Edwardo James grinned as he walked into Starbucks on a sunny Wednesday afternoon wearing a blue "LA" cap and a white-striped, button-down shirt.
According to Zeta Beta Tau fraternity, Four Square is a children's game. For this reason, the fraternity organized a "Four Square Mania" tournament which took place last Sunday afternoon in the Scott Stadium parking lot. The tournament was one of many charity events which took place last weekend.
I sat down to write this column and I didn't really know where to start. I frankly don't know if anyone reads a word I write, but in the end it doesn't really matter, I suppose, because this double-handful of inches I get every two weeks is like my own little clean, well-lighted place in which to pin down the pinwheel of my days.
Sarah Rosenthal is a first year who doesn't quite meet the status quo. She lives in Brown College, she's majoring in architecture, she juggles and she rides a unicycle to Barracks Road for a little grocery shopping at Harris Teeter. Seven years ago, "Santa" brought Sarah two gifts: a unicycle and a grocery cart "borrowed" from the local Kroger's grocery store. "I'd go on the back porch," Rosenthal said, "and you put the cart in front of you, like a walker for an old person, and you just grab onto the cart and hold on for dear life.
The Life article, "After immigration, dreaming of education" incorrectly claimed the anonymous author has an "undocumented legal status." Her immigration status is currently "tentative," meaning she is a legal citizen of the United States, but under Virginia law cannot qualify for in-state tuition status.
The air can be heavy to breathe sometimes. Such is the case when you have bronchitis. There's nothing much you can do about it -- it just sticks to the back of your throat and goes down like oil.
Around 10 p.m. on a clear day in April last year, a large sedan hit a student biker at an intersection near the University Medical Center.
The time of joyous frolicking on the Myrtle Beach sand, of soaking up UVA (no pun intended) and UVB rays and of getting crunk (yeah!) is upon us.
When applying to the University, I asked my older brother, who had gone here years before, which dorms I should request.
I realized the stigma of living on Alderman Road early in my first semester when a friend observed, "Oh -- you live in 'New Dorm.'" Au contraire, my confused friend.
Philanthropic events are great, but sometimes it's hard to get students to take time out of their schedules to help others less fortunate.
In about a month and a half, I'm turning 20, which is perhaps the most useless birthday ever (besides 22, after which your whole life goes downhill). I'm not a big fan of birthdays, or parties celebrating birthdays for that matter.
When I arrived at U.Va., everyone was curious to know where I was from and when and how I got here, as if I was some strange being that magically appeared at the University.
Yesterday, The Cavalier Daily reported that for its latest efforts to identify problems in off-Grounds housing, the University's "Housing Policy Task Force" received a favorable commendation from the Charlottesville City Council.
Editor's Note: The following perspective was written by a first-year Peruvian University student who asked to remain anonymous because of her pending legal status. I thought of dreams as always being possible to realize, that no matter how many obstacles you have to confront, if you persist, you will achieve your goals.
A dozen buzzing ele-mentary schoolers nudge each other, edge in and crowd around a black-ink drawing displayed in the University Art Museum.
Run a Google search on "Edwin A. Alderman" and the first Web site that appears is the homepage of Edwin A.
Last Friday, the act of walking took on a new meaning for the participants in the University's annual Relay for Life event.
Michael Jackson once sang, "A-B-C, it's easy as 1-2-3..." If only the lyric applied to three other little letters --
If you have ever bitten into a Littlejohn's Wild Turkey Sub late on a Friday night after going out, then you know what I'm talking about. If you have ever been in Scott Stadium on a September afternoon, wearing an orange tie on your head screaming the "Good Ol' Song" at the top of your lungs, then you probably understand. If you know what it feels like to drop your drawers and feel the sweet caress of the autumn air on your bare bottom as you fly toward the statue of Homer, then I think you may have an idea. If you've walked through a warm August thunderstorm in Virginia without an umbrella and looked at the sky; if you've ever driven out to the Shenandoah to look at the stars with your friends; if you've ever worn shorts to class in February, then you've probably said it before: "Thank God I'm a Wahoo." If you insist on calling freshmen at other schools "first years" because you know it sounds cooler; if you've ever roadtripped to UPenn with friends and repeatedly shouted WahooWa in the middle of their campus; if you've ever been to New England in January, then you definitely get the picture. If you've ever left Clemons at four in the morning after finishing a paper to find the streets empty and the night clear, or spent an entire day in Alderman Café without getting anything done because you've been talking with friends. If you've ever spent the afternoon reading a book in one of the Gardens; if you've driven down University Avenue playing Jefferson Starship as loud as your car's stereo will go, then you know what I mean when I say: "Thank God I'm a Wahoo." And maybe you're not involved in 8,000 different organizations.
