Charlottesville is known for a lot of things: U.Va., of course; all things Thomas Jefferson; Bodo’s — once I met someone in New York City who named their dog after Bodo’s because it’s that good — and a lot of preppy clothing.
As I was sitting on my Amtrak train back down to Charlottesville this weekend, I started thinking about how quickly the fall went by.
I believe that most people have a moral compass. Priests have gods. Cops have laws. Protesters have passions.
I guess you could say a lot has changed in four short years. I went to a relatively small high school, where all of my teachers knew everything about me.
For me, winter break has always been about goal-setting. Without the pressure of class and with nothing to worry about but basketball, winter break is the ideal time to better myself.
Dear potential new members, this week’s column goes out to you. Keep on rushin’ on. The “how to” of rush is that there is no how to.
Word on the street is it’s 2013. What does that look like? So far, a lot like 2003. Destiny’s Child is back together, Justin Timberlake is putting out a new album and, I swear on Lizzie McGuire, I haven’t seen this many Razor scooters since I crimped my hair.
“Alright Mary Scott, but what’s your favorite?” “Peach! I think I’ll have to say peach.” “Then peach it is!” My young and bubbly bartender-in-training opened up her notebook and carefully wrote down, in delicate and curving handwriting, a few peachy drink recipes — recipes she would refer to later that evening when she took up her new post behind the bar.
Ah, that faint smell in the air. That hard edge on the corner of your mind. That growing feeling pushing down on you when you sit.
In my last six years as a Facebook user — yes, that is my subtle way of saying: “I had this in 2006 when I was a freshman in high school.
Three weeks ago I turned 22, and in the three weeks before and after my birthday I saw my high school friends more than in the past three years combined.
Before I came to Europe for the semester, I used to think it was silly when people said they couldn’t study abroad because it was too expensive.
On Halloween, one of my best friends was drugged at a party at a fraternity’s satellite house. She told me about it the next day after a morning visit to Student Health, feeling scared, confused and alone.
“Your arm looks gross,” my sister said, acknowledging the hot oil burns on my left forearm. “You could write about cooking in your column.
We’ve all done a lot of thinking and talking about what we’re grateful for in the past week, maybe even to the point where it seems trite.
Every couple of months, U.Va. allows us to leave our monotonous lives as college students and go back home to the luxuries of our own rooms, the holiday cups at Starbucks, our moms’ — dad’s in my case — home cooking, and our high school friends without whom we thought we could never live.
Here we are again. Despite the countless promises I made to myself before Thanksgiving, I opted for blissful ignorance above proactive preparedness this break.
If there is one thing the holidays have taught me, it is that commercial travel is perhaps one of the most unifying and simultaneously divisive forces of our era, especially during the holiday season.
The holidays are here. In another universe, we may be able to ignore this fact, since it’s not even December.
I’ve resisted the nagging urge to write a column about this particular topic because of a previously perceived lack of substance, but sometimes my internal filter through which I pass all ideas gets polluted by particular aggravating experiences. We all know about famous French cuisine, and believe me when I say it meets expectations.
