One hundred years ago nobody heard about the news or current events from Facebook or the newest tweet. Until fairly recently the most up to date news had to be heard through the grapevine or read in a newspaper. Since the creation of the internet and the mass media that comes with it, information can now be spread all the way across the world in the time it takes to hit the enter button on a computer or phone and upload it to the internet. Some people think that this is a bad thing because so many things that are uploaded can be either false information or simply information that is misleading and could teach individuals the wrong thing. However, if mass media is used in the right way it can be beneficial to the accessibility of valuable information,
The C-47 circled over New River Marine Corps Air Station in Jacksonville, North Carolina. It had been over a year since any aircraft had flown over the air station. Ten minutes later the aircraft rolled up to the terminal where Lieutenant General Patrick and his staff, to include Colonel Flat and the Seal Team Commander, Lieutenant Williams waited. Within minutes Brigadier General John Clayton and Colonel March popped out of the plane to greet the men, five later President Washington stepped out of the aircraft to the Marine Corps band playing hail-to-the-chief.
Information is spoon fed to individuals. An illusion of choice is present; people can always choose the news station they watch, but which station, if any, has the most accurate information? Social media and television create opinions for people so they can sit back and accept the ludicrous concepts as their own. Post are composed of current political events such as gay marriage and police brutality, but the repetition is obvious; it’s evident that the opinions are derived from others without true original thoughts or consideration on the matter. Thoughts are crammed down the throats of the people, and the people willingly accept and adopt them.
Mr. Stephen King and the creator of “10 Rules for Effective Writing” have constructed a sensational amount of advice that I believe should be referred to often. When Mr. King elaborates on the quality of his writing by allowing the audience a story of his life to enhance the interest of his readers. He describes how his son loved watching Clarence Clemons’ play his saxophone and then he demanded the opportunity to play the saxophone. After seven months of playing Mr. Stephen King noticed that his son’s behavior had change, as well as his enthusiasm. He would only play when accompanied by the music teacher, the music was no longer about fun, but rehearsal and repetition of the material.
Another day was so much like the one before, and the many before that. He walked the house and grounds, slowly, letting time pass as it must. Alone, present but not present, for can one truly be there if no one knows of it? Like the saying he’d heard more than once over the unmeasured time of his existence: If a tree falls in the forest but no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound? He ambled through the back yard, pausing under the tree from which he’d been hanged, cursing his tormentors, vowing to haunt them for all time.
The reader is fed information that is very likely to be fabricated, unsupported by evidence, or exaggerated simply to provoke emotional response and neglect the intellectual content of a news story. Nowadays, the majority of people in America have access to the Internet so I find the assumption to be accurate that we have all fallen victim to misinformation and unsupported online blogs. I’m sure we’ve even been baited into clicking on a story or video that seems very interesting, but is actually about or contains something completely different. This makes us frustrated and leaves us feeling as though we’ve been used in some way and left with nothing to show for it. The problem is that consumers of the media aren’t being supplied with high quality and accurate information in our news, we’re constantly given rushed stories lacking any form of validation.
This month we are going to discover Wild West. So we are flying to San Francisco in a few hours (or we are already there depending on when you are reading this). We (Gerald & I) are excited to experience the unspoiled beauty of Yosemite, the deadly heat of Death Valley, the special canyons of the Virgin River in Zion, unparalleled color spectacle of a sunset in Bryce Canyon and the fathomless depths of the Grand Canyon. Taste the history of buccaneers and adventurers on Route 66 and Highway 1 and relax on the beaches of San Simeon and Monterey on the Pacific Ocean. Meet the friendly Americans 'good old ' San Francisco and Los Angeles, and try our luck in Las Vegas.
In the United States, we have a constitutional right to having mass media. If someone chooses to be well informed they have multiple choices to get their facts from, they even have options to check what they’ve been told. For us this is normal stuff, so much that some people don’t even pay attention to what’s happening around the country, we take it for granted. In the Soviet Union, they didn’t have mass media, mostly because the primary means of news was the radio as most people in the country didn’t have a television. The news that they did receive through the radio or the newspaper was controlled by their government.
Upon the swallowing waves, over the boat came, descending madly as it crashed upon bricks of water. Sea foam pelted at the sailors like bullets, fire billowed from the mast as those scrambled upon their last dredges of life to protect themselves. The last of the mast came crashing into the water. Far beyond, waves lapped at the edges of sandy beach. Fog rolled swiftly over the rustling palm trees, weaving low upon the ground as the passings of a storm began to reach the island.
The Outsiders Sequel When I turned in my essay, my English teacher looked at my work in surprise. He flipped through my 7 pages of writing, and then set it on his desk. He said I could leave for the day, and that he would grade it as soon as he could. It was almost four o’clock, and Darry would kill me if I didn’t come home by four thirty.
He turned the corner, across the street should have been Mr. Charrington’s shop, but all that stood there now was a mass of rumble and charred timbers. Rocket bombs, he thought, They rocket bombed this whole street. Looking down the block he noticed here and there other buildings in the same state as the shop. His eyes returned to what remained of Charrington’s shop, and standing with her back to him in front of the rumble, was Julia. Certainly her waist had gotten thicker, her skin sallower—so had his—but it was becoming easier and easier to recognize her from the back as he once did.
A large figure with a long, but blunt snout, maroon-ish fur, and large teeth, sat atop his throne of the dead remains of his victims. He had piercing amber eyes, and gigantic white paws with the same colored underbelly. The animal, more specifically a wolf, glared angrily down at one of his subjects kneeling before him. “You're far too weak!
Society expect to be constantly entertained; they have become so concerned with things such as who the latest star is dating, scandals, or dumb people doing rather idiotic things. Much of society have been consumed in their personal instant gratification and what makes them “happy”. When on an off chance that news does show things that are serious and impactful(not necessarily positive things that is happening in the world) people have become so numb that the best they could do is feel sympathetic and at worst continue on with their day. The other part of the problem is that those behind what is being published and shown on the news media have been absorbed in their avarice nature, whatever allows them to make as much profit they do. “Writing thousands of hours of coverage from what could have been summarized in a couple of minutes every few weeks, a new rhetorical strategy was developed, or-let’s be generous-evolved”(6), Saunders describes the new formula formed by mass news firms that would yield the most profit.
We’re sitting in his dorm room at what was his first-choice college, and he looks small below this high, impersonal ceiling. He smells like cigarettes instead of laundry; he is surrounded by Diet Coke cans and dirty clothes instead of books. In the dim light, Che Guevara squints from his poster at the wall above our heads. Speaking slowly, this boy I do not quite know chooses his words in an uncharacteristically arbitrary manner. My responses are detached, and we slip into a resigned silence, reading on opposite sides of his bed as the night wears on.
It was a sunny hot day, and the sun was burning me. I had butterflies in my stomach. when I got closer to my biggest fear, I thought more about whether or not I really wanted to do this. My sister and I slowly got in to the hot red seat and grabbed the burning and wet handle that would soon be protecting us in the seat that would bring us through the horrible, insane, terrible roller coaster ride called the deadly beast which i advise you should never ride. I was like a small little ant about to be face to face with the biggest animal out there.
