sure Browne would give me a good quote. Instead, he launched into a tirade against the Sunday Independent which he said was (a) disgusting and (b) had not been nice to him. I repeated my request for help but he snorted hard and said no.

This is half a page after Halley told us that Browne doesn’t like the Sunday Independent, the newspaper that fired him. You’re not the only person that can hold a grudge, Halley.

But he has never been happy working with women who stand up to him.

Vincent Browne doesn’t like strong women.
Vincent Browne doesn’t like Gwen Halley.
Gwen Halley must be a strong woman.

I take my hat off to her. She churned out over 1,000 words for a major Irish broadsheet and I’ll bet it didn’t take her longer than 45 minutes.

It reminded me of a student journalism conference I was at last Friday. There was a workshop about balance in reporting. I came away thinking that there should be as few restrictions on newspaper writing as possible. Bar protecting a person’s name from wilfully being trashed by a news report or opinion piece, I think that any honestly-held belief should be fair game for printing. As long as it’s readable and articulate I think everyone deserves their time on the soapbox.

People were saying that balance should be reflected in a single article, by showing each side of a conflict as fairly and accurately as possible. Definitely, but that shouldn’t be the only answer to the problem of balance. There should be a space for violently opposed opinions too. Abortion. Unionisation. Sport. Religion. Alcohol abuse. Government. It’s not like there’s a shortage of topics that drive Irish people crazy.

We talked about Kevin Myers and the controversy that erupted over his ‘single mothers produce bastards’ piece. Apparently it caused the Times to nip other potentially incendiary pieces in the bud, because they might be considered offensive. Which is completely wrong. Obviously a contentious article will upset people, but if it expresses a genuine opinion it shouldn’t be suppressed. If a paper is not upsetting people or challenging their beliefs, then it really is just about hawking ads for crisps and corn flakes.

Who decides what’s offensive anyway? The editor? The writer? The public? The publisher? Or no one? If you’re expressing your opinion you should be allowed to do it without shackles or controls. If you’re writing out of spite and without checking your facts, then you shouldn’t be in the paper. Otherwise it should be open season.

Let’s call it, I don’t know, freedom of speech.

A class of journalism students have been alarmed to hear that they could be sued for information on their blogs. Following a lecture on Media Law the students were surprised to hear that there was no precedent for cyber defamation. The lecturer went on to casually say that a paper once paid out £60,000 in damages for ill-considered use of the word 'suspect'.

The students have responded by wording water-tight disclaimers.

I've been watching the progress of Nizlopi and their JCB Song ever since Marty Whelan got into the habit of waking me up with the bloody thing every morning. If you've missed this pop culture snowball so far it's a tuneful acoustic ballad about a kid driving in his Dad's digger, layered over with references to Bruce Lee and Transformers. It bullseyes the childhood nostalgia nerve and is catchy as a fresh does of bird flu.

It could well be the Christmas No. 1. (Paddy Power is giving it good odds, put a bet on before they shrink), despite having no famous names attached, no marketing budget and no seasonal relevance.

It's been interesting to watch. Marty takes a shine to the song and starts playing it every morning. It gets into people's heads and it starts to become an event. "Dear Marty, why haven't you played the JCB Song yet this morning?" "Marty you old sod, how about dedicating today's JCB Song to my niece for her birthday?" etc.

Public interest grows. Marty invites the band on to his morning show. They play a great version of the song, then they play another song and the switchboard lights up. People start whispering 'No1 for Christmas'. It gets picked up in the Guardian. All of a sudden, it's more than a possibility, it's become a foregone conclusion.

The website is the pivot, guaranteeing that a fleeting amusement will tip over and become a cultural phenomenon. The site is charmingly childish and fun, pasted with pictures of Mr. T and hand drawn JCBs. You can read the story behind the song, how it was based on true events, how lead singer Luke was bullied for his dyslexia by pupils and teachers alike. Though the best bit is the site's digital pencil that lets you doodle on the copybook.

All in all, it's the best way of saying 'Fuck Westlife'. Apart from just saying 'Fuck Westlife'. So, fuck Westlife.

I woke up an hour before my alarm. The sun was coming through the a gap in the curtains. 15 minutes later my flatmate's alarm went off. It sounds like a military bugle. He went into the bathroom. I heard the air circulator click on. The lightswitch for the sitting room flicked and the fridge door opened. The milk carton swished. He blew his nose loudly. His keys rattled against the door and I heard footsteps clomping on the steps above my head.

