Colleen Taylor

I went to see a panel earlier this month entitled "What Comes After Newspapers?" 

All in all, it was fantastic- you can see the entirety of it here or just read a fuller summary of it here. 

After an evening full of really interesting talk about the currently tumultuous state of journalism, the panel opened up for questions from the crowd. Most of those questions ended up concerning some really specific things about the field or about local SF news media. Fortunately, I was able to squeeze in to ask the last question of the night, and I made it really general (you can see the video of me here):



What would the members of the panel say to a young person deciding whether or not to go to journalism school?

Although Phil Bronstein weighed in by saying, essentially, "I'd tell him/her to go for it," I think two things about the room's response suggests that many other journalism professionals would advise otherwise.

One is that everyone *cracked up* when I asked the question, even though I wasn't at all trying to play it for laughs.

The second is Bronstein's off-hand comment in the middle of his spiel about how UC Berkeley journalism grad students are doing local reporting as part of a joint program with the SF Chronicle: "Now, if we'll be able to pay you if you're one of those [reporters]... we'll have to see."

Call me old-fashioned, but: If there's no guarantee that a paying position will be available at the end of it all, why would anyone invest the money to train or intern in a certain professional field?  It seems to me that the proponents for journalism school may have to start coming up with more convincing arguments, because I, for one, wouldn't buy it.

Have you ever read the last chapter (Chapter 17, to be precise) of The Adventures of Peter Pan?  Me neither, until today. It's kind of a cool "where are they now." And, as wonderful as the idea of Neverland seems, I think Wendy has the happiest ending of all:

That was the last time the girl Wendy ever saw [Peter Pan]. For a little longer she tried for his sake not to have growing pains; and she felt she was untrue to him when she got a prize for general knowledge. But the years came and went without bringing the careless boy; and when they met again Wendy was a married woman, and Peter was no more to her than a little dust in the box in which she had kept her toys.

Wendy was grown up. You need not be sorry for her. She was one of the kind that likes to grow up. In the end she grew up of her own free will a day quicker than other girls.

One thing I've learned over time, as cliche as it sounds, is that it's the simple things that count. An excerpt from a chat today:

[Friend]:  i just remembered i have some ice cream in the freezer N.B.:  What you're reading above is genuine elation, and genuine envy.

N.B. 2: We're currently in the midst of one of those brief, very infrequent San Francisco heat waves.  But I'd hope that I can be so easily pleased even about subjects other than ice cream, at times when it's not 90 degrees outside.

This past weekend's WSJ had a great piece written by an African woman, Dambisa Moyo, with a unique view on foreign aid to Africa. 

I really have no strong, well-formed personal opinion on the matter. Well, that's not exactly true-- I was happy to see the WSJ somewhat affirm my gut feeling that Project Red is sketchy at best and ineffective at worst.  Even I, a faithful Goop subscriber, can't pretend that this wasn't one of the most misguided ad campaigns ever.

Anyway, the WSJ article is long and somewhat complicated. Though it's worth reading the whole thing, I've pasted what I think is the 'nut graf' (journo speak for the part that tells you in a nutshell what you need to know) here:

Even what may appear as a benign intervention on the surface can have damning consequences. Say there is a mosquito-net maker in small-town Africa. Say he employs 10 people who together manufacture 500 nets a week. Typically, these 10 employees support upward of 15 relatives each. A Western government-inspired program generously supplies the affected region with 100,000 free mosquito nets. This promptly puts the mosquito net manufacturer out of business, and now his 10 employees can no longer support their 150 dependents. In a couple of years, most of the donated nets will be torn and useless, but now there is no mosquito net maker to go to. They'll have to get more aid. And African governments once again get to abdicate their responsibilities.