At a Sept. 22 public forum about living wage, Newcomb Hall's South Meeting Room quieted as fourth-year College student Greg Casar read aloud a statement from an anonymous University employee. "The students don't really see," Casar read.
Going home always confuses me. I looked up definitions for "home" on dictionary.com to gain perspective.
The Corner is home to stores and food locations authentic only to Charlottesville, such as Finch and Bodo's Bagels.
A professor's worst nightmare - students logging into Facebook or online shopping during lecture. We see it everyday.
Ever wonder what it would be like to be a kid again? You know, the kind of kid who plays tag and runs around with reckless abandon?
There are numerous benefits to being a muscular, well conditioned, 6-foot-3 girl. I can open all the pickle jars in the house.
Today, for the first time ever, I wore makeup. Well, save for a brief foray into cosmetics in ninth grade, but that ended after I realized that my face should not be a different color than my neck. It's not that I never attempt to wear makeup.
I have one Plus Dollar left. How is that even humanly possible? It's not, actually, given that I consume coffee like an alien creature - I'll call my species "Caffiend" (Caffeine-fiend, anyone?). My inhumanity aside, I am genuinely concerned about my diet, assuming TV dinners, Greenberry's coffee and pita chips and hummus constitute a well-balanced one. The cashier told me about my Plus Dollar fate last Wednesday at Caf
As Fall Break draws near, students will see more and more Facebook statuses counting down the days until everyone can return to their respective hometowns.
Someone once told me that I do not have faith. He was not trying to be cruel; he was simply defining my life by looking at his.
The Corner is always great for the people, atmosphere and especially food, but dining out constantly can be tough with a college budget.
Last week was just one of those weeks. From beginning to end, I felt like there was someone out there with a bunch of pins and a little Katie doll sabotaging everything I did. I had a research paper due Thursday, and I knew it was going to be a busy week, so I planned to look up everything I needed during the weekend.
It's funny how "crime alerts" at the University used to be, well ... funny. It's not the most politically correct thing to say - or write, for that matter - but for me, there's just no better way to describe the page-long e-mails kindly instructing students to lock their doors at night or to simply "be careful" when walking across Grounds alone.
Most University students do not worry about where to sit in lecture halls, how their medical regimens will interfere with assignments and how they will enter and exit a building.
It was a Friday afternoon. I had just gotten back from my one class of the day. The house was silent.
One sentence alone can accurately summarize my psychological state for the past week: I hate stinkbugs.
In addition to teaching, many University professors have responsibilities outside of the classroom. One of these professors is French Prof.
We've been here for more than a month now. For many second-year student on the pre-medical track, that means we're knee deep in what is possibly the most stigmatized, feared and loathed course in the entirety of the colorful bouquet of our requisite science courses: organic chemistry. My worry about orgo settled in about midway through my second semester of first year.
The term "college kids" takes on a whole new meaning when talking to students who are old enough to have children of their own.
"Girls! You don't have any ice in these trays!" This is my mother yelling. Sheepishly, I walk into the kitchen and take a peek in the freezer.