I left the house an hour later. I crossed the bridge and went into the newsagent to get the paper. I like the chunky weekend supplements. There must have been a frost last night, the cars still had shiny bits of ice on their boots. The sky was clear and blue, it was cold but I warmed up quickly.

Too much.

I had to stop at Christchurch and take off my jacket. My headphone cable wrapped itself around my neck. I fumbled with the change in my pocket and a tissue. I walked on. A man with black hair and a red streak through the middle said "Aren't you cold?" I didn't hear him the first time. I took one earphone out. "Aren't you cold?" he repeated. By now we had passed each other. I turned and said "walking is warm". He shook his head.

I walked by the canal and looked down at the water. It was perfectly still and clear. The bridge up ahead was reflected perfectly, like the architect a 100 years ago had planned it all.

I went to see a film. I was surprised at how many other people were at the 1030 showing with me. The film was good.

I walked up Henry Street, smiling at all the people wrapped up in their scarves, gloves and coats. I went into Eason's on O' Connell St, looking for some cards. My friend graduated today. It's my Gran's birthday tomorrow. Both cards happened to be purple.

I walked down Abbey Street and turned onto Liffey Street to buy a bag of chips for lunch. The two people ahead of me were buskers I had seen a few times on Grafton Street. The guy had a guitar case balanced on his shoulder. There was a pink keyring dangling off it, in the shape of a lipstick tube. He made a face at the girl, who had pink hair.

I walked up George's Street, noticing all the people who were dressed up in suit jackets and heels. People are graduating in college today. Some huddle outside the entrance, smoking and fiddling with digital cameras. It's noisy inside. People are calling to each other and waving. Girls are stepping carefully and holding onto their hats. A cheer goes up from the central square. A man walks out of the bathroom, adjusting his cuffs.

All of this happened today, but none of it is news.

How does the news Starbucks flagship on Dame Street honestly hope to compete with the Java City Cup O' Cheer? Go home now, multination conglomerate, your steamed milk and roasted beans are no match for festive cardboard.

(Thanks to Alys for spreading the word.)

I just got a copy of the college paper, quickly skipped to my page and started foaming at the mouth. They cut one of my stories. Now I know that space is at a premium but I told the editor that I was writing 400 words on this story, which he agreed to. I did some fresh research - emailed some colleges and interviewed the CEO of the Postgraduates Application Centre, fer chrisake. I wouldn't have bothered with any of that, I would have just rephrased the story if I'd known he was going to slash it to 150 words.

The story appeared under the headline 'No Teachers!' (which, for the record, is stupid):

The government plans to put a quota on business graduates qualifying as secondary-school teachers in time for 2006-2007 academic year.

The scheme will reduce the number of graduates from business backgrounds qualifying for higher diploma in education courses at National University of Ireland (NUI) colleges. The H. Dip is required to teach at secondary-school level.

In the past two years as many as two thirds of graduates from the H. Dip have been from a business background. This number could be reduced to as little as a quarter from the next academic year.

This will be the first quota since the current application system was introduced in 1999. Every year, around 3500 applications compete for 800 places on offer. The quota is not designed to hamper business graduates as it applies to all third-level business courses – including areas like accounting and commerce.

It is hoped that it will encourage more applicants from non-business backgrounds.

Fine. But here's all I wrote:

The Government plans to implement a “quota” on business graduates qualifying as secondary-school teachers. The scheme will reduce the number of graduates from business backgrounds qualifying for National University of Ireland (NUI) Higher Diploma in Education courses. The qualification that is required to teach at secondary-school level.

In 2004-2006 as many as two thirds of graduates from this course have been from a business background. This number could be reduced to as little as a quarter from the next academic year 2006-2007, according to the Irish Times. It would result in more places for graduates from different backgrounds, including science and maths. Every year around 3500 applicants compete for 800 places.

Dr Séamus Mac an Rí, CEO at the Postgraduate Applications Centre in Galway, says this will be the first quota since the current application system was introduced in 1999. He does not think the quota will reduce demand for the course. There may be a “slight dip” or a “slight rise” as some students are discouraged from applying. He was keen to stress that this is not just for business studies it affects all business graduates, including areas like accounting and commerce. The quota is not designed to obstruct business graduates, rather it is intended to encourage applicants from non-business backgrounds.

