a live call-in
Tuesday, March 29, 7pm (that's TODAY!)
call 657.2941 or 800.441.2941
Join YPR New Media Manager Ken Siebert
for an hour-long panel discussion about blogs: what
they are, who's doing it, and what it means for traditional
journalism and the Internet. The discussion will also
feature the community of Montana bloggers and what they're
saying about the state and the people who live here.
Up in the corner of the Yellowstone Public Radio site, I see a Listen Online notice; I assume this means we can listen to the program, even if
we are not in Billings. I've never used my computer for this before, so
I plan to test it out this afternoon.
I know that Karen, Craig, David,
and Ed will do us proud; we have a wide range of politics, opinion, and
style here. And I'm pleased that YPR
responded promptly to requests for a bit more gender diversity on the
panel. My guess is, though I don't know for sure, that all are white. I
had a brief fantasy that Moos might be Jamaican or something, but
judging from these photos, I would imagine not.
Note, however, that the issue of diversity in the blogosphere is a
different (and more difficult) issue, than the easily resolved
challenge for conferences, panels, and news reports (and blogrolls) to
represent the diversity that already exists.
Creative work needs solitude. It needs concentration,
without interruptions. It needs the whole sky to fly in, and no eye
watching until it comes to that certainty which it aspires to, but does
not necessarily have at once. Privacy, then. A place apart -- to pace,
to chew pencils, to scribble and erase and scribble again.
But just as often, if not more often, the interruption comes not from
another but from the self itself, or some other self within the self,
that whistles and pounds upon the door panels and tosses itself,
splashing, into the pond of meditation. And what does it have to say?
That you must phone the dentist, that you are out of mustard, that your
uncle Stanley's birthday is two weeks hence. You react, of course, Then
you return to your work, only to find that the imps of idea have fled
back into the mist.