Learning to love (or live with) website comments


(Note: The material in this post came in part from a staff editorial I wrote for the Barometer in November 2009)

As managing editor of the Barometer, one of my responsibilities was to moderate comments on our website. Through College Publisher, comments can be submitted, but won’t be posted to a story until an administrator approves them. This means reading through every word of each comment and deciding if they were too offensive, off-topic or nonsensical to approve.

This ultimately depressing and tedious duty was my happy privilege for more than six months. It was depressing because, while the Barometer is easily the most-consumed student media venue on campus, it has its fair share of haters (when working at a daily newspaper, you quickly discover that the loudest voices are those of the people who hate your coverage — the ones who like it rarely speak up).

There are certain people who I got to know by name or e-mail address because they would literally wait until each night around 11 when the Barometer would be published online, read every article, and rip each story and its author a new one via comment. However, these comments were usually well-written and totally appropriate, so I had to approve them.

The work of moderating comments can be a privilege and the bane of our existence. The democratic principles of newspapers can take their purest form in article comments. It’s wonderful  to know what the audience is concerned with and talking about, and sometimes the conversation is lively, informative and engaging. If article comments will keep newspapers in business, at least online, then they’re irreplaceable. As Mike McInally, editor and publisher of the Gazette-Times, pointed out, those who comment on stories sometimes drop important news tips. But they can also be a source of serious frustration.

In keeping pace with the democratic traditions that newspaper people hold dear, we generally like the concept of article comments. News outlets are meant to serve the community and to allow for conversation. There is no better new media example of participation in a public forum than this. However, many of us feel more reverence to good old-fashioned letters to the editor. They tend to be more conceptually mature, articulate and actually make a discernible argument. At the Barometer, they are limited to 300 words, can be included in the daily print edition and, best of all, include the person’s name and contact information, so they’re held accountable for their response.

Article comments on newspaper websites were designed to be an open, constructive method of encouraging community and reader feedback and allowing the reader to interact with the newspaper and its audience. They allow readers to have a voice, to let us know what they appreciate and what didn’t work. Unfortunately, this privilege is frequently abused. Because comments allow for anonymity, people post vulgar, offensive and sometimes threatening responses because they can’t be held responsible for their views or their lambasting.

Sometimes, newspapers are forced to disable comments on certain stories because they know they will be inflammatory and offensive. While habitual posters may kick and scream because they feel that their right to democracy is being jeopardized, some stories simply speak for themselves. At a workshop with Steve Bagwell’s copy editing class last Wednesday, McInally said that the Gazette-Times disables comments on stories involving race or sexual abuse charges, because the comments can quickly degrade into predictable, offensive swill.

As moderators, we’re constantly on the lookout for not only spammers, but for “trolls” as well – people who post controversial and generally off-topic responses to articles to elicit a response from other readers. And while there are the occasional heart-warming posts commending a writer for their reporting, most of these comments are knee-jerk reactions to a detail of the story that the reader didn’t like.

But I can’t write this post in good conscience without mentioning the silent savior, the shining star of Barometer website comments. There is one particular reader (he or she goes by the free text reader name “Anon”) who could write article comments for a living, if such a job existed. Anon’s e-mail address remains the same each time, and on more than one occasion I’ve considered writing to him/her (this person is definitely a him in my mind, so I’ll stick with that) just to find out who he was and offer my appreciation. Even if he disagrees with something the Barometer has published, he is articulate, polite and informed. Instead of arguing, he offers his point of view — which is always brilliant and makes me wonder why he follows dailybarometer.com so closely in the first place.

Hats off to you, Anon. Thanks for keeping it real on the Baro website.

While some news outlets have probably suffered enough abuse that they’ve had to disable all comments, at this point it’s a venue that people are so used to that it doesn’t make sense to take it away. If it keeps democratic traditions alive in news media outlets, it’s a necessary evil.

And, as always, don’t feed the trolls.

Farm on your own time


Macbooks are adorable, aren’t they? Who wouldn’t want a Macbook? They come in the brightest and most eye-catching of colors; they boast a solid yet sleek, sexy design; and they have, on average, a longer battery life than my (stupid) Droid Eris.

I don’t have a Macbook. In fact, I’ve never had a laptop that wasn’t a hand-me-down from my mom or step dad. But when I think of these little technological slices of heaven, my neural networks thrust forth irritating images of the Facebook home page and other people’s tagged photos. And… FarmVille.

Macbooks are touted as the perfect computer for young professionals and college students — they’re fast, easy to use, they never crash, they allegedly last forever and you can do almost anything with them.

Including harvest your farm during class.

(I should point out that my topic of discussion here is not the use of Macbooks among college students — the only reason I bring them up is because 80 percent of the students I see on a regular basis that bring their laptops to class own this particular — superior — breed of laptop.)

In my experience, approximately half of the people in my classes bring their laptops to lecture. Sometimes, when I’m desperately seeking a diversion that will keep me awake during a dry two-hour class, I’ll glance around the room to count how many people are using laptops, and how many of them are actually using them to take notes. Usually, it’s less than half.

