I am confused when it comes to the conflict between journalists and public relations specialists. I understand that journalists try to remain neutral and PR reps most generally are working for a corporation and therefore only promote one-sided news releases. But, in talking with PR specialists and reporters, they both tend to bad mouth the other.
Why can't they each respect that they have different jobs and different objectives?
It also confuses me that there is negative stigma associated with the media, yet public relations people prefer newspaper experience.
Can anyone enlighten me?
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Dead Week
After reading through some of my classmates blogs, I ran across Megan's blog on "dead week" and I completely agree. It seems as though everyone stresses about finals, but I always have the most to do/turn in during dead week, which is supposed to be a break before finals (so we can study.. or whatever).
This semester had the most hectic dead week I could've imagined. This semester I am taking 22 credit hours, which equals out to I believe eight classes aka eight final projects/tests/papers. Talk about stress. On top of it all, I am terrible with time management. I always think I have more time than I actually do, which ends up kicking me in the butt, but (that was akward butt, but) I never seem to learn my lesson.
This semester my class load is as follows:
JMC425-Blogging/Commentary
JMC300-Website Design
JMC409-Public Relations Strategy (WI)
JMC350-Antelope News Staff
JMC336-Radio Workshop
ENG460-Women's Literature: Women and Revenge
ENG426-Adolescent Literature
CSIS108-Computers in Society
During dead week I had a short paper due for ENG460, a 8-10 pg research paper for ENG426, final website and presentation for JMC300, video commentary for JMC425, and two final projects for CSIS108. In addition to these things, I spent my entire Tuesday night working on my ENG460 research paper because I wrote down in my agenda the wrong date. Basically I was working on a research paper that isn't due for another week when I could have been working on the other assignments that are actually due!
So obviously I was already frustrated with myself. Then I tried to do the video commentary with my webcam on my HP and it turns out I don't have a software that allows video recording or even taking pictures. I tried to do the quick capture on YouTube, but YouTube was unable to pick up my webcam. So I recorded it four different times to my roommate's computer only to find out that the software he had wouldn't allow me to save it elsewhere or post it to YouTube. Finally, I settled with recording it on my digital camera, hence the poor quality, awkward view and bad lighting. After recording three or four times on my camera, I decided enough was enough and tried to upload it to YouTube via the SD memory card. Of course it wouldn't upload. So at about 12:30a.m. Thursday morning I gave up with the video and decided I needed to start my 8-10 page research paper that was due at 4 p.m. that day. Needless to say, everything worked out. I finished everything and am so relieved. I am even happy with the outcome of my research paper!
That is my rant about dead week. But, now it is over and only one week left, then two summer classes and behold! graduation. Thank the Lord!
This semester had the most hectic dead week I could've imagined. This semester I am taking 22 credit hours, which equals out to I believe eight classes aka eight final projects/tests/papers. Talk about stress. On top of it all, I am terrible with time management. I always think I have more time than I actually do, which ends up kicking me in the butt, but (that was akward butt, but) I never seem to learn my lesson.
This semester my class load is as follows:
JMC425-Blogging/Commentary
JMC300-Website Design
JMC409-Public Relations Strategy (WI)
JMC350-Antelope News Staff
JMC336-Radio Workshop
ENG460-Women's Literature: Women and Revenge
ENG426-Adolescent Literature
CSIS108-Computers in Society
During dead week I had a short paper due for ENG460, a 8-10 pg research paper for ENG426, final website and presentation for JMC300, video commentary for JMC425, and two final projects for CSIS108. In addition to these things, I spent my entire Tuesday night working on my ENG460 research paper because I wrote down in my agenda the wrong date. Basically I was working on a research paper that isn't due for another week when I could have been working on the other assignments that are actually due!
So obviously I was already frustrated with myself. Then I tried to do the video commentary with my webcam on my HP and it turns out I don't have a software that allows video recording or even taking pictures. I tried to do the quick capture on YouTube, but YouTube was unable to pick up my webcam. So I recorded it four different times to my roommate's computer only to find out that the software he had wouldn't allow me to save it elsewhere or post it to YouTube. Finally, I settled with recording it on my digital camera, hence the poor quality, awkward view and bad lighting. After recording three or four times on my camera, I decided enough was enough and tried to upload it to YouTube via the SD memory card. Of course it wouldn't upload. So at about 12:30a.m. Thursday morning I gave up with the video and decided I needed to start my 8-10 page research paper that was due at 4 p.m. that day. Needless to say, everything worked out. I finished everything and am so relieved. I am even happy with the outcome of my research paper!