The possibility of quotas is one that the PAC has been “looking at for a number of years”. However it is the Department of Education and Science that is implementing the scheme. In the future Dr Mac an Rí expects other subjects will be examined with a view to introducing further quotas. Despite these restriction he expects the course’s “high standards” to remain in place on a fiercely-contested course where the “only guarantee of a place is a First”.

The PAC is currently spearheading a website that offers online postgraduate applications through their website at www.pac.ie . The system allows graduates to apply for courses entirely online, electronically, without paper. It allows the PAC to perform “the work of 9 months in 9 days”. DCU was the first to join the scheme with the pilot last year. UCC is joining in Dec 1st. The DIT Registry office says that the “institute is currently investigating the development of an on-line system”. The service could be available from September 2006.

Now I have to go and clean all this foam off.

My sister picked up tickets on Ebay for Ireland -V- Romania next weekend. I just hope they're not for the North Stand.

This is the first I've heard about an American phenomenon called Black Friday, the day when shops slash their prices and shoppers pile into the retail orgy. I suppose it's like the Sales in January for Irish people.

Interesting in that New York Times story to hear how shoppers see themselves:

For the discount warriors who run these sites, Black Friday is the best chance to share their techniques, not to mention their zeal, with the masses who pay full price. "It's the day that even the average Joe becomes a professional bargain hunter."

It's a religious battle where the temple is the discount store, the holy texts are shopping leaflets and the almighty Dollar reigns supreme as its loyal followers writhe and butt each other in glorious, purging celebration.

Thanks to Larry for the link. Michael Brim's blog lives here.

I remember visiting Santa every Christmas when I was a kid. Stepping into his cave or cottage or workshop, waving at the elves, looking at the robotic snowmen. It was pretty magic for a 5-year old and it was always one of the highlights of December for me. Right up there with posting my present list up the chimney and leaving out carrots on Christmas Eve for the Rudoplh and the other reindeer.

Well now it seems that Switzerland are cracking down on their shopping centre Santa Claus. The union of Swiss Father Christmas impersonators has advised its members not to let kids sit on their laps. They’re doing this because they don’t want their members to be accused of child abuse. Parents are more protective of their kids these days.

But let's not stop there. Let's take this all the way. We should test all the Santas for sexual diseases. Make sure their woolen costumes are allergy-safe. And I wouldn’t trust those candy canes their elves are giving out. They could have razor blades in them. All that red could be upsetting for children, it might make them think of blood and death.

Just to be safe we’d better put Santa in a grey suit, then he can shake hands politely with the child’s parents before they hand over their Christmas list. Although if it’s in an envelope there’s the danger of anthrax and paper cuts. We’d better just scrap Santa altogether. For the children.

(The original story is on the Indo website here. You'll need a login.)

I think people prefer images to words, something about how quickly information can be taken in. Personally I resent the way people don't don't pay attention anymore, they just look for something funky that catches their eye or a snappy soundbite that stops them from having to think about things in any kind of deep or involved manner.

Having said that I still want people to read this so here's a picture of my doggy.

There are calls for increased Garda presence in hospitals, following reports of drug dealing in a number of Dublin wards. Dealers are supplying heroin, cocaine and amphetamines to addicts who are taken in as patients. In a statement, St James Hospital said it's taking the problem very seriously and is working closely with Gardai. Labour's health spokesperson Liz McManus says undercover operations would help tackle the problem.

(Newstalk website)

There's a weekly competition to come up with straw poll topics and answers for Tubridy Tonight. I had a go at one of the questions, though I'm not sure what they want exactly. I'm not a big fan of his show. I used to like him when he did the morning slot on 2FM but he's starting morphing into Pat Kenny. No good will come of this, especially if one day Pat meets Tubridy in the hallway but it's too late, Tubridy has already become more Kenny than Kenny and when they shake hands the entire RTE building collapses into an abyss of infinite chaos.

Don't make that face, it could happen.

Q. This week Cliff Richard has said he will stop recording new songs. What else would you like to see 'stopped'?
A. Bono wearing sunglasses indoors.
A. Pete Doherty from entering a recording studio.
A. Gerry Ryan's name-dropping.
A. People who say 'wicked'.
A. Channel 4's compilation shows.
A. George W Bush. Full stop.

To be honest, I feel like I was holding back.

Hands up who knew we had a telephone communications watchdog? Me neither but I think it's something we need. I'm sure other countries don't have to pay this much for calls. Why is it, when there are three competing mobile phone operators, that we still pay high prices? Anyway, ComReg have a Mobile Use Calculator that might even the playing fields a little. It comes with the Eddie Hobbs Guarantee of Excellence after all.

