A lot of knowledge can be packed into the tiny text boxes of Twitter — this sentence alone is less than 140 characters from start to finish.
We’ll start off with some trivial internet culture stories. Zoo Miami humanely euthanized one of their gorillas this week — their 49-year-old matriarch, Josephine, the grandmother of internet-sensation Harambe. Really, 2017? You’re going to hit us with that right off the bat? Please, internet, don’t turn this one into a 6-month-long meme. Thankfully, Josephine was laid to rest peacefully after years of failing health. But we throw a dart at the universe for setting 2017 off with another gorilla death just as we begged it for no more shenanigans.
Picture the National Baseball Hall of Fame as the expensive flower vase that sits in your mom’s living room.
Welcome to another discussion about the potential dystopian fate of the U.S. Last week, we discussed how the nation combines elements of a Huxleyan and Orwellian dystopia — a mix of gratification and censorship. This is all completely hypothetical, of course,
The Alligator sports department welcomed five new staffers this week. As sports editor, it was my job to hire them. And while I’m confident the folks we brought in will do well here, I noticed an unsettling trend in many of the applications.
Walking through this city, one notices quite a few places of business that, more than any others, scream “Gainesville.” Satchel’s Pizza, Maude’s Cafe and the Hippodrome State Theatre are among the most well-known of these hyper-local joints. Though much of the city is structured around UF, if you want to get a look at the real Gainesville, you need to step beyond the comforts of campus and frequent the wide array of small, local businesses Gainesville has to offer. Sure, we’re no big city like Atlanta or San Francisco, but there is a unique flavor to Gainesville — a combination of small-town America and big-name campus — and the businesses and events that make it a one-of-a-kind city.
When I was a kid, listening to music was an escape from the mundane. There was nothing I loved more than sitting in the back seat for a long drive with my headphones on. I found myself moved by catchy melodies and guitars. I loved rock ‘n’ roll so much, I wanted to play the guitar myself. My dad bought me a small, no-name nylon-string acoustic at the guitar shop where I signed up to take weekly lessons. The first time I picked up that cheap instrument, I was disappointed to learn that playing the guitar wasn’t something I could do naturally. I didn’t understand how the thing worked. Once I started taking lessons, I found that practicing was boring and painful.
Like fish that don’t know they’re in water, we don’t often think about how the structure of our world shapes our behavior. This week I’d like to take a look at how capitalism affects the way we measure value. To do that, we’ll first travel to the art world.
On Sunday afternoons, the TV was on.
Martin Luther King Jr., the 1963 March on Washington, “I have a dream”: We’re all familiar with the story. Every third Monday in January, we observe and honor the man who fought racism and paved the way for civil rights — at least, this is what most can say about him. It’s not a bad description, by any means. It’s quite beautiful, actually. The thing is, that tweet-length description of King’s legacy is incomplete. Grossly incomplete. King wasn’t simply this saintly fi gure we’ve come to martyrize: the “Santa Claus-ifi cation” of King, as renowned social-justice activist Cornel West describes. Close your eyes for a minute and conjure your image of King. You’ll likely imagine that August day when King stood before hundreds of thousands of people and told the world about his dream: one of the greatest moments in our country’s history,
Students of UF and Gainesville residents: I have something to reveal to you. It’s something I’ve spent a lot of time refl ecting on, and it’s something I’ve only spoken of to a few close friends. It’s rather personal, so I hope I don’t make you too uncomfortable when I come clean. I made a realization over Winter Break; people who cared about me confronted me and made clear that I needed to look within myself if I was ever going to be content. I need to be open about this. I am an automaton. I’m not quite a robot in the traditional sense, but I’m far from a golem. The word robot usually implies advanced machinery or complicated electronics. In reality, I’m steam-powered, and there are fewer ones and zeros and more levers and gears. That’s not to say I’m not relatable. I’m just like any other student, despite my leadfi lled veins and spring-loaded spinal cord. I love taking walks around campus. I love Century Tower; there’s one bell in particu
As college students, we think we’re immortal. Not in the “guzzles-a-four-pack-of-Red-Bull-and-jumps-of-a-roof” type of way, though. Of course, those people are out there. We think we’re immortal because of how far we plan ahead. We pick our majors with a rough idea of what we want to do with our lives. We have an idea of where we want to live and what industry we want to work in, for the most part. By the time we reach our last academic year, we more or less have an outline of the exact job we’re going to get and how we’re going to get it. We think we’re immortal because we are assuming nothing happens to us before we get there.
Being a new columnist, I haven’t yet had the opportunity to tell all you readers about me — and I don’t plan on it. There is some pleasure to the cognitive dissecting of another person’s psyche through their writing, and to those of you who read daily, I hope you’re able to discern who I am as a person by my writing. However, I’m going to completely contradict my beliefs by telling you of two things I love: sports and politics.
I’m writing in response to the Jan. 5 article published in the Alligator called, “Binge Drinking Game: Syllabus week edition.” I am a health-promotion specialist at GatorWell. It is disappointing a story would be published the first week of Spring classes focused on encouraging unsafe and unhealthy behaviors among the Gator Nation. While I acknowledge freedom of the press and the Alligator’s right to write and publish stories as they choose, encouraging students — especially those underage — not only to drink alcohol to excess, but to do so to the detriment of their academic success is irresponsible and dangerous.
Late in the evening of Nov. 8 of last year, a wildly entertaining electoral battle was fought before all Americans. But what was just as entertaining was reading and hearing the massive outpour of emotions and intense reactions from our country’s entertainers and artists. Think about your favorite actor or musical artist for a moment. Then, check their Twitter feed. There is a very high probability if you scroll down to early November, you’ll see some sort of election reaction, which was almost unanimously negative.
It’s Friday the 13th, and you know what that means — avoid all cracks, don’t walk under any ladders and turn around when the hoard of black cats crosses your path. It’s time to stock up on four-leaf clovers and rabbit feet (or whatever the vegan alternative to rabbit feet is) and toss salt over your shoulder. But if you’re running away from a man in a hockey mask, make sure to flip your newspaper open and prepare yourself for the Friday the 13th edition of...
The wafting stench of cigarettes and sounds of jazz greeted me as I stepped off the plane and into the airport terminal in Kenner, Louisiana, just outside of New Orleans.
Last week, we published an editorial discussing reasons why a hypothetical dystopian fate of the U.S. was more similar to a Huxleyan dystopia (massive inputs of meaningless information that detract from important news; control by desire and pleasure) instead of the typical Orwellian one (censored media; control by fear). This week, we’re going to re- evaluate that claim and amend it slightly.
Following Clemson’s last-second victory over Alabama in Monday’s championship game, coach Dabo Swinney was overcome with emotion.
Solutions by The State News
