RIP Mustang Daily
1916 - 2013
Today I received news via Facebook from my former journalism school comrades; our Mustang Daily newspaper is no more: http://mustangdaily.net/coming-soon-mustang-news/
"Mustang Daily embodied a now-dead form of journalism," wrote J.J. Jenkins, a business administration senior and Mustang Daily editor in chief, about the paper's degradation to a twice-weekly print piece.
The paper began on April 26, 1916, just 15 years after Cal Poly opened its doors. Until its final day (yesterday), the paper published five days a week, and was the only daily in the United States produced entirely
by students (from the writing and ad design to the actual printing).
For those of us learning the craft of journalism, we couldn't have had a more comprehensive lab than a real life newsroom experience. The Daily enjoyed a solid readership within the university and also within the greater San Luis Obispo community. Dissemination was guaranteed without prior restraint.
Sure, we made plenty of mistakes. We had occasional spelling and syntax errors. We also had the uber controversial story or opinion which set off a deluge of passionate letters. For a dying breed, we certainly received plenty of lively engagement from the student body and general public.
I have to admit my heart hurt when I read the news our daily student newspaper is no more. As I reflected on my experience on the Daily staff, I realized why it meant so much to me. Among all the wonderful things I found working at the Daily (deadlines, adrenaline rushes, joy, comradery, acceptance), I ultimately found my craft; my voice. Eureka.
They can scrap the paper, or even burn down the graphic arts building for that matter. Our experience at the Daily, which helped shape many of its former staff into the people they are today, will be with us always.
I responded to the Facebook post with a couple of comments:
"I
would be remiss by not acknowledging our time at the Daily as symbolic
of our unique generation; the bridge between past and future at the dawn
of the digital age."
"BTW,
anyone else find it a sobering sign of the times that a business admin
sr. is editor in chief? The parallel being how corporations have
systematically hijacked media and destroyed information for profit. Just
an observation ..."
As we lay to rest nearly 100 years of first amendment daily tradition, it is important to acknowledge all that has changed and all that hasn't. Journalism school lesson numero uno: always question authority ...
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Was it a farewell dream?
Tuesday night I had a strange dream. Three people I've not before seen in my dreams were present; my aunt Gini, my brother and my estranged (adoptive) "dad." Yet the dream actually centered around my dearly departed Grandma.
The setting was someplace like Washington's San Juan Islands. My brother, "dad" and I were awaiting my Grandma's arrival. My aunt was escorting her on the ferry.
As is true with many dreams, the landscape was pretty unusual. For example, there were canals and channels that ran on inclines. The one the ferry was expected to sail up resembled a giant log flue. There were very rounded hills that looked a bit cartoonesque in shape. The village as it were had cute cottages with canals running between rows of them.
We had to be right at the dock for Grandma's arrival as she has mobility issues stemming from a herniated disk in her lower back. The approaching ferry looked more like a very common green fishing boat; this one used exclusively for walk-on passengers. As the boat neared the dock, I saw my aunt standing behind an empty wheelchair and my Grandma standing next to her. My aunt wore a red sweater. My Grandma wore black, semi-light-weight material pants and a gray sweater. This was very unlike her as incarnate she always wore colors, bright colors.
The moment my Grandma and I saw one another, we extended the same hand as though waving at ourselves in the mirror. We both grinned ear to ear. We waved at each other vigorously as joyful tears streamed down our cheeks. A profound feeling of elation washed over me. I had never before been so excited to see another being as I was to see my dearest Grandma.
The boat hadn't yet tied up to the dock, and my Grandma leaped out of the boat at me! She flew right into my arms and I caught her. We embraced and wept joyfully. No sooner had I began to grasp that moment, I awoke.
My feelings and emotions around this connection were so real, they stayed with me well into my awakened consciousness that morning.
I mentioned this dream to my best friend. She had the same sense I did; my Grandma wanted me to know she was crossing over into the eternal afterlife. The ferry is one of the oldest symbols of transition between life and the afterlife; crossing the River Styx. This may seem strange. I also have this sense she wouldn't have crossed over unless she knew I was going to be OK, and I think she was assuring me we are going to reunite. My heart of hearts already knew this. Still, this was an extraordinarily enchanted vision I am so grateful for.
The setting was someplace like Washington's San Juan Islands. My brother, "dad" and I were awaiting my Grandma's arrival. My aunt was escorting her on the ferry.
As is true with many dreams, the landscape was pretty unusual. For example, there were canals and channels that ran on inclines. The one the ferry was expected to sail up resembled a giant log flue. There were very rounded hills that looked a bit cartoonesque in shape. The village as it were had cute cottages with canals running between rows of them.
