The fight for a London HIV/AIDS Memorial

I am currently working on a piece about the struggle to get an HIV/AIDS memorial in London. Why it is not already there is beyond me - especially now that new figures have come out that this is the leading cause for death and disease amongst women aged 15-49 in the world.

Like my dear Maxime said, whom I am interviewing for this article "It's not just a bunch of gay guys fucking in a corner spreading the disease".

London needs a memorial for HIV/AIDS, preferrably in time for World Gay Pride 2012...

The sweet little lie about the Pornstar Martini

We are learning how to make flash slideshows in Convergent Journalism. My dear friend Harri made one on me and my short career as a bartender. In it I claim to love shaking up Pornstar Martinis and Margaritas.

That is a lie. I hate making those goddamned passionfruity sugarbombs. I just like to say it. Pornstar. Poooornstar...

Where Margaritas came from I do not know...

The hamster is asleep in the wheel

Something has somehow drained me of every last drop of energy I had. I can't be my university degree because, to be honest, I could be doing more. And it can't possibly be work because I have only worked one day this week.
I can't be bothered with anything anymore. It is a complete and utter disgrace.
Look at that picture. That is how motivated I am right now. With everything.
Reporting essay and the prospect of cleaning up after cooking food seems to equal an 18 hour marathon sex session in a sauna on Mt Everest.

Analysing

“One of the greatest things about university is that you actually can have a life outside it.” That is what my father told me today . If any of my classmates at the CfJ had heard it they would have protested. Loudly.

But not me.´

I don’t have a life outside of uni most of the time since whenever I am not on the couch researching or writing I am simply passed out looking lobotomised and watching something completely uneducating just to let my head rest for a while. But. BIG but (one t, not two), I also manage to;
- work 1-3 days a week (I hate borrowing money from my parents, hence I work)
- ummmm…

Oh wait, never mind. That was it.
I guess I don’t have a life outside uni after all.
Bugger.

Why does journalism exist?

.. according to Miss Sara Malm, September 2009

After spending half the night pondering biased and non-biased journalism, I started to question the purpose of my chosen career, like many times before.
Every time I doubt, or even consider that this might not be "it" for me, I re-read an short piece I wrote when I started the course, answering the question; what is journalism for?
I had just started at the Centre for Journalism, and knew nothing. But still.
The Scandi girl with all the ideals had a point, and I hope that I still do.
Anyway.
Here it goes... Read and weep.

Journalism exists in order to find and inform. To me that is the simple and sterile answer, and I shall below explain why.
In society today there is so much going on and constantly so much information that one simply cannot take it all in. As a journalist you get to choose what information people are going to read and find important. Through various more or less professional news reporting devices, and not to forget the blogs, twitter accounts and pod casts, people are constantly fed information daily. It is up to journalists to be the sieve covering society trying to sort the stories that will matter from everyday blabber.
As a journalist you are responsible for the way that society will judge a situation. You are in charge of what the masses are going to think, even if they do not believe it to be so. People are easier to affect than most of us dares to admit. Whatever is on the front page is what people automatically will assume is an important story and the perception that they gain will affect their decisions and opinions. It is up to you as a journalist to track down that number one story every day to let the masses know what is going on in the world and what is worth noticing.
Without journalists reporting and sharing the news everything would eventually either start to move backwards or become a veritable chicken coop where only the cocks that can cuckoo the loudest will be heard even though they might not have the most important things to say - they might even be lying. If there is not one little chick discovering the truth then what will the chickens think is right?

Journalism is also for seeking and finding. There are millions if not billions of events every day that does not get twittered about. The six year old Afghani girl that can not get to school because she has lost her leg stepping on a land mine, for example. Why is no one helping her? Where is the support supposed to come from? Was this landmine a product of the ongoing war or are there still old Soviet landmines out there on the country roads on the outskirts of Kabul? So many questions that needs to be asked to so many.
Imagine that we were able to plunge deep into the mind of every single human being on this planet. To be able to go through approximately 75 years worth of memories and stories at the end of everybody‘s life. I believe that there is at least one story in every person that needs, or in this case would have needed, to be told.
Journalism exists not only because of the reason stated above, i.e. in relation to daily news reporting, but also in order to try to discover these stories and ask the right questions. Journalism is for finding and informing, and it is a great responsibility.

Keepin it in the family

Keith Cederholm, the father of a woman who was imprisoned at 18 for attempted murder and a nazi who murdered at 16 and later killed himself, spoke today to Sweden's biggest tab Aftonbladet as the hunt for Mr Cederholm's nephew, convicted at 17 for a double murder and now accused of kidnapping, continues.

Mr Cederholm said:

"No one can blame me for my children and other relatives becoming criminals. I didn't bring them up - I've mostly been in prison."

I don't even need to comment on that.

All I'm saying is ...

Whilst struggling to get the last 600 words down to my politics essay can I just say -
I miss middle school.
I want to have Sex Ed again and put condoms on bananas.
That's all.

The council lady says "sorry"

Let's give her a cookie and a pat on the head. After all, she says it wont happen again.

