Another Year...

Back to the grind, reporting at KOMU-TV (NBC; Columbia, Mo.).  Here's my latest work, online and here on YouTube, about a proposal to turn U.S. Highway 54 — one of four really major routes through our viewing area — into an interstate highway:

I've been trying to do a better job of updating my YouTube channel and posting my videos to Facebook.  Keep looking for more of my stuff there — it's been an interesting session of reporting thus far!

Which came first — the iPod or iTunes? (or, iJournalism: The Future is Coming!)

Of course, Apple's now-ubiquitous iPod (first unveiled in late 2001) came before its wired, fully integrated music store iTunes (2003).  The literal question is fairly simple to answer, but what I mean to suggest is a much more philosophical question — more along the lines of a "chicken-or-the-egg" question than an historical query:  What really made the iPod... the iPod!?

My dad and I had a conversation about the iPod during a brief trip home for the Labor Day weekend, and we got to talking about its broader social implications.

"You know," he postulated, "the iPod didn't make the iPod what it is — iTunes did."  In other words, he said, what made the little black boxes and white earbuds a cultural phenomenon was the seamless integration of the music, music store, and music player, under one iBrand.

I need more time to fully flesh out my thoughts here, but I think that the advent of the iPod may serve as a roadmap for the rebirth of journalism in a digital age.

There are several outgrowths of my dad's profound statement.  First, what my dad argued was that personal music players had been around since the late 1970s.  The iPod's digitizing of music, while arguably technologically revolutionary, really didn't change how you consumed the content.  But iTunes, he says, changed how people bought and sold music, and thus, permanently altered the social landscape.  In essence, Apple smoothed and shortened the distribution chain of musical content, integrating multiple little black boxes (the music player and the computer) into one comprehensive system that fits in your pocket, running on easily-accessible software on your home computer.  Perhaps journalistic entrepreneurs ought to examine the distribution chain of journalistic content, and look at it as a process to be smoothed and shortened.

What's also important about my dad's argument as it might be cross-applied to journalists is its emphasis on the importance of content distribution, and its minimization of the importance of the box which stores the content itself.  The iPod is nothing without the smooth mechanics of iTunes, the software — or in more general terms, a content aggregator — which allows people to sort the content they already own and to buy the content they don't already own.  In more general terms, it isn't the little black box that defines the content, but the content that defines the little black box it comes in.

This last point really gets to the heart of what I really feel about the failings of journalism in the digital age.  We've spent all this time looking at the little black boxes (the media) that house our content — the newspaper, television, radio — bemoaning their inability to make money as though its the fault of antiquated technology or method.  What the iPod and iTunes can teach us is that the same old content can be just as relevant and engaging when seamlessly integrated into a medium where people are engaged, or can become engaged.

Okay, that's it for now... This isn't stream of consciousness by any means, but I really need to develop and refine this more fully and succinctly.  It's just helped to organize some of my thoughts!

Cabrera Trade: Boom or Bust?

And now for something completely different...

Trading deadlines are boom or bust times for Twins fans: Shannon Stewart in 2003 — boom. Baylor, Brunansky, Gladden in 1987 — big boom. Luis Castillo in 2007 — bust.

That's what makes the Twins most recent move, trading for Oakland shortstop Orlando Cabrera, so interesting — it's hard to classify it as earth-shatteringly spectacular or absolutely abysmal.

Cabrera's upsides are obvious: A veteran middle-infielder, batting a reliable .280 (and a red-hot .377 over the last month), and a solid presence in the Twins lineup's troublesome two-hole. But more than his ability to plug holes in the lineup, he's evidence that the front office actually listens to its players, who were obviously disenchanted about the lack of necessary deadline deals in years past.

What makes the trade interesting are his downsides — both of which really aren't his fault:

First, given the recent signing of Mark Grudzielanek, Cabrera's downside is the fact that he's a middle-infielder. Playing both Grudzielanek and Cabrera necessitates benching or sending down Nick Punto, Alexi Casilla, Brendan Harris, and Matt Tolbert. And even if you're not the biggest Punto, Casilla, Harris, or Tolbert fan, the removal of any or all of the above from the lineup means the Twins are down a "Piranha" in their lineup (Grudzielanek doesn't have great speed and isn't a threat to steal, but isn't a threat to bomb the ball out of the park).

