CLEARLY-LABELED ASSIGNMENT 6

I.      If the paths of glory lead but to the grave, the path to journalistic success isn't exempt. Unfortunately, in the case of the above journalists, their shot at immortality killed the very name they sought. Listed from left to right, Stephen Glass, Jayson Blair, Jack Kelley, and Janet Cooke are notorious for betraying the trust of their readers and fellow journalists alike. Stephen Glass, formerly on staff of the famed New Republic, lost his job when Adam Penenberg discovered several holes in Glass's feature, "Hack Heaven." Penenberg, a reporter for Forbes.com, pursued the story and found that most of Glass's feature was unverifiable. As Penenberg pursued the investigation, it became apparent that not only had Glass invented companies, people, and even fake newsletters in an effort to prove "Hack Heaven's" veracity, but he had fabricated material for other pieces as well. Glass promptly lost his job (Penenberg; Shattered Glass).
       Jayson Blair worked his way up from intern to reporter on the staff of the New York Times. However, several colleagues questioned his professional reliability, and in April 2002 Blair's articles were so full of error that he pled personal problems and took leave. Shortly after he began working again, the extent to which he had used false information began to come out. Not only had Blair lied about his whereabouts, but in many instances, he had also fabricated quotes and events, and stolen material from other newspapers. Blair was fired shortly after, but the breach in the Time's reputation would take much longer to repair ("Times Reporter").
       Former star-reporter Jack Kelley also pleads guilty of fabricating materials, stealing quotes, and even lying in his speeches. While reporting for USA Today, he even scripted speeches to help other people mislead the investigators USA Today sent to check up on his facts. One of his antics was using the picture of a hotel worker to embellish his feature on Cuban refugees, even going so far as to declare that the women in question had died in her attempt. An anonymous complaint about the reporter's veracity started an investigation that would leave Kelley's reputation as full of holes as his stories had been. On January 5, 2004, Kelley was asked to resign (Morrison; Banville).
       Janet Cooke, as reporter for the Washington Post, wrote a feature called, "Jimmy's World." This vivid, heart-stirring piece about a young heroin addict was so moving that it was awarded the Pulitzer Prize. However, when it turned out that most of her story was a hodgepodge of second-hand information, rather than being eye-witness as the piece made it out to be, the Pulitzer Prize was withdrawn. Ironically, her story was so moving that the Mayor Barry of "Jimmy's" city assigned a task force to find the child. Jimmy could not be found, for Jimmy did not exist. Cooke resigned on April 15, 1981 (Maraniss).

II.        Even colleges are not immune to plagiaristic journalists. For instance, in 2005, California Polytechnic State University's Mustang Daily was soiled with the scandal of plagiarism. Up-and-coming journalist Rebecca Laman was caught plagiarizing online materials that were then printed in the student paper. Her decision back-fired however, when the plagiarism became known. The scandal took hold not only of the school paper, but of the local SLO Tribune and New Times as well. While the Mustang Daily declined to state the name of the student, the information soon got out. An editorial in the New Times praised the Tribune for discovering and printing Laman's real name ("Don't Mark My Words"). Matt Mackey, once a Mustang Daily writer, parried that the, "Student's name should not have been released" (Mackey). All in all, it seems that the question of revealing the student plagiarist's name was of more concern than the act of plagiarism itself. This aspect became a central feature in the ethical debate surrounding the controversy.

III.        Of course, knowing that an article such as "Hack Heaven," is false makes it seem that much easier to spot its weak points. For instance, it seems improbable that "graying corporate executives," would be high-fiving a bratty teenager because he was so good at hacking (Glass). Or that companies would trust hackers to work for them, even seek them out, and resist legislation to outlaw the practice (Glass). "Jimmy's World," seemed much more realistic, and it would be hard to spot error in the piece without a familiar knowledge of the location or lifestyle. The only thing that seemed relatively unlikely would be that the adult dealers would waste such an expensive drug on children who present no--or at least, no immediate--financial advantage (Cooke).
       As an editor, there seem to be many indications that a piece is plagiarized--in hindsight. Before it is confirmed however, skilled plagiarism seems difficult to spot without extensive background and source checks. Source checks seem to be particularly valuable.
       The degree to which journalists should be punished for plagiarism should relate to the degree of plagiarism used. The use of intentional plagiarism, of false or intentionally misleading information, is much more serious than an unintentional paraphrase. Journalists who deliberately create fake sources, make up quotes, or write as if they are eye-witnessing a remote situation--or anything else that suggests fabrication--should not be allowed to undertake news-writing again, for they have violated the trust that is at the core of journalism, and particularly news-writing. An editor who retains a dishonest journalist brings the character of the whole paper into question, for it can be wondered what else is being tolerated. On a more practical level, the field of journalism is highly competitive, such that there will always be another reporter to step up to the plate. Further, the competition for readers is fierce. There is no reason to jeopardize the character--and thus the circulation figures--of the paper.

