Post 3- Radio in the 20's

Technological advancement was the main factor that contributed to the democratization of the radio industry in the 1920's because it's invention preceded its societal purpose--the technology came before the ideas that made it practical.

In other words, the radio wasn't invented in order to broadcast news or advertise products, rather news companies and prospective advertisers capitalized on this new technology to conveniently further their various agendas. Unlike the atomic bomb, the advent of the radio wasn't viewed as a pressing technology that didn't yet exist, it was just easily integrated into American life because of it's many uses. Technology works to drive society because it functions as a threshold that creates systematic change in relation to the way we communicate.

On page 161 of the text book, there is a line that says, in the 1920's "it did not take people long to figure out what to do with radio." The use of the phrase "figure out" in ascribed with particular importance. People like Frank Conrad, and stores like Westinghouse literally invented uses for this invention. Frank Conrad used is as a mediam to disseminate news which created a public demand to make the radio a house hold utility.

My father has worked the radio industry for over 30 years and has a radio show that is syndicated all over the country. Changes in technology continue to be the most influential factor in the way his show operates and makes money. This is a clip from an interview with Tim Allen in the 80's, that shows some of the more antiquated technology.

Post 3 - Cultivation Theory

The cultivation theory explains how bias news stations reflect the general publics assumptions about political identity.

The Cultivation theory reveals that people develop their "realities" based on what is presented to them through media. If a particular subject is receiving substantial attention, such as criminal activity on nightly news, people tend to be hyper-aware of that subject. This can have a negative effect as it could lead to desensitization among populations, so viewers may start to see crime as something "inevitable" in it's prevalence. This could also result in populations that have an hypersensitive fixation with a subject, so viewers think that there chances of getting murdered are disproportionately inflated because of the amount of time homicides get on the news.

The same theory applies to news stations, as perceptions of what it means to be a republican or democrat are clearly outlined and presented through media. This theory is not only applicable to the way political parties side on a particular issues, but also to what is a "moderate" or "normal" stance within the party. If the general public were a refection of Fox news and MSNBC, for example, then the political body would be divided among the two most polarized ends of the political spectrum, when in reality the vast majority of people fall somewhere in between. This makes people more likely to a) align themselves with an issue based on their political allegiance, and b) feel pressured to choose between two, very clearly drawn-out options. This also leads people to believe that the general public is more polemic than in reality.

On Friday September 17, Jon Stewart announced his "Rally to Restore Sanity" in response to the current way the media limits the amount of acceptable representations of current events.

The following is the call to rally that is written in the white section of the above poster. It begin's with a highly relevant quotation from the film that presents a commentary on media entitled Network

"I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore!"

Who among us has not wanted to open their window and shout that at the top of their lungs?

Seriously, who?

Because we're looking for those people. We're looking for the people who think shouting is annoying, counterproductive, and terrible for your throat; who feel that the loudest voices shouldn't be the only ones that get heard; and who believe that the only time it's appropriate to draw a Hitler mustache on someone is when that person is actually Hitler. Or Charlie Chaplin in certain roles.

Are you one of those people? Excellent. Then we'd like you to join us in Washington, DC on October 30 -- a date of no significance whatsoever -- at the Daily Show's "Rally to Restore Sanity." Ours is a rally for the people who've been too busy to go to rallies, who actually have lives and families and jobs (or are looking for jobs) -- not so much the Silent Majority as the Busy Majority. If we had to sum up the political view of our participants in a single sentence... we couldn't. That's sort of the point.

Think of our event as Woodstock, but with the nudity and drugs replaced by respectful disagreement; the Million Man March, only a lot smaller, and a bit less of a sausage fest; or the Gathering of the Juggalos, but instead of throwing our feces at Tila Tequila, we'll be actively *not* throwing our feces at Tila Tequila. Join us in the shadow of the Washington Monument. And bring your indoor voice. Or don't. If you'd rather stay home, go to work, or drive your kids to soccer practice... Actually, please come anyway. Ask the sitter if she can stay a few extra hours, just this once. We'll make it worth your while.