We had to be right at the dock for Grandma's arrival as she has mobility issues stemming from a herniated disk in her lower back. The approaching ferry looked more like a very common green fishing boat; this one used exclusively for walk-on passengers. As the boat neared the dock, I saw my aunt standing behind an empty wheelchair and my Grandma standing next to her. My aunt wore a red sweater. My Grandma wore black, semi-light-weight material pants and a gray sweater. This was very unlike her as incarnate she always wore colors, bright colors.
The moment my Grandma and I saw one another, we extended the same hand as though waving at ourselves in the mirror. We both grinned ear to ear. We waved at each other vigorously as joyful tears streamed down our cheeks. A profound feeling of elation washed over me. I had never before been so excited to see another being as I was to see my dearest Grandma.
The boat hadn't yet tied up to the dock, and my Grandma leaped out of the boat at me! She flew right into my arms and I caught her. We embraced and wept joyfully. No sooner had I began to grasp that moment, I awoke.
My feelings and emotions around this connection were so real, they stayed with me well into my awakened consciousness that morning.
I mentioned this dream to my best friend. She had the same sense I did; my Grandma wanted me to know she was crossing over into the eternal afterlife. The ferry is one of the oldest symbols of transition between life and the afterlife; crossing the River Styx. This may seem strange. I also have this sense she wouldn't have crossed over unless she knew I was going to be OK, and I think she was assuring me we are going to reunite. My heart of hearts already knew this. Still, this was an extraordinarily enchanted vision I am so grateful for.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
911 This Day In History ...
My 'This Day in History' widget of course paid homage today to the September 11, 2001 US domestic terrorism events. I recall vividly where I was twelve years ago today, trying in vain to get a few more minutes of sleep before embarking on my trans-Lake Washington commute from Downtown Seattle to Downtown Bellevue.
My former partner RC and I had a corded phone line back then; most people still did. That morning the apartment phone kept ringing and ringing. I finally gave in, got up and answered it. On the other end a panicked voice commanded I turn on the TV at once. So I did, and upon doing so saw one of the World Trade Center towers falling straight down into a cloud of dust.
"Terrorists fucking blew up the World Trade Center!" the voice on the other end exclaimed as I still stood before the screen shocked, not yet able to process what had just occurred. Had I mentioned this is what I awoke to, a day following a flight home from Austin, TX where I had for the first time reconnected with members of my biological family? Kind of already had a bit too much to process at the time. My mind was on overload.
Oh, the voice on the other end of the phone line was Kasey Frix, RC's childhood best friend and our neighbor down the block. At the time we lived on Seattle's First Hill.
I expeditiously hung up with Kasey and went to inform RC of what was happening. He too had been inconvenienced by the excessive phone ringing. He too was completely shocked to learn why our phone was ringing to no avail.
Only a couple years prior we were holed up in our top floor apartment while militant helicopters hovered outside our windows. We literally saw a view of our living room on the evening news from the outside perspective while we sat watching TV in our living room. We stayed in off the streets that night for the mobs of people protesting the militia of police in riot gear clearing them from Downtown Seattle streets into our neighborhood during the World Trade Organization shutdown in 1999.
This was different. This was a whole new brand of fuck the people, theft and utter hatred. The message was clear. The result registered as fear.
RC and I both must have looked like utter zombies. We couldn't stop watching what the news media was relaying. It was completely surreal, like a catastrophic disaster. Only this one appeared completely, diabolically premeditated and precisely orchestrated.
We were in disbelief of people jumping from windows, as if the choice to die falling from an incredible height was so much better than being burned to death inside a smoldering skyscraper. Dozens, hundreds, possibly thousands fleeing the scene for their lives with thick clouds of debris rapidly closing in on them. What were we really watching that day, hell on Earth?
Somehow I managed to rip myself away, get myself together and head into work. The downtown streets were abuzz with activity. The transit tunnel was equally busy. I boarded a fairly crowded Sound Transit 550 Express. It would seem to be just an extra heavy volume commute except for the haunting silence. People didn't say much, didn't move much, just sheepishly went about their business of getting from point A to B. A few people were crying.
As we rolled into the Pioneer Square station, the platforms were nearly overflowing with downtown workers who had been evacuated from Seattle's tallest skycraper, the Columbia Tower. From that one stop, the 550 filled to standing room only capacity, perhaps a bit beyond.
My head was still in a fog. So much so I didn't even notice we had already driven across the lake and over Mercer Island. I snapped out of my fog in Bellevue as I watched passengers disembark to loved ones that had come to pick them up at the Eastside Park and Ride. One woman broke into sobbing tears as a man approached and then wrapped his arms around her.
"Did she lose someone, a fellow compatriot, a friend, a loved one? Or like everyone else alive was she just so horrified by what happened and/or fearful of what lie ahead? What am I doing going into work today?" I thought to myself, and then surrendered to the thought a distraction might just be beneficial.
When I reached the office, my colleagues were all tuned into the day's main events. It became uber clear there was no escaping this sinister reality, none whatsoever. Suddenly an alarm sounded in the building followed by a uniformed officer entering our lobby.