IV.       If a picture is worth a thousand words, Brian Walksi's image of a British soldier gesturing Iraqi citizens to cover would be worth 2000. It also cost him his job. In an age of rampant photoshop, the temptation to mess with news photographs must still be restrained to cropping, cutting, playing with the exposure...editing that does not change the actual content of the picture. The facts of the piece however--since they are taken by the readers to be a true-to-life rendition of the situation--should not be altered. While what Walski did in combining two photos perhaps did not change the message of this particular image--very much--condoning his action would open the door to others to do the same, but perhaps with more subversive intent. In other words, photographs might digress to the same reliability as the hand-drawn illustrations of the Yellow Journalism era. Further, in publishing the manipulated photo as the original, Walksi effectively lied to his audience and his editor, in the same way that a traditional journalist would lie by changing the facts of a story. This alone is grounds for dismissal.
       In direct contrast to journalists who would barter truth for a more sensational story, Michael Kelly's reputation lives on: a journalist who was not only brilliant in work, but who refused to compromise his beliefs--whether they were favored by the mainstream or not. After Kelly was fired by New Republic for his undisguised disapproval of the Clinton administration, he worked for the Washington Post, the National Journal, and the Atlantic Monthly. In 2003, he also became the first American journalist to die in the war in Iraq. Despite his editorial genius and solid, not to mention safe, career at home, he went to Iraq in order to capture events there for future generations as well as current readers. One of 600 journalists embedded among the US Military in Iraq, he supposedly died in a humvee crash on April 3, 2003. Kelly left behind a wife and two young sons, a stunning collection of editorials, and the open admiration of his peers and readers alike. His legend as a brilliant journalist, however, will live on.

SOURCES CITED

Banville, Lee. PBS Online NewsHour. 10 December 2004. http://www.pbs.org/newshour/media/media_ethics/casestudy_usatoday.php

Cooke, Janet. "Jimmy's World." 28 September 1980. Class Hand-out

Cornejo, Mark. "Student Accused of Plagiarism." SLO Tribune. 3 August 2005. 

http://www.google.com/search?=qcache:nz4A6Ii LVPQJ:mysite.verizon.net/res8dhka/mcpaul/plag.html+cornejo+%22student+accused+of +plagiarism%22&hl=en&ct=clnk&cd=1&gl=us&client=safari

"Don't Mark My Words." Editorial. New Times. 4 August 2005. http://newtimesslo.com/index.php?p=showarticle&id=1234

Glass, Stephen. "Hack Heaven." 18 May 1998. Class Hand-out.

Mackey, Matt. "Student's Name Should Not Have Been Released." Letters to the Editor. New Times. 18 August 2005. http://newtimesslo.com/index.php?p=showarticle&id=1267

Maraniss, David A. "Post Reporter's Pulitzer Prize Is Withdrawn." Washington Post. 16 April 1981. http://academics.smcvt.edu/dmindich/Jimmy's%20World.htm

Morrison, Blake. "Ex-USA TODAY Reporter Faked Major Stories." USA TODAY. 19 March 2004.

Noonan, Peggy. "Michael Kelly, RIP." Wall Street Journal Opinion Archives. 4 April 2003.   http://www.opinionjournal.com/columnists/pnoonan/?id=110003298

Penenberg, Adam L. "Lies, Damn Lies and Fiction." Forbes.com. 11 May 1998
http://www.forbes.com/1998/05/11/otw3.html

Porteus, Liza. "American Journalist Michael Kelly Killed in Iraq." FoxNews.com. 4 April 2003.
http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,83204,00.html

Shattered Glass: in-class movie

"Times Reporter Who Resigned Leaves Long Trail of Deception." The New York Times Online. 11 May 2003. http://www.nytimes.com/2003/05/11/national/11PAPE.html?             ei=5007&en=d6f511319c259463&ex=1367985600&partner=USERLAND&pagewanted=

print&position=#top

Van Riper, Frank. "Manipulating Truth, Losing Credibility." Washington Post.com. http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-srv/photo/essays/vanRiper/030409.htm

Wanderlust and Rain

I didn't realize how stifling a foot fracture would be. A foot fracture and rain. Can't surf; can run; can't get away. Today was a really bad day. Rain. Rain and gray. Rain and gray and a pronounced lack of freedom. Late to class, 2 hours in a doctor's office full of sick people to get my foot x-rayed. Apparently I should be using crutches. Freedom. Ha ha. Lack thereof. Miss Netto. How could she die? She was always so ALIVE! Sick of class. Wish I was a different person altogether. Seem to be doing everything wrong lately. AND my car CD player broke.

I finally got home, so pissed at everything and mostly at myself that I felt like just going straight coming 'round the curve toward Pismo.....parked and I stepped out of the car. Burst of air like dry-ice; hard, cold, bracing. The rain had broken. The clouds had broken. Up above, through a cold rift, a glitter of stars in a dark velvet sky. Faintly glowing billows of cloud parted like the Red Sea around them. Glimpse of Heaven.

And flash of freedom. Flash of the reminder of why I live, or at least why life is a wonderful thing and not merely a forced march through rote and routine. And rain.

That essence of wildness and wild joy that I get like a wave overwhelming me when I get to the top of Bishops, or lose myself in some back Yosemite highland, or find myself on a bus in Spain with no money and no destination and no companions--and no reason to care. The feeling that you can make your bed anywhere and don't have to be anywhere.

