Edward Tsang is terrified about the future of Journalism, with regards to his own career and goals.

Kyle Hauser looks upon the future of Journalism with more optimism but is still wary of finding a job afterwards.
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by Carl BR Johnson

The battle of the fear continues as many students in the Journalism program at SAIT quietly endure their fear of the future in their chosen field.  But some students like Kyle Hauser, said that while his fear of life after college is ever-present, he has a great deal of faith in his instructors’ assurances that this J-school thing will pay off.

A definite “yes” and “no” from Kyle Hauser about his fear of the future.

“A few of our instructors have assured us students that there still is a large market for college grads in this particular industry,” said Hauser.

For Hauser, his faith in technology was evident, as he said he plans to take full advantage of social media and the internet to advance his job search.

“I will definitely use Twitter, my own website, LinkedIn and go directly to certain job offers in the industry that interest me,” he said.

Despite the tools that are available to him and many other students he did express a certain resentment towards the Journalism industry, in that, there could be more resources available to students like him to make the job hunt a little easier.

“A small website showing employers, student names, small bios, and what exactly everyone is looking for in the field of Journalism.  It might help employers to find exactly what they’re looking for in an employee.”
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The Canadian Press, a national conglomerate now owned by Torstar Corporation, The Globe and Mail and Square Victoria Communications Group, “is responsible for most of the news you read and hear in Canada” is always on the prowl for news journalists.  Their bold statement reads loud and clear:

“We are committed to recruiting, training and promoting the best and brightest employees. We strive to provide our team with an exciting, nurturing, progressive and supportive work environment.”

“The Canadian Press is the nerve centre of news distribution in this country.” – The Canadian Press website.

This newly re-organized, for-profit organization is based in Toronto and the sheer volume of stories that are pumped out on a regular basis is staggering.  And their stories are available for use for any and all newspaper or magazine editors from coast to coast in Canada.  Their correspondents work out of smaller operations in Victoria, Calgary, Regina, Winnipeg, Quebec City, Fredericton, St. John’s and even south of the border in Washington, D.C.  So their appeal from coast to coast is felt by every major and minor newspaper out there.  Many stories that aren’t attributed to a specific reporter in any given newspaper are usually given the moniker “The Canadian Press” as the source of the article.

Lisa Arrowsmith, a reporter in the Edmonton Office of the Canadian Press, said, “You can’t call this a typical 9-to-5 job, that’s for sure. Every day is unique and pushes each journalist’s ability to multi-task. Recently, our bureau was called on to provide extensive coverage of the intense manhunt for a Mountie killer in Saskatchewan. We were constantly providing clips for radio clients as quickly as possible, and provided constant updates as this story twisted and turned, from the deaths of the two Mounties, to the astonishing finale when the suspect turned himself in to police.”

For a budding Journalist, the possibilities are endless and daunting at the same time.  But once your foot is in the door, the world will be at your feet.

Soooo… a few weeks ago, my domain provider decided to upgrade its systems.  Problem was, when that happened, my WordPress section disappeared into the vastness of cyberspace. lowest price on levitra Time needed for creating of erection is necessary to fill the penis with blood tissue, which can only ensure a healthy heart is the first requirement for a pleasurable sex life. What is amerikabulteni.com buy cialis? cialis 100 mg for sale from daynighthealthcare.com. The center tadalafil from canada gives state approved and certified courses and curriculum. The drugs have become a generic viagra 100mg renowned name in the pharmaceutical industry.  And as a result, I was without a WordPress site for about two weeks.  Why?  Who the frick knows, but the point is I’m back and kickin’ so here’s a brief apology on their behalf for leaving y’all out in the cold with no Carl’s Blogosphere to turn to!  haha!

I have been extremely lucky these past few weeks because I have been blessed with a summer/weekend internship at the Calgary Sun.  Arguably now, the most read publication in Alberta, now that the Calgary Herald has decided to scrap its Sunday edition making The Sun the only seven-day-a-week newspaper in Calgary.  To date, I have had 16 articles printed in The Sun; with one lucky day for the Labour Day issue of having an article printed on page 2 AND 3! Life here is extremely exciting because the news literally happens here, comes here from every corner of Calgary.  And there are several methods in which this news gathering occurs.