Second, given the recent struggles of the Twins staff, another Cabrera downside is the fact that he isn't a pitcher. The team probably needed to land a starting pitcher, and given the fact that both the White Sox (Jake Peavy) and the Tigers (Jarrod Washburn) landed starters, the Twins most glaring wound remains open and unhealed.

Like I say, the mere fact that the Twins made a deal at all is remarkable, and somewhat exciting in itself. But it's hard to get really charged about the deal unless the team's fortunes really turn around.

What Good Television Means

One of the first lessons I learned in this internship at KTTC-TV, first vocalized to me by veteran staff photographer Chuck Sibley: Get out there and report. There's only so much you can report from behind a desk in the newsroom.

Last Sunday, working as a photographer with reporter Fanna Haile-Selassie, I went out to Hartland, Minn., to cover a devastating fire from the day before. We had no interviews set up, and nothing but the most basic information: an address and directions.

We arrived, got the requisite exterior video, interviewed next-door neighbors, and then quickly shot a stand-up Fanna was going to put into her story... Soon after that, things went into motion. A volunteer firefighter stopped by, in his civilian clothing -- we grabbed him for a quick interview about fighting the fire. Suddenly, a piece without official sound... had a byte from a firefighter who was there, instead of a PRO from the fire department.

Then, another neighbor came and told Fanna and I that the family was coming. They were driving down from Medford, Minn., where they were staying, to salvage what they could. When Joe and Jaime Leibeg arrived, they looked tired and worn-out, but not beat-down or emotional. They looked like they had been through an ordeal, and they had. Their house had almost completely burned down -- the second floor was a total loss, most of the first floor was severely damaged.

We approached Joe and began talking to him before he entered. He agreed to let us follow him into the house, and we attached a wireless microphone to his collar. I took video as he spoke with Fanna about driving home from work at Diamond Jo's, a casino just south of the Iowa-Minnesota border, after getting a frantic phone call that his house was on fire. Then, Joe, Jaime, and Jaime's mother all entered through the front door, with Fanna following close behind, holding the camera. We got most of the following on camera:

Jaime's shoulders started heaving with sobs no sooner than she crossed the threshold. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she sniffled and sorted through the rubble.

At first, it looked like Joe was overcome by the acrid smoke inside the house. If you've ever been to a burned-out house, the outside of the house smells like someone's having a barbecue inside. Once you're inside, the barbecue smell of the burned wood clogs your lungs and burns your throat. There's soot everywhere. And it looked like it had gotten in Joe's eyes... But in fact, this young, tough-looking man had lost it too. He cried as he grabbed what photos he could and took them out of the house. We one shot of Joe turning around, looking the pile of furniture and damage in his living room, and just shrugging in dismay and disbelief.

Joe's mother, Levonne, gave a gut-wrenching play-by-play as they entered and started going through the house.

"Oh, my God. Oh, my God, Jaime!" she said. "Oh, my God, Jaime, there's water coming down-- is that water coming down?" That was the hardest part for me.

Joe got most of their wedding photos, and pictures from their children's youngest days. Thankfully. As they scavenged for what they could, Joe walked up behind Jaime.

"Are you okay?" he asked, likely not 'okay' himself.

They embraced, holding each other as they shook and sobbed.

I motioned to Fanna, asking her if she had enough. She nodded discreetly and turned back to Joe and Jaime, thanking them. They were apologetic, but we thanked them softly as he gave us back the microphone.

This is what television is all about: It's about making very real, and very immediate, the intensity of the emotions in that house, as they searched for what little they had left. We tried to do justice to Joe and Jaime's story, and we think we did in the final product. And while it felt wrong for us to be there, though it felt like we were imposing on personal space, or invading on the most private of moments, I realized that this is what makes television news a powerful medium. There's no medium that captures emotion in the hardest of moments like television does, and it's something that it's purists cannot forget as there's more focus on crime blitzes and soft features.

And it's something convergence journalists must remember as they try and take televisions best attributes and adapt them for multimedia presentations.