CyberJournalist.net belabors the obvious with this advice:
Don't write Weblogs that anonymously criticize your employer.
Another journalist has been suspended for blogging tales out of school. The kneejerk reaction would be to decry this quashing of freedom of speech, but have to say I have some sympathy for the paper here: If your conscience can't stand the way your boss covers the news, quit and go do it right. Otherwise, the dirty laundry ought to get washed in-house. Who knows: Maybe you can make a difference in the weekly staff meeting. Your voice is your own, but your boss owns the microphone, so if she wants you to play oompah music instead of grunge, you should, or go out and buy your own set of Marshall stacks. If you believe you're being asked to play oompah music that furthers evil, you should quit and start a private crusade.
On this blog, for example, I stick to talking about what it feels like to do my job, and stick up links that might interest my brothers and sisters in arms, those other similarly situated poor bastards slogging through budgets, invoices, pitches, production schedules, PR approaches, and in my case a very, very disorganized morgue. We have to do a special issue soon, but it took me two days to find last years' version of the issue. We need a bright-eyed summer intern to slave over the sucky details.
Speaking of blogging confidential matters, I'm spending the semi-holiday reading resum�s for a position we have open. Obviously not a subject for public discussion. I will say this, though: If the ad calls for a full-time reporter to cover the lint recycling industry, please don't bother the employer with a pitch about a freelancer who covers the clown college beat. Reminds me of that test they give you in school: First instruction is to read all instructions before beginning; last instruction is to disregard all instructions except No. 1.
By the way, Nextel gave me a new replacement phone and made me happy. My customer experience was positive, on balance, and I am back walkie-talkieing the wife in the bedroom from the den. Honeybuns, kin I have some more cwo-fee, pweeze?