We work a bit harder here than the other guys do...

One, from The Sun’s own journalists, who may have seen or heard something the night before, or the day their scheduled work shift.

Two, from the ever-present sound of the police scanners that are literally littered all over the The Sun’s newsroom.

Three, the city desk phone.  Many dozens phone into the The Sun’s city desk with news tips, important events, heads up for press releases, etc. etc.

So throughout the day, the newsroom at The Sun is a beehive of activity from the news desk, to the layout people to the various sections that any typical big city newspaper would have, etc. etc.  It is pretty exciting to see it all in action and to be a part of the action too.  I’m just pissed that I wasn’t doing this 20 years ago like I should have been.  Meh, I hate to use a brutally overused cliche but, better late than never.
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Today I had experienced a really awesome perk of being a journalist and that is to have a reader send in a letter thanking me for a story that I reported on in.  To protect her identity from the crazy masses of the world, I will not use her name but the sentiment of the letter is really whats important anyways.

Carl 1, world 0. wewt.

She had written this letter telling me that she really appreciated the coverage I had given in an article I wrote for The Sun for an event in town here concerning her son that she has been putting on for several years now.  Her son was murdered, and he was 18 years old.  Since then she has been organizing an event that involved a walk from the club that he was murdered at to the local courthouse near there.  The invitation to join in on this walk was extended to families who had experienced a similar tragedy.

She was truly grateful for the sensitivity I had exercised in the article, as well as the thoroughness of the news article.  So while reading this letter of appreciation, I was overwhelmed with satisfaction and it was then that I realized that I have truly found my calling in Journalism.

Seeing my name in print AND having a reader send in a letter of appreciation for my work has become my new addiction.  As a result, I almost depend on this stimulus much like an extremely addictive drug and when found absent, I go into the similarly known “withdrawal symptoms.”  Freaky huh?  No doubt!  Hopefully this will continue but I am very much aware that Journalists are not always appreciated so.  My colleagues have given me a stat that is nothing short of disturbing, “We receive about 10 negative letters for every 1 positive letter.”   DAMN!  Well, I said in response, I guess that’s an occupational hazard eh?  To which I was replied, “pretty much.”

For some reason or another today, during my marketing rounds in the beautiful district of Dalhousie in Calgary, I started thinking about Karen Carpenter.

A tragic tale of Anorexia Nervosa...

I grew up listening to the positively charming songs of The Carpenters, composed of Richard and Karen; a brother and sister powerhouse of the 70s and 80s.  His lyrics and arrangements, with her singing talent gave this dynamic duo a staying power that has lasted until today.  But their ultimate end was such a sad thing indeed and it deserves an epic poem, by only which Homer of Antiquity could write.

As many guys like me today are still inclined to be, Knights In Shining Armour, I am usually found in this state of mind and when I was thinking of her I was firmly locked in that role and I began to ask myself, “If I had been there for her, could I have stopped her deadly decline into Anorexia Nervosa?”  This disease of the mind is an OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) like state of thinking oneself to be too fat.  This affliction is found to be amongst girls by the overwhelming majority and although rare, a very small percentage of guys do suffer from this affliction as well.  As is the nature of females to be very much aware of their appearance, this affliction takes advantage of a young girl’s desire to be physically desirable.  Some may consider this desire to be simple vanity, but it is not, as it is more of a desire to be accepted by society and because of the differences between men and women, this is the role that women have been placed in society; their physical attractiveness.  Call it oppressiveness, call it a lack of acceptance, or call it what you will, a young girl’s desire to be called pretty and slim is what drives our society at present.  And it is that desire that drove Karen Carpenter to be less than 91 pounds at the time of her death on February 4, 1983, as a result of complications due to Anorexia Nervosa, which caused her death, ultimately, by heart failure.

As I think of her now, it brings an uncontrollable stream of tears to my eyes as I think of the joy her music/singing brought to the world and how her life could have been so much fuller than what it was.

