Ever since the inception of dystopian fiction, it has been a common trend to point at the direction a country is going in and liken it to a fictional dystopia better left in print. By far and large, the most common dystopia used in these comparisons is the one in George Orwell’s “1984.”
I’ll be the first to admit it. I tend to think New Year’s resolutions are a bunch of malarkey — and thank you, Joe Biden, for popularizing that expressive phrase. By Jan. 10, I’ve forgotten half the goals I’ve set for myself, and then I begin to hate the other half of the vague intentions I’ve set. (e.g. “Really, Mia? You wanted to ‘worry less’ this year? And how are you going to accomplish that?”)
Let’s talk about respect. For many people, college is the first time they find themselves amid a diverse population, expected to communicate their ideas in a meaningful way. The critical exchange of ideas is how we grow, and if respect is the compass with which we navigate these interactions, I think it is vital to take a closer look.
There is a very strong consensus that 2016, quite frankly, sucked. Maybe folks are blaming it on the massive political overturns happening across the world (including both Brexit and the U.S. presidential race) or the devastating acts of violence that occurred last year. Maybe it was the staggering number of influential celebrities that left us in 2016 or the fact that the globe mourned a gorilla for way too long. Maybe it was the sudden influx of creepy clowns lurking in people’s neighborhoods (seriously, what the heck was that one?). Regardless, there’s no denying that 2016 was an eventful year, but it was not necessarily eventful in a good way.
The other night I was biting my nails at a party. I was trying not to step outside and bum a cigarette. It had been five days since I last smoked. I had felt proud of myself earlier in the day, but the familiar feeling of intense craving welled up the second I stepped into the dimly lit apartment. Now, one hour into the soiree, sipping my second rum and coke, I was exhausted with small talk. I didn’t want to discuss my major, my post-graduation plans or my summer internship. I grimaced at the faux-floral stink of the scented candle in the corner, downed my cocktail and stepped onto the balcony. I saw a portly guy with a scraggly brown beard puffing away at a cigarette. I tried to play it cool.
I’m going to go ahead and get the sappy cliches out of the way: All good things must come to an end. The end is just the start of another beginning. Don’t cry because it’s over; smile because it happened.
Hi, everyone, it’s Zach Lee here, taking off the editorial mask to speak to you all directly one last time here in The Independent Florida Alligator. That being said, the following views are my own, not those of the Alligator.
Two years ago, I walked into the office of the Alligator on West University Avenue to take the copy-editing test. The copy desk chief at the time sat me in a small wood-paneled office that held rows of shelves lined with tall black books: about half of the archives of a student paper that’s been around for 110 years. Thankfully, I passed that test.
It was here I fell in love with my craft, my college and my colleagues, and it was here I realized journalism is far from over.
I don’t recall how or why I started watching “Black Mirror” and “Westworld;” only that I began both in an attempt to distract myself from finals week and was immediately hooked. Much like my introduction to “Game of Thrones” a few years ago, as soon as I began binging these shows, I found that everyone around me was talking about them, obsessing over fan theories and expressing the discomfort these fictional worlds instilled in them. Warning: spoilers ahead.
For many students, a typical walk to class consists of a sigh of remorse and the comfort of sweet melodies seeping through some Apple headphones. With eyes locked on the pavement below, students make their walk in straight lines, firm in their mission to avoid confrontation by any means possible.
As college students of the 21st century, we’re stuck in that weird place between a longing for nostalgia and anticipation of tomorrow’s technology via futurism. Perhaps one of the most hysterical and disturbingly beautiful products of this emotionally grappling crossroad is Simpsonwave.
In the aftermath of many months of planning, I’m both exhausted and exhilarated.
On Sunday, the Dakota Access pipeline saga finally came to an end.
A big — as in HUGE — editorial is needed concerning the outrageous sums Accent Speakers Bureau pays to speakers. The $80,000 that will go to Arianna Huffington is just the latest outrage. (I'm a liberal so my objection is not political.)
It’s become increasingly common for reboots, remakes and sequels to be produced for films and series that were created in the recent past.
Well, dear readers, the end is near. The end of the semester, that is. To those of you who are graduating, congratulations! I hope from the bottom of my heart that life treats you well and that you accomplish everything you hope to. To those of you who are not graduating, good luck on finals, and I’ll see you right back here on this page next year! For my last column of the year, I’d like to not focus on endings but, rather, beginnings.
You’re sitting in the doctor’s office, waiting with anticipation for Dr. Pepper to come in to treat you. After what feels like an eternity, he finally knocks on the door and lets himself in. “So, you’ve been cut in half. Vertically. How you were even able to do anything apart from bleed out on the floor, let alone get up, schedule a doctor’s appointment and attend this appointment, is nothing short of a miracle. Frankly, everything I know about medicine has been undermined by your survival.” You stare blankly at him, then despite your larynx literally being severed in half, manage to shout out “God damn it Doc, speak English! How much time do I have left to live?” Shocked you’re even able to reply, he stutters, “A few minutes, I think? Once again, you’ve literally been split down the middle.” “Oh thank God,” you mutter, spitting blood everywhere. “Just enough time to read the only thing worth living for,
When news of Fidel Castro’s death broke out, the reaction of the Cuban community was one of elation. Cuban-Americans danced and sang in the streets, celebrating the death of a dictator who had divided their families, forced them into exile and, in many cases, imprisoned and executed some of their closest friends and relatives.
For this entire calendar year, Reddit, “the front page of the internet,” has been waging a secret war on one of its most popular and active subreddits: The Donald. Created around the time of President-elect Donald Trump’s presidential bid announcement, this community of brave souls who were courageous enough to proclaim themselves pro-Trump on a website as public as Reddit started off small, with only about 6,000 subscribers after its first six months of existence. Then, sometime around February, an inexplicable spike in subscribers was initiated and has yet to show signs of slowing down. Now with more than 300,000 subscribers, or “centipedes” as they are called on the subreddit, The Donald has become one of the most cohesive, discussion-based and meme-making subreddits in the website’s history.
Solutions by The State News