That is my rant about dead week. But, now it is over and only one week left, then two summer classes and behold! graduation. Thank the Lord!
Saturday, April 25, 2009
After Kevin Sites came to speak to our class, I have been thinking a lot about what he said. Which was something along the lines of before going directly into the job market, take a year off and travel. I would love to do this! The problem I'm running into is money. But, I think I may have found an alternative...the Peace Corps.
I love volunteering and in high school I went on several mission trips for my church. These generally included working with a group of people in a low income neighborhood, to help rebuild, paint, add on to or clean their houses for a week. I know you must be thinking, wow that is only a week. No way can you do this for two years. But, its a great way to experience a different culture and help people.
This is just something I am throwing around right now, so if you know anything about the Peace Corps that I should probably know... let me know!
I love volunteering and in high school I went on several mission trips for my church. These generally included working with a group of people in a low income neighborhood, to help rebuild, paint, add on to or clean their houses for a week. I know you must be thinking, wow that is only a week. No way can you do this for two years. But, its a great way to experience a different culture and help people.
This is just something I am throwing around right now, so if you know anything about the Peace Corps that I should probably know... let me know!
Journalist on hunger strike
A U.S. journalist working in Iran was jailed for espionage. Well, initially the Iranian officials claim that she was taken in for buying a bottle of wine, but, later the Foreign Ministry said she has been detained for reporting without proper credentials. Apparently the court process was quick. It was a closed trial completed within one day. Her lawyer has not been allowed to see her in jail. In a desperate attempt to be freed, Roxana Saberi, 31, has decided to go on a hunger strike until she is released.
Saberi has been living in Iran since 2003. Her press credentials were revoked by Iranian authorities in 2006. The story does not tell why her credentials were taken away. She continued working as a reporter and that is the basis of their espionage theory. I'm just wondering why after three years she hasn't gotten her press credentials back. She was sentenced to eight years!
Oddly enough, I would still love to report as a journalist in other countries.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Final draft of Column 3
My sister talks to me about everything. She is my best friend, counselor and protector. My sister is everything to me. My sister has been under enemy fire and gone to sleep with constant blasts from nearby mortars shaking her bunk.
She is generally a well spoken person, but when Iraq becomes the topic of conversation, she experiences a loss for words. My sister’s memories from her first deployment to Iraq are mostly in images, thoughts and fragments.
The morning of her first convoy from Kuwait to Baghdad, Iraq, Private First Class Noel Purdie said she felt like she was suffocating when she put on her uniform. She was wearing the typical Army combat uniform: T-shirt, pants, boots, improved body armor suit, groin protector, ear plugs. She had 11 pounds of ammo strapped to her vest, a 30 pound medical aid bag secured on her back, a personal bag that carried her sleeping bag and extra uniforms in hand and her M-16 rifle slung across her shoulder. The extra 40 pounds of weight and layered uniform increase the temperature from 80 to about 90 degrees.
She didn’t feel the intensity of the heat until she climbed into the backseat of the HUMVEE, which happened to have a temperamental air conditioner. The heat came in waves and occasionally sweat dripped off her face and down her neck. She sat with her rifle between her legs, muzzle down thinking “I can’t believe this is real. I miss my family. I want to go home. I want to stay alive. I’m scared. It’ll be ok, it’ll be ok. Nothing is going to happen.” She tried to prepare herself for the three day drive, eight to ten hours a day, stopping only to refuel and sleep. They were driving slow, scanning the land for improved explosive devices (IEDs).
She was nervous and scared. She was thinking about the training that led her here. She had only been in the Army for a year. She was trying to remember all of the stories other soldiers told her about IEDs, enemy fire and Iraqis ambushing convoys—especially between Kuwait and Baghdad.