I started blogging back in April 2003. My first site was setup through Blogger and it was the usual collection of late-teenage whingeing and pop culture references and ranting. I got tired of shouting into thin air so I moved to Blurty and then on to Livejournal (links on the sidebar). They helped to create a sense of community but after a while I remembered how much I dislike keeping in touch with people and, y'know, social interaction and all that stuff so I stopped blogging completely.

It might have had something to do with losing my college internet connection, I think in retrospect.

Today in Class:

"Write a 2,000 word New Journalism feature or start a blog."

Buddy, I am way ahead of you.

From today's Independent:

CCTV footage may help to catch city bus sex attacker

DUBLIN Bus has passed on digital CCTV footage of a sex assault on a young woman. The attack happened as she travelled home on a bus from the city centre on Tuesday evening. Gardai at Store Street will today review the footage after Dublin Bus identified the correct discs containing evidence of the 20-year-old's ordeal.
The woman, who does not want to be identified, told of her terrifying experience after she boarded the 39 bus on D'Olier Street at 4.30pm to make her way home to Castleknock.
She found herself pinned against the window of the bus by a man whom she believed to be in his 30s or 40s and who was touching her while at the same time touching himself beneath a coat.
"The way it happened, I was too scared to say anything. I was crying.
"He pinned me up against the window and squashed me," the young woman said.
She texted her mother while she was on the bus to tell her what was happening and, even though she was visibly upset, nobody on the bus moved to intervene or to see what was going on.
"It was horrific. I didn't know what to do. People were looking at me and staring. I was crying - I didn't known what he was doing and I couldn't move," she said.
While the man continued to fondle himself, he pretended he was falling asleep and the ordeal went on for about 25 minutes before she got off the bus, she said.
She said she would definitely press charges if the man could be identified.
Teams of Dublin Bus personnel spent yesterday reviewing digital footage in a bid to identify the correct CCTV footage from the bus.
A spokeswoman for Dublin Bus said it had helped that the young woman had kept her ticket and they could ascertain which bus and what time she had got on.
The company yesterday identified the CCTV disc in question and have passed it on to gardai at Store Street.
It is understood that the young woman and her mother, who raised the incident initially in a bid to stop the same thing from happening to other young women or girls, will view the tape with investigators from Store Street garda station today.
Dublin Bus will also take the step of going through the footage to see if images of the man can be distributed to depots in an effort to identify him.
Last January the Department of Transport provided €2.8m to Dublin Bus to upgrade its CCTV systems.

This day is not going well. No one will call be back about my story. The birthday present I ordered is trapped in the depot. Someone might have already done my dissertation idea. Oh, and my feet are bleeding.

On the upside I sent off my entry to a magazine writing competition. It's me complaining about Halloween. It's moderately researched and plainly presented but I'm hoping to score points on style.

Fuck it, bring on this weekend.

Interior, Coffee Shop, Day

BILL MURRAY is sitting at the counter. He takes a sip of coffee and stares blankly ahead.

A WOMAN enters. She is wearing a CHICKEN SUIT.

Woman - Sir, can you help me please? I've been wired withexplosives by my ex-boyfriend and he says he'll blow me up if I don't get seven ethnically diverse people to do the HOKEY COKEY with me.

BILL MURRAY stares blankly ahead.

Woman - Sir?

A fly lands on BILL MURRAY's forehead and wanders down his crooked nose and along his craggy lips.

Woman (backing away) - I'll come back another time.

The fly waves goodbye. BILL MURRAY stares blankly ahead.

Try and research the mildest story and no matter who you talk to you'll quickly find yourself redirected to their press representative, someone schooled in evasion and spewing press releases. No one wants to talk to journalists (or even student journalists). It's frustrating that every nugget of information has to be shredded, reconstituted and coated in crispy-fried lies.

I'm trying to cover a local story for an assignment. Nothing major, just a 1,000 words on a local interest story. It's quickly turning into a game of smoke and mirrors. The people who want to talk to me are gagged and the people who can help me are aloof. The story is turning into the fight to cover the story. Why are they so cagey? Don't they know that saying things like "this is not public knowledge at the moment" will set every curious nerve ending in my body quivering like a giant tuning fork? Can I still write this story without their permission? I think I will. I think I have to. I don't have any other ideas and it's due in a week. What's the harm? It's only for class. No one's gonna know.