Commentary

Walking around campus, I noticed UCF means many things. It stands for University of Central Florida. Tours guides say it stands for “Under Construction Forever.” But for me it stands out as the home to so many “bros” and their “bait.”

One may ask what is a “”bro?,” well bro, it is usually a white college-aged male whom at parties stands around a beer pong table waiting for something exciting to happen so they can let the party know how much they enjoy this lifestyle. One may also ask, how do I spot a “bro” when he is not a party holding a red cup full of cheap beer, well that is simple because they like to say the word bro quite often and almost always wear their uniform of a rugby polo and a backwards hat-a bro will not be seen in public without his prized backwards hat. With their growing population, the general public needs to know how to determine who is a “bro,” how to determine “bro bait”, and why they have infiltrated UCF.

When not in class, many college students partake in different weekend activities ranging from community service, part-time jobs, or the ever-popular parties. For many students, the thought of a party in coming weekend or even Thursday night helps them survive another week of essay writing and book reading. But for “bros,” parties are not a break from reality; school work is a break from their parties. When at a college party, it’s easy to tell who is a “bro” and who is a person. “Bros” like to play beer pong. If you see someone near the beer pong table inforcing “elbow” rules like a Russian judge, he is a “bro.” He’s probably wearing a hat of some sort; most likely American Eagle, UCF, or another state university, despite their rejection from attending the institution. But just because there is a hat, does not mean it is a “bro” because it could be a douche bag. Try not to get them confused. “Bros” like to wear things similar to the brand of there backwards hat. For example, if a “bro” is wearing a Hollister hat, then the rest of his clothes will be from Hollister. “Douche bags” look more specific; usually very tanned, muscular, and wear only Ed Hardy branded clothing. Follow these simple guidelines and you’ll be able to spot out the difference at your next event.

To a “bro,” “if it looks like it has a vagina, find out if it does,” is basically their motto on picking up women. They like to go to local bars to find “bait.” “Bait” is any woman willing to engage in sexual activity with a “bro.” These women usually dance like they’re already engaged in sexual acts on the dance floor, except they have their clothes on. These women often go to these bars and plan on going home with someone. They do not really have a specific uniform, although they to like to wear college wear from universities who turned them down. Bros tend use acronyms to describe these women. Instead of using words like beautiful or attractive. They will describe her looks as DTF, meaning she looks like she’s down to engage in lewd activity. This generation of women will hopefully learn from their mistakes and teach their children how to be better people than themselves.

In this flailing economy, we all look for ways to save a few bucks. When it comes to choosing a college, schools with a cheap tuition are in high demand. With UCF’s rolling admissions and its enrollment growing at exponential rates, more student each year are choosing UCF. Especially since the number of applicants increase each year, other Florida University system schools are accepting a smaller percentage of students each year. University of Florida has become home to the “elite,” with acceptance rates in the low 30s. Florida State University has become home to those who were rejected from UF, and they’re still sour about it. UCF is for those who don’t want difficult admissions, but want a large school-a bros mentality for wanting a large school is more students means more parties and possible sexual partners. Due to UCF’s rolling admissions, many students are accepted, who would under normal admissions process would not be admitted into the school. Many of these lucky students tend to be “bros,” because they don’t put enough of an emphasis on education to be admitted into FSU or UF.

Many things scare “bros,” such as parties without beer pong, anything alternative, and clubs where people dance, not dry hump. If you want to avoid “bros,” in the classroom, sit towards the front. “Bros” like to sit in the back and chat up bros about how they did really well in the beer pong games they participated in the night before. If your looking to avoid “bros” when going to clubs, “choose any club besides Knight Library, Scoop, and TD’s. This is basically ‘bro’ territory,” said Shilan Heravi, a sophomore at UCF who currently resides with a “bro.” If they try to join a conversation, bring up things like music that isn’t Lil Wayne or Dave Mathews band; they’ll have nothing to say about any other artist because they don’t listen to anything else. Stay near the things that they fear, for these things will protect you. If you never want to deal with so many “bros,” transfer to a small state college or a private one. This way you will never have to deal with “bros” or their “bait,” bro.

The Day Our Country Changed

In 4^th Grade, I went to New York City for the first time. It was an experience like no other. In a matter of a few days I decided which city I wanted to move to when I grew up. After our trip, whenever the topic of vacation came up, New York was always my first choice. In the summer before 6^th Grade, my mom received an e-mail from Ticketmaster with a special access code to buy tickets for Michael Jackson’s special concert series at Madison Square Garden. My mother had always wanted to see him perform, yet up to this point had not had the chance to do. She bought tickets for the second show, September 10^th, 2001.