It's the feeling I try to capture on those random drives up the 1, or of being awake when all the world's asleep (ahem. as in, now.)
The feeling of total independence from people, yet no vestige of loneliness.
The feeling of a moonlit beach.
The feeling of pushing to your feet as the board suddenly becomes alive and spring-loaded on the wave.
The feeling of watching a sunset in the Mediterranean ocean and knowing that no one who knows you knows where you are. And that you could stay out there all night if you want, or sleep on the beach, or catch a bus and get off when the sun came up in a totally different location--even country.
The crinkle along your back at the eerie, lonely call of the imams to prayer--thin, wailing over a dusky bazaar squatting in the sunset dust of centuries.
The feeling of running to the edge of Bishop's Peak and looking back and seeing the school and school life far, far behind you. Right at sunset. Lay on the rock by the entrance. Look up at the sky. Free.

I always craved that freedom growing up. Running for me was the essence of it, the suggestion of it--captured the longing and sometimes fulfilled it. I still remember the first time I discovered a muddy trail up the side of one of the bare-leaved mountain peaks. Chilly November day. Cold gray clouds breaking to the frosty blue of winter sky. Freedom. I'd just moved from Colorado to a land of stores and Gucci bags and car-crammed streets. But now I'd escaped the city. Escaped rote and business and chain stores and money and all the things i hate to deal with but can't live without.
Freedom. I was stoked.

Cold sky. Cold stars. Cold glittering white stars. Moan of the ocean. Yearn for the ocean. I held my things indecisively in my arms: what a perfect night for a starlight ramble. Cold. Very, very cold. Another hesitation, and I turned to go inside. Stupid foot. Maybe in a few weeks? Maybe I'll buy a brace. The beach a la crutches: that would be amusing. A few weeks to freedom. Hunker down 'til the rain stops. Hunker down and pray for it to stop. Or spend my financial aid on a plane ticket....?

Sigh.

RE-DONE ASSIGNMENT 5/with INTERVIEWS

Not all of the buildings on-campus are named after alumni. Nor do all staff know who their building is named for. According to the plaque across from the main entrance, the Bert and Candace Forbes Center (Building 20A,) is named after a couple who employed many California Polytechnic State University grads, but who didn't actually attend the university itself. Bert was an electrical engineer who came to Cal Poly (as California Polytechnic State University is known by its students,) in 1979. He and his wife Candace founded the Ziatech Corporation. They were known for managing Cal Poly's Internet servers, donating Cal Poly's pipe organ, and giving the largest cash grant Cal Poly has ever received. The gift was sufficient for two endowed professorships, and also included a fund for equipment and upgrades in the Computer Engineering, Computer Science, and Electrical Engineering labs.

I interviewed several people on-staff, looking for someone--anyone--who had any idea of who Kennedy was and why the library is named after him. The most informative answer I got was from Doug Gates of Archives, "Ya. There's something on our website here, if I remember correctly." He did remember correctly, and he also gave me a print-out of the short biographies of all of the building's namesakes. Kennedy Library, for instance, was named for one of California Polytechnic's former presidents. Kennedy was born in Portland, Oregon, shortly after the turn of the century. He presided over California Polytechnic State University from 1967 to 1979. Cal Poly's name was officially changed to California Polytechnic State University during Kennedy's administration. When the new library opened in 1981, it was named after Robert E. Kennedy, its former and respected President Emeritus. The retired Kennedy currently lives in San Luis Obispo.

It was easier to find staff members who knew about the Cotchett and the Frank E. Pilling educational buildings. According to Administration Staff member Tom Skelton, Joseph W. Cotchett is, "An alum from Cal Poly. He's an attorney in the Bay Area." He mentioned that there, "Used to be a Cal Poly Report," (online,) "that featured him." Instead, Skelton spent about 5 minutes rummaging around in a back room to find an alumni magazine featuring an article on Cotchett. He found it, and made a copy for me. Apparently Cotchett graduated from California Polytechnic State University in 1960. He was born in Brooklyn in the late 30s/early 40s, and founded Phi Kappa Sigma--Cal Poly's first integrated Greek fraternity. Throughout his career as a trial lawyer, he was known for fighting for minorities and, "the little guys," according to Jeff Winter's 2007 article in the Cal Poly's online magazine.* Cotchett donated 7 million dollars to Cal Poly on April 16, 2004, in order to promote the education of math and science teachers. The Cotchett Educational Building was named after him in recognition of his generosity. On a more humorous note, I found out why they only serve Pepsi on-campus. According to Skelton, it's because, "Pepsi donated a million," to the school.

Frank E. "Bud" Pilling is notable for attending Cal Poly on the GI Bill. According to Professor Chris Buckalew, the building was named after Pilling, "Because he donated a million bucks." Buckalew elaborated that if you make a donation of, "One-fourth the building's value, you can have the building named after you. Or at least, that's how it used to be." Pilling graduated in 1950, and became president of the Borg-Warnes' Automative Group. He donated $50,000 to the establishment of the Frank E. Pilling Endowment in support of the College of Engineering. Cal Poly named its Computer Science building after him in 1994 in recognition of his generous gift and support.

