Post 3

The media, its not what it seams to be. Back in the 80s, there was at least 50 “owners” now that number has come down to 6. The six are; ime Warner, Walt Disney, Viacom, Rupert Murdoch's News Corp., CBS Corporation and NBC Universal.

It is not the fact that there are not enough owners of the media in The United States, it’s the fact that these 6 owners control what we the audience see in terms of television show, radio shows and especially advertisement. They basically have a lock and can control what we buy and can stir our interests because they can advertise anything through commercials or even product placement.

The same owner owns all TV stations and radio stations we listen and watch regularly and we the audience I am sure most likely have never even realized that. The fact that there is a single owner for most of the media is that they have they have the power to brainwash us to have the same view as them.

As the new generation is growing up, they are realizing that most of the news companies are not able to be trusted. For example, I know many people who hate to watch Fox news or read a certain newspaper because they know that the certain news group is bias against certain ideas. Basically at the end of the day, like every American business, concept, theory, etc. it is all about making money even if it isn’t the honest and moral way. 

How to Get Famous in Six Seconds

ME.

Still from my short film, Holly Rose (below).

w h a t    I ' m    a l l    a b o u t

My name is Rudy Mancuso, and I am a 21-year-old college student with a semester left to graduate. Hopefully. If I pass this class. I am currently majoring in Video Production and Music, and couldn't be happier doing so. My interests revolve around being an aspiring filmmaker, musician, and natural artisan; most prominently, I am a media-maker. Whether it be through short films, music videos, promos, comedic shorts, film scoring, composing, editing, recording, singing, or anything...I simply love to create. 

          

I made this 90-second short about 7 months ago (2012), utilizing individuals and recourses from none other than the Rutgers Newark campus itself (including locations, narration, actors, etc.). It pretty much wraps up what I love to do in its 90 seconds. It's entitled, Holly Rose. 

          

I've started my own independent production company about a year back, and have been pretty successful thus far. I plan to ultimately succeed in the independent filmmaking industry/music-production business, maybe by creatively combining both mediums within my work (as I attempted to do in Holly Rose).

VINE.

8 5    d a y s    a g o ,    t h i s    s t a r t e d

For those who don't know, Vine is a fairly new (1/13) Twitter-owned mobile application that gives users the ability to post looping 6-second videos clips. It's been often called the "Instagram of video". The app, as assumed, was quick to explode through mobile users across the globe (including numerous celebrities), within months. With the creative revival of stop-motion art, clever narrative shorts, comedic skits, and more, Vine began to (and continues to) offer a truly engaging, interesting, entertaining, and innovative "on-the-spot" social network app experience. 

About three months ago, I naturally decided to download the app. I was instantly hooked as I found myself watching random users' video clips daily. It wasn't until a few weeks in, however, that I decided to make my first official "vine". It was a fairly effortless idea, where I simply put on a silly Spanish accent, and spun into different outfits. It can be seen by visiting the link placed in the subheading above (labeled "t h i s"). After that I made another. Then another. Then a few with my sweet Brazilian mother. Then some more. I progressively began getting "likes" on the videos; both from random users as well as friends who had also downloaded the app. It wasn't until I uploaded my "Lion King" video, however, that my phone began to explode. With one simple, idiotic idea, I received over 1,000 likes in about an hour. From then on, an abundance of "followers" tackled my app's account, and continued to grow exponentially. 

The sort-of popular clips did not seem to impress me in any significant way, until the recognition went a step further. Before I knew it, celebrities (Simon Rex, Andy Milinokis, Riff Raff, Dane Cook, Bob Saget, Josh Peck, etc.), the creators of the app itself, and notable producers were noticing these six-second creations. Not only was I receiving tons of notifications, emails, and advertisement offers, but many other users began recreating my videos, ultimately triggering my own hashtag: #rudymancuso. There was even a YouTube video cerated in my honor, which can be seen here. Although I still didn't think much of the occurrences, and was even a little upset at the fact that I was receiving so much recognition for effortless videos (as opposed to my more work-oriented, legitimate work), I eventually began to perceive the sudden "vine-fame" with a newly-adopted marketing mindset. 

THE PLAN.

      

w h a t    I    c a n    d o    w i t h    a l l    o f    t h i s 

As I watched my number of followers grow at an exponential rate, I came to the conclusion that I may finally be able to utilize this "following" to my advantage. As a media-maker, I would be stupid not to throw my work at an already-established audience of almost 100,000 active users, many of which are important people in the entreatment, film, and music industry (which directly relates to my ultimate goal). So, I proceeded to do a test. I decided to link my fairly unpopular Vimeo page on my Vine profile. Before I knew it, videos of mine that had little to no views or likes, were in the thousands in no time (which, for Vimeo standards, is a considered a whole lot). 

