UF journalism department interim chair welcomes you back
By Harrison Hove | Jan. 12UF journalism department interim chair welcomes you back.
UF journalism department interim chair welcomes you back.
Harvey Ward welcomes students to Gainesville.
A staff writer for The Independent Florida Alligator committed an act of apparent journalistic fabrication in a recent story about UF eating disorder support resources. A recording the reporter provided of their conversation with the pediatrician — used during our pre-publication fact-check — is now assumed to be fabricated.
Since I stepped foot on campus as a sports journalism major, I knew I wanted to work for the largest student-run independent newspaper in the country. What I didn’t know was how much The Alligator would shape me into the person I am today.
As I enter my junior year, I am on the cusp of finishing my last two laps before victory — graduation. Yet, when I look in the rearview mirror, I can already see what I'll be leaving behind.
The Independent Florida Alligator is looking for its next team of reporters, editors, photographers and more for the Spring semester.
In all the movies I’ve seen about college, classes have always seemed so magical. I imagined myself sitting in a lecture hall surrounded by classmates and listening to my professor teach as I took notes.
The end of Fall semester means the holidays are coming, and flu season is here.
My past travels and friendships across cultures inspired me to pursue this path, and with all my work documents submitted, everything seemed conclusive. What could go wrong? Well, everything — only because of my birthplace of Puerto Rico.
In a world saturated with sexual narratives, the absence of sexual desire can be perplexing. But asexuality, defined as having little to no sexual attraction or sexual desire, is a valid sexual orientation that is frequently neglected in public and professional conversations, making it an "invisible orientation.”
After a long week filled with two exams and countless assignments, it would be an understatement to say I was excited to see my parents. Although my mom visited me two weeks ago, I hadn’t seen my parents together since August.
My grandfather told me I should carry my papers — just in case.
Imagine our surprise when we entered the theater and saw a high-tech, dystopian, grungy and futuristic set.
Each time, the goal was identical: remove the queers. Remove our organizations, remove our history from the narrative, remove any physical space which attests to our presence in the population.
I can almost picture it like it was yesterday: My best friend and I snuggled under our covers, watching “The Summer I Turned Pretty” over Teleparty the summer after our freshman year of high school.
My twin sister, who is two minutes younger than me, does not look anything like me. But we still share that bond allowing us to win at any team game that requires knowing things.
Three hundred sixty-six total yards. Almost 40 minutes of possession. Twenty-three first downs. And yet, the scoreboard read LSU: 20, Florida: 10.
Before arriving at UF, I never truly understood the thrill of college game day. My parents were never particularly big football fans, let alone college football. Even though I grew up in Miami, I only went to one University of Miami football game (don’t worry, I believe orange goes much better with blue than green), and even then, the atmosphere wasn’t as impressive as what I have already experienced here.
Women want a feminist who pays for stuff.
I don’t know you. But I want to give you advice.