California Polytechnic State University looks forward to future growth in the construction of new buildings, such as the student housing development known as Poly Canyon Village. The Poly Canyon apartments are scheduled to be completed in Fall 2006. Other development can be seen in the renovation of older buildings such as the Engineering and Architecture Building, scheduled to be completed in March 2008. This renovation, which began in July 2006, will make the building more fire-resistant and protect its 39,000 usable square feet with an extensive sprinkler system in the event a fire should break out.**


*http://calpolynews.calpoly.edu/magazine/summer'02/cotchett.html
**Construction Management Services RFQ 05-1318
www.facilities.calpoly.edu/campusprojects contract="" maj051318cm="" pdf=""
***All other information obtained from California Polytechnic State University building plaques, website, University Union Information Desk, and interviews with administration, professors, and staff-members

CLEARLY-LABELED ASSIGNMENT 4/Story Ideas

1. The Freshman 15: Is this effect over-exaggerated? Reasons why students gain weight entering college. Means to prevent weight gain, both personally and campus-wide, starting with a list of improvements for campus dining installments such as VGs (VGs has already started to implement this list, as I wrote it and discussed it with the manager when I transferred here last year. I planned on/studied to be a dietitian before I entered Poly.) [Interview potential: Campus Dining managers. Dietitians and Food Science Majors. Athletes. Freshman. Seniors.]

2. Caffeine usage among students: social, survival, or somewhere in-between? Would/might cover: the most effective way to use caffeine (based on Air Force and other studies), potential health-concerns of caffeine/energy drink users, and a comparison of caffeine to the various synthetic ingredients in energy drinks. [Interview potential: Students of different classes and majors (freshman vs. seniors; architecture vs, for instance, business majors,) Food Science majors/Registered Dietitians, Starbucks/Peets/smaller shops' baristas]

3. Stress: its negative effects, what causes it and to what extent, cause and degree of stressors for students, and--most importantly--what can be done to combat or at least minimize the effects of stress. [Interview potential: Students of different classes and majors (freshman vs. seniors; architecture vs, for instance, business majors,) Food Science majors/Registered Dietitians, Doctors, School Councilors and Social Workers.
(also posted as comment on Journalism 203 site)

CLEARLY-LABELED ASSIGNMENT 3/Ledes

1. When George Orwell, a child during the First World War, looked back on his early life, he confessed that his chief memory was not of all the deaths, but of all the margarine. The butter shortages caused by the Great War meant that margarine switched from being the food of the poor to being a universally used substitute – even for privileged pupils at Eton, such as Orwell.

From The Times/January 19, 2008/Swindled: the story of artificial food


I liked this lede because not only is the perspective humorous, it effectively lightens up a topic that is generally handled more seriously--providing mental contrast and an element of mild surprise. It is well-worded, and packs a lot of information about the coming article into the space of two sentences, while not losing the tone or artistic effect of the rest of the article. I also liked the subtle use of alliteration in, "privileged pupils," "universally used," and the near-alliteration of, "Eton... Orwell," in the second sentence.



2. The cavernous, dingy interior of the National Stadium in Kabul has echoed with many sounds during its eventful history. Communist rallies roared from its terraces, the condemned screamed for mercy at Taleban executions, and in recent years it has even heard the cheers and catcalls of the sports for which it was built.

From The Times/January 19, 2008/Girl boxers are a knockout at the Taleban’s former stadium of death


This lede has an feeling of fiction rather than of news to it, making for a very engaging and gripping intro. The wording is vivid and strong, and appeals strongly to the senses and emotions. At the same time it gives a time and a place and even a brief history in the space of only two sentences. While I tend to appreciate humor more than drama, I thought this an effective and interesting lede, for it gripped my attention and made me want to read the rest of the article immediately.



3. There are two things in the world over which I think it is important to take great care: food and spelling. Which is why my recent trip to Jamaica was spoilt utterly in its first, tender hours by one of Britain’s most fêted living novelists.

From The Times/January 19, 2008/Jamaica


This author starts with a surprisingly general but humorous observation. While it is the author's opinion, it is given in such a manner that it is humorous rather than obnoxious, and which also reveals much about the tone of the piece and personality of the protagonist. The prose is almost floral in nature--very delicate and decorative--yet somehow avoids being frivolous. Once again, the lede captures the unique tone of the piece while at the same time conveying the essentials about the piece in just two, relatively brief sentences. Overall, this had a very engaging, personal tone and made good use of the humor that would sprinkle the rest of the article.

Moonlight Rambles

Sometimes you just want to be alone. Now couple that with the paradox of a sudden and unexpected fear of being alone. It's dark out. Tiring day, sleepless but dry-eyed night. Ran into a couple of walls, tripped on a few steps, but otherwise functioning fairly well. Sigh.
Driving home from class. Lots of people to hang out with in SlO, AG, but my own place deserted. Somehow the thought of being alone in the house, even for an hour or two, freaked me out. Couple that with a restless, aching heart and a strong aversion to the stockpile of homework frowning in my thoughts. I'd take care of that later. But for now....? Home? Alone? Impossible.

So I drove to the beach.


Aching heart. Pull a hoodie on. Cool night breeze. Taste of salt, of ocean, of brine. Dark waters. Darker beach. Thin crescent moon suspended in a gauzy layer up above. Peace. Few glances over my shoulder to make sure the guys loitering around Fins weren't following me. Ahhh. Out on the cold sand. Ditch my shoes. Now I can pull my hood back, out of sight of the loiterers, and take off running impulsively toward the water. Slip down a sandy ridge; skid to a stop at the edge of the water. Wasn't ready to get my feet wet yet, and I didn't intend to stay very long.

