Jack The Scribbler

Dr. Hunter S. Thompson must have been a real SOB when he was alive.
Just look at what happened to Maine politician Edward Muskie, who in 1972, was trying to secure the nomination to become the US Democratic Party’s presidential candidate.
Thompson’s imagination got in the way of Muskie’s ambitions.
Sometime during the period, good old HST wrote that Muskie took Ibogaine.
He said that the psychoactive drug was administered by a doctor who flew in from Brazil, a claim he would later say was something he just made up while beating a deadline.
This didn’t help Muskie’s chances any.
Someone else — Senator George McGovern, a Governor from South Dakota — later secured the nomination but he lost the presidency to Richard Nixon.
Whatever consequences Thompson might have on the course of United States history — with or without what is now called the Ibogaine effect — remains debatable.
However, one thing is certain.
Thompson was one of the best writers and journalists the English-speaking world has ever read, heard, and seen.
“Some people will say that words like “scum” and “rotten” are wrong for objective journalism which is true but they miss the point,” he once said.
Like most personalities here and abroad, modesty was never one of his virtues.
Thompson loved the camera, as shown by the various pieces of footage shown in the same 2008 documentary about his life, Gonzo: The Life and Work of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson, a copy of which was lent to me by Karl Kaufman.
He was also a womanizer, a gun freak, and, according to his landlord, a tenant who failed to pay his rent on time.
But even before he killed himself in 2005, these character flaws were overlooked.
After all, the man invented Gonzo Journalism, a form that many of us — including deadline-beating deadbeats such as myself — can only dream about replicating.

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From the Gratis et Amore Dept. HST’s picture, taken during the 1988 Miami International Book Fair is from Wikipedia. Entry was first published under the title of Hunter Thompson, inventor of Gonzo journalism.

Journalism is far too important to be left to journalists.
The practice, the craft, and the art of reporting the truth — whatever that might be — could use a little constructive criticism every now and then from people who read, watch, and perhaps even live by the news.
It also wouldn’t hurt for media workers — especially those whose salaries are as big as their egos — to partake of the occasional humble pie, if only to make them realize that the message is more important than the messenger.
Instead of wasting airtime on their self-importance, news readers could help make the world a better place by making the news more relevant, sharper, in tune with their viewers.
Same goes for reporters and editors, both in print and online.
Self-indulgence and somebody-ism especially among media workers only increase errors of both fact and news judgment.
But then again, readers and/or viewers for their part should not be content being passive receptacles of information.

The National Union of Journalists of the Philippines opposes the Right of Reply Bill

If they feel that media coverage of an issue is unfair, superficial, or downright disgusting, they should send an email, write a letter, fax a note, place a phone call, or transmit a text message to respective news organizations that aired and/or published pieces that they felt were subpar.
They can even blog about coverage and treatment of issues if they wish.
These same rights can very well be invoked by any person or group of persons — public officials or private individuals — who may feel slighted news stories that may have put them in a bad light.
They can also sue for libel and demand civil and criminal restitution if they so decide.
However, a pending bill at the House of Representatives has brought this to dangerous extremes.
Under the right of reply bill (RORB), persons or entities whose reputations may have been put in a bad light through stories published and/or broadcast by any media organization will enjoy the right to have their replies published or broadcast by the same news outfit for free.
The replies will be given the same prominence and treatment accorded to the previous “unflattering” story or newscast, even if the persons and entities criticized were previously interviewed for the same subject.
If a newspaper’s banner story, citing documents, said that a public official stole millions, the newspaper is required to make the official’s reply as the banner story a few days later.
This, even if the same official was already interviewed for the same story, according to various provisions under the RORB.
Similarly, if the first gap of a news program aired a broadcast about an erring official, the news program is mandated to air the official’s reply during the first gap a few days after.
The same arrangement goes for online news Web sites.
If enacted into law, the RORB will impose “prior restraint” on journalists since it “clearly preempts and undermines the right of publishers, editors, and producers to decide on which news stories they will feature,” the National Union of Journalists of the Philippines said in its RORB primer.
“The RORB dictates what should and should not be published or broadcast by media organizations way before the latter can even decide on which issues are to be discussed,” the same primer said.
Besides being unconstitutional since it abridges press freedom, the law also contains flaws that its authors have failed to account for.
The bill’s Senate and House versions have yet to consider paid ads.
What if a well-meaning group criticizes an official and takes out an ad, either during primetime television or in the prominent pages of a newspaper? Are media organizations required to publish and broadcast the official’s replies as well?
No one knows because the proposed law — authored by Senators Aquilino Pimentel Jr., Francis “Chiz” Escudero, and Ramon Revilla Jr. and Representatives Juan Edgardo Angara and Monico Puentevella — contains no such provision discussing the matter.
A similar scenario arises regarding coverage of Supreme Court decisions.
If the High Court issues a ruling that finds 10 public officials guilty of plunder, is each official entitled to a free reply? Or should one reply for all of them suffice?
If the RORB becomes law, how will it consider wire stories originating from Manila that may not necessarily enhance reputation of public officials? Should Bloomberg or the Associated Press be required to run the reply of an official whose fingers have been caught in the till?
These and many other concerns only serve to highlight the major flaws of the proposed legislation.
Which only goes to show that indeed, if journalism is far too important to be left to journalists, laws — proposed or otherwise — are far too valuable to be left to lawmakers.

