In response to sexual assault, UF’s Code of Conduct Needs a Change
Nov. 19, 2017“I’m low-key scared he’s going to sexually assault me.”
“I’m low-key scared he’s going to sexually assault me.”
In 2004, after serving as a college dean for two years, I asked my director of human resources for input on my performance.
When I first read Tom Stoppard’s play, “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead,” I was in what I like to dub the first great existential crisis of my life. It was my senior year of high school and the only thing that gave me any sense of purpose in my life was focusing on college applications. Getting into college — my top choice, specifically — was the only goal I had. After that, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to study or what I wanted to do. I was beginning to realize the be-all and end-all of my high school life was not the be-all and end-all of life.
The saying “Jack of all trades, master of none” might apply to most areas of life, but I don’t believe art is one of them. Out of all the types of skills to have, artistic competency has to be one of the most malleable because of its inclusion of more than simply technical ability. Making broad generalizations about anything creatively done is something worth straying away from, but I think there is something to be said about what makes truly great art.
Up until recently, I thought most classes in college weren’t composed of multiple choice tests. I figured college was a place you got your hands dirty and learned how to deal with real-life material, as you would in your professional field. While my major (journalism) and some others actually do this, I feel most of the majors offered at UF are lacking when it comes to providing students with real world experiences. It’s time we start talking about this.
I’m prone to losing. Just this week, I walked right into a table in Midtown, which left me with a fist-sized bruise on my hip and a drink spilled all over me. I also accidentally texted a screenshot of a conversation to the person I was having that conversation with. I started uncontrollably crying at a Bon Iver concert and, like all of you, watched the Gators lose.
I don’t think the only problem with Richard Spencer is that he is a white supremacist. The problem with Spencer is that he provides a bogus answer to a legitimate and enigmatic question academia has left unexplored: What does it mean to be white in 21st century America?
Last Wednesday, I was at my usual weekly Undergraduate Philosophy Society meeting (shameless plug, check us out on Facebook). That evening, the discussion centered around how we should attempt to understand bullying and how to prevent kids from doing it. Quickly, the group of us recognized the ways in which bullying mirrors — and frequently reflects — different phobias and other bad “-isms” like homophobia, racism, sexism and transphobia.
You may have heard of the term gaslighting. It can happen between supposed friends, between an employee and their superior or in any other relationship. Whether within our own student organizations or on a national scale, it happens every day.
Jamie (which is not the real name of the victim) woke up on the floor next to a couch she didn’t recognize. The party was a few hours old.
It’s been more than a week since a car hit my scooter while I was driving, but I can’t stop replaying the moment in my head. I can still hear the car’s brakes screeching futily. I can still feel the road scraping my hands and my back as I tried to catch myself. I remember looking at one of my best friends, who was riding on the back, with tears and shock in both of our eyes. Gasoline was spewing from the scooter — which my helmet was resting safely inside of.
I don’t know if it’s because the holidays are coming up, or if there’s something in the air, but a large portion of my friends have recently gotten engaged. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s fantastic. Really. I am so happy they found and picked the person they want to be with for the rest of their lives. But at the same time, it has left a lot of my single friends feeling like they don’t have their lives together.
Last week I was applying to an internship at a well-known financial institution when I came across a bizarre portion of the application. Titled “self-identification,” I was asked a series of questions that you’d typically expect on a job application. There was nothing abnormal about the self-identification section until I reached the very bottom of the page where, in my opinion, I was asked an extremely invasive and inappropriate question: “Please indicate your sexual orientation.”
A quick note before we begin: I am by no means a professional in self-help practices nor do I consider myself an expert in mindfulness. Heck, I’m writing this column during my “me time” in between doing my laundry, mentally organizing tomorrow’s agenda and trying to remember the date of my next exam. That aside, I’m going to write this as a message to myself — and anyone else who might need this reminder — about the importance of carving out space and time for oneself each week.
When was the last time you asked someone how they were doing and really meant it?
Our lives are based around two things: circumstance and decisions. Circumstance is everything you can’t control. This is your privilege or your lack thereof. This is the stuff that just happens to you. Were you in the right place at the right time? Circumstance. Then, the rest of your life is made up of decisions. This is everything you actively do. Did you work really hard or not hard enough? Did you take that risk or let it slip through your fingers? These are both decisions.
I am supposed to write about my purpose. That is an odd task, at least in my opinion, to reduce my purpose to one or two single-spaced pages. This implies a multitude of things: one, that I do have a purpose and, two, my purpose is applicable to the exact program and exact situation so I could sum it all up in one or two single-spaced pages.
"In that situation, I did everything right.”
I see you clearing your cookies on your computer to get 10 more free articles for the Sun Sentinel or The Washington Post without having to pay their monthly subscription, and for a while I was like you. I get it, you don’t have the money to pay $5 a month for news, so you cheat the system. It makes sense, but you’re hurting the very institution that you count on for reliable news, and it’s time we started supporting newspapers. They need us.
Over the past several months, Americans across the country have taken it upon themselves to destroy, deface and rewrite American history with the removal of historical statues and monuments. Virtually unchallenged, this small segment of the public has attempted to bully fair-minded citizens into accepting a new American reality: one without our Founding Fathers.