By Joshua Santos | gargoyle@flagler.edu
I have been working out with a personal trainer every morning for the past week and a half. I am not much of a healthy person. Up until I started working out, I was a pack a day smoker, more than half of my liquid consumption came in the form of malt liquor, and the closest I had ever come to stretching was me trying to put my skinny jeans on in the morning.
By Tiffanie Reynolds | gargoyle@flagler.edu
Placing the last gift basket on the shelf, I took a few steps back and watch as two women behind me rushed and grabbed six each, completely emptying the middle shelf. Walking to the back room to open and empty yet another box, I slid past men and women on their cell phones relaying the items they saw as they rifled through bins and scan shelves. All this while “What a Wonderful World” played through the speakers above.
By Kylynn Pelkey | gargoyle@flagler.edu
I spent thanksgiving this year at an Alzheimer’s home. My Grandmother’s sister, Sandie, was transferred into the home about two months ago. The transition has been hard on her family.
Sometimes she doesn’t remember her son, Steven Jr., who pushed to put her in a home. Once, she didn’t remember her husband Steve.
“Why is that man in my room? Who is that man?” she asked the nurse.
By Amber James | gargoyle@flagler.edu
Passing or failing, friends and the next alcoholic beverage–these are some of the things most kids my age are thinking of. Don’t get me wrong, these are concerns that occupy my mind as well. But I also have some unique concerns, like how to deal with military deployments, managing financial accounts for two and what to make my husband for dinner. Yes, I said husband.
I might have jumped the gun, being married earlier than most, but one defining factor pushed us in that direction, the military.
By Colby Eaton | gargoyle@flagler.edu
My communication tool has become my scapegoat from real communication.
So, sorry if I don’t acknowledge you when I see you around campus or even say, “Hey, how are you doing?”
By Michael Newberger | gargoyle@flagler.edu
It seems every subsequent election year, most people say to themselves “There’s no way that this could get any more ridiculous,” and I realize four years from now I’ll probably being saying this again as political ads become somehow personalized by our facebook interests. “Hi Bob! I see you you like the Pittsburgh Steelers! I’m Rick Santorum and I love em’ too! I also think that gays are bringing down the moral fiber of our country! Check out my link!”
But so far this Republican primary race has been a spectacle that is both supremely entertaining, while also hinting at the dystopian landscape that politics is starting to turn into.
By Alex Bonus
Photo by Nate Hill
I’ve crossed the finish line, but this crowd is unfamiliar.  My surroundings, unexpected. Until now, it was a place I’d only dreamt about, and this is not what I predicted.
My cross-country season is over. Practices have ceased. My races are done. Like so many other senior athletes — and like generations of athletes who have come before me — my status as a student-athlete has effectively come to an end.
I’ve wondered about this day for years. How I would feel?  How I would cope?  It’s the evitable finish to a 4-year race that, before today, was obscure and insubstantial, existing only in my mind as a quietly ignored but perpetually imminent mystery.
By Emily Hoover | ehoover@flagler.edu
In an economy where prices are raising and job wages aren’t, tourists are used to getting a discount, and they often do, thanks to AAA, student, Florida resident and military discounts.
But when a place doesn’t offer these discounts, what makes people act like its a personal attack? Just because they’ve slapped on enough sunscreen to protect half the state of Florida from the perils of ultraviolent rays and they are still sunburned, they think everyone who is selling goods or services is going to do them a favor and take 10 percent off their purchase. Perhaps even get them in free just for stimulating the local economy.
By Gena Anderson | ganderson@flagler.edu
This past May, I drove six hours to go home to visit my friend for his twenty second birthday. Or rather, visit his grave.
Troy died on Oct. 13, 2008 in a motorcycle accident. On our way to his funeral, me and my best friend got lost. On our way to visit his grave, the same thing happened.
Everyone knows where Troy is buried, but none of us know how to get there. I cried on the way there to his funeral because I was afraid we were going to miss it. I wanted to cry on my way to visit, this time, because I felt that same sense of defeat.
By Phil Grech | gargoyle@flagler.edu
The day before Easter this year, I ran into an engaged couple I know. The groom-to-be is an attorney (eerily similar to Patrick Bateman) and the bride-to-be, well, she defines her existence by the size of her engagement ring.
I did not say hi to them because the last three times I saw them, they pretended to not see me, so on this occasion, I acknowledged their existence, then got on with life, waiting to order a medium coffee at Starbucks–a local Starbucks that does not correct you, saying, “You mean grande? This particular day, however, this couple decided to break their habit of ignoring me.