Post 2 Hegemony

The myth of the "American Dream" continues to drive the societal assumptions that celebrate social mobility and merit-based achievement. In reality there is little evidence that supports this pervasive belief, yet it is overwhelmingly glorified by the media with films like "The Pursuit of Happiness" and the "rags to riches" rhymes from rappers like Jay-Z. The myth comes to life in our history books, in fact disempowering youth of color by exacerbating the idea that there are no real societal strains that are preventing minorities from climbing social ladders- that the people that live in their neighborhood are in fact responsible for the poverty and complacence that defines their culture. This assertion is disguised as an empowering and egalitarian idea and actually maintains the socioeconomic stratifications that prevent such mobility from coming to fruition. The myth of the American dream represents an example of hegemony, because it shows how media can create a consensus surrounding a particular issue that is perpetuated by a sentiment of "common sense."
Hegemony exemplifies the reciprocal relationship between media and society from the perspective of those with power. An idea that can be harnessed through logical fallacy can easily become accepted by the broader public. Through deception assumptions arise.

George Carlin puts it well in this clip. He ends it with "the American Dream is only possible when you're asleep."

Post 1 RTF (305)

This week in media Laura Schlessinger said the n-word and a hate crime was committed against a muslim cab driver in lower Manhattan. However, depending on ones media outlet of choice, these stories were broadcasted, subjectified, glorified, or ignored demonstrating the way media is used as a venue to both control and liberate the masses. The trends of the blogosphere, where opinion trumps objectivism, seem to have infiltrated mainstream media into two explicitly polarized spheres with an increasing presence. In fact, there's TV shows and radio programs with the sole purpose of dissecting media, looking for the way programs and commentators contradict themselves and present radicalized opinion as mere fact. Yet this very conglomerated controlling entity has the power to liberate--it has driven populations to end wars and attract international attention during oppressive regimes. With new forms of information sharing, there is shift in the way society and media interact and the way we inform ourselves and with what tools. I view the current state of the media with a certain allure and mystery that I am trying to understand as a student striving to influence others. Though I am commonly irritated by the trends of social media in my generation I am wondering how this can be used as a tool for social change and to what extent. My interest is distributed equally between radio, television and film, as I admire figures such as Ed Murrow, Jon Stewart, and Julia Bacha and view each type of media as a mechanism for social change.

One of my favorite blogs is called Aid Watch


http://aidwatchers.com/

After I graduated High School in 2009 I embarked on a trip around the world that focused on the study of varios development issues. I made this video as a culmination of my experience abroad.
http://vimeo.com/11820001

My Last Time Riding ANYthing with 4 legs

Ever since I realized that clouds weren’t made of marsh mellows and saw a clip from an episode of 60 minutes of some amazingly pre-camera phone era shot of an airplane spiraling into the ground, my preferred methods of travel have always been those that require wheels rather than wings. And, though I do have my dose of Lorezopam pre-flights nowadays, I flew enough this year to put me on a high-risk list, making this trip one that would more than likely remain on the ground.

Prior to today’s travels, my knowledge of the Greyhound Bus system was limited to recent canadian greyhound murder story and the dog that my moms old homosexual hair dresser had that would run around like a rat with bits of human hair all over it’s body. Hardly excitable, but being both frugal and freaked of flying, I took a chance. Besides it was only 10 and a half hours, with NO stops or changes. BULLSHIT GREYHOUND!!!

Admittedly the first mistake was mine. It said on the “e-ticket” very clearly that the ticket need to be printed, and thankfully Kailee was able to sprint, yes kailee sprinting, to the nearest hotel and produce a paper copy. Apparently my blackberry and smile weren’t enough… After boarding the hound, I quickly realized how seriously my driver took his job, first noticing his holster, no HOLISTER Charlie, fully equip with two pens, a pocket knife, and an ambiguously shaped case that could have either been a hand-gun or his tampons. He hopped on bored and checked the bathroom for any homeless people that may have wanted to hitch a ride to Canada and gave us a safety briefing where he reminded us not to smoke, masturbate, or talk on cell phones for more than 30 seconds. And so we began…

The first four hours were easy. I slept, wrote, and peed 3 times almost without missing. Then came every tiny town in between Syracuse and Buffalo on and off the “stop-less” greyhound. I listened to the sounds of children, children being beaten, children reacting to being beaten, the enormous woman next to me snoring, (I wish I was kidding, really) and the sounds and smells of people opening and closing the restroom door. The only perks of this journey have been the outlets available for every seat, which enabled me to edit my bonnaroo footage and create this.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mY59BZEuRK8

