Use the fields below to perform an advanced search of The Cavalier Daily's archives. This will return articles, images, and multimedia relevant to your query. You can also try a Basic search
8 items found for your search. If no results were found please broaden your search.
(11/04/19 5:05am)
It’s the beginning of November. The leaves are changing, houses have their Halloween decorations up and pumpkin-spice-everything is taking over every coffee shop in Charlottesville. So naturally, I am already in the Christmas spirit — I have been wearing my reindeer pajamas for the past two weeks and my alarm ringtone is set to Frank Sinatra’s “The Christmas Song.”
(10/08/19 5:19pm)
We can all be a bit elitist at times — I know I can. For example, I do feel a bit special for being able to drink my coffee black — ridiculous, I know, but nonetheless, I do. I also take joy in the fact that I do not watch reality television — or rather, I used to, because that statement is no longer true. As a longtime loather of all reality shows, I have become obsessed with “Love Island.”
(09/26/19 9:26pm)
It happened the day after I moved into my apartment this semester. The day began on a good note — I was excited to have my car and live in an apartment rather than a dorm. I moved in my furniture and decorations, and the place really started to feel at home. The next step was to do all of the housekeeping tasks to make the place livable such as going grocery shopping for the basics, making a Target run for dishes and lamps and stopping at Best Buy to buy a modem and router to set up the WiFi.
(05/17/19 6:07pm)
I have a habit. It’s not necessarily a bad habit — if you don’t count the occasional blow to my bank account — though it’s not entirely productive. I start bullet journals without ever finishing them. I try so hard to keep my life in check, but it ultimately never works out.
(04/16/19 1:38am)
You know that feeling in your gut when you know something bad is about to happen? Your stomach sinks, and all of its contents rise up into your throat. This is exactly what I feel when I am about to lose a Snapchat streak. This may sound like a bit of an exaggeration, and I’m well aware of how crazy it sounds. But I have gotten to the sad, sad point in my life where maintaining a Snapchat streak — meaning sending pictures back-and-forth with another person within 24 hours — means so much to me that I feel sick if I think someone is going to break it. Unfortunately, it’s not just my delusional brain that thinks like this. I think a good majority of people my age who use Snapchat also fear the dreaded hourglass — Snapchat’s warning sign that a streak is about to break.
(03/29/19 6:34pm)
Airports can be incredibly stressful. They overwhelm most people who step foot in them and rightfully so. There’s a lot to worry about — making it to the gate on time, getting through TSA, going through customs if you’re traveling internationally and making sure you don’t get lost. I understand all of that, but I still consider the airport one of my all-time favorite places to go. I know, I know — you probably think I’m some sort of masochist. But I think an airport provides original comedy. So, I am going to break down some experiences I’ve had at airports which defend why I believe an airport is the embodiment of pure comedy.
(03/13/19 5:59pm)
I remember placing my first order. It was the July before my first semester, and I had been preparing for quite some time. I had spent hours scrolling through the website and selecting the best ones. My obsession — Redbubble. The objects of my affection — stickers. I ordered copious stickers, all of which were destined for the front of my laptop. It was a necessity. Everyone I knew that was in college and owned a laptop had sticker collages on their covers. I felt that, as an incoming first-year, I too needed stickers to show off what is important to me.
(03/01/19 3:22am)
I remember walking into my dorm on move-in day, drenched in sweat from a combination of carrying my luggage up the Dillard stairs and the sweltering heat of Charlottesville. I made a comment to my roommate — “I cannot believe I go to school in the South. This is way too hot for me.” My sweet roommate, born and raised in Harrisonburg, looked me dead in the eyes and stated in the most serious voice I had ever heard, “Virginia, or at least Charlottesville, is not the South.”