The week before we where to leave for New York, my mom was rushed to the hospital with pneumonia. There was no way for her to go to the concert. We needed to find someone to take the now extra three tickets, to this once in a lifetime performance. My parents invited family friends to take the tickets. The trip became a “fathers trip” because it was my dad, my brother, and our two friends and their father. It was their first time to New York. It was suppose to be a trip we’d never forget and it turned out that way, but for a different reason.

The concert was one I'll never forget; it was Michael Jackson’s last concert. The next morning, we were leaving our hotel in Times Square and heading to LaGuardia airport in Queens, when my brother called my aunt who lived on the Lower East Side. They were talking about the concert, when he heard a loud explosion over the phone. My aunt wasn’t sure what had happened. She went outside to find one of the Twin Towers on fire. We weren’t sure what had happened; so, all six of us jumped into a single cab and left Manhattan for Queens. I was confused about what was happening. I didn’t know what terrorism meant. I didn’t think it was possible for a people to hate the country I call home. From the cab, you could see one of the Towers on fire. I’ll never forget the image burned into my mind of the Downtown filled with smoke and debris.

When we went inside the airport, the TV screens in the lobby were showing live footage, the second tower was hit. In a matter of a minute SWAT quickly evacuated the airport. Still very confused about what was happening to the city, we caught a bus to Hertz. When we arrived, there was only five people in front of us. We needed to rent a car and drive from New York back to Fort Lauderdale. When it was our turn, the associate told us we could not take the car to Florida. My dad responded with, “I’m taking it to Florida, get me your manager.” She went to the back to get her manager. My father told him that under the current situation and manager knew he could not stop us; the city was under attack.

When we left, there was a line of nearly a hundred people in line. We were lucky to jump on the bus right away when we left the airport, an hour earlier. The car we rented was a silver Dodge Caravan, a staple car in terms of rental cars. It was an odd feeling getting into a rental car to drive home from a trip and not getting in one to go on one. We tried to make our way out of the city, by then we were driving around Queens, looking to get to the Bronx, then to New Jersey. We stopped at a Boston Market because almost all of us hadn’t eaten since we left our hotel. After lunch, we went inside the next-door Radio Shack. Everyone in the store was gathered around the many TVs on the wall, watching as the towers began to collapse. Watching the tragedy unfold, felt like a scene out of a movie.

On the radio, they announced one of the bridges from Queens to the Bronx was opening up. This was good news, the island of Manhattan was evacuated and all the bridges were closed. We headed towards the bridge, but what we didn’t know was, so was everyone else. We sat in traffic for three hours waiting to move no more than an inch, on a highway in the Bronx. People were outside of the cars, with their cars turned off. I had to go to the restroom by this time, so I went up hill to the side of the road near some bushes, so I could urinate. It was different from peeing on the side of the road in Florida because it was uphill, where in Florida you walk down a bit to get to the bushes.

We made it to New Jersey. From the highway, you could see the smoke for miles and the police, ambulance, and fire trucks speeding in its direction. I counted them as they went by; the number was over a hundred. Once in New Jersey, we finally had reception and could call my mother to tell her we where alive and well. The states seemed to just fly by. Before I knew it, it was nighttime and we where in DC. To keep myself busy, I played with my candy button maker I had purchased at FAO Schwartz, near Central Park. I was waiting to open it when I get home, but I left my GameBoy in Fort Lauderdale and needed something to get my mind off of what happened. It was around 3AM when we crossed the border to North Carolina. I found myself needing to pee like I’ve never had to pee before. So, my dad decided to grab something to eat and sleep for a couple hours. We went to Cracker Barrel. It was the first and last time I will ever go to the Cracker Barrel. Our waitress was on some type of controlled substance because she was way to happy to be serving us dinner at 4AM.

We woke up early and went back on the road. The Carolinas passed, but the trip from Georgia to home seem to take just as long as it did to drive through five states the day before. But after a full day of driving, we made it home around midnight. I don’t think I ever missed seeing my house as much as did at that very moment.

I often think about this trip I had. It was the first and last time I’d see Michael Jackson and it happen to be his last concert in front of an audience. In a matter of hours, my view of the world changed. Before this I didn’t know what terrorists were or why they hated us. What did we do to them? I learned that Afghanistan was a country and they had an “evil” government called the Taliban. I know more now about the situation, than I do then. I learned that they did not start this. We started this. People in other countries hate Americans. If you asked me then, if I hated people in other countries that I didn’t know, I’d tell you “no.” I was a kid raised in the 90s, a time of peace treaties, strong economies, and a time where I could go wait directly in the terminal to pick my mom up at the airport. I quickly learned the world wasn’t what it seemed to be.

memoir

Since 4^th Grade, I remember my first visit to New York City. It was an experience like no other. In a matter of a few days I had decided which city I wanted to move to when I grew up. After our trip, whenever the topic of vacation came up, New York was always our first choice. In 6^th Grade, my mom received an e-mail from Ticketmaster for a special access code to buy tickets for Michael Jackson’s special concert series at Madison Square Garden, My mother had always wanted to see him perform, yet up to this point had not had the chance. It was decided, my mom bought tickets for the second show, September 10^th, 2001.