All those lovely people responsible for protecting the two victims of "Britain's Fritzl" have spoken. They are, as expected, full of remorse but states, as Social Services always do in these situations, that they have learned a lesson. Social Services always have whenever the shit hits the fan. Haringey Social Services say that they have benefited from the experience of the Baby P case and that they are working to make sure that it will never happen again. I'm sure that makes such a difference for little Baby P - oh no, wait, he's dead due to your neglect!

No wonder councils have to go to the states to search for social workers...

R.I.P. my internet nicks

This is an obituary. I am sitting in Convergent class pondering over our new Online Journalism task and remembering and remeniscing the good old days before everyone used their real names for social networking. The likes of LunarStorm and PlayAhead ruled Swedish teens and Msn Messenger was where it all happened, long before Facebook Chat.

Freestylergirl was my first internet name, on LunarStorm (a Scandi online community). Then along came saariiseen (my bessie mate Hanna had haanniiseen - it obviously made sense...), TooSpecial(I'm sorry, what? Was I trying to be different? As if being chubby and nerdy wasn't enough?) and the more logical SaraM.
I've always been a big hotmail fan. splatt6589 is the first one I can remember, then lillen3000 which translated means thelittleone3000. Imaginative, huh? But then that was too nerdy (oh, yeah like changing your hotmail would make you cooler) and I became aikflickan_sara@hotmail.com, meaning that I was an AIK girl (AIK being a swedish sports club). I have always hated sports and was simply pretending in order to impress the guy I fancied. Then again trying to be different with pineapple__fairy@hotmail.com. I wrote a song with that title. I was "artistic". Sure.
Luckily I grew up in the end. Phew. I mean, my full name and @hotmail.com makes a lot more sense. And is a lot less embarrassing.

And I am a big disappointment

... again!

Maybe I am only having this feeling because I voluntarily lock myself in with 25 (all depending on how many of them get out of bed) wannabe journalists, or maybe I am right.

It feels like everyone but me is insanely ambitious and is achieving marvellousness right, left and centre, whilst I am stuck in the back snoring my way through another politics seminar.

But when, I ask you, WHEN am I suppose to have the time? Between working 30 hours a week (oh yes all swedish readers, what you people call full time is a piece of piss), a full time university degree, sometimes having a social life, never sleeping enough, naked Sundays, cooking, cleaning, comsuming news, drinking a bit more than moderately in pure despair and watching Mock the Week?

Nighttime thoughts

Yeah. I did it. About ten minutes ago I woke up and I can't seem to fall asleep again. Shame as I need to get up in about three hours. Anyways. Being awake at the early hours of the morning always make me ponder, and I guess that's not particularly unique.

Tonight (or last night depending on ones view on time) I was introduced to the Director General of the BBC. I knew it was going to happen and I didn't realise the massive-ness of this event until last Saturday when I was serving cocktails to an old BBC journalist at LAB. His awe slapped me straight into reality. The opportunities I get and how I appreciate them. When I told him who teaches me the art or great journalism he was astonished and I thought back to the day when my mother called me from Sweden and told me I had been accepted to the Centre for Journalism. I cried.

I have all the right tools to become a really good journalist and I need to use them more than I do.

Shorthand what?!

Really gone to LaLa Land

Am I the only one who almost always in some way or form believes that what happens to a movie character will happen to me as well?

I mean, I don't worry about an "Atonement-situation" happening to me and the boyfriend anytime soon (the guy writes a love letter including words like the one with a C and gives it to the girl's little sister to pass it on and the lil sis reads it. First of all he would never write me a love letter and have my sister pass it on to me, it would be a terrible waste of time as my sister lives in Sweden and I share sleeping quarters with the man in question and secondly if he did do that, he would never use the C-word. What a complete lack of imagination. ) but I have discovered that I am prone to numerous versions of movie induced panics.

Tonight, after watching "Did you hear about the Morgans?" I started to panic thinking that I am infertile (I know, completely normal for a 19-year old). I still have a fear of clear iceblue waters after watching Titanic about ten years ago and can therefore not dive in tropical oceans and swimming pools as I firmly believe I will drown. Strangely dark waters work fine. Always the same thing, Izzy gets cancer on Grey's Anatomy - I am going to get cancer. People are held hostage at the bank - I am sure I will be held hostage at some point in my life.

I am very grateful that this little disorder has not stretched as far as Harry Potter. Then I'd really be in trouble...

They should put warnings up for people like me...
"Warning, may cause delusions of the infertility related kind and beliefs that a trip to the country side will save your relationship. It wont. Unless your hubbie really ís Hugh Grant, then we don't understand what the problem is."

If this place asked me to marry it - I would

God I love Balham.
Not only do I have Sainsburys AND Waitrose less than 30 seconds from my doorstep - there is a Maccy D's, four very good pubs, Starbucks and B@1 . I have to walk about 3 minuter to Burger King. I find it almost insulting. I could get very fat very easily If I continue to stay here...

Managed to spend all my tips from last night on a cabbie which I am very much regretting now as I really feel like spending £20 on Dorritos and fizzy sweets.