Spring semester has sprung, which means fourth-year students have about 15 weeks left to turn a B.A.
The roasted turkey has been carved and the spiced eggnog poured, yet instead of being filled with the holiday spirit, you are engulfed with dread as you take your seat at the dinner table.
"Life goes by pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it." Ferris makes an excellent point.
My original intention was to write an epic poem for my column this week -- or, at least the first 700 words or so.
The start of another new semester means, among other things, a collective moan from University students about the cost of textbooks.
This is a campaign about change. We have a Mormon running, someone who thinks homosexuality is a choice and a biracial candidate who has admitted to using cocaine.
I do hope a geology professor reads this. I've got the most thrilling invocation for her next syllabus: "The dreams about the modes of creation, enquiries whether our globe has been formed by the agency of fire or water, how many millions of years it has cost Vulcan or Neptune to produce what the fiat of the Creator would effect by a single act of will..." (Breathtaking, isn't it?) "...is too idle to be worth a single hour of any man's life." Ouch.
There are many reasons I enjoy going to school in Charlottesville: the sun setting purple over the Blue Ridge Mountains, the sustained rumbling of a train as it chugs past my apartment, bluegrass music, the dogwood trees in spring and, yes, even Mr. Jefferson.
Monte Antico Toscano (IGT) 2004: Price: $9.99 Grade: A- In 1992 Tuscany faced a wine conundrum.
Mexican food is greatly misunderstood in this country. When people in America think of Mexican food, they envision flour tortillas, cheese dip, bland salsa, chimichangas and margaritas that come from a machine.
Have you ever noticed how people judge you by what kind of stuff you own? For example, if you own a car, people automatically assume you know how to drive.
They say the best things in life are free, but even charity has a price: programs must be funded, salaries must be paid.
The question that steadily arises amid Pakistan's tortured political culture is whether the country will manage to retain all five of its provinces.
I am sad to say, readers, that recently I went to rehab. It was basically how I imagined it: Me: My name is Chris Shuptrine, and I am addicted to doodling.
I consider myself a knowledgeable citizen of America. I know how the U.S. government works. I got a five on the AP U.S.
Despite my fear of getting towed for a second time, having a car here allows for numerous freedoms and luxuries.
Hours after my fall semester exams ended, I hopped into a time machine, not to go back and re-take my finals, but to make my parents happy.
Say you spend a semester abroad. Every day, you walk the streets of Lyon, France or Valencia, Spain and bask in the rich culture and history of the people and environment around you; every day, you breathe in air sweetened by an unknown indigenous flower that doesn't exist in your hometown; every day, you learn something new about where you are, about the world, about yourself. And then you must return home. Culture shock often occurs upon arrival in a foreign land.
Like any guy at U.Va. bored during the first days back from Winter Break, I decided to go through sorority rush.
So I was perusing my local newspaper and noted that the forecast called for snow. (This was of course far in the past, as this publication requires that we submit our columns several months before printing). I began to think, "Maybe I ought to write about how snow isn't the same now that school never gets canceled here," but that didn't work, for two reasons: 1.
