Alexandra Bogdanovic's Blog: That's life... - Posts Tagged "journalism"

It's official. I'm a statistic.
A newspaper career that spanned more than two decades ended on a sour note 11 months ago. The reasons for my dismissal are best not publicly disclosed -- so let's just chalk it up to an unresolved personality conflict.
I wish I could say I quickly landed an even more satisfying and lucrative full-time job, however that is not the case. But then again, just because I've technically been out of work doesn't mean I haven't been working hard. If anything, I've acquired some valuable skills.
I've learned the ins and outs of social media,and how to walk the fine line between book marketing and self-exploitation. In the process, I learned plenty about advertising, branding, publicity and public relations. I also polished my interview skills in print and broadcast media appearances.
Then there are all of the other skills I've honed and positions I've held since last June:
1) Landscape architecture (mowing the lawn).
2) Snow and ice removal (self-explanatory).
3)Micro-and-macro-engineering (putting furniture together).
4) Micro-deconstruction and demolition (taking furniture apart).
5) Macro-deconstruction demolition (taking large furniture apart).
6)Expert in coordinating and supervising home renovations.
7)Expert in decluttering bedrooms, attics, and basements.
8)Waste removal (I'll leave that to your very vivid imaginations).
The list goes on... and on. And today, as I helped carry seven large floor boards and other debris down two flights of stairs, it dawned on me that I could probably make millions by recording the activity and starting a new fitness craze...
But all joking aside, I would like to go back to work... for real. So if you know of any openings, feel free to drop me a note.
Until next time, "That's life..."

I have got to stop watching the evening news. And listening to the radio. And reading the newspaper.
Twenty-first century journalism -- or should I say, what passes for journalism these days -- isn't good for my blood pressure. In fact, as a former reporter, it makes my blood boil.
You see, when I began working at a daily newspaper as a high school freshman back in the 1980s, journalists still believed in fairness and objectivity. That meant getting both sides of the story. No matter what.
Throughout a career that spanned more than two decades, fairness and objectivity weren't just words I lived by -- they formed the philosophy and ethos I tried to embody.
That's not to say I didn't have strong personal feelings about the issues that I covered, or that I didn't form friendships with sources. It simply meant that I worked twice as hard not to let personal feelings or personal relationships influence the way I did my job.
As I saw it, it was my job to present "Side A," "Side B," and even "Side C" and "Side D," when necessary. It was then up to the reader to decide what to believe.
It was a philosophy I embraced not only as an award-winning reporter, but as the author of my memoir, "Truth Be Told: Adam Becomes Audrey."
Sadly, that philosophy has fallen out of favor not only in the world of mainstream, corporate journalism, but in community journalism as well.
The only news that matters these days is the news that "sells." Sanctimonious, self-righteous and self-important "journalists" no longer care about getting the story right, as long as they get it first. They tell the world what to think in 10-second soundbites and Internet blurbs. And the world laps it up. There is no such thing as critical thought.
You don't believe me? Then just pick up a newspaper... or listen to the radio... or watch the evening news. And tell me what you think.
Until next time, "That's life..."

Author's/Blogger's Note: The following is dedicated to rabid sports fans around the world.
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Once upon a time, there was a little girl who grew up in the New York City suburbs. Although she was raised in a multicultural household, she quickly developed an appreciation for anything American... especially baseball.
She fell in love with the New York Yankees at the tender age of seven and by the time she finished elementary school, she had amassed a bigger baseball card collection than any of the boys had. She also had a crush on catcher Rick Cerone.
Sadly, one thing led to another and her passion for baseball waned. But all was not lost. As a teenager, she fell in love with ice hockey and developed a whole new passion -- this time for the New York Islanders. By the time she jumped on the bandwagon, the team was in its glory, having won the Stanley Cup three straight times. The teenage girl adored brash young goalie Billy Smith, and feisty Bobby Nystrom. But ultimately a big, rugged winger named Clark Gillies won her heart.
Around the same time, the girl realized she could write fairly well, and with the help of her freshman English teacher, started covering high school sports for the local newspaper. Her dream at the time was to become a beat writer for Newsday and -- you guessed it -- cover professional ice hockey.
In fact she was so vocal about her passion for the sport -- and her favorite team -- that her classmates named her "Class Islander" in the senior yearbook. Her classmates also decided that any girl who could write so well would be found working at Sports Illustrated within 10 years after graduation.
As it turned out, our heroine's dreams came true much sooner than anyone predicted. Soon after graduating from college, she started going to New York Islanders practices. There, she met her best friend, a young talented photographer. And together, they began covering minor league and professional ice hockey.
In their 20s, they were living every sports fan's dreams. They knew all the players and had locker room access. Life couldn't have possibly been any better. Or could it?
Along the way, something happened to our heroine. She no longer idolized the athletes she once adored. She realized that professional sports aren't all they're cracked up to be, and that the men who make a living playing games don't deserve the blind adulation society showers upon them.
Oh, some of the players she knew were phenomenal athletes. Some were even good people. Others weren't so good. For better or worse, all were human. Not gods. Not superheroes. Not even heroes. Just men blessed with skill, talent and good luck that allowed them to reach the highest level of their chosen profession. Nothing more, nothing less.
As soon as that reality set in, the "little girl" grew up, and the sports fan she once was disappeared for good.
Yes, you guessed it. I was that little girl. And I have no regrets.
Until next time, "That's life..."