"This is an evacuation order. Please exit the building immediately." he said authoritatively.
Evidently someone left an unattended briefcase in the Social Security offices upstairs. No one was taking any chances. Everyone was on high alert. The bomb squad was en route.
We walked out into the bright sunlight, which was brilliantly reflected off the mirrored glass-faced surrounding skyscrapers. Amid the shuffle, the sound of a small aircraft sputtered overhead. Based on my own internal response as well as from those around me, we were all nervously awaiting the proverbial other shoe to drop. Then I decided I wasn't waiting around any longer. It was time to go home.
I kept replaying the building collapses over and over in my mind. Aside from the obvious, why did this look so strangely peculiar to me? Then I recalled the building collapse I was witness to the year before; the Kingdome demolition. A sports arena, which would be completely dwarfed by the twin towers, took weeks if not months of planning for the structure to fall in on itself and directly downward to the ground. At 110 stories, how the hell were those buildings able to fall perfectly downward without toppling over in one direction or another? It really begs deep and thorough questioning.
Few Americans think on this day and recall September 11, 1973. This was the day in history our country backed a coup in Chile, resulting in thousands dead and the assassination of that country's first publicly elected president. This got me thinking about what our government is capable of. Can't balance a budget for shit. Change the political landscape of other nations to benefit our interests, no problemo!
One thing in particular I find odd about our domestic 911. If foreign operatives wanted so badly to boldly send a message to the American people and the people of the world, why didn't they strike the towers after the morning commute had ended? About 50,000 people used to work in the twin towers. Yet most workers were still en route to their jobs when the planes struck. Why not strike a bit later for maximum impact? It almost seems as though there was some intention around minimizing loss of life. Why? What's the difference between a few thousand and tens of thousands? Wouldn't a far greater death toll punctuate the "shock and awe" factor? Maybe with the high degree of expert planning involved in executing this unprecedented operation they just simply overlooked that.
The events of our domestic 911 had a profound, short lived silver lining. For a brief moment in history, we as Americans stood united and the world stood with us. Different from the fall of the Berlin Wall and the Eastern Block which was celebratory, this was more like an unspoken bond. Our collective sense of domestic peace and security as a nation had been unimaginably, totally violated. This wasn't just an attack on America. This was an attack on our society. Unconsciously, I think most everyone had some sense of this, even if they couldn't articulate it. We were kinder to one another, more understanding of our differences, for a time anyway.
One has to wonder if this public solidarity was an unintended consequence the evil-doers hadn't taken into account. In the days following 911, the Bush Administration certainly did a great job of re-polarizing the American public, manipulating the masses with scare tactics and ultimately capitalizing on 911 to usurp our civil liberties through the "Patriot" Act. Sadly, the Obama Administration has maintained the status quo by extending the Patriot Act.
Regardless of your political affiliation, if you're an American still residing domestically, there's no denying the brave new post-911 world we live in. If we're to move forward and prosper as a nation, we must do so as a collective. How soon we forget. United we stand ...
My former partner RC and I had a corded phone line back then; most people still did. That morning the apartment phone kept ringing and ringing. I finally gave in, got up and answered it. On the other end a panicked voice commanded I turn on the TV at once. So I did, and upon doing so saw one of the World Trade Center towers falling straight down into a cloud of dust.
"Terrorists fucking blew up the World Trade Center!" the voice on the other end exclaimed as I still stood before the screen shocked, not yet able to process what had just occurred. Had I mentioned this is what I awoke to, a day following a flight home from Austin, TX where I had for the first time reconnected with members of my biological family? Kind of already had a bit too much to process at the time. My mind was on overload.
Oh, the voice on the other end of the phone line was Kasey Frix, RC's childhood best friend and our neighbor down the block. At the time we lived on Seattle's First Hill.
I expeditiously hung up with Kasey and went to inform RC of what was happening. He too had been inconvenienced by the excessive phone ringing. He too was completely shocked to learn why our phone was ringing to no avail.
Only a couple years prior we were holed up in our top floor apartment while militant helicopters hovered outside our windows. We literally saw a view of our living room on the evening news from the outside perspective while we sat watching TV in our living room. We stayed in off the streets that night for the mobs of people protesting the militia of police in riot gear clearing them from Downtown Seattle streets into our neighborhood during the World Trade Organization shutdown in 1999.
This was different. This was a whole new brand of fuck the people, theft and utter hatred. The message was clear. The result registered as fear.
RC and I both must have looked like utter zombies. We couldn't stop watching what the news media was relaying. It was completely surreal, like a catastrophic disaster. Only this one appeared completely, diabolically premeditated and precisely orchestrated.
