The party's over: Fox cancellations mark end of era in television programming
"Hello," I nervously whispered into the receiver.
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
30 items found for your search. If no results were found please broaden your search.
"Hello," I nervously whispered into the receiver.
Communal living requires that one make certain sacrifices. For example, in the spirit of friendship and peace one might be forced to endure hours at a time of Barbra Streisand warbling such standards as "People" and "Second Hand Rose," or watch silently as closet space is usurped by one's cohabitators.
Ms. Garvey's New Year's plans are supposed to assuage the fears many travelers have about Y2K and its effect on the safety of flying. While I'm not sure that the turn of the century automatically will make planes more dangerous, I'm also not sure that I can ever get onto one again. Thirty thousand feet above the ground on which you usually tread is probably about the worst place to hear the following words: smoke, probably, quickly and emergency.
I am responsible. I stood in a two-hour line to get the shots that should protect me from illness. Every morning I take my vitamins. I try to get enough sleep each night. By all accounts I should be in perfect health, and yet in the past week I've gone through five boxes of tissues and have been forced to speak in the oh-so-sultry rasp of one with an inordinate amount of phlegm coating her throat. In true American fashion, I blame others for my condition.
It all began with Alicia Silverstone laying back in a chair with her jeans undone, midriff baring shirt tied just above her chest, kicking her feet in excitement as a huge scary guy swabbed her navel with iodine. Seconds later, Miss Silverstone admires the new hoop in her bellybutton.
Once upon a time I loved Halloween. It wasn't just the candy that appealed to me (though I admit I did get quite excited at the prospect of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups that were banned from my house the other 364 days of the year). It was the act of donning a costume and raising myself to the rank of princess or president or embodying my fanciful heroes like Smurfette or Cinderella, or even crossing the boundaries of species and becoming a cat or a butterfly that I adored.
I blame my mother for the sickening breadth of knowledge I possess when it comes to Easy Listening Artists. In the first grade my teacher, Miss Carlin, asked us all to name our favorite songs. At six and seven we had begun to recognize the concept of "cool" and knew that Raffi did not fall under that heading.
I recently came to the conclusion that the relationships in which I invest most of my time are unhealthy. This epiphany came to me at 3 a.m. on a Thursday morning when I had finished placing an order for two dresses and a necklace at Bluefly.com.
This summer while everyone else I knew either was working at a cool job that paid well or was off building an impressive résumé, I was slaving away for $8.00 an hour as an illustrious scooper at a Ben & Jerry's stand at Dulles International Airport.
The weeks between the end of August and beginning of September have become almost a ritual for students and faculty: Students make their annual pilgrimage to the bookstore, Tom DeLuca hypnotizes large crowds in the Amphitheater and the McIntire Department of Art holds the Faculty Exhibition at the Fayerweather Gallery.