Author's/blogger's note: Today we remember and pay tribute to those who perished in the terrorist attacks on the United States of America 13 years ago and in the aftermath. We are eternally grateful for those who survived, and grieve with those who suffered unimaginable loss.
The following is an excerpt from my memoir, Truth Be Told: Adam Becomes Audrey. In this particular chapter, I document my own experience as a journalist living and working in the New York City suburbs on 9/11.
I am sharing it not to call attention to myself, but to serve as yet another reminder that we must never forget. Never, ever forget.
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It happened on a Tuesday -- on a warm, sunny kind of early September morning when college students lobby for class on the quad, high school seniors contemplate skipping class altogether and adults are tempted to play hooky from work.
Doing that wasn’t an option for me. I got up, changed, worked out and, with a few minutes to relax, turned my attention to the television in my bedroom. There was nothing interesting on any of the home shopping channels, or on any of the other channels, for that matter. It was almost nine o’clock, and with limited options I turned to one of the morning news shows. I couldn’t believe my eyes.
“A plane has just hit one of the World Trade Center buildings,” a tense news anchor reported.
As live footage of the smoking building rolled, another plane slammed into the second tower.
“Oh, my God!” I screamed. “What the hell is going on? Oh my God! No! Oh, no! Oh, no!”
I lunged for the phone and called my mom at work. “Do you have any idea what is going on?” I shouted when she finally answered. “Turn on the television, now! Two planes just hit the World Trade Center!”
American Airlines Flight 11, en route from Boston to Los Angeles, had slammed into the North Tower around 8:46 a.m. United Airlines Flight 175, also bound for L.A., barreled into the South Tower less than twenty minutes later. Smoke poured from the buildings. Firefighters and police continued to rush towards them to try to help the people trapped inside. Even as they did, some victims jumped to their deaths while panicked New Yorkers screamed in horror and disbelief.
Chaos reigned. At 9:37 a.m., another hijacked airliner -- American Airlines Flight 77-- hit the Pentagon. United Airlines Flight 93, a fourth hijacked jet destined to cause even more carnage in Washington, D.C., crashed in a Pennsylvania field at 10:03 a.m., after the passengers learned about the earlier incidents and fought back.
Then the Twin Towers fell.
Deeply shaken and unable to understand fully the magnitude of what had happened, I only knew I had to do my job. I went straight to the Rye Police Department. The atmosphere there was unbelievable. From the lobby, I could hear occasional radio chatter and news reports on the television near the front desk. Other than that, it was quiet -- too quiet.
My hands shook as I silently accepted the police log from a secretary and began to take notes. I leafed through the pages without seeing the words, knowing the contents paled in comparison to mass murder.
“You seem to be really affected by all this. Do you know anyone who works in the Towers?”
Startled, I looked up to find the Rye police commissioner, a former New York City cop, standing in a nearby doorway.
“No,” I replied.
But for the second time in less than two years, unexpected events shattered my sense of safety and security, turning my world upside down.
I knew one of Lisa’s best friends worked on Wall Street. Not all that long ago, Adam had worked for a federal government agency with offices in the heart of the Big Apple’s financial district. I thought his dad still worked somewhere in the five boroughs, and hoped it wasn’t anywhere near lower Manhattan.
Everyone’s fine, I kept telling myself. Everyone is fine.
Our phone didn’t stop ringing that night. Relatives around the world called to talk about the terrorist attacks and ask if we were okay. As much as I appreciated their concern, I quickly
tired of answering the same questions over and over again. After all, I still had unanswered questions of my own.
Between calls, I tried to reach Lisa out on the Island, but I couldn’t get through. I was just about to try again when the phone trilled for what seemed like the trillionth time. Without Caller ID, I had no idea who was on the line. I answered anyhow.
“Hi, Alex, it’s Adam.”
“Hi. I am so glad you called. Is your dad okay? Was he in the City?”
“Yes, he’s okay. It took him forever to get home, but he’s fine.”
“I can’t believe what happened,” I said. “I can’t believe it.”
“I know.”
“Look, I’d love to talk but I’ve got to try and get a hold of Lisa. I’ve been trying all day and haven’t gotten through.” “Okay, I understand,” Adam said. “Take care.”
“You too.”
Lisa finally called me a few hours later. Her friend who worked on Wall Street and her mom, who managed a Manhattan hotel, were both safe.
I went to bed finally knowing that all of my friends and their families were okay, but the world would never be the same.
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Until next time, "That's life..."