We were in disbelief of people jumping from windows, as if the choice to die falling from an incredible height was so much better than being burned to death inside a smoldering skyscraper. Dozens, hundreds, possibly thousands fleeing the scene for their lives with thick clouds of debris rapidly closing in on them. What were we really watching that day, hell on Earth?
Somehow I managed to rip myself away, get myself together and head into work. The downtown streets were abuzz with activity. The transit tunnel was equally busy. I boarded a fairly crowded Sound Transit 550 Express. It would seem to be just an extra heavy volume commute except for the haunting silence. People didn't say much, didn't move much, just sheepishly went about their business of getting from point A to B. A few people were crying.
As we rolled into the Pioneer Square station, the platforms were nearly overflowing with downtown workers who had been evacuated from Seattle's tallest skycraper, the Columbia Tower. From that one stop, the 550 filled to standing room only capacity, perhaps a bit beyond.
My head was still in a fog. So much so I didn't even notice we had already driven across the lake and over Mercer Island. I snapped out of my fog in Bellevue as I watched passengers disembark to loved ones that had come to pick them up at the Eastside Park and Ride. One woman broke into sobbing tears as a man approached and then wrapped his arms around her.
"Did she lose someone, a fellow compatriot, a friend, a loved one? Or like everyone else alive was she just so horrified by what happened and/or fearful of what lie ahead? What am I doing going into work today?" I thought to myself, and then surrendered to the thought a distraction might just be beneficial.
When I reached the office, my colleagues were all tuned into the day's main events. It became uber clear there was no escaping this sinister reality, none whatsoever. Suddenly an alarm sounded in the building followed by a uniformed officer entering our lobby.
"This is an evacuation order. Please exit the building immediately." he said authoritatively.
Evidently someone left an unattended briefcase in the Social Security offices upstairs. No one was taking any chances. Everyone was on high alert. The bomb squad was en route.
We walked out into the bright sunlight, which was brilliantly reflected off the mirrored glass-faced surrounding skyscrapers. Amid the shuffle, the sound of a small aircraft sputtered overhead. Based on my own internal response as well as from those around me, we were all nervously awaiting the proverbial other shoe to drop. Then I decided I wasn't waiting around any longer. It was time to go home.
I kept replaying the building collapses over and over in my mind. Aside from the obvious, why did this look so strangely peculiar to me? Then I recalled the building collapse I was witness to the year before; the Kingdome demolition. A sports arena, which would be completely dwarfed by the twin towers, took weeks if not months of planning for the structure to fall in on itself and directly downward to the ground. At 110 stories, how the hell were those buildings able to fall perfectly downward without toppling over in one direction or another? It really begs deep and thorough questioning.
Few Americans think on this day and recall September 11, 1973. This was the day in history our country backed a coup in Chile, resulting in thousands dead and the assassination of that country's first publicly elected president. This got me thinking about what our government is capable of. Can't balance a budget for shit. Change the political landscape of other nations to benefit our interests, no problemo!
One thing in particular I find odd about our domestic 911. If foreign operatives wanted so badly to boldly send a message to the American people and the people of the world, why didn't they strike the towers after the morning commute had ended? About 50,000 people used to work in the twin towers. Yet most workers were still en route to their jobs when the planes struck. Why not strike a bit later for maximum impact? It almost seems as though there was some intention around minimizing loss of life. Why? What's the difference between a few thousand and tens of thousands? Wouldn't a far greater death toll punctuate the "shock and awe" factor? Maybe with the high degree of expert planning involved in executing this unprecedented operation they just simply overlooked that.
The events of our domestic 911 had a profound, short lived silver lining. For a brief moment in history, we as Americans stood united and the world stood with us. Different from the fall of the Berlin Wall and the Eastern Block which was celebratory, this was more like an unspoken bond. Our collective sense of domestic peace and security as a nation had been unimaginably, totally violated. This wasn't just an attack on America. This was an attack on our society. Unconsciously, I think most everyone had some sense of this, even if they couldn't articulate it. We were kinder to one another, more understanding of our differences, for a time anyway.
One has to wonder if this public solidarity was an unintended consequence the evil-doers hadn't taken into account. In the days following 911, the Bush Administration certainly did a great job of re-polarizing the American public, manipulating the masses with scare tactics and ultimately capitalizing on 911 to usurp our civil liberties through the "Patriot" Act. Sadly, the Obama Administration has maintained the status quo by extending the Patriot Act.
Regardless of your political affiliation, if you're an American still residing domestically, there's no denying the brave new post-911 world we live in. If we're to move forward and prosper as a nation, we must do so as a collective. How soon we forget. United we stand ...
Monday, September 9, 2013
People Power
I find this highly inspiring: http://www.upworthy.com/a-bunch-of-young-geniuses-just-made-a-corrupt-corporation-freak-out-big-time-time-for-round?g=2
The world could use a lot more inspiration ...
The world could use a lot more inspiration ...
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