Whose school is it anyway?
A couple of weeks ago in class, I seriously thought I might have to tackle someone. It happened in an “Unforgettable Lectures” class — and it was unforgettable, though not entirely for the reasons advertised.
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A couple of weeks ago in class, I seriously thought I might have to tackle someone. It happened in an “Unforgettable Lectures” class — and it was unforgettable, though not entirely for the reasons advertised.
I’m up at the crack of dawn this morning and weirdly happy about it. Actually, dawn is a stretch — the sky’s still purple and I can see all three stars visible from light-polluted Houston. My alarm went off at 2:50 a.m. On purpose.
You know that nice, triangular grassy patch where everyone picnics across the street from Bodo’s? Where Brooks Hall is?*
During the brief spell of warm, sunny days in mid-March, students flocked to the Lawn and amphitheater for sunbathing and outdoor merriment. Students and Charlottesvillians alike were too busy slack-lining, frisbee-throwing, tanning and picnicking to notice an outsider of dubious origins lurking in our midst.
I have a slightly embarrassing confession to make.
“Dude, we look like Home Depot workers,” my friend says to me, referring to our bright orange aprons. But no, we haven’t actually taken new jobs at the hardware store — we’re handing out programs for the basketball game against Notre Dame.