The pill makes good company on those days or nights when deadlines loom. Drowsiness and distractions evaporate.
The decision was impetuous, but the choice was clear: an afternoon of seminars vs. a road trip to D.C., political complacency vs.
The streets were slick with rain and beer sludge and oozing of hedonism. The fires of hell threatened to lick it all up.
I was sitting in the first floor entryway of Bryan Hall, next to the fluores-cent, plastic glow of the vending machines.
Al Cluck loves the story of explorers Meriwether Lewis and William Clark. They are his heroes and like they did, he loves hunting and fishing, hiking and exploring.
The bomb exploded Thursday in Kabul, Marina Omar's home city. She found out in her 8 a.m. English class at Piedmont Virginia Community College, leaving her a day full of hours to worry about her family in Afghanistan, particularly a beloved uncle and two rosy-cheeked cousins. Omar didn't have time to eat that day, let alone try to call home.
Seven years ago, Jon Gottshall began to document an odyssey, one that brought him to the brink of where intellect meets instinct, where tame meets wild. While pursuing a master's degree in history at California State University-Fullerton, Gottshall traveled to various colleges to complete his research.
He stood on the Lawn early one November morning, surveying the University's architectural jewel, wondering how he could transfigure Jefferson's legacy. "This can't look like a carnival or a barber shop," Ralph Himelrick said to fourth-year trustee Michael Huneke.
After a day of destruction, the healing began with prayer. On the night of Sept. 11, less than 12 hours after the first attack on the World Trade Center, thousands gathered on the south Lawn to grieve together.
There's typical and then there's typical. Sometimes what separates the two are religious values and beliefs that determine how many times a day you pray, whether or not you drink, and the kinds of stereotypes you might have to deal with.