Then we get to Rochester and I realize that the first douche-bag driver took my 3rd ticket instead of my first one. But thankfully I have all of this information on my black-berry and there is a ticket counter which would of course be able to look up my information and verify my story, especially since it would have been impossible for me to have duplicated my ticket since every ticket has a name on it and everyone shows there passport to get on the bus. One would think…

I get up to the front of the line and I tell the woman that the man-over-there (literally he was right there) took my incorrect ticket and she laughed and said “likely story” and sent me to ticket counter minutes before my bus pulled away. The unhappy woman who looks like that cross-dresser from the Wedding Singer at the ticket counter, says “sorry I can’t reprint tickets” as I’m showing her my itinerary on my phone. I buy a new ticket and try to be angry and say that I’m going to do something like I’ve seen my mom do when the room service is wrong for the 3rd time. But instead as I’m walking to get on the bus, I see the nice man reach for my luggage and just start crying, hysterically, and this overweigh black luggage man is so confused yet so kind and asks me what’s wrong and if I’m ok. And at this point there’s no stopping, I’m about to embrace this stranger and cry into his arms, when the ticket lady comes over and tells me I can get my money back. But of course my charge that was made 2 minutes prior required a 20% fine, but at least I’m on. Everyone on the bus, having seen this all happen, invites my on warmly. And in the end, I got a whole row to myself.

My cousins rehearsal dinner started two hours ago and I’m sitting at border patrol waiting for the a-hole on my bus who decided to bring too much booze across the border. It’s 8:30pm and I haven’t eaten since the veggie burger from hell at Burger King at 10 am. My arrival time was initially 6:15 and I’m still 2 hours away….rarr BORDER PATROL GET A CLUE: all of the marijuana is running the other direction!!! It’s amazing how the question What are you bringing? can make you feel like El madre of a drug cartel.

Needless to say this is my last trip with greyhound, and it should be yours too. Feel free to write them hate mail and mass murder every grey dog you see. Any suggestions on how to get from Toronto to Indianapolis on sunday?

Home is whenever I'm with you...who?

Each time I fly into the Indianapolis Airport I’m hardly overwhelmed with a feeling of being home. Though all the collections contrived by my American heritage are housed in this droopy state, the only feelings of excitement come at the thought of my family and food (food that is, of course, not prepared by my family.) My only acquaintances are juvenile playmates or the hobo I occasionally smoke crack with near my dads fire pit, and by hobo I mean my three year old sister and by smoke crack I mean blow-bubbles.

As the seemingly outgoing and friendly person that I glorify myself to be, I find myself lonely and bored, coloring my day by cataloging episodes of the Colbert Report and even reading Aid Watch blogs, secretly wishing I had someone to share these habits with. Perhaps this comes as a result of a over-stimulating year, where I was always preoccupied by censoring my beliefs and T-shirts as I was living in unfamiliar and unwelcoming places, where miscommunications resulted at times in Indian host moms asking forgiveness for your misshapen nan bread in front of a shrine of Blue Gods.

Thinking Beyond Borders should probably include some seminar on “Returning to social situations” or “How to small talk like Gandhi” because I have apparently lost all social ability, never had it in the first place, or I am just a mean person, which isn’t worth disposing of… That knowing your audience thing, when it comes to everything, is totally underrated! My failure to learn this guiding communication skill takes responsibility for my current predicament. This may teeter on sounding like a cry for friends, and it is, but these 5 days of solitude have produced some benefits. I have girlified my room with posters of Justin Beiber and my boyfriend (really, is there really a difference?) and read exactly 37 articles on the Gulf Oil spill.
It’s a shame that the oil in the gulf isn’t the eating kind, cause then it would make frying up sea food that much easier. And have any of you all seen the footage of the oil gushing out of the bottom of the gulf? Well, my first though was that it makes Michael Mores period look like a leaking faucet, and second that Wyclef Jean and Al Gore are about to co-write a song about pelicans and sea turtles. Just saying, I said it was coming…

And in between sticky-tacking my walls and a quest to find local food, I have gone to yoga class to center my clustered life and make my butt look like it did sophomore year of high school (is it too early to make jokes like that?) And each time I walk into my studio I revert back to a memory of myself doing yoga in India.