I started walking restlessly through the rippled gray world. Mysterious gray world, entirely different from the daytime or dawning or even sunset beach. Different character than a nighttime bonfire with friends. A place unto itself, complete in itself. Inky swath of beach on one side; paler swath of gloomy moonlit foam hedging the other. Sweep and surge of dark waves, restless behind their bounds. Restless like me. I felt my soul begin to unkink in response, at the same time as the silence drew out the ache that had been festering there all day. Minor music sort of ache. At school it merely interfered. Here it fit well enough that I reflected wryly I should've worn my Emo glasses. I decided that if anyone accosted me, I'd just take off and swim behind those tumbled dark swells. My cell phone sucks anyways, and the keys would be easy to hold on to. Either that or take off for the dunes. No; probably ocean. Closer. When rambling by yourself, it's always good to have an escape route ready.

With that cleared up, I let my thoughts wander to how nice it was to be alone right now. I like being alone lately. Running alone, walking alone, moonlighting alone. Dark, venturesome beach. Tempted to just start running along it and not come back. A tiny moon traced a path in front of my feet, erratic on the wave-ridged sand. Perfect, tiny moon; gray world; quiet dark. Restless but calming surge of the sea. It's funny how being alone is an absolutely incredible experience when it's a matter of choice. Otherwise it just sucks.

I took off running suddenly, almost surprised myself. Ahhhh. This was perfect. Sprinting across the dark sands, assuming the next step would be level. Dark, firm sand. Faster, faster. There's something special about running along a moonlit foam. There's something special about running when the night picks up wings and flies behind you. Faster, faster. Stop to catch my breath. The Grover entrance was far behind me now. Dark, quiet, lonesome world. Huge, white circle around the moon--foreboding of rain--like a halo. It was comforting somehow, that pale moon rainbow. Reminded me that I wasn't quite alone after all. The ocean and God and my thoughts; good company.

I kept telling myself that I needed to turn around, as I ventured farther and farther along the beach. End of houses. Quiet dunes beyond. Running as hard as I could, but it didn't feel hard. Just free. And fast. Almost flying. It would have been even better if my lungs didn't hurt--better yet if my heart didn't hurt. I thought of Netto. I thought of Netto a lot. Miss her. It's hard.

Whenever those thoughts came, I'd take off running again--harder. When you're running fast enough, you don't really need to concentrate on anything else. Spray of water, sand, foam. Kicking up behind me. All over my legs and shorts and...oops...the cell phone clutched in my hand. I didn't realize how wet I was getting 'til I was on the way back. At a certain point, where there were no more lights on the immensely gray dunes, the word "goul" came to me. I decided it was time to turn around.

Shadow creatures walking with me, out of the corner of my eye. Actually they were just the stripey reflections of the lights on the cliff, following along with me. But it was easy to pretend the shadow columns were the ones doing the following, and from there it wasn't a far leap to creatures. Tall, thin ones. But just the shadow.



I took off running again, flying over the dark sand. A surge of foamy wave came up to meet my feet, and all of a sudden I forgot entirely about the shadow creatures in the delight of a new game. Okay so it's not new, but in the new scenario of moonlight and aloneness, it seemed an entirely different matter than anything I'd played before. Running just along the edge of that rapidly-advancing foam. At a slight angle up the beach as it surged inland. Open up my stride. Wow this was a quick wave. Faster, faster. Phew just got ahead of it. I followed it and played the same with the next, skirting a foot, maybe two from the unpredictable foam running alongside me. Lots of sprinting. A bit of splashing. It seemed as if I should be laughing, for it was fun, but instead it was incredibly silent. The sound of the ocean, of my own breathing, an occasional splash. That was it.

I ended up sprinting along the wave most of the way back, weave in and out. Misjudged my timing the very last one and ended up cantering to a splashing halt--finally laughing out-loud when I realized how wet I'd gotten. Covered in sticky sand; all over my legs and up my back. My throat hurt incredibly all of a sudden, and I realized the cold pizza and Redline I'd had, hmmm, like 4am the previous night was pretty gone. Humdrum. Humdrum and homework. Cold feet; hard to work the clutch; barely feel the pedals. Time to go back in to the world.

But regardless of sore throat, wet shorts, cold feet....wow. That felt good. Refreshing. Unkinking. Exciting.

I think I'll have to do it again sometime...