From the Not Exactly Insignificant Information Department.
RORB has a different meaning, especially among those whose business is business reporting.
The acronym also means return on rate base, loosely defined as the percentage a company — usually a utility — can charge customers for using equipment it uses in its operations.
Meralco, the Philippines’ largest electric company, is allowed to charge up to 12 percent of the worth of its equipment (i.e., cables) from its customers.
Unfortunately, that financial formula was recently replaced by the performance-based mechanism (PBR) which will reportedly do away with the 12 percent profit cap.
And what does that mean? Higher power costs for the rest of us.
Anyway you look at it, RORB — in both the journalistic or financial sense — augurs bad tidings.

No records indicate whether Imelda Marcos has visited Daslu, the world’s most luxurious store, located in Sao Paolo.
But then again, who knows?
The woman with the famous footwear fetish may have already gone on a secret Brazilian shopping expedition when she was powerful enough to commandeer jumbo jets at a snap of a finger.
In any case, easy access to planes wouldn’t have mattered that much to Daslu’s visitors, including imeldific individuals.
For all its offerings — three car dealerships, a yacht broker, and yes, haute couture for men and women — Daslu doesn’t have its own private airport.
Or at least not just yet.
Its high-flying clients don’t seem to mind.
After all, they can always touch down on the five-storey building’s helipad, safe from Sao Paolo’s notorious carjackers, known for stealing autos at gunpoint, even in broad daylight.
Customers who still prefer to go by car can do so as long as they pass muster at not just one but two of the compound’s gates, designed to keep out the have-nots and the hoi polloi.
Indeed, security and privacy are just a few of the many things that set Daslu apart from regular luxury establishments around the world.

Trade paperback cover of "Deluxe" from Amazon.com

Take Daslu’s second floor, where the women’s section is located: It doesn’t have a fitting room. Female clients can just strip off their garments and try on dresses in any corner since no males—whether customers or employees—are allowed on the floor.
“It’s natural for Brazilians. You aren’t ashamed if men aren’t around,” said Eliana Tranchesi, Daslu’s owner, as quoted by Dana Thomas in her book entitled Deluxe: How Luxury Lost its Luster (Penguin Books, 2007).
Established in 1958, Daslu began in the living room of Lucia Piva de Albuquerque, Tranchesi’s mother, who sold clothes and accessories she brought from abroad since Brazil at that time was closed to imports.
Its origins explain its name: Daslu is Portuguese for in Lu’s house.
Even though advertisement was only through word of mouth, the store would become immensely popular, later occupying a whole stretch of 23 houses — either rented or owned — in the posh neighborhood where it began.
When parked limousines of the rich and famous began to clog the streets and upset the neighbors, management decided to move to an area just a few blocks away from its old location.
Some fifty years later, Daslu has certainly outgrown its origins.
Besides featuring a Japanese restaurant (considered as the city’s best), Daslu also has a champagne bar, a hairdresser, a bank, a pharmacy, a stationery store, a wedding chapel, and a ballroom, among others.
Of course, it also has men’s and children’s departments on the third and fourth floors.
By far, the store is famous for its Dasluzettes — female shopping assistants from Brazil’s rich families who offer personalized services to each of the store’s 70,000 clients.
“The salesgirls live the life the customers live,” Tranchesi was quoted by the book as saying. “So they understand.”
While Daslu may very well represent the ultimate in luxury shopping, it also stands out as an exception in an industry as bloodthirsty as any.
Or at least it does in Thomas’ view.
Other luxury brands always intend to make a quick buck off its customers, even fooling them as to the provenance of their items, including handbags to which she devotes a chapter. (“Brands that deny outright that their bags are made in China make their bags in China, not in Italy, not in France, not in the United Kingdom,” Thomas says.) But not Daslu.
The store established by Tranchesi’s mother knows and cares about its customers because they are guests, first and foremost.
“Chances are, you’ll run into [Tranchesi] while you are shopping, and she’ll ask you how the kids are, help you pick out a few things, or assist in fittings,” Thomas says of the daughter of Daslu’s founder.
As expected, the personal touch of Daslu is not left unrewarded.
“When you go to Daslu, it’s not to buy a new pair of shoes. It’s to see your friends,” said one customer whose husband owns a local Mercedes dealership. “You can’t find this service anywhere in the world.”
So who says money can’t buy happiness?
Not Daslu customers obviously.