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So then again I ask myself, if I was there as a friend of hers, could I have prevented this disease from tightening its grip on her?  Could I have told her, on a daily basis if need be, that she was not fat, that she looked absolutely beautiful, that she was a picture of femininity and that I wouldn’t change a thing?  Would that have made a difference in her life?  Could I have been there instead of all of those other guys who simply wanted to use her for her fame and told her that I loved her for who she was and that she could eat normally and not lose anything from me as far as my love for her?  Could I have said to her that being too skinny was NOT a good thing and that she should eat normally and that it would not affect her career or her singing?  If I was there and If I said to her that she was the prettiest thing that I had ever seen and that her weight was just fine and that if she lost anymore weight that she would be hurting herself in ways that she could not imagine and that I would not be happy with this at all?

The Carpenters' current website.

I suppose with such things, a guy’s imagination can only do so much and reality sets in and says, “there’s nothing you could have done, she died and there is nothing you can do for her.”

But maybe I can with the girls that I am associated with.  Perhaps just a little positive reinforcement can make all the difference in the world.  Of course, with today’s females a compliment is a hard thing to get across without insulting their sense of independence.  Such is the state of today’s female.  It is hard for them to accept a compliment because they are trying desperately to disconnect their reliance on men in general.  Only the most intrepid man can get through to today’s woman.  This, of course, does not bode well for today’s woman.  If our reliance on each other is disconnected to such a distant degree then our own demise must be a sure thing.  One only needs to look to the world’s most “advanced” society to see where women are headed.  Sweden.  This is where the current female suicide rate is approaching that of men’s.  Is this advancement?  Is this where we as a human race are headed?

Only too soon will we see…

For the past several weeks while I am in-between my first and second years in the Journalism program at SAIT, I have been working as a door-to-door marketer for College Pro Painters and I have come to a definite and un-wavering conclusion: the human race is a fascinating species.  Since the end of April, for five days a week, six hours a day, I have knocked on more than 2,500 household doors in the Calgary districts of Ranchlands, Hawkwood, Coach Hill, Patterson Heights, Prominence Point and Edgemont.

Every day I attempt to convince my customers that a paint job for anything in or around their houses is in order, and I ask them if they might be interested in a “free estimate” for whatever project they would have in mind.

You would think that it would be easy to give something away for free.  However, the good people of Calgary are an honorable bunch, as they are uneasy about taking a free estimate without at least the hint of a follow-through paint job by the hard working painters in my company.  At first, I had a certain measure of trepidation about “assaulting” complete strangers to, in essence, commit to a paint job.  After a while though, the fear of walking up to a stranger’s house and ringing the doorbell eventually fell away, and I began to thoroughly enjoy the human interaction and the experience that marketing gave me.

Sporting my usual headwear attire, my banded beige fedora, I knocked on a door which produced a man who was a sales representative for what he claimed to be the largest hat company in North America.  He invited me in and proceeded to turn the sales table around on me and proudly told me about what kind of hats his company sold, locations, prices, etc.  Of course, I was intrigued by the fact that his hat company sold fedoras and I told him that I bought mine at Chapel Hats in Chinook Centre, and that was where he immediately decided to make a sales call to that store and peddle his wares.  After our exchange, he signed on for a painting estimate for the wood trim of his house and I was on my merry way; with both of us salesman having gained something positive from each other.

At another house, I came to a long hallway type sub-structure that lead up to the front door, where it was left wide open and I rang the door-bell.  Immediately upon coming to this house, I was overwhelmed by the smell of marijuana.  The hallway-type structure I stood within, acted as a sort of wind tunnel and I was being blasted by the over-powering smell of that illicit drug from within the house.  The woman who answered, was in a quasi-catatonic state and smell of weed was rank on her as well.  She was barely able to answer my question regarding a painting estimate.  It would have been a hilarious situation if it weren’t so sad, as her dependence on that drug was evident.

Consequently, after I left the house, the pain in my back dissipated.

Throughout the houses I call upon, the overwhelming majority of those who answer the door are female, and 99 per cent of them were very nice to me, whether they said yes or no to an estimate.  Some of the women were so lovely and exceedingly attractive, that I nearly forgot my sales pitch when they answered the door.  Many of the women who answered were kind enough to invite me in for a quick chat, others were brave enough to offer a little gossip about their neighbours to this strange man who came knocking at their doors.  Those many experiences I enjoyed fully, and I greatly appreciated the kindness of those women who made my day a little bit happier by treating me like a human being.