I truly began to realize what kind of content sells in today's day and age, and what sparks interest in today's media-driven world. It is almost ironic that after years of working hard to create original material, it's my crude, immature, six-second, Iphone-produced videos that get recognition by hundreds of thousands of people around the world. Will the hype of the new app ultimately die out? Of course. Will my internet success lead to something more significant? Maybe. Am I going to rely on the popular app as a "pseudo-job"? Nope. Will I do what I can to get my original material out there, even if it means directing the Vine audience towards it? Absolutely.  

      

Growing Pains

My video explores the intersection of race, sexuality, and masculinity among young gay men of color (specifically Blacks and Latinos living in urban areas).  It is imperative to highlight the struggles of these men because gay men of color suffer in silence due to their invisibility in a white patriarchal society.  Moreover, the white gay community is overwhelmingly represented while the Blacktino gay community is underrepresented not only in mainstream media but also within gay-generated culture as well.  As a gay man of color, I feel very strongly about this topic because it is essentially autobiographical; my experiences growing up and the need for men like me to talk about our issues are the fuel behind this project.

The title of this short documentary is Growing Pains, and it will highlight the experiences of several different gay men of color. Jason, a gay Chicano from Los Angeles, CA; Matthew, a genderqueer Latin@ from Weehawken, NJ; Karron, an African-American gay male currently living in Providence, Rhode Island will be the primary focus of the documentary. In addition to them, several other males will be speaking about their experiences (including myself). 

The main inspirations for this documentary were a collection of poems by Essex Hemphill entitled Ceremonies, an anthology called For Colored Boys Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow Still Isn’t Enough, and the independent documentary Paris is Burning.  Hemphill is the voice of every gay boy from the hood who’s ever dreamt of flying; his poetry is naked, raw, and honest and unabashedly proud in it’s message of Black gay power.  Boykin’s anthology tells the stories of dozens of gay men who have been scarred by rape, religion, and repression. Lastly, Paris is Burning is a living memory of the ball scene of the late 80s and early 90s where gay men of color lived out fairy tales for a night. These are all important aspects of gay culture unique to gay people of color that have contributed to the mainstream mosaic of American media. Many scenes from Paris are included in the documentary to give historical context to queer identities.

The crux of this documentary is to empower gay men of color to speak out about their lives, to advance in the identity and expression of the urban gay experience, and to demonstrate the lack of representation in the media. Although catered to gay men of color, this documentary will be educate people of all creeds and colors.

I present to you a trailer of what I want my documentary to look like.

REFERENCES

Paris is Burning
For Colored Boys Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow Still Isn’t Enough
Ceremonies
CNN
The Cincinnati Enquirer

Semester Project

Singer-songwriter Tom Waits said it best: “Life’s so different than it is in your dreams...”

The struggle to find yourself and decide what kind of person you’re going to be is hard enough. In today’s fast track world it’s harder still--especially with a barrage of media attacking on all fronts: Including the world-wide web, advertisements, movie, t.v., radio, magazines, news, and mobile devices. It’s everywhere you look. 

Whether you realize it or not, the media plays a significant role in shaping who we are as a people and as individuals. It’s through our interactions with the media and with our family and friends that we build our personalities, beliefs, and ideals--even our identity and sense of self. While much of what goes into our inner cells is hard-wired before the age of seven, the rest is ultimately decided by what we choose to subscribe to. As Paul Simon put it: “The man hears what he wants to hear, and disregards the rest...” 

But even so, it’s easy to get overwhelmed--especially when you’re about to graduate college, step out into “the real world,” and carve yourself out a piece of territory. It’s a notoriously tough time for everybody, and we all get a little jaded. 

For my semester project I’ve written a nearly 2,000 word poem touching on these themes of disillusionment and disenchantment that come with adolescence and the first early years of adulthood. To do this I’ve researched poets from the beat generation, including Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg, as well as other notable poets like Charles Bukowski--who spoke on similar grounds in their work.     

 

My message is simple: You should try to decide what kind of person you are and live by your own moral compass. Don’t let superficialities, majority opinion, or cunning manipulative tactics through media, or otherwise, dictate who you are.   

Sources:

Ginsberg, Allen. Howl And Other Poems. San Francisco: City Lights Books, 1956,1959. 

Print.

Kerouac, Jack. On The Road. New York: Penguin Books, 1955, 1957.

Print.

Kerouac, Jack. Mexico City Blues. New York: Grove Press, 1959.

Print.

Bukowski, Charles. Love Is A Dog From Hell. New York: HarperCollins, 1977.