The number one distraction for students who bring laptops into the classroom is, of course, Facebook. I have, on countless occasions, sat behind girls (it seems like it’s always girls) who literally do nothing all class period but peruse Facebook. The best part is, many times they sit there refreshing their own profile page.

I had a discussion with a roommate once in which we calculated how much each person spends in tuition on each class they attend. For in state students, it’s around $20 per class, depending on credit hours and length. These people spend $20 per lecture to come and spend an hour glancing through their own tagged photos, rereading comments and checking out the overall look of their page. That’s something I’m only vain enough to do in the privacy of my own room. I’m hesitant to admit that I do it at all.

Obviously, people are entitled to do whatever they want with their tuition dollars. But when you’re sitting directly behind someone who spends an hour or two doing nothing but planting or buying or harvesting or feeding — or doing whatever the hell it is that people do — on FarmVille, it can be extremely distracting. People who text during class don’t bother me because they’re usually fairly discrete about it; they hide their phone under the desk. I’ve never played (not even sure if that’s the correct verb) FarmVille, I am not a FarmVillain, or whatever, but it’s the only video game I’ve ever encountered that has actually intruded into and disturbed my perfect, ignorant little game-free world completely uninvited. If I’m not staring directly into someone’s cow pasture in class, then it’s clogging my News Feed or alleged “friends” are sending me invitations begging me to give them chickens.

I don’t care about your chickens. Keep your farm away from me, or I’ll take a torch to it.

I never felt violated by a video game before the advent of FarmVille and its Facebook counterparts. To me, video games were a somewhat isolated subculture that you could choose to be a part of or ignore at will. As a new media communications major, I had to take New Media Futures, which irritated me, but it didn’t make me despise the gaming industry. FarmVille hasn’t done that either, but it has created a negative mental model that I associate with Facebook  and now Macbooks (thanks for the terminology, Loges). Other than that, it’s disruptive and distracting in class.

Also, I should mention that I have no qualms about reading over people’s shoulders when they’re farming or Facebooking in class. Anyone who may be disgusted by that has severely lost touch with the reason they’re in class in the first place.

Summer 2010 forecast: Return to Dairy Queen?


The race for internships this year has meant blood, sweat and tears for me and thousands of other young journalists. After months of rejection letters, and with summer just around the corner, I smell fast food, minimum wage and desperation in my future.

The first time I entered Snell Hall in January 2008 was kind of an accident. While scurrying around campus trying to avoid the hail that was pounding Corvallis that day, I decided to apply for a position as a news writer for the Barometer after glancing a house ad in the forum section. I knew that I was a news/politics junkie. I knew that I wanted to write. Above all, I knew I needed a job. After the first time I saw my byline in print on the front page of the paper (attached to an adorable little article that basically amounted to a plug for Prism Magazine), I had a feeling that I’d blindly stumbled into an ocean channel. It was going to be an adventure, and it was going to carry me.

In my acute tunnel vision, after a breathless year of nonstop reporting, writing, interviewing, editing, studying AP style and learning, I was unaware of how lucky I had been. From reporter to news editor, I spent up to 40 or 50 hours per week in the newsroom and absorbed everything I could get my hands on. Story ideas and internship opportunities fell into my lap. My grades fell into the toilet. I spent the summer of 2009 writing up to seven articles per week for the Gazette-Times. Sometimes my stories were the centerpiece for the day, and I would be greeted in the newsroom on those mornings to a lot of elbow-nudging and good natured cajoling from the “real life” reporters. I entered my senior year as managing editor of the Barometer with a new level of confidence and enthusiasm for the internship opportunities that would surely be spoon-fed to me for the next summer. Despite my aggressive and proactive search for any chance to write professionally, the only thing I’ve been spoon-fed is one disappointment after another.

To employ a weight loss term, it seems that I’ve plateaued.

Maybe because I advanced quickly, and early, I’m just catching up to the amount of luck young journalists might normally experience. Maybe I’m not going after the investigative, aggressive stories I had on my docket when I started school in September. But as a full-time student struggling to work in a management position at the Barometer and pass my classes at the same time, the hours in the day that I might want to dedicate to important, entrepreneurial pieces don’t exist. I settle for iconic profiles when I can get them and breaking news when it breaks. Settling for stories isn’t the reason I changed my major.

I have another theory, one that’s been harder to grasp as of late, but inevitably an option that I have to acknowledge. Maybe I’m just not that good. Maybe I’m not meant to write news; maybe I’m not meant to write at all. Maybe I don’t know what questions to ask, maybe my execution is poor, maybe the way I organize my stories is ineffective. Something is missing — clearly, I don’t have something that my counterparts who have been awarded all the internships that I’ve applied for have.

Last week, I called NPR to check on the status of my application for an internship with All Things Considered. Using my irritatingly upbeat phone voice that is professional to a fault, I asked a receptionist if there was any way to make 225 percent sure that my application had arrived, safe and sound. When she patiently informed me that 3,000 students had applied for the internship and that she was not going to spend her afternoon sorting through the stacks of manila envelopes to find ONE, I think I mentally threw the towel in. (Proof: I’ve been torturing cliches, like “throwing the towel in,” throughout this entire post.)