Highly anticipating taking part in this ancient practice in the land of it’s roots I walked in to my yoga class in India ready to impress the teacher and work away months of too much Chinese food. My teacher couldn’t have looked more different that the blond Barbie doll instructor I go to in Indy; it was a older looking Indian man dressed in a suit with a belly that looked more like Buddha’s than my Barbie yoga guru. Upon entering the class he quickly mocked us for our attire and how it paralleled the West’s butchering of this practice that had been coated with a US stamp of efficiency and had been popularized my Madonna’s butt-hole. In that class we began and middled and ended with sweat-less breathing exercises including one that me and my American yoga friend may have gotten in trouble for. With his thick Indian accent he instructed us to raise our hands up and down while doing some sort of power breath making a “ha” sound which quickly evolved into uncontrollable laughter and confusion on our part where the “ha’s” never seemed to end.

And though I never got the workout I probably needed that day, I still find myself nostalgic about that moment of joy when I walk into yoga and feel more like I’m in a Billy Banks video than a yoga studio. Between the excessive apparel, the blaring hip-hop, and the hot instructor shouting out ancient postures and proverbs like a drill sergeant, something feels slightly, hmm, American about all of this. And I can honestly say, I love it.

When I think of this transition from oh-my-god-the-word-is-so-big life, to oh-my-god-there’s-nothing-to-do life, I need to think more on these terms. To stop obsessing about the particulars of the friends I choose, the food I east, and the crack I smoke, but to embrace these American touches—as the death penalty is still legal in my future home state and who knows the penalties for claiming to be liberal in Texas.

JK Austin, luv yas!

AfriKa-not just a Collection at American Apparel

To all young travelers looking for enlightenment, perspective, or maybe just a lay in the the "Global South" i give you some preemptive advise to avoid the transitional "culture shock"--stop in Plettenberh Bay, South Africa on your way home. It's a dream destination for those who enjoy whipping their asses with gold flacked toilet paper and use their designer cameras to photograph the less fortunate on "township tours." It's a place where the first and third worlds collide and where words like "tolerate" and "seperate" are commonplace in describing their interaction with each other. From their multi-million rand homes mostly vacationing families can see the destitute villages just down the hill, and eye soar, interupting the near perfect view of the Bay. Houses with those high-tech binoculars set on tripods like a telescope point towards the ocean with the hopes of maybe spotting the occasional whale or dolphin, never orientated backwards to get a closer look at the poverty and despair so near. DiSPARITY at its finest. see where i'm going?

I spent my time in two different neighborhoods each with its own set of roofs--one with roofs made of green tile and the other with roofs made of sheet medal and plastic. I always new where i was because of what song subconsciously began to hum--"little boxes on the hill side....", i was near the green roofs. The various writings of Tupac Shakur-- i was in the townships. It's amazing that out of most of the squatter shacks come sounds systems that one would think would exceed the cost of the timber and sheet metal it takes to build the entire structure. I swear if Alicia Keys wrote a song where she explicitly addressed the stigma of HIV/AIDS she would end the pandemic.

I spent my days in Kurland village, a township established the 1970's to by the government to maintain voting power, shadowing a home-based care worker who worked with patients with HIV/AIS, TB and other ailments. We were conducting a survey on the NGO we were working with in order to have accurate numbers of time spent with different category patients so that they could increase funding. I pricked fingers and checked blood pressure, watched as my care worker cleaned feces off of the dead and bathed the dying. I saw hunger and sickness, poor and poorer...until 3 o'clock.

Then i headed into The River Club where i was living with a white single mother who upon giving us a tour of Plett in her BMW informed us that "People really just like their own kind." We ate steak and potatoes and were reintroduced to so many of the comforts that were distantly familiar--hot showers, a pantry, the english language... We would sit around the dinner table at night and tell stories from our days in the townships and my host-mother would respond with, "It's amazing that all of this goes on in my backyard--i had no idea." Ignorance. Misunderstanding. Judgement. Prejudice.

Hotels in the shape of sailboats and water spick-its supporting 20 families. Conversations of literature and travel and wondering if there will be dinner. Bank statements and government grants. Like a haunting tip-toe you can hear the pitter patter of rich, poor, rich poor... side by side yet on different sides of the body. Polarized. Marginalized. Unrealized.

this whole Citizen Cope thing wasn't really intentional but the pattern of misunderstanding made it easier for each side to justify itself, in a way that can be represented through a chain reaction of self-defense.

Im sitting in my NYC hostel semi-thankful for the KFC and ignorance i saw in South Africa. time square isn't as shocking as it would have been. tbc....