I've been a little flat, what with the essay-from-hell, a dearth of love interests for our hero and the continual debate over What Happens Next After Uni. And then, the long-awaited upswing.
Friday was to be a write-off as far as monsieur essay was concerned - I was shortlisted for the inaugural student journalism prize run by the press club, and it was to be presented as part of a journalism conference which cost me 65 bucks and a lost day of essay mayhem. It was almost like a rather expensive lottery. But I completely forgot about why I was there when four of Melbourne's most influential men sat down for an editor's panel discussion; incoming Age editor, Andrew Jaspan - the man of mystery - followed by Peter Blunden of the Hun, Marco Bass from the ABC and the news chief from Seven whose name I forget. Jaspan was the main attraction, and he knew it; an imported editor from England/Scotland, a pick from the top that was rumored to have caused significant dissent in the Age newsroom. Newspapers are parochial beasts by nature, Australian newspapers especially so, and to call in an editor who knew nothing of Melbourne - well! First impressions: looked a little ratty in a hands-on editor kinda way - he did edit the Scotsman, a very well respected paper. He was given the mike first by the ABC's Jon Faine (it was being broadcast live), who navigated the proceedings and directed nasty questions at each editor in turn with consumate skill. Jaspan began with a disclaimer; hasn't been in Melbourne long, hasn't figured out what he'll do differently with our beloved-but-slightly-ailing broadsheet, was impressed by the resources and skills of his journalists and pleased with the large number of investigative journo's at his command (all five of them). All flowers and sun until Faine stepped in, needling him about giving the polio vaccine story from last week the full page-one tabloid-style treatment, something The Age Does Not Do. Or didn't. Faine aimed enough questions to provoke a snap: "You'd better get used to it," and Faine appeared well pleased at provoking such a response. Welcome to Melbourne. Next, to Blunden, who weathered the usual high-culture barbs about sleazy tabloid low-culture by continually referring Faine to the 1.5 million satisfied readers daily (biggest in Straya!). And what about the public interest? Well, sport, crime and oddities do interest those 1.5 million readers; a nice little retort from Blunden which neatly sabotaged ye olde version of the public interest as a refined, old-white-powerful-male 'public' interest. I'll skip to question time, when the audience of journos and wannabe journos started pestering Jaspan with questions, ignoring the other editors. Where did he stand on Tasmanian issues? (Erm. Ah. Isn't this Melbourne?) What about investigative journalism (strong support) Will you turn The Age into a tabloid-sized broadsheet, as most serious English papers are doing? (Won't rule it out - will look at it, definitely). Very Interesting to see and hear editors scrutinized in such ways; politicians and sports stars and thinkers get interviewed and challenged publicly all the time, but editors rarely endure the stings of public attention, except when the circulation figures come in.
Anyway, back to me. Surprisingly, I won. I was ecstatic - I had hoped to win, but didn't think I would make it, so when Ian Henderson himself (my namedrop for today) shook my hand (I'll never wash again) and ushered me to the mike, I did some fast on the spot thinking and produced a wonderful clunker of an acceptance speech: "Er, I didn't expect to win, so I haven't prepared anything, but I'm really quite excited. Thank you." Groan. I deployed a large smile to cover my exit and fled back to my seat, legs shaking. Since then, I've thought of possible alternative acceptance speechs. "Would anyone like to offer me a job?" (considering the number of high-up newspaper hacks in the room). A later thought: "I'd like to thank god. And my mum." But maybe no-one would have laughed. I also made myself look silly by not knowing who a few journalists who thanked me were, despite their prominently positioned name-tags (curse not having a TV) and being questioned by a polite woman who carried herself as if I should know who she was (still no idea).
Inside my little winner's envelope was a cheque (nice) and a letter inviting me to two weeks work experience with the ABC. I thought I was about as high as I could get minus drugs, but then I coincidentally encountered the editorial training manager of the paper I've applied for, who whispered the good news of an interview. Two things of Career-Beginning Joy in a single day. I tried to do essay work after that, but it was such an anticlimax that I wasted hours stapling my notes into neat piles for ready access and bouncing around the house and bragging politely to yawning housemates.
Oh - in my brief look around the room from the privileged dais (previously occupied by Jon Faine, Don Watson and other word and letter specialists) I saw a few small, encouraging smiles from jaded journos and a phalanx of death-stares from my fellow journalism students. One girl in particular would have contently butchered me on the spot; arms-folded-eyes-slitted, she managed to both shrink within herself and expand her little shroud across the room. The glory of competition in full swing.
Here's what I wrote: http://www.vibewire.net/articles.php?id=2165
Well, enough self-aggrandising for today. I'll be back with another installment of woe-is-me this time tomorrow. Stay tuned.
---------
Incidentally, did you know that small towns with a high number of country music radio stations have a higher suicide rate than those mercifully free of the musical scourge?
--------
Oh, and if Bush wins, there is no god. I always find it funny that the version of democracy Americans want to export is riddled with special-interests, populism, pre-emptive wars, etc, etc. It's like a dictatorship except you outsource the torture and nastiness to other countries, who then take responsibility. Hey, Chile - kill some popular lefties. Oi, Central America - oppression is IN.
