There is a reason they say New York City is the greatest place on Earth. Maybe it’s because “You’ve Got Mail” has always been one of my favorite movies, but I really can’t argue with this grand claim.
There is no comparison to the horror women face as they get lost in New Cabell looking for a female lavatory.
People are too nice, and I’m tired of hearing too much of the same thing. I’m tired of hearing my TA say, “Yeah, that’s a really good point!” when I didn’t even do the reading.
Before arriving at the University for the first time this fall, I was “lucky” enough to receive advice from every single person who had already experienced a freshman college year.
It’s 12:04 a.m., and I cling to life with “Breaking Bad.” Brains and blood and buckets of ketchup textured blood coat my screen and I feel more.
We all have that special bite that stands out in our memory. Whether you were four or 23, some meals are so good you can almost still taste them.
This time last year, I was in a complete first-year slump. I spent my first round of midterms treading in deep water, straining to keep my chin above the surface.
When I first started writing for the Life section a little over a year ago, I was assigned to write a biweekly “how to” column.
I love seeing people I know on my way to classes. I love that warm, fuzzy feeling I get which says that yeah, I’m cool because I have people I can wave to more obnoxiously than a clingy mother.
This week’s Cavalier Daily Housing Issue has prompted me to take stock of my new living accommodations.
Sometime during the first seven days of my first year last fall, when I was still trying to figure out the location of Gibson Hall and attempting to incorporate dining hall food into my regular diet, I received a grounding message in my snazzy new U.Va.
I was sitting in my apartment with a group of friends when the United States government shut down. We responded to the news as follows. _Friend 1: “Do you think I’ll still have my midterm tomorrow?” Friend 2: “This is huge, guys.
Alcohol has a mysterious way of transforming the bubbling beauty you sit with in chemistry into an undesirable, non-mythical, sometimes-animalistic drunkard.
It seems everyone around me is eternally exhausted. Think about it: when was the last time you slept in confidently, without the stress of homework swallowing you the moment you open your eyelids?
Considerably unique in comparison to its less complex counterpart — flat-out rejection — it seems friend-zoning is a fine art that requires keen logic and preemptive instinct to be carried out properly.
The concept of karma has always interested me, but I’ve never actually thought it existed. Sure, bad things are bound to happen sooner or later if you are a terrible person or constantly in a bad mood, but that’s hardly a law of religion — much less a scientific one.
It all started when I was young ― when I was in the “why is the sky blue?” stage of my development, my curious nature seeking its food for thought.
Having spent now a month at college, I’ve formed many relationships with truly quality guys and girls.
I wake up with the sounds of the dump truck beeping below my open window, cooling air fluttering the leaves of my dying white orchid.
Restaurants on The Corner come and go like dust in the wind. The Backyard, Rita’s Ice Cream, Big Dawgz and, most recently, Baja Bean have fallen to the wayside over the years.