CLEARLY-LABELED ASSIGNMENT 2/B

A few high-profile figures in high-tech are proposing a blogger code of conduct to clean up the quality of online discourse.
Last week, Tim O’Reilly, a conference promoter and book publisher who is credited with coining the term Web 2.0, began working with Jimmy Wales, creator of the communal online encyclopedia Wikipedia, to create a set of guidelines to shape online discussion and debate.
A recent outbreak of antagonism among several prominent bloggers “gives us an opportunity to change the level of expectations that people have about what’s acceptable online,” said Mr. O’Reilly, who posted the preliminary recommendations last week on his company blog (radar.oreilly.com). Mr. Wales then put the proposed guidelines on his company’s site (blogging.wikia.com), and is now soliciting comments in the hope of creating consensus around what constitutes civil behavior online.
The preliminary recommendations posted by Mr. Wales and Mr. O’Reilly are based in part on a code developed by BlogHer, a network for women designed to give them blogging tools and to guide readers to their pages.
Chief among the recommendations is that bloggers consider banning anonymous comments left by visitors to their pages and be able to delete threatening or libelous comments without facing cries of censorship. Nowadays, those conversations often take place on blogs. At last count, there were 70 million of them, with more than 1.4 million entries being added daily, according to Technorati, a blog-indexing company. Mr. O’Reilly and Mr. Wales talk about creating several sets of guidelines for conduct and seals of approval represented by logos. For example, anonymous writing might be acceptable in one set; in another, it would be discouraged. Under a third set of guidelines, bloggers would pledge to get a second source for any gossip or breaking news they write about.
Bloggers could then pick a set of principles and post the corresponding badge on their page, to indicate to readers what kind of behavior and dialogue they will engage in and tolerate. The whole system would be voluntary, relying on the community to police itself.“If it’s a carefully constructed set of principles, it could carry a lot of weight even if not everyone agrees,” Mr. Wales said.
Mr. Wales and Mr. O’Reilly were inspired to act after a firestorm erupted late last month in the insular community of dedicated technology bloggers. In an online shouting match that was widely reported, Kathy Sierra, a high-tech book author from Boulder County, Colo., and a friend of Mr. O’Reilly, reported getting death threats that stemmed in part from a dispute over whether it was acceptable to delete the impolitic comments left by visitors to someone’s personal Web site.
Distraught over the threats and manipulated photos of her that were posted on other critical sites — including one that depicted her head next to a noose — Ms. Sierra canceled a speaking appearance at a trade show and asked the local police for help in finding the source of the threats. She also said that she was considering giving up blogging altogether.
In an interview, she dismissed the argument that cyberbullying is so common that she should overlook it. “I can’t believe how many people are saying to me, ‘Get a life, this is the Internet,’ ” she said. “If that’s the case, how will we ever recognize a real threat?”
The code of conduct already has some early supporters, including David Weinberger, a well-known blogger (hyperorg.com/blogger) and a fellow at the Berkman Center for Internet and Society at Harvard Law School. “The aim of the code is not to homogenize the Web, but to make clearer the informal rules that are already in place anyway,” he said. Ms. Sierra said she supported the new efforts to improve civility on the Web. The police investigation into her case is pending. “Any community that does not make it clear what they are doing, why they are doing it, and who is welcome to join the conversation is at risk of finding it difficult to help guide the conversation later,” said Lisa Stone, who created the guidelines and the BlogHer network in 2006 with Elisa Camahort and Jory Des Jardins.
One public bid to improve the quality of dialogue on the Web came more than a year ago when Mena Trott, a co-founder of the blogging software company Six Apart, proposed elevating civility on the Internet in a speech she gave at a French blog conference. At the event, organizers had placed a large screen on the stage showing instant electronic responses to the speeches from audience members and those who were listening in online.
As Ms. Trott spoke about improving online conduct, a heckler filled the screen with personal insults. Ms Trott recalled “losing it” during the speech.
Ms. Trott has scaled back her public writing and now writes a blog for a limited audience of friends and family. “You can’t force people to be civil, but you can force yourself into a situation where anonymous trolls are not in your life as much,” she said.A subtext of both sets of rules is that bloggers are responsible for everything that appears on their own pages, including comments left by visitors. They say that bloggers should also have the right to delete such comments if they find them profane or abusive.
For the last four years, Richard Silverstein has advocated for Israeli-Palestinian peace on a blog (richardsilverstein.com) that he maintains from Seattle.
People who disagree with his politics frequently leave harassing comments on his site. But the situation reached a new low last month, when an anonymous opponent started a blog in Mr. Silverstein’s name that included photos of Mr. Silverstein in a pornographic context.
“I’ve been assaulted and harassed online for four years,” he said. “Most of it I can take in stride. But you just never get used to that level of hatred.”
That may sound obvious, but many Internet veterans believe that blogs are part of a larger public sphere, and that deleting a visitor’s comment amounts to an assault on their right to free speech. It is too early to gauge support for the proposal, but some online commentators are resisting.
Robert Scoble, a popular technology blogger who stopped blogging for a week in solidarity with Kathy Sierra after her ordeal became public, says the proposed rules “make me feel uncomfortable.” He adds, “As a writer, it makes me feel like I live in Iran.”
Mr. O’Reilly said the guidelines were not about censorship. “That is one of the mistakes a lot of people make — believing that uncensored speech is the most free, when in fact, managed civil dialogue is actually the freer speech,” he said. “Free speech is enhanced by civility.”As many female bloggers can attest, women are often targets. Heather Armstrong, a blogger in Salt Lake City who writes publicly about her family (dooce.com), stopped accepting unmoderated comments on her blog two years ago after she found that conversations among visitors consistently devolved into vitriol.
Since last October, she has also had to deal with an anonymous blogger who maintains a separate site that parodies her writing and has included photos of Ms. Armstrong’s daughter, copied from her site.
Ms. Armstrong tries not to give the site public attention, but concedes that, “At first, it was really difficult to deal with.”