Not too long ago, I shared one of my biggest regrets with you. If you recall, I bemoaned the loss of my favorite childhood books. More specifically, I bemoaned my decision to let my mother sell my collection of Hardy Boys® and Nancy Drew® mysteries.
Today I am happy to report that I am once again the proud owner of two dozen Nancy Drew® books. I am also happy to say that I got them for free and came by them honestly.
It happened as I was leaving the animal shelter where I volunteer on Tuesday afternoons. In a never-ending quest to find homes for all of the books donated to the organization, the director asked me if I wanted to have a look through the crates in the front room. As I had in the past, I happily said yes. And I was immediately glad that I did.
It took less than a minute to spot the hardcover books with the bright yellow spines, and I couldn't hide my delight when I realized what I'd found. When I explained why I was so excited, the director agreed to let me have the books. As a bonus, she threw in the crate, along with a few Bobbsey Twins® books and one of the Harry Potter® books that were already in it for good measure.
So just why was this acquisition such a big deal? No, it's not that I think the books are worth a great deal; in fact only a few are older editions. But to me they have tremendous nostalgic and sentimental value. I have no doubt that rereading these classics will take me back to my childhood; a time that wasn't perfect, but was pretty damn good.
It was a time when reading offered escape and opened my imagination. It was a time when I smuggled a flashlight under my sheets so I could stay up past my bedtime and read under the covers. It was a time when I spent countless winter days curled up with a good book, and countless summer afternoons reading at the beach.
Of course I didn't know it back then but it was also a time when reading sparked the interests and helped me develop the skills that ultimately made me a successful journalist and an award-winning author.
It was a time I'll cherish forever.
Until next time, "That's life..."

Blogger's note: I am taking a huge risk by writing this. I know some people will find it controversial and some may be offended. If that's the case, so be it. I'm fed up with hearing people moan about income inequality and I've kept my mouth shut long enough.
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Those of you who know me personally or have read my memoir know quite a bit about me.
You already know that I have a fantastic geographic pedigree. I was born in Bronxville, N.Y., an affluent New York City suburb and grew up in Greenwich, Connecticut, which has long had a reputation for being one of the wealthiest communities in the United States of America.
I got a world-class education and graduated from a private, all-girl Catholic School in Greenwich. I have traveled extensively. In other words, I have had an extremely privileged life.
But before you start hating on me, let's get a couple of things perfectly straight right here and now. My parents were not rich, but they worked hard and sacrificed a lot so I could begin traveling at a young age and have that world-class education.
I am extremely fortunate, but I am not rich. After graduating from college and working at a daily newspaper for a few years, I made a conscious decision to devote myself to a career in community journalism. Although I was extremely successful, in more than 20 years in that field, I never once made $30,000 per year. And just for the record, I'm not exactly making millions as an author and freelance writer/editor, either.
In other words, I'm just like millions of other people. I'm definitely one of the "99 percent."
But unlike many 99-percenters, I absolutely, positively refuse to vilify, malign or begrudge the so-called 1 percent of exceedingly wealthy people for what they have. Frankly I don't have the time or energy to resent them; I am too busy trying to survive.
Here's what I do resent. I resent people who constantly moan and cry about how unfair life is, or more accurately, how unfair it is that others are so much better off than they are. Most of us learned that life is unfair during playground fights in preschool. Grow up and get over it.
I deeply resent the fact that the same people who denounce the 1 percent are probably wiling to invest a lot of discretionary income in the purchase of mega-lottery tickets. Let's face it: Every single person who has ever purchased a multi-state lottery ticket wants to join the 1 percent club.
I resent politicians who denounce income inequality and corporate greed after they've amassed their own fortunes as private citizens and happily taken corporate donations to fund their campaigns.
I deeply resent the fact that so many people are so incapable of critical, independent thought that they can't see these politicians for the hypocrites they really are. Here's a news-flash: No one can hold a high political office unless they have personal wealth or wealthy campaign donors. Here's another news-flash: Most politicians will do or say anything to get your vote.
I resent the self-important, self-aggrandizing Hollywood elite who denounce capitalism and income inequality while they make millions for a single movie.
I deeply resent the fact that so many people are so incapable of critical, independent thought that they can't see these pithy entertainers for the hypocrites they really are.
I resent the fact that the guide on the Circle Line cruise that I took around Manhattan last weekend felt it necessary to moan about income inequality in New York City for more than two hours.
I really, really resent the fact that author Emily Giffin felt a need to take a backhanded stab the wealthy in her novel Love the One You're With saying,"To Suzanne every 'rich' person (a term she used derisively) were the same: soft, selfish, and likely 'a lying snake of a Republican.'"
Finally, I resent anyone, in any socioeconomic bracket, who has a sense of entitlement. Here's a news-flash for you: The world doesn't owe you a thing.
Until next time, "That's life..."

