MONEY. Who would have thought that a simple five letter word could become so important? It is the source of complaints, excitement, frustration and most every other emotion a college student feels.
In the past week, I've been a horrible daughter. If I were my parents, I would just stop answering the phone. It all started with the Spring Break fiasco -- Destin, Bermuda, Nassau.
It feels kind of like trying to carry a bowl full of water across an obstacle course, and each time you let any spill, arrows are launched at your head -- the pain is excruciating. You have, of course, brought this all upon yourself.
Think the country's best artists only live in New York City? Think again. Fleming Cunningham Lunsford has been around Charlottesville for awhile.
The best, or perhaps worst, part of waking up for many University students is a steaming cup of coffee. Students described various motives for seeking out that crucial cup of java.
"It's an amazing thing -- I can't believe people would stay up all night to do this for kids and their families," said Zoe Padron, whose son Iggy will benefit from funds raised by the 24-hour Dance Marathon, held last Friday and Saturday in Memorial Gymnasium. Padron, whose son, Iggy, will benefit from funds raised by DM, was only one of the many astonished parents who came for the last few hours of the event.
Everybody hates fractions. That's what my professor told us on the first day of MATH 110 -- well, on my first day of MATH 110, which was about a week later than everyone else's first day. I had transferred in from MATH 120, after failing the first quiz. Everybody hates fractions.
With Black History Month well underway, the University is scheduling numerous cultural and intellectual events to celebrate and promote African-American culture and history.
The situation: You wake up Sunday morning/afternoon after a fun, but fairly rough, weekend. The ritual: Breakfast with the roommates to recap the happenings and debauchery of the weekend.
The University Spanish Theatre Group has been a labor of love for Spanish Prof. Fernando Operé for more than two decades, but when asked about the birth of the group, he seemed to shun the dramatic.
"So I'm in an E-school building and I'm about to starve to death and I have no cash.But I figure, 'E-school.They're all about the technology -- they'll take Cav Advantage.'So I find a hot drink machine, but that won't take cards.So I go to the soda machine, but no, that one doesn't take Cav Advantage either.What's up with that?I blame ARAMARK entirely for me falling asleep in class." --Cashed out "As a proud member of my gender, I would like to say I appreciated the Janet incident on Sunday.
For most University students, the notion of table tennis (or "ping-pong" as the cool kids call it) is closely associated with another very well known game that involves red plastic cups and yes -- a ping pong ball. The University's Table Tennis Club, however, takes this familiar game much more seriously.
San Franciscans don't really care. Whereas a cabbie in Queens with an Italian flag dangling from his rear-view might insist that he lives in the best damn city on Earth, it's likely that the Mexican-Filipino cable car conductor on Powell Street would quietly go about his business. To accept the tag that San Francisco is the most "European" of American cities, as is done all too often, is shallow.
Second-year College student Rob Sanchez is in a bit of a bind for the upcoming year. He applied to be an Residential Advisor but did not pass the test.
I have reason to believe that rodents are copulating in my oven. In all honesty, I've actually never opened the oven during the five month period that I've lived in my apartment, but that only serves to strengthen my notion.
On a typical weekend night, bar patrons stand amid a crowd, desperately trying to make eye contact with the bartender, hoping to be noticed and served the next drink.
If the 24-hour Dance Marathon scheduled for this weekend sounds a little too intense, try the Indian Student Association's first semiformal this Friday from 8 p.m.
Once upon a time, long, long ago, when the pace of life was slower and children respected their parents and, you know, in general, everything was, um, better than it is now, I joined an after-school Spanish club. We met once a week for an hour and learned such infinitely valuable, life-saving terminology, such as the colors of the rainbow, how to count to 10 and how to name the different parts of the face. Perhaps I was driven by a sense of duty, a sense of the opportunities for a blooming bookworm heroine like me.
Just over Carr's Hill, nestled among fraternity houses and winding driveways of weathered asphalt, is a shell of glass and brick that rises through a forest of leafless trees and looms over a snake of train tracks making its way to Beta Bridge.
My week began with an e-mail from Cole Spencer, director of Student Housing, telling me that next year I will be living on Mars. That is, Copeley. At first I was really excited because of Copeley's proximity to the Law School, the North Grounds Recreation Center and other places that have nothing at all to do with undergraduate life at the University of Virginia.
