Molly Schwartzburg, curator for the Albert & Shirley Small Special Collections Library presented “Collecting in the Golden Age of the Book” Thursday, a lecture examining her efforts as a curator to document the integration of the digital age into the realm of published works.
I’ve always considered myself adventurous, but there have been times I was faced with a risky option and made the safe choice.
Sitting on the Lawn today, I joined legions of slackliners, girls in sundresses and boys reminiscent of Easter eggs.
Last week, after a long and exhausting day, my roommate and I settled down on the couch for a relaxing evening of TV.
Friends and strangers alike seem to always have an endless supply of stories about romantic “things” that “just ended” for “no reason.” I’ve heard countless stories of somethings that one day were all cloudless, sunny skies, and were downpouring with unexpected bouts of (purple) rain the next.
As a child, dreams were like a game for me. I would wake up and immediately try to tell someone in the house what happened, only to find 30 seconds into my description that I was making up nonsense to make up for what I couldn’t remember.
A few days ago, I knocked on my friend’s door in the middle of the afternoon to use her printer.
After years of being immersed in this seemingly bottomless pool of awe-inspiring brilliance that is the University, I've developed a tendency to romanticize strangers whom I find fascinating.
1. The Sink Trick You know, the one where you tape down the button of the spray hose down so it soaks your victim when he or she turns the sink on.
Pride Week kicked off with the Queer Student Union’s Drag Bingo Saturday night and events will be held throughout this week.
Jake and Casey met at 7:30 p.m. at Café Caturra on the Corner. Casey: I signed up for Love Connection one night with my roommate because we wanted to meet someone new and try something out of our comfort zones. Jake: I went on a blind date a year ago through the Cavalier Daily.
After elections each year, Honor Committee Representatives gather to select the new Honor Chair during a spring retreat.
I think it’s pretty clear, at least to Virginia fans, that March is the cruelest month. College basketball — college being the operative word here — is my favorite team sport, and March brings an overwhelming amount of meaningful games in rapid succession.
Re-adjusting the collar of her quarter-zip and taming the flyaways of second-day hair, my friend stared at her reflection with a look of mild disgust. “Ugh, I look so homeless,” she lamented.
When I tell people I’m from New York, they assume I mean Manhattan. Actually, I think some of them picture me rocking an edgy outfit in Time Square, hailing a taxi whilst yelling into my cell phone.
Although race has long been on people’s radars, it has been a hushed topic of conversation at the University for several years.
When I visited home this past weekend, I spent time examining the trophies lining my bedroom shelves from various sports and hobbies of my past — dusty, neglected and forgotten.
If we separate, we ultimately perpetuate the very tension we hate. Of course we have the right to be upset, but what if we channeled our resentment into growth?
I spent spring break working on a Habitat for Humanity house in Ohio through a program called Catholic Student Ministry.
Although I’m my own harshest critic, I’m encouraged by the knowledge that I’ll probably turn out quite like my mom. Her simple mom-isms are generally enough to talk me down from any self-constructed catastrophe.