The men who did answer the door, although rare, were equally as enjoyable, as guys talking to other guys brings about a sort of brotherhood-like atmosphere between them.  Many quickly accepted my invitation for a painting estimate; others offered tips for which of their neighbours’ houses needed a paint job.  And yet others were content to say no, but offered a glimpse into their own lives as if I had been promoted to confidant.

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Hey, it goes with the territory; once in a while, you get a bad apple.

But I would have to say that in all of my travels thus far, there was one woman who stood out as exceptional; and as long as I live, I will never forget this woman.  I came up to her house, and there was quite a noise as it does often happen when I ring anyone’s doorbell.  The young lady who answered was an amputee; both of her arms were completely missing.  When the door opened, I saw her talking on a cordless phone with it lodged between her cheek and shoulder, she was still doing this while she had managed to unlock and open the door with her left foot.  As I was dumb-founded anyways with her amazing ability, I gave her a minute to finish her telephone conversation.  She then hung up the phone with her tongue, without losing her grip on the phone itself, and while still holding the phone with her shoulder, she asked me what she could do for me.  She asked very nicely and politely I might add, amidst the chaos of her household.

Did I mention that she was also a mother of two boys who were standing in the background?

This five foot nothing young lady was the very definition of grace under fire as she had to wrangle those two boys to silence after her phone conversation ended.  As I brought myself out of amazement, I gave her my sales pitch.  She responded “no”, politely and unflinchingly, and said “goodbye” as she proceeded to close the door and locked it with her left foot while still holding the phone on her cheek and shoulder.  After I left her house, I was convinced that I was hallucinating and that I had dreamed such an occurrence; and yet, it had just unfolded before my eyes.

And to think, I was complaining about a sore back?

Walter Nagel, one of my Journalism instructors at SAIT, and a man with a wisdom that is far beyond his advanced years, once said to us, “There’s nothing so interesting as a person’s true story.”

I was fortunate to have landed a job with College Pro Painters that has many parallels to the field of Journalism, the primary attribute being, the discovery of people and their interesting stories.

At the height of the Roman Empire, it’s borders stretched from the sands of North Africa, to what we now know as Great Britain, and all of its sub-countries.  The city of Rome is also known as the eternal city, as it is one of only a handful of cities in the history of mankind to truly stand the test of time.

The magnificent Roman Coliseum

According to http://www.roman-empire.net, the Roman Republic lasted from 510 BC to 23 BC, it stood the test of time for almost 500 years.  And the Roman Empire, albeit with much contention as to its true “fall”, especially if one includes the so-called eastern empires with its center known as Constantinople, the “end” of the Roman Empire would be considered to be in the year 1453.  So this man-made empire would have lasted from start to contentious finish for a staggering 1,963 years!

But what was it’s idea?  It’s purpose?  It’s unifying principle?  The Roman Empire as we know it, was always in danger of being redefined with every installation of every new Caesar that came along.  But its true origins are far more romantic and downright magnificent to behold.  As it’s original founders had intended, it was a gathering of intellectuals to protect and govern “matters of the state” or in its original Latin translation, “res publica”.  In essence, the very first Republic.

Right now, I am listening to Hans Zimmer and Lisa Gerrard’s rendition of the Hollywood movie, Gladiator, and its soundtrack, entitled, “We Are Free”, featured below.

Listening to it now, it really is like pouring honey into one’s ears as it makes my heart ache with longing and it eyes fills my eyes with tears.  I cannot describe the feeling of joy this song gives me, from the beauty of its language, to its harmonious melody.

I wonder now, what was the Roman Empire like, to truly experience its wonder, its inception, to its ultimate end.  I bring this up because the song’s translation is true to the origins of the Roman Empire and this song was expertly chosen, and I would say, divinely chosen, to accurately depict the history of Rome’s origins.