CLEARLY-LABELED ASSIGNMENT 2/A

1. Lead

2. Nutshell graph/atttribution

3. Body

4. Body

5. Body/attribution

6. Body

7. Elaboration

8. Kicker

Sunset and a Dawn: My First Death

I'm sitting here in the cool dawn. It's hazy, pastel, tentative. Beautiful swells, perfect for surfing, crashing all down in a line. White foam on the crest; white lace tracing up their undersides and thickening along the shore. Black silhouette of palms and cyprus against the pale sky. Gold Coast coffee from my Starbucks run; chilly car; quiet cul-de-sac above the cliffs of Shell Beach. Funny all I can think to do is write.
And Netto's dead. Dear God. What a night. Stifle the emotion I have from seeing someone die--and not just anyone, but my very own Netto. I didn't see her die, to be honest. That's part of my trauma. I was listening to music. I heard her moaning--like she always does; gagging--like she always does. Very unnerving to sleep with. That's why I hadn't gone to sleep yet, and also why I had music on. "Are you okay sweetie? How you doing?" I asked lazily. Why didn't i get up? Well she got sick apparently--that dark green stuff that's been building up in her and which makes the whole room smell sickly sweet of rot. She got sick, and I didn't hear it. And I didn't know when she breathed her last, except it must have been right before I checked her. I got up to get ready for bed, took a look at her still, yellow, face. Dear God. She looked slightly worse than before, but I talked to her anyways. "Hi sweetie! I love you! How you doing? Poor baby. I love you!" The usual cooing sing-song I use with babies. It didn't take me long to realize that she apparently wasn't breathing.
But perhaps it was just faint, shallow--like I had never seen her breath before. Until this point her breathing was incredibly labored and as wet as if she had a bad case of pneumonia. Dear God. I walked around her and bent over her. No sign of breath. I put my hand on top of the blankets. Was it moving? Was that her pulse or my own? Numb. Not much emotion--thank God. I pulled the blankets back and put my hand on her chest on top of only the nightie. She was very warm. Very, very warm. I imagined my own pulse was hers, and went to get the nurse because she needed new linens from getting sick. That and...well...I wasn't seeing much in the way of breath.
Surfers going out on the water now. Sky lightening in a subtle, unimpressive sunset. Anti-climatic. You expect the sun to come in all its glory and instead it slips into our world and behind a cloud that shields it from my view. It's lighter, it's different, but instead of a show--a silence.
Well I went to get the nurse, and she came in and looked at her. Put gloves on and felt her pulse. Put her hand on her chest. "I don't think--I think she has--"
"You mean she's stopped breathing?" I asked, quite stupidly. I couldn't quite grasp what she was saying even at the same time as I knew it for myself. I felt a panic rising in my throat.
"I don't see any sign of life. Her chest is not rising and falling. I'll have to call the doctor to confirm." Fight the panic. Fight the panic. Get a grip. This all isn't real, after all.
"You mean she's passed away?" I was surprised at how deadpan I sounded, :She....she has that look." I ventured. Even if you've never seen death before it is not hard to recognize. "How long will it take the doctor to come? Should I call my mom?"
"It's not official until the doctor comes, but she's not breathing and that's a pretty sure sign to me."
I could have sworn I saw her chest moving. And then the next second I knew it was my imagination. I felt unusually calm, but I kept staring at her, at her blanketed chest, at the open, triangle-shaped mouth sapped of every bit of moisture and now of life too. It didn't feel like I was looking at a dead person. I couldn't fathom that thought in my own head, even while I couldn't help but dwell on it. I unplugged my laptop charger, and began to wind the cord up. "I suppose I should go home?" I said to no one in particular. It was 12:30am. I'd been ready to sleep since 11.
"The doctor won't be here for at least an hour," the nurse told me.
"Are you pretty sure? Should I call my parents or wait 'til the doctor gets here?"
"I'm pretty sure." The nurse said.
There's a surfer out in my view now. Silky, metallic waves. They're awfully big--I mean, compared to how they look from here when no one's there to show up the size of them. Really big, powerful, cold. They're definitely over my head. Cold and fathomless and mysterious. I can see the silvery cold surface--but there's a whole world beneath that is out of sight. A cold world not made for human beings and human breath.
So I called my mom. The doctor came in to ask if they had made funeral arrangements, and the nurse asked me if they intended to take it to a morgue. "It." Brrrr. Netto always said I would be a writer. Funny that's all I want to do right now. That water merely looks cold; I don't think I'll surf today.
The nurse had me fill out some paperwork. Initial that, yes, she truly was dead. Then there was the debate--really an awful debate--of whether I should go home that night. I didn't think I'd have a problem with falling asleep....but that four hours of dark aloneness. That four hours of rigid control of emotion and thought. Of course I hadn't touched a dead person. Only her nightie. Father this is too much all at once. Fire and water. And alone. So horribly alone.
Pale, lavender sky of sunrise.
The surfer just got caught in a barrel. Crash. Wipeout. Oops.
So I packed up, alone in the room with her. It wasn't creepy at all, though something kept telling me it should be. It took me awhile. I prayed, I talked to Mom and Pop; tried to figure out how to carry everything. I'm getting the heck out of here, I told my mom. Ya I had a doctor's appointment the next morning for myself. But right now? 8 hours alone waiting in a dark car or a cold lobby while Netto lay dead upstairs? Ugh. Shudder. "Come home," Mom said.
"Um. Goodbye. Thank you for all you've done in taking care of her." I told the nurses. I knew a few of them pretty well by now. Lived practically with them long enough, for goodness' sake. They knew I was polite unless they forgot the pain meds.... and then I was relentless--polite but unyielding. Barring the East German one. She knew I could lose my temper too. Only in good cause. At least she hadn't forgotten again, and she'd stopped being so fricken' rude. Inexcusable. I'd never thought of anger as a tool before. It's very effective, if you have right on your side. But now it's all over. And it doesn't matter anyways. I walked away from the cancer ward and out in to the cold night air. A shock. Maybe all this was real, after all. Dang, that meant I actually could die if I crashed.
The ocean is washed out to an almost white surface. The mountains are a fine, pale print of dusty color on the horizon, almost the same value as the watercolor sky. The colors are delicate and understated...not at all what I expected. Somehow I thought Netto's death would be more impressive too. I mean, Jesus was in the room. Jesus was in the room and I didn't even stand up. Didn't realize it beyond the familiar sense of peace that I have felt many, many times in that same room. It saved me from the panic welling up inside me all afternoon. And I thought that was just because I prayed--like every other time. But it is light, and the peace was the same, even if the change was unimpressive and imperceptible. The sun has come. The Son has come. The surfer's reflection on the water when he catches a wave is almost perfect. Mysterious beneath once again hidden by a beautiful surface. The waves are a bit smaller, but my life right now is way too big for me.
Please God. Let her be in Heaven!

