Not too often, but sometimes the internet scares the shit out of me. And then I realize there’s more stuff about me out there than even I would like to know. And all you need to do is fill out your first and last name…
We tried something new. Breaking News via the webcam. And it has to be said, I was quicker online than on the radio.
See for yourself and let me know whether this is a commendable attempt to be really quick, to the point and begs for more, or totally stupid and should be banned.
Click on the pic for the story and the webcam-video
Compadre Fidel Castro announces his resignation as Cuban president on a website.
On a website. I rest my case.
May I introduce… The complete NOS London Bureau.
On my back. Your tax euros at work…
Always an easy goal to score: Using audio from long ago. In this case historical material of the Busby Babes, the eight young Manchester United players who died in Munchen. Today is the fiftieth anniversary.
You may listen back to my ‘klankbeeld’ or ‘audio palette’ about the tragedy, which aired on Dutch radio.
However, I would also appreciate if you’d glance over eight other names of colleagues who perished that day.
I love paper, mainly because of the written word. Long pieces, short articles, just playing around with language. Which you can do online, on tv or on radio. But on paper, it’s just… art.
Ernest Hemingway won his ten dollar bet that he could write a life story is six words by coming up with:
For sale, baby shoes. Never worn.
Shiver down my spine, when I heard it for the umpteenth time on BBC’s Today this morning. Someone had started a similar contest. Come up with your own. Been done before, here in England and of course in Hemingway’s America.
It is fun, and I’m always looking for these kind of sentences in news paper articles. Which is why I love paper. What paper? Well pick your own, based on how Jim Hacker in Yes Minister put it: Don’t tell me about the press. I know exactly who reads the papers:
* The Daily Mirror is read by people who think they run the country;
* The Guardian is read by people who think they ought to run the country;
* The Times is read by people who actually do run the country;
* The Daily Mail is read by the wives of the people who run the country;
* The Financial Times is read by people who own the country;
* The Morning Star is read by people who think the country ought to be run by another country;
* And the Daily Telegraph is read by people who think it is.
Sir Humphrey: Prime Minister, what about the people who read the Sun?
Bernard Woolley: Sun readers don’t care who runs the country, as long as she’s got big tits.
(Alert reader Bram sent these quotes by way of my NOS blog. Thanks.)
The wife’s asleep, which is understandable since it is close to 1.30 a.m. But she is the big New York Giants fan, and who knows: The Giants might beat the Patriots in the Super Bowl. I’m the one who is watching, and yes, I will probably stay awake until 3.30 a.m. or whenever it becomes clear the Patriots will win after all.
While watching the game, I am writing a chapter for a book about ‘The Making of Journalism’. More precisely, I’m trying to write it. Should be about 4,000 words, but I’m stuck at 743 words. It’s supposed to be about blogging, but the game is too distracting, so I’m taking the opportunity to check in on the New York Times-site.
They’re blogging about the game. I read and ‘meet’ folks from all over the world. Australia, Mongolia, Italy, Singapore and other countries. I leave a message (nr. 117). Do I feel connected? Do I feel part of a world wide community? Do I learn from other bloggers? No, not really. I am just trying to stay awake.
3.07 a.m. Oh boy, was it worth it!!! The lady woke up from my screaming…
Sex, baby! Serious sex! We can learn a lot from porn. At least that is what Mark S. Luckie writes on his 10,000 Words-website. The header: What the journalism industry can learn from porn.
And according to this Reuters report: Size matters in pornography, except when it comes to tiny mobile phone screens, the next frontier for erotica.
So, everybody, happy surfing on Saturday night.
Are we there yet? No.
Are we there yet? No!
Are we there yet? No, damnit. Shut up.
But are we there yet?
Well, we’re on our way. I wrote a while ago about the new beta-blogs for NOS Dutch public broadcasting. We’re still live without having told nary a soul, so hardly anybody knows. That’s okay, because several nagging glitches remain. Gives us time to practice, and I think this particular entry comes close to what it should all be about.
De Prins is Koning van het Geduld
It has text. Audio. Pix. Video. Interaction. Links.
Let me know whether we’re there yet.
Who will be reading this blog ten years from now? My kids?
Naaaaah.
So hail to the book. I wrote one in 1997. A biography of Dutch NBA player Rik Smits. Not for sale anymore, but hey: Ten years on people still read it, since it’s in the library.
This morning I received a financial overview for 2007.
NINETEEN people took it out. So how much did I make?
Book price (12.93 euro) x point value (0.009163) = gross payment (2.25 euro)
Got that? 2.25 euro!!!
But wait. Expenses for administration (5%) are 0.11 euro
Then the V.A.T. (19%) on top of that, which amounts to 0.02 euro
So soon to be cashed, a check for 2.12 euro. Long live literacy!
