Multimedia Maniac

Or did it? My local Indian restaurant reminded me of the tragedy. There will be a charity dinner this weekend. Because it was a big disaster. Apparently.

I had totally forgotten about it. Which is bizar for a cyclone, named Sidr, that killed 3,300 people, left millions homeless and wiped out fifteen villages, infrastructure and crops.

Bangladesh has appealed for 2.2 billion dollars in aid. So where are we, the media, to keep this story on the front page and at the top of the news bulletins?

We are nowhere to be found.

I ‘news googled’ the tragedy and mainly stumbled upon stories from the wire services. Then I went to YouTube and searched for dramatic pictures. Al-Jazeera jumped out.

New media journalism is so simple nowadays, isn’t it? If it’s on YouTube, if millions are watching it, if people on social networks keep passing it on, it’s gotta be good, so it will be news eventually.

It’s like the CNN Factor from ages ago. If CNN is there, then it must be important. That’s how Africa stayed on the agenda and world leaders couldn’t hide behind the argument ‘we didn’t know’.

I’m afraid cyclone Sidr did not only do a devastating job, but the little bastard was also successful in hiding the story from the rest of the world.

Or maybe we just didn’t look hard enough. After all, there were no tourists with their mobile phone hanging out on the beach, doing our job.

It’s really a sanitized version of the truth…

…and realize, that working multimedia means that it’s three times as bad.

You may always wake me up for a nice bit of gossip. Especially when it involves neighbours. For that same reason, I keep going back to a website with (for me as a Londoner) useless news about the village where I grew up: Oisterwijk in The Netherlands.

Local news is magnetic. And it beats many big national or international stories. Put local and local together, mix it with the YouTube phenomenon that thrives on the High Street, and you might end up with something like this:

Click on the funny guy to get to the website

It’s called Ik Op TV, which simply means: Me On Television. The modern equivalent, cynically speaking, of waving as a dumbass at the camera when a tv crew shows up on the weekly market.

It’s a little smarter than that, and I salute the initiative. On this site you can upload your stories, your experiences, your opinions. And if it passes the editorial selection process, your movies might be shown on regional television.

It is a clever combining of forces. Who doesn’t want to be on TV? Biggest thrill, it will drive your neighbour crazy. And it will definitely lead to much more gossip in the neighbourhood.

Having covered the brouhaha leading up to Led Zeppelin’s reunion concert for NOS Dutch radio, tv and internet - and damnit, not having a ticket - I was curious this morning how quickly one of the 20,000 fans would help us out.

I was not disappointed. Long live UGC!

Apparently the concert wasn’t too bad.

Why a blog? Why all the trouble? A legitimate question. Well…

Apart from some unresolved childhood issues and the inevitable ego outbursts I compose this blog because there must be others out there. Just like me. Who want to share - the essence of blogging.

There are!

So please help me welcome The New Media Diva, coming all the way from Memphis, Tennessee, but blogging from Switzerland.

Yo boss, listen up! I want one! And I want it now! Right now!

Got it? Enough exclamation marks? This is it…

From now on we’re gonna do things a bit different. It’s more than just this Nokia N95. It also comes with:

- Fold out blue tooth keyboard

- Mini (but very good) microphone

- Tiny tripod (very cute)

- Solar panel (yes, I might need to be transferred to the Bahamas)

And listen to this, boss, the whole thing doesn’t cost much more than hiring a television crew for one day. Gotta like that, boss.

I saw this MJT at the Reuters’ London headquarters tonight, at an ONA gathering. Bet you don’t know what that means, boss. MJT stands for Mobile Journalism Toolkit. They like it very much.

Me too, boss. Me too.

You heard it from me first, boss. So get me one. Right now. In the meantime I’ll keep on hauling my multimedia backpack. Remember how we used to slap each other on the back two light years ago, boss?

Future of journalism, we bragged. Well, boss, I’m a dinosaur compared to these MJT folks. So get me one, boss, right now.

(ps. We had a silly discussion about ‘redefining quality’, which I argued was a fancy way of saying ‘cutting corners’, but that’s a whole different story, boss, I won’t bore you with that.)

Sure, having the news delivered to you on your mobile, on your blackberry or relayed to that implanted chip behind your left ear is the future, and there’s no denying of that fact.

But my sun only rises when the papers arrive on the doormat. A (to be continued) ode to printed joy. Leave your love letters in the comments below.

1. I love the blackened fingers. Scars of a devoted reader willing to suffer.

2. I love that moment on Sunday evening when I’ve really finished off that tree, top to bottom.

3. I love the grateful nod of a fellow train passenger when he picks up my paper, carefully left behind.

4. I love it when my boys start flipping through the comics. Nostalgia for the next generation.

5. I love losing time on the loo, cos’ I gotta finish that great piece in G2.

The call came early in the morning. Can you go to Tate Modern and go down the slide? Sure, never too old for that. So there I went, backpacking on the train, the tube and then a ten minute walk down to the Thames. Tate Modern had just opened a new exhibit, Test Site by Carsten H”oller.

Deadlines were looming. Radio wanted a piece, television needed a short package. I have experienced that time pressure can be the best way to get things right, right away. No time to think, no room for trying things out. First take has to be on the spot.

And that’s what happened. Within two hours I had taped the ’slide show’ and also recorded it for radio. Went down three times (it’s a dirty job, I know, and I am that someone). Edited my radio stuff in the coffee shop and sent it thanks to mobile internet ten minutes before air time.

Colleagues who saw me that evening making a fool of myself, didn’t think this kind of participatory journalism would be helpful for my image as a serious foreign correspondent. Ha ha. To hell with them.