Almighty Freedom                                Anol Shalom
Almighty freer of the soul                      Anol sheh lay konnud de ne um {shaddari}
Be free                                                  Flavum
Walk with me                                        Nom de leesh
Through the golden fields                     Ham de nam um das
So lovely                                               La um de
Lovely                                                   Flavne…

We regret our sins, but…                     We de ze zu bu
We sew our own fate and                    We de sooo a ru
Under my face I remain feeble             Un va-a pesh a lay
Under my face, I smile                         Un di-I lay na day

Even alone/afraid                                 Un ma la pech a nay
Under my face I will be waiting            Mee di nu ku

Run with me now soldier of Rome                    La la da pa da le na da na
Run and play in the field with the ponies           Ve va da pa da le na la dumba
Run with me now soldier of Rome                    La la da pa da le na da na
Run and play in the field with the ponies           Ve va da pa da le na la dumba
Run with me now soldier of Rome                    La la da pa da le na da na
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Run with me now soldier of Rome                    La la da pa da le na da na
Run and play in the field with the ponies           Ve va da pa da le na la dumba

Almighty Freedom                                            Anol Shalom
Almighty freer of the soul                                  Anol sheh ley kon-nud de ne um.
Be free                                                              Flavum.
Be free                                                              Flavum.
And imagine                                                      M-ai shondol-lee
Free with peace at last                                     Flavu…  {Live on…}
It’s lovely                                                           Lof flesh lay
It’s lovely, this land                                            Nof ne
No one can believe or understand                    Nom de lis
How far I came just for my lovely family           Ham de num um dass
I should have been there                                  La um de
with them when the world crashed down        flaven shom de nomm
But now they rest with me.                              ma-lun des

I’ll never forget                                                  Dwoondi
How I felt that moment                                     Alas sharum du koos
I became free.                                                  Shaley koot-tum.

There appears to be many claims as to its language, some say it’s Irish Gaelic, but the majority of my sources believe it to be a Hebrew account.  “Almighty Freer Of The Soul”, sounds more like a divine entity than a person, perhaps God.  The feeling of this song gives the listener a feeling that Rome was built to “free the soul of man.”  If only.  Being a writer, these words sweep over me an absolute feeling of elation, to absolute joy, to absolute freedom to express, to absolute freedom to feel, to an absolute feeling of damn I’m glad to be alive!

The inception of the Roman Empire was, an attempt, ultimately, to unite the world’s population.  Was it as romantic as this song is?  Personally, I believe it was just so.  The Roman Empire’s original intent was one of a unifying principle.  Not simply to rule it’s population and enslave it, but to gather that which was in the dark, and bring it into the light.  Rome, was, the light.  To which all who stood within it were ultimately blessed with purpose and reason to the abolition of barbarism and hatred and intolerance.  To bring mankind out of its infancy and to ennoble him to a higher plateau of goal, ambition, and to reach for a higher understanding.

The Light, that was Rome.

It is rather unfortunate, and I mean that in the most understated way possible, that the idea of the Roman Empire could be perverted into an engine by which to ultimately enslave the human race; which I believe is happening in our present day, as we speak.  As our world becomes smaller and smaller, the idea of Rome becomes less and less a realistic one, and more of a vehicle to tighten a vice-like grip on the soul of man.  Such a framework as the Roman Empire, could easily be perverted into anyone’s vision of what the human race should be and act.  Some could compare it to the German-led invasion of much of Europe, but of course, all would agree that Hitler’s vision was nothing BUT the enslavement of mankind.

It's happening...

However, what could be accomplished if the leader were NOT Hitler?  Perhaps a benevolent leader who saw mankind as something that could be encouraged, inspired, freed, and envisioned to produce unspeakable works of art, architecture, technological achievement, humanitarian contribution, medical research and so much, much more?!?  What if?  Such a benevolent unifying force would be unheard of in all of human history, save the Roman Empire…

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If only Dad could see me now.  During this temporary reprieve from college in my pursuits in the field of Journalism, I have decided to spend my summer months in an aggressive marketing campaign with a local business that is paying rather handsomely I must say, salary plus commission, even when I compare it to my old petrochemical job; where I was getting the so-called “danger pay.”  It’s a door-to-door gig, where I play the salesman to the unsuspecting homeowners’ eager wallet and cheque-books.  If I garner “estimates” from my customers, then I get commission monies from my employer.

That's right, work that fedora man.