The week before we where to leave for New York, my mom was rushed to the hospital with pneumonia. There was no way for her to go to the concert. We needed to find someone to take the now extra three tickets, to this once in a lifetime performance. My parents invited family friends to take the tickets. The trip became a “fathers trip” because it was my dad, my brother, and my two friends and their father. It was there first time to New York.

The concert was one I'll never forget; it was Michael Jackson’s last concert. The next morning, we were leaving our hotel in Times Square and heading to LaGuardia airport in Queens, when my brother called my aunt who lived on the Lower East Side. My brother was describing the concert, when he heard a loud explosion over the phone. My aunt wasn’t sure what had happened. She went outside to find one of the Twin Towers on fire. We weren’t sure what had happened; so, all six of us jumped in a cab and left Manhattan for Queens. From the cab, you could see both of the towers on fire. They sky around it was filled with smoke and debris.

When we went inside the airport, the TV screens in the lobby were showing live footage, the second tower was hit. In a matter of a minute SWAT quickly evacuated the airport. We caught a bus to Hertz. When we arrived, there were only five people in front of us. We needed to rent a car and drive from New York back to Fort Lauderdale. When it was our turn, the associate told us we could not take the car to Florida. My dad responded with, “I’m taking it to Florida, get me your manager.” She went to the back to get her manager. My father told him that under the current situation, he was going to rent a car and drive back home. The manager knew he could not stop us; the city was under attack.

When we left, there was a line of nearly one hundred people in line. We were lucky to jump on the bus right away when we left the airport, an hour earlier. The car we rented was a silver Dodge Caravan, a staple car in terms of rental cars. We tried to make our way out of the city, by then we were driving around Queens, looking to get to the Bronx, then to New Jersey. We stopped at a Burger King because almost all of us hadn’t eaten since we left our hotel. After lunch, we went inside the next-door Radio Shack. Everyone in the store was gathered around the many TVs on the wall, watching as the towers began to collapse.

On the radio, they announced that one of the bridges from Queens to the Bronx was opening up. This was good news, the island of Manhattan was evacuated and all the bridges were closed. We headed towards the bridge, but what we didn’t know was, so was everyone else. We sat in traffic for three hours waiting to move no more than an inch. People were outside of the cars, with their cars turned off. It was a nice September day. I had to go to the restroom by this time, so I went up hill to the side of the road near some bushes, so I could urinate. It was different from peeing on the side of the road in Florida because it was uphill, where in Florida you walk down a bit.

We made it to New Jersey. From the highway, you could see the smoke. Police, ambulance, and fire truck sped past, going the other direction. I would sit and count them as they went by; the number was over a hundred. Once in New Jersey, we finally had reception and could call my mother to tell her we where alive and well. The states seemed to just fly by. Before I knew it, it was nighttime and we where in DC. To keep myself busy, I played with my candy button maker I had purchased at FAO Schwartz, near Central Park. It was around 3AM when we crossed the border to North Carolina. My dad decided it would be safer to just grab something to eat and sleep for a couple hours. We went to Cracker Barrel. It was the first and last time I will ever go to the Cracker Barrel. Our waitress was on some type of controlled substance because she was way to happy to be serving us dinner at 4AM.

We woke up early and went back on the road. The Carolinas passed, but the trip from Georgia to home seem to take just as long as it did to drive threw 5 states the day before. But after a full day of driving, we made it home around midnight. I don’t thing I ever missed seeing my house as much as did at that very moment.

I often think about this trip I had. It was the first and last time I’d see Michael Jackson and it happen to be his last concert in front of an audience. In a matter of hours, my view of the world changed. Before this I didn’t know what terrorists were or why they hated us. What did we do to them? I learned that Afghanistan was a country and they had an evil government called the Taliban. I know more now about the situation, than I do then. I learned that they did not start this. We started this. People in other countries hate Americans. If you asked me then, if I hated people in other countries that I didn’t know, I’d tell you “no.” I was a kid raised in the 90s, a time of peace treaties, strong economies, and a time where I could go wait in the terminal to pick my mom up at the airport. I learned quickly, that the world wasn’t what it seemed to be.