Print.

Bukowski, Charles. Factotum. New York: HarperCollins, 1975.

Print. 

Cummings, E.E. Erotic Poems. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 2010.

Print.

Snarling With Flame

By Scott Nisley

For Fran Valdez

I

There was magic all around us in those days. Without fear of ridicule or judgement we roamed beneath the jeweled blue skies of our youth knowing the answers to life’s riddles--believing we were prophets among fools, seers among madmen...And though the candlelight of childhood has burned away and been swept clean with the ashes of time, you can still catch a glimpse of it on those hypo-manic days in Spring when the sun hangs low in the evening, as shadows gather darkness in the street, and light bounces off every window in town. You can almost see yourself down by the schoolyard kicking up dirt on the playgrounds of a past life--watching the familiar battles wage lost and won--a young girl’s shadow dancing in the sun. Were we so mad to think we knew what life was all about? Were we the fools all along? Fool enough to scale the rooftops undercover of Friday night darkness? Mad enough to tiptoe up the fire escapes--the iron cobwebs that seemed to hang on by a thread? Crazy enough to take off roaring down the parkway at a hundred and twenty to the sound of beating drums and wailing guitars in the improvisational night? Just like Kerouac and Cassidy before us, we had the long highway of life and all its promise stretched out in front of us--ablaze with fire! And we chased it across filthy madhouse New Jersey from the anonymous beer-soaked basements of New Brunswick to the ancient jukebox halls of Hoboken--even to the jagged salt-scarred rocks along the shores of Ocean Grove and Asbury Park--all the while our heads clouded by the fog of marijuana and the spark of an impossible dream...And maybe it was that dream that kept us going--that kept the fire alive. When did we lose sight of it? Was it was on that darkened stretch of midnight road when we finally rested our eyes and lost faith--when reality finally caught us sleeping at the wheel? Threw us harpooning into the belly of that massive sixteen-wheeler--spinning out screaming across the expanse into this life or the next? We lived through it, but somehow the magic was gone. Suddenly the friendships of old began to thin and dissipate with the smoke of passing years--eroding away like the forlorn beaches along the coast. And all the girlfriends we knew and loved so well--whose hearts had danced with ours behind a bedroom lock--began to fade away like the embers of a cigarette’s dying glow until they disappeared from memory.  

II

Do you remember what it was like to fall in love? Do you remember those soft summer days--breaking free of youth’s sapling tree--and being carried by the wind, on the wings of infinity?  Do you remember those warm summer nights that nearly stood still--for the first time discovering the ecstasy of flesh on flesh, of skin on skin, lips pressed to lover’s lips? The way her breasts, sweetly soft and immense with fruit, gently ached for the caress of rough hands, the moistened kiss of quickening tongue--as you paddled down her fleshly streams, her rivers of skin? How her anaconda legs would writhe and squeeze at the mouth of her darkened thicket jungle? And Inside!--Her midnight flower wet with dew, the sea to which all her rivers flowed? And your parched lips thirsting to drink from out that sea, did drink as two souls sewed together into the fabric of the hollow darkness--waiting only for that leap of fire, the exploding spark of inevitability...Was it all just illusion? Infatuation? A dream from which you had to awake? All those trembling nights drawing each other close and talking for hours within the calming flutter of a whisper and the cool of a lucid dream? They will try but the poets and writers and artists of this world will never find the words to truly capture that flash of serendipity in an orgasm. It is a transcendental feeling that can never be said in prose or verse. One must feel it for themselves. Feel that coiled spark of lightning--that earthquake shaking loose the tectonic plates of the soul--that pulsating stampede of furious ecstasy--perhaps it is the ultimate crossroads, that place where everything meets and parts. Where life and death, love and hate, creativity and waste share the same bed sheets for an hour’s time, or longer, on some frail and drunken night. The orgasm is the ultimate drug, the ultimate high, the ultimate release, and the eternal ache for which there is no cure. Only age, and time, and rust bring that cycle to a wane. And whether fueled by love of the absence of love, there is no other feeling like it.  

III

For now this is a strange and desperate life and no one can help you through it. No one can help you cope. No one can help you find love or happiness, or free you from the chains of addiction and self-destruction that you cling to so tightly, sabotaging your own success. All the psychotherapy, self-help seminars, and AA meetings in the world, and you can still be a fuck-up—just another miserable twenty-something living off your parent’s income. Humping the infinite money card again and again for a pack of smokes and a bottle of booze as long as they put up with it. Don’t think, just drink. Let go for now. Let weary eyes rest cemented shut and sweet siren’s words entrance and hypnotize. Let it seep into your veins--bleed into the dead seas that wither aching for its divine enraptured kiss. How marvelous is the drink that kills ambition’s dream! Why fight it? Let it attack, let it saturate! Let it warp your brain, distort your thought, frighten and confront you--till the pale and shrunken face in the mirror staring back is no longer yourself, but a stranger. And those stranger’s eyes wild and mad with saltwater fear--and that stranger’s mouth foaming sick with laughter...there will be nothing left to take away. But there will always be another drink. When all the girlfriends, relatives, and confidants have given up and left you to drown sinking in self-pity, there will be another drink close within your grasp. And it will be like the warm comfort of a hand stretched across a cold hollow shoulder.