Despite all my efforts to find a job or even an internship within my chosen field of Journalism, I was unable to find anything, even after looking since December of last year.  Of course, this is really just to pass the time until I get to my second year of Journalism in September.  Meh, what’s a guy to do?  Usually the way I deal with most unpleasant things, and that is, to drown my sorrows in a pitcher of Bud with the good company of my mates (aka buddies for all you non-English types).  I certainly came out of the gates roaring in my new job as my first week gained 10 estimates after only 8 hours of work.  That far exceeded by quota of 1/2 an estimate an hour.  If Dad were still alive, he might have tried to encourage me to continue in this line of work and abandon my life as a Journalist… Fat chance!  But yeah, he would have tried to anyways.

Long live the creator of the cell phone.

Dad’s old company was Motorola.  He loved working for them, it gave him the one-on-one contact with his clients that he so loved.  Working side by side with the jet-set always gave him a thrill.  You see, his clients were not of the door-to-door type, they were the big name petroleum companies that literally fueled Alberta’s economic engine and gave prosperity to  the province and to Canada.  Because like many of you know, Motorola was a communications giant which saw its heyday in the late 90s and since they were the biggest and the best, Motorola was called upon to supply their oil patch projects with much needed communications equipment.  With several multi-million dollar contracts under his belt, Dad was often called upon to deal with the highest profile of customers, ie. Shell, Esso, Petro-Canada, etc.

Fishing was our favourite thing to do together.

cialis online prescription This feature located in the top row allows usual text commands (e.g., copy, paste) and media playback control at a whim. However positive results were absorbed from the small number of tadalafil cheap online men may report of few consequences. This particular enzyme named PDE5 basically works by not letting the person face blood thought about this cialis cheap supply to his penile organ. Sexual health is a state of physical, emotional, mental, emotional and social well-being in relation with the main best tadalafil medicine. I miss my father.  He passed away in December of 2005 of a heart attack and a stroke at the somewhat young age of only 75.  Our early years weren’t the best but the later years were so awesome.  Fishing had brought us together and created a really strong bond between us.  We had many other activities that we liked doing but fishing was always our favourite.  He also loved to show me his latest creations in his wood-working shop which he had a very gifted talent for.  Grand-father clocks, church pulpits, dining room tables but his pièce de résistance was his 23 foot cabin cruiser boat.  We took the boat out on so many excursions but primarily in Kootenay Lake near Kaslo, BC, where he was laid to rest.

Kaslo, BC and the SS Moyie; its claim to fame.

He had a somewhat quiet way about him, but given the right topics, he could talk for hours and hours.  He always wanted us to be proud of him, and he of us, unfortunately, it was only recently that I decided to become a Journalist so he never really knew what I wanted to be in life.  Heck, I didn’t even know for sure, it took me longer to figure out than most.  I just wish I could have fought through the cloudiness of my mind to figure it out sooner so that I could tell him, just so that he could be proud of me.  The amazing number and type of people that I have interviewed would have given him that sense of pride in me that I so longed for.  So much so that it ached in me.  I had so wished that I could have proven to him before he left that I wasn’t a failure.  Even my smallest accomplishments I had to embellish even though they were kind of pathetic and not really worthy of mention.  Things like, “O I got a raise, and O I was promoted to lead hand in my shit-ass warehouse, and O I unloaded 112 drums in a single day Dad!”  P-uuu-llllease.  He was always supportive of whatever I was doing in whatever job I had at the time, and that helped me get through it, even though I wasn’t doing what I loved.

Meh, it was a living.

Towards the end of our time together, we were sitting in Swiss Chalet in Calgary, AB, and Dad and I were talking about my job in the petrochemical business and I was telling him what I did and my duties, etc. etc. and without warning, his eyes started to water.  We weren’t talking about anything particularly emotional, but a thought crossed my mind that seemed to say, “he’s sad that you aren’t pursuing your dreams Carl, despite your accomplishments at your shit-ass warehouse, you’re not doing what you love man, and he knows it.”  Somehow he knew I wasn’t really happy in this life.  We didn’t even acknowledge that he cried, and in typical guy-denial style, we just kept on talking, we didn’t even admit to ourselves that he was having this apparent emotional outburst.  And we never spoke of it, ever, but I knew what he was thinking.

All I can say now is, heya Dad, I’m doing what I love now, I promise this time, you don’t have to be sad anymore, I love you, and I’ll do my best to keep on doing what I love with this Journalism thing and to make you proud of me.