As a lot of you know, there aren't too many things I miss about being a reporter.
I don't miss the 18-hour days. I don't miss the tight deadlines. I don't miss the stress and aggravation. I don't miss self-important public officials or arrogant cops.
I don't miss standing around crime scenes for hours or rushing to cover a plane crash at three in the morning.
I don't miss working for what amounted to less than minimum wage and I certainly don't miss office politics.
To be perfectly frank I'm much better off without most of the people I worked with (although I do miss a few).
I must admit there are some other things that I do miss though. I miss the communities that I covered. I miss the readers whose lives I touched. I miss the fun assignments that editors dismissed as unimportant, like this one I did in The Plains, Va., back in 2011.
No reporter will ever win a Pulitzer for covering a village scarecrow contest... unless the judges were on the take or someone stuffed a dead body into one of the costumes... Call me cynical, but stranger things have happened.
But at the end of the day, these were the stories that people loved the most. These were the "feel good stories," the stories that touched their hearts and made them laugh. These were the stories that took their minds off all the troubles in the world -- at least for a little while. These were the stories that helped them take a little bit of pride in their communities. I know all of this it's because the readers told me.
So I'll let other reporters tell the world about Isis and Ebola and the economy.
I'll let them have the satisfaction of spreading the word about the upcoming elections and I'll let them have the glory they all think that they deserve.
I've been there, done that and gotten the awards to show for it.
I take pride in those awards. But at the end of the day, I made people smile. I made them laugh. Perhaps I even made them feel a bit better about the world.
I'll always take pride in that.
Until next time, "That's life..."

To paraphrase an old saying; you can take the girl out of journalism but you can't take a police reporter's instincts out of the girl.
Or something like that.
For the past couple of years, I've been the target of a known scam that makes my blood boil. While it's garnered regional and national publicity, I decided to investigate and write about it myself. After all, knowledge is power and if what I am sharing prevents even one unsuspecting computer user from falling prey to bogus telephone solicitation schemes, I've done my job.
The type of con I'm referring to typically occurs when someone with an Indian or nondescript North American accent claiming to be from Microsoft or Windows Systems calls you out of the blue. The next thing you know, they're telling you there's a "problem" with your computer.
I can't tell you much more than that based on personal experience because that's where I usually use some extremely colorful language to end the call.
According to Microsoft (my link text), however, the perpetrators "offer to help solve your computer problems." Once they've convinced you to let them do so, the cybercrooks "attempt to steal from you and damage your computer with malicious software including viruses and spyware."
The callers identify themselves as representatives of the following groups or organizations:
- Windows Help Desk
- Windows Service Center
- Microsoft Tech Support
- Microsoft Support
- Windows Technical Department Support Group
- Microsoft Research and Development Team (Microsoft R&D Team)
As a result, Microsoft advises the public to "treat all unsolicited phone calls with skepticism." Recipients of such calls -- including those from anyone claiming to be from Microsoft Tech Support -- should end them without granting the caller access to your computer or divulging personal information.
"Although law enforcement can trace phone numbers, perpetrators often use pay phones, disposable cellular phones or stolen cellular phone numbers," Microsoft notes the portion of its website devoted to online security and privacy. "It's better to avoid being conned rather than try to repair the damage afterwards."
In spite of repeated warnings and calls for public awareness, so-called tech support scams have been pervasive for several years.
In a 2012 blog (my link text), Consumer Education Specialist Nicole Vincent of the Federal Trade Commission (FTC) said the agency "cracked down on a massive international scam" that "played upon people's fear of computer infections and hackers."
The perpetrators of that particular scam allegedly called the victims claiming to be associated with legitimate companies including Microsoft, Dell, MacAfee and Norton.
Collectively, they were accused of fooling "tens of thousands of computer users" into believing something was wrong with their machines and then charging each victim $130 to $300 for bogus repairs.
U.S. residents should report these and other phone scams to the FTC. For information about resources available in other countries, visit the section of microsoft.com dedicated to online security and privacy.
Until next time, "That's life..."