God, I sound like John Pilger.
Friday was to be a write-off as far as monsieur essay was concerned - I was shortlisted for the inaugural student journalism prize run by the press club, and it was to be presented as part of a journalism conference which cost me 65 bucks and a lost day of essay mayhem. It was almost like a rather expensive lottery. But I completely forgot about why I was there when four of Melbourne's most influential men sat down for an editor's panel discussion; incoming Age editor, Andrew Jaspan - the man of mystery - followed by Peter Blunden of the Hun, Marco Bass from the ABC and the news chief from Seven whose name I forget. Jaspan was the main attraction, and he knew it; an imported editor from England/Scotland, a pick from the top that was rumored to have caused significant dissent in the Age newsroom. Newspapers are parochial beasts by nature, Australian newspapers especially so, and to call in an editor who knew nothing of Melbourne - well! First impressions: looked a little ratty in a hands-on editor kinda way - he did edit the Scotsman, a very well respected paper. He was given the mike first by the ABC's Jon Faine (it was being broadcast live), who navigated the proceedings and directed nasty questions at each editor in turn with consumate skill. Jaspan began with a disclaimer; hasn't been in Melbourne long, hasn't figured out what he'll do differently with our beloved-but-slightly-ailing broadsheet, was impressed by the resources and skills of his journalists and pleased with the large number of investigative journo's at his command (all five of them). All flowers and sun until Faine stepped in, needling him about giving the polio vaccine story from last week the full page-one tabloid-style treatment, something The Age Does Not Do. Or didn't. Faine aimed enough questions to provoke a snap: "You'd better get used to it," and Faine appeared well pleased at provoking such a response. Welcome to Melbourne. Next, to Blunden, who weathered the usual high-culture barbs about sleazy tabloid low-culture by continually referring Faine to the 1.5 million satisfied readers daily (biggest in Straya!). And what about the public interest? Well, sport, crime and oddities do interest those 1.5 million readers; a nice little retort from Blunden which neatly sabotaged ye olde version of the public interest as a refined, old-white-powerful-male 'public' interest. I'll skip to question time, when the audience of journos and wannabe journos started pestering Jaspan with questions, ignoring the other editors. Where did he stand on Tasmanian issues? (Erm. Ah. Isn't this Melbourne?) What about investigative journalism (strong support) Will you turn The Age into a tabloid-sized broadsheet, as most serious English papers are doing? (Won't rule it out - will look at it, definitely). Very Interesting to see and hear editors scrutinized in such ways; politicians and sports stars and thinkers get interviewed and challenged publicly all the time, but editors rarely endure the stings of public attention, except when the circulation figures come in.
Anyway, back to me. Surprisingly, I won. I was ecstatic - I had hoped to win, but didn't think I would make it, so when Ian Henderson himself (my namedrop for today) shook my hand (I'll never wash again) and ushered me to the mike, I did some fast on the spot thinking and produced a wonderful clunker of an acceptance speech: "Er, I didn't expect to win, so I haven't prepared anything, but I'm really quite excited. Thank you." Groan. I deployed a large smile to cover my exit and fled back to my seat, legs shaking. Since then, I've thought of possible alternative acceptance speechs. "Would anyone like to offer me a job?" (considering the number of high-up newspaper hacks in the room). A later thought: "I'd like to thank god. And my mum." But maybe no-one would have laughed. I also made myself look silly by not knowing who a few journalists who thanked me were, despite their prominently positioned name-tags (curse not having a TV) and being questioned by a polite woman who carried herself as if I should know who she was (still no idea).
Inside my little winner's envelope was a cheque (nice) and a letter inviting me to two weeks work experience with the ABC. I thought I was about as high as I could get minus drugs, but then I coincidentally encountered the editorial training manager of the paper I've applied for, who whispered the good news of an interview. Two things of Career-Beginning Joy in a single day. I tried to do essay work after that, but it was such an anticlimax that I wasted hours stapling my notes into neat piles for ready access and bouncing around the house and bragging politely to yawning housemates.
Oh - in my brief look around the room from the privileged dais (previously occupied by Jon Faine, Don Watson and other word and letter specialists) I saw a few small, encouraging smiles from jaded journos and a phalanx of death-stares from my fellow journalism students. One girl in particular would have contently butchered me on the spot; arms-folded-eyes-slitted, she managed to both shrink within herself and expand her little shroud across the room. The glory of competition in full swing.
Here's what I wrote: http://www.vibewire.net/articles.php?id=2165
Well, enough self-aggrandising for today. I'll be back with another installment of woe-is-me this time tomorrow. Stay tuned.
---------
Incidentally, did you know that small towns with a high number of country music radio stations have a higher suicide rate than those mercifully free of the musical scourge?
--------
Oh, and if Bush wins, there is no god. I always find it funny that the version of democracy Americans want to export is riddled with special-interests, populism, pre-emptive wars, etc, etc. It's like a dictatorship except you outsource the torture and nastiness to other countries, who then take responsibility. Hey, Chile - kill some popular lefties. Oi, Central America - oppression is IN.
God, I sound like John Pilger.
posted by Doug @ 11/03/2004 11:17:00 am
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