Calling home never sounded so good.
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.
Halfway through his performance with fellow members of Carbon Jam, first-year Engineering student Carter Hall had a sudden thought: the sax rift from Macklemore’s “Thrift Shop” would go perfectly with the band’s current song.
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.
Eric and Ava, a third-year and a second-year, go on a less-than-romantic date at Crozet Pizza on the Corner on Friday. But they hang out afterwards!
Contrary to popular belief, you don’t need to be funny to be in an improv group. The University’s two improv groups, The Whethermen and Amuse Bouche, hold auditions with other criteria in mind.
Who doesn’t like tacos? JR Hadley, owner of the new Corner eatery Toro’s Tacos would say the answer is a resounding “no one.” Located at 1327 W.
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.
I am completely guilty of being a first class offense people watcher. By this, I mean I unfortunately enjoy offering my quick two-cents to people I observe doing silly things. I would like to take this moment to formally apologize to anyone touched by the harshness of my offhanded commentaries.
This past Sunday and Monday, University students hosted Sleepout for the Homeless — an annual event where participants get a sampling of what it is like to sleep without basic necessities we take for granted, such as a rooftop, running water and access to sanitary bathrooms.
For some reason I will always associate it with the way it made me feel as a kid, clomping into school in my itchy, too-stiff back to school clothes, carefully cutting pumpkins out of bright orange construction paper that smelled like cardboard and using my dirty fingers to stick them on the bulletin boards of my classroom.
I’ve recently tried to break my terrible habit of arriving everywhere 15 minutes late — or, as I’ve grown to affectionately call it, Indian Standard Time.