I realize that this is a little unreasonable. I have only applied for five or six internships so far (lofty and ambitious, all), and to be fair I’ve received some very amicable rejection letters. One editor even scribbled something in her very own handwriting: hence, humanity (I saved this one and may frame it later).

At this point, I’m not sure what the future holds or what course of action to take. This summer I may end up back at the Dairy Queen in my home town for the third time since high school. I’m not sure how my major will help me get to my dream job. I’m not sure how spending the last year editing and managing newsroom bureaucracy instead of building my portfolio of clips and writing the kind of stories I want to write at my own pace will help me on my tireless journey to the pearly gates of Newsweek.

At this point, I just have to be shiny and loud and obnoxious. I have to tweet and blog and continue to learn, and write. I have to constantly broadcast my message — that I will do anything, try anything, move anywhere and report on any media platform just to get the chance to report at all.

That said, here is a link to my latest article for the InBusiness section of the Gazette-Times/Democrat-Herald: From bookkeeper to bookseller, a profile on Grass Roots Books & Music and its owner and founder, Jack Wolcott.

If the ‘Big O’ can do it, then…


I’ve seen it on O Live, CNN and MSNBC more times than I can count. The content usually varies, but this particular choice of a source to use in a credible, breaking, crucial news story is always slightly baffling to me. Not that I can say it’s right or wrong… Admittedly, I’ve been guilty of it too… but I also have to admit that I hold The Oregonian, for instance, to slightly higher standards than I hold myself.

As I said, I’ve done it too… When I wrote my first real profile piece on an OSU student who had just passed away from a sudden diagnosis with malignant melanoma, I indulged myself and used this irresistible little piece of social media — this window into her life — as a source. I did it for many reasons, and while I questioned my morals as I was writing that final graf and closing the story off to send to my editor, I never even thought to change it.

I admit to it. I used someone — not just anyone, but a dead girl’s — MySpace as a source in a news story.

In my defense, it really did add to the story. In fact, I’ll go as far as to say that it added tears to the story. People who had never met Kendra Hoffhines before read it and were weeping anyway, just because the story itself was so tragic, but when they got to the final graf where I quoted her fragile, sweet and incredibly par-for-her-personality “About Me” section on her MySpace, they were probably in hysterics. I was, too, when I wrote it. I never met her in life, but I know that Kendra Hoffhines was probably the sweetest, kindest and most delicate human being who ever walked on Earth. I still think about her. All the time, actually.

Since that time, I’ve always used that story as one of my clips when applying for a reporting job or internship. It probably isn’t among my most solidly-written articles, but it’s still my favorite. I was asked a year later (during an interview for an internship at a newspaper, coincidentally), why I had used her MySpace profile as a legitimate source in the story, and why I thought it was okay to do so. The question caught me completely off-guard, but the answer that I managed to stammer in incomplete sentences was the truth. That “About Me” section, in two or three sentences, completely encapsulated who this beautiful, intelligent, enthusiastic person was. In it, the reader saw her story and her life, her hopes and dreams and what she looked forward to in her future. They saw that, despite the outlook, she never stopped looking forward to her future. In that case, I didn’t care if it seemed wrong. Her MySpace was public and, at that point, basically served as a memorial for her. I said what I thought.

I got the internship. The story also won second place from the Oregon Newspaper Publisher’s Association for Best Feature Story in 2009. No bragging rights assumed, but from that I gathered that the recognition the story gained basically meant that quoting Kendra’s MySpace hadn’t been an issue.

Since then, I’ve tried to avoid, at all costs, using social media sites as sources in a story. My offense was before the time of Twitter, but now, news outlets seem to feel that it’s completely reasonable to source people’s tweets — which may or may not even belong to the people that they are attempting to quote, especially when that person is a celebrity or public figure. I understand why they do it (you might as well — it’s right there in the public and often times conveys a lot about what a person actually thinks), and sometimes it’s the only way you can give attribution to a tidbit of information that makes a story that much more interesting or, in many cases, sensational. But I’m still a little iffy on whether it’s ethically acceptable or not.

I’m not the type of person to rule anything out entirely. If I did, I would be a hypocrite, as rules are always made and broken in journalism and in the new media world. But judgment calls on this issue should be made on a case-by-case basis and taken seriously. Maybe in its next edition of the Stylebook, The Associated Press will offer stricter guidelines on when it’s permissible to quote a social networking site.

\’Saying goodbye to Kendra\’ Here is a link to the story on Kendra, by the way.

And here is the controversial excerpt in question: Kendra Leigh Hoffhines’ “About Me”:

“I’m a Christian girl, working on my fourth year down here at OSU, anxiously awaiting graduation, my wedding next summer, moving in with my soon-to-be-husband and beginning the next chapter of my life. It’s been an adventure thus far.”

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