On the second day her truck finally crossed the border into Iraq. “The TV was right. I can’t believe people live like this.” Children were on both sides of the street. She said they looked like they haven’t bathed in a few days, they were barefoot, their clothes were ragged and they were skinny—bony, their elbows and knees were prominent. She thinks, “I want to hug them and tell them it will be ok.” She noticed one room shacks along the road. They were made out of wood, tires, soda cans. “I could never live like that. I wouldn’t want to live if I had to live like that.”All she could smell was oil. “It’s so dirty. Trash everywhere.” The kids run after the truck shouting “Chocolate, chocolate!”
She replayed everything she had been trained. “Seeing those kids makes my heart break. But, I have to protect myself. If I had to, could I really shoot this child? If they do something, could I seriously stick my head out this window and fire at them? If my life is in danger, I’ll do anything. Me and my soldiers have to make it home.”
The third day, her convoy stopped. The road was coded black—something dangerous was found within the last 24 hours. “All I can hear is gun fire. I don’t know where it is coming from, who it is or what’s going on.” The road cleared two hours later and after a couple hours of driving, her convoy made it into Baghdad.
We set a spot for her at the dinner table. She was settling into her new barracks in Baghdad. It was Christmas Eve. She is my best friend, counselor and protector. My sister is everything to me. But, she can no longer talk to me about everything. I don’t know any of her stories about missions, being under enemy fire or encountering an IED. I don’t know what she went through or what she is still probably going through. Sometimes I feel like my sister never came back from Iraq.
She is generally a well spoken person, but when Iraq becomes the topic of conversation, she experiences a loss for words. My sister’s memories from her first deployment to Iraq are mostly in images, thoughts and fragments.
The morning of her first convoy from Kuwait to Baghdad, Iraq, Private First Class Noel Purdie said she felt like she was suffocating when she put on her uniform. She was wearing the typical Army combat uniform: T-shirt, pants, boots, improved body armor suit, groin protector, ear plugs. She had 11 pounds of ammo strapped to her vest, a 30 pound medical aid bag secured on her back, a personal bag that carried her sleeping bag and extra uniforms in hand and her M-16 rifle slung across her shoulder. The extra 40 pounds of weight and layered uniform increase the temperature from 80 to about 90 degrees.
She didn’t feel the intensity of the heat until she climbed into the backseat of the HUMVEE, which happened to have a temperamental air conditioner. The heat came in waves and occasionally sweat dripped off her face and down her neck. She sat with her rifle between her legs, muzzle down thinking “I can’t believe this is real. I miss my family. I want to go home. I want to stay alive. I’m scared. It’ll be ok, it’ll be ok. Nothing is going to happen.” She tried to prepare herself for the three day drive, eight to ten hours a day, stopping only to refuel and sleep. They were driving slow, scanning the land for improved explosive devices (IEDs).
She was nervous and scared. She was thinking about the training that led her here. She had only been in the Army for a year. She was trying to remember all of the stories other soldiers told her about IEDs, enemy fire and Iraqis ambushing convoys—especially between Kuwait and Baghdad.
On the second day her truck finally crossed the border into Iraq. “The TV was right. I can’t believe people live like this.” Children were on both sides of the street. She said they looked like they haven’t bathed in a few days, they were barefoot, their clothes were ragged and they were skinny—bony, their elbows and knees were prominent. She thinks, “I want to hug them and tell them it will be ok.” She noticed one room shacks along the road. They were made out of wood, tires, soda cans. “I could never live like that. I wouldn’t want to live if I had to live like that.”All she could smell was oil. “It’s so dirty. Trash everywhere.” The kids run after the truck shouting “Chocolate, chocolate!”
She replayed everything she had been trained. “Seeing those kids makes my heart break. But, I have to protect myself. If I had to, could I really shoot this child? If they do something, could I seriously stick my head out this window and fire at them? If my life is in danger, I’ll do anything. Me and my soldiers have to make it home.”
The third day, her convoy stopped. The road was coded black—something dangerous was found within the last 24 hours. “All I can hear is gun fire. I don’t know where it is coming from, who it is or what’s going on.” The road cleared two hours later and after a couple hours of driving, her convoy made it into Baghdad.
We set a spot for her at the dinner table. She was settling into her new barracks in Baghdad. It was Christmas Eve. She is my best friend, counselor and protector. My sister is everything to me. But, she can no longer talk to me about everything. I don’t know any of her stories about missions, being under enemy fire or encountering an IED. I don’t know what she went through or what she is still probably going through. Sometimes I feel like my sister never came back from Iraq.
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