Assignment 1

Part I.
I am biased in assessing the pros and cons of the three types of media used to address the issue of murdered marine Maria Lauterbach, for it is impossible not to prefer the print version of the story. The Washington Post has a thorough feature covering the murder of the pregnant marine, and it can be revisited easily, or printed and saved for future reference, and the many details are ordered in a concise and easy-to-follow fashion. The drawbacks of a text-only article include a lack of visual interest and thus possibly of emotional impact as well, resulting in a story that perhaps does not attract as many readers as a feature that includes photos or artwork.
In this case, the second media platform--that of a slideshow with text commentary--is attached to the text story, so the lack of interest problem is alleviated. The slideshow consists of photographs of investigators recovering evidence of the cremation of the murdered marine's body, pictures of the scene of the crime, as well as more sentimental pictures such as a church bulletin announcing their sympathy with the victim's family and a picture of the victim herself. The purpose of the slideshow seems to be to arouse a more emotional reaction to the story. The text version is capable of presenting more facts, and consequently is more useful as a piece of news, but where the slideshow falls short in detail, it is capable of arousing more interest. Working in conjunction, they are a good pairing. Singly, I prefer the text version. A picture may be able to capture a thousand words, but as a vessel for fact and detail, the text is--in my opinion--still superior.
The last media platform I found in conjunction to this story is that of a podcast, or news recording of the story. This is my least favorite platform. Its chief merit seems to be how easily it can be updated. This is the best source of breaking news--in this case, it was the recording of a sighting of the suspected murderer--but it is also more difficult to go into detail or refer back to. It might be comparable to the photo slideshow in invoking an emotional response, but in general, I think that the visual is more effective in this area as well.


Part II.
Sapphira, Madagascar
The photos were fascinating, and the picture of such a different world from our own was vividly painted. However, I found each of the four links to be tedious. The pace was slow, and it felt like many of the photos were repetitive and could be cut down and, rather than detracting from it, would make the overall piece more powerful. The theme of each link was rather vague too, and I would have liked to have more textual background than what is given. For instance, the Vohitra link was only photos with music, something that it would have been nice to read about beforehand. The stories were interesting and I really liked the background sound-effects, but I still think that it was too slow to hold my interest throughout the four links. The links were too similar, and so it felt almost as if they could be combined in to one without ill effect. The essence of the story itself, however, is fascinating. I loved to see the colorful pictures of such a different country, and the story of the poverty and injustice done the people of Madagascar was a touching and universal theme. However, again, I would prefer it move a little faster if they want to capture my attention the entire time.
Frank Sandoval: A Survival Story
The story was rather exhaustedly covered, but I felt that it was well-organized. The Intro was important, giving a groundwork of details and dates, and I really liked the links to the news articles. The videos felt a bit long, like watching a TV show rather frustratingly split into multiple segments. While my Macbook loaded the segments quickly, I can imagine that this section might be annoying for a slower connection. The main problem I had with it was, as callous as this sounds, so what? It seemed to appeal more to the genre of sensationalism, of reveling in another's misery, than anything else. I had trouble watching the hospital scenes overall, because of my recent experience with my aunt--and after all of the build-up, the fact that it ended with his death was rather anti-climatic. It seemed like the story should continue with news of how his family is handling everything and how they are doing today, as a postscript. However, the organization--as aforesaid--was good, and the links were clear and easy to follow.
The Cardstacker
This was the most fun, as well as the most pointless, piece of the three. It was definitely a human interest story, with no political or religious agenda that I could discern. That said, it also--tragically--will probably be the only of the three I remember beyond the quarter. I liked the format, in that it was possible to read the story and figure out what was going on quickly. The video was fun and entertaining, though I'm still left with some curiosity as to why he gets paid for making card-houses--beyond the fact that he has several Guinness World Records. The link to Part Two didn't work, nor did the link to more photography lead to photography--as I expected--of the card houses, but rather to an exhibition of Texan poverty and other recent articles. This wasn't quite clear on the site. I would have liked a diagram of some of his basic card-stacking formulas or something--like the sketches in the survival piece which detailed the regions of the head injury--to satisfy my curiosity, as well as fill out the piece. But overall, this was a fun and easy-to-read feature with a clear lay-out and various forms of media.