A lot has been said about freedom in the past few days. Politicians, pundits, publishers and the general public have spent considerable time extolling the virtues of freedom of speech. And with good reason.
At this point, it's likely there's little I can add to the conversation. But as you know by now, I am a former journalist and an award-winning author. More importantly, I am a first-generation American raised in a multicultural household. My father was a political refugee who was forced to flee a Communist country because of his political beliefs.
As a result, I have always valued the liberties afforded me as an American. I am fully aware of how precious freedom is; and of the price so many paid to attain it. Hard won, it is hardly guaranteed -- yet for some reason, so many take it for granted.
That being stated, here are a few of my favorite quotes about freedom of speech:
1. "What is freedom of expression? Without the freedom to offend, it ceases to exist.” ― Salman Rushdie
2. “Everyone is in favor of free speech. Hardly a day passes without its being extolled, but some people's idea of it is that they are free to say what they like, but if anyone else says anything back, that is an outrage.” ― Winston S. Churchill
3. “Four hostile newspapers are more to be feared than a thousand bayonets..” ― Napoléon Bonaparte
4. “The framers of the constitution knew human nature as well as we do. They too had lived in dangerous days; they too knew the suffocating influence of orthodoxy and standardized thought. They weighed the compulsions for restrained speech and thought against the abuses of liberty. They chose liberty."
[Beauharnais v.Illinois, 342 U.S. 250, 287 (1952) (dissenting)]”
― William O. Douglas
5. “The only security of all is in a free press.” ― Thomas Jefferson
6. “If liberty means anything at all, it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.” ― George Orwell
7. “If freedom of speech is taken away, then dumb and silent we may be led, like sheep to the slaughter.” ― George Washington
8. “I do not agree with what you have to say, but I'll defend to the death your right to say it.” ― Voltaire
9. “Whoever would overthrow the liberty of a nation must begin by subduing the freeness of speech.” ― Benjamin Franklin, Silence Dogood, The Busy-Body, and Early Writings
10. “Everyone has the right to freedom of opinion and expression; this right includes freedom to hold opinions without interference and to seek, receive and impart information and ideas through any media and regardless of frontiers.” ― United Nations, Universal Declaration of Human Rights
Until next time, "That's life..."

As someone once said, "A picture is worth a thousand words."
I must confess that as a writer, I used to hate that saying. I resented the idea that photographers captured images that easily conveyed or evoked emotions that I often struggled to put into words.
But somewhere along the line, photography became an interest and then hobby and then something that I did as part of my job. Now it's something I do for fun. Let's just call it another creative outlet.
At any rate, the resentment I once felt is now a thing of the past. Now I admire the photographers who have the technical skill I have never mastered. I have tremendous respect for skilled professionals like my friends Lisa, Adam and Randy.
But instead of emulating those who have mastered the craft, I've created my own unique style while embracing urban photography, beach photography, automotive photography and travel photography. Of all the places I love to shoot, New York City is my favorite. Since I love big, bold graphic images, Times Square is my favorite place to shoot in the Big Apple.
For some reason, I rarely photograph people. Perhaps it has something to do with my dislike of having my own picture taken. I've gotten a few shots of people that I like. One is of a man walking down Main Street in Warrenton, Va., during a snow storm. The other is the one I used as an illustration for this blog. I took it while visiting Lake Eleola Park in Orlando, Fla., a couple of weeks ago.
It was a beautiful, warm early February afternoon, and a number of people were sitting on the park benches near the veterans memorial. But this particular person caught my attention. I couldn't help but wonder about his or her story. After all, everybody has one.
Until next time, "That's life...'