IV

We are all alone in this life. We are all quiet men leading lives of quiet desperation in the grime of a tavern till two A.M. and judgement day--staring behind flat, gray, swollen eyes. We are all jaded women living in jaded fear of every shadow and every creeping thing that moves in the night--of every prowling jaguar ready to pounce and rupture our precious flowers. We are all isolated and wired on caffeine--alienated from our husbands and wives, lovers and brothers, friends and daughters, and even from ourselves. We see only what we want to see, hear only what we want to hear, and ignore the rest. Like the bums on the street, we once brightly burned with promise, but left tossed to the curb to be forgotten. We are all burned out, spent, and decaying in the gutter like wet rags. Our schools teach us to be big fat winners, but never tell us about the losers, the depressed, the anxious, and the insecure. Never tell us about the weak and vulnerable--the eggshell souls--the empty shards of a life living day and night longing for love and companionship. All the beggars, thieves, and prostitutes in all the cities of the world hustling to make a buck on street corners, in alleyways, and whorehouses are no better, and no worse--no more right or wrong than the rest of us--just living one day at a time. And yet we’re told to shave our beards and dress in three-piece suits--wear makeup and high-heeled shoes--hide our true selves behind superficialities to fit mediocrity’s mold.

V

Most of us like to believe in a life after this one. A life with more answers than questions to keep us up at night. But as far as anyone knows, we only have one chance to get it right. One chance to walk through the fire and come out on the other side unscathed. Sometimes it feels as if we’ve stumbled around the same streets and sewers for an eternity. And sometimes it feels as if the battle has only just begun.Young or old, the choice remains the same: Either we grasp the reigns and start guiding our own destiny, or we fumble staggering like a shooting star--snarling with flame into perfect oblivion. This is not a rehearsal, not a rough draft, there are no second chances. This day, this hour, and this minute pass but once. And even at our best when we walk a little taller, the rest is up to the whims  of wind and weather. All we can really hope for is to try to get it right. This may mean letting go the crutches that nearly hold us at our feet. It may mean falling down on the cold pavement of a strange town. It may mean standing alone in the face of laughter and ridicule. It may mean exposing a piece of your heart for another to see--or the fear squirming in the whites of our eyes. So much of our lives we spend lying in wait. Waiting for what? For the next drink, the next time we fall in love and share a salmon sunset of a kiss in tiny corner of the bedroom sky? The next sinking stone of a moon, and the next rising Phoenix of a sun? The next time darkness falls and we withdraw alone again into the abyss, to roam the restless streets of the mind--waiting? So much time waiting for sparks to strike, for rusted gears to spin. It’s in those fractured moments of pain and those trigger-happy moments of joy that we really live and breathe and know we are alive--as we wait for that fire to burn again. 

Westfield, 2013

Women in Journalism

Women, today are still left behind men when it comes to journalism and many others industires. a gender bias still exists when people decide who they are going to listen to and read about in the newspaper. Bylines are still dominated by men, and woman are left in their shadows. Unless stories have to do with fashion or food, a womans name most likely won't appear as much as a mans name will.

Society today still picks men over women becuase they are the more dominate race and women are seen as the weaker sex. Do people still believe women belong inside the house being a house wife? Possibly. But, fortunately for us, there have been many women in journalism who have paved the way for up and coming female journalists. They have started at the very bottom and worked their way up to the top despite the rejection they got along the way. Competing side by side with men and still being able to be recognized for all of their acomplishments.

A group called Journalism & Women Symposium, also known as JAWS, was created with one soul purpose, “JAWS supports the professional empowerment and personal growth of women in journalism and works toward a more accurate portrayal of the whole society.”

http://www.jaws.org/about/



Women In Journalism

 Resources:

http://msmagazine.com/blog/2011/02/10/why-theres-gender-bias-in-media-and-what-we-can-do-about-it/
http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/wonkblog/wp/2012/11/25/why-did-women-do-so-well-in-2012-because-gender-bias-is-declining/
http://www.ted.com/talks/megan_kamerick_women_should_represent_women_in_media.html