Job leads to guilty conscience
By ERIK VOSS | Aug. 26, 2009From the moment we're born, we're all guilty of something.
From the moment we're born, we're all guilty of something.
Whether it/s at night, on the weekend, between classes or just a lazy afternoon, Gainesville has plenty to offer without having to stray into the ordinary. From scaling walls to blazing trails, here are a few ways to break a sweat without having to hit the treadmill.
College has a way of dwindling your bank account faster than you can chug a lukewarm can of Natty Light.
When I was in high school, I was convinced I had the nosiest, most intrusive parents.
I step into the dojo quietly and respectfully trying not to disturb any of the other classes, and I am greeted by immediate chiding from one of the senseis.
Thirty may be the new 20, but stars this month have taught us that 50 might just be the new 80.
She sits in the dressing room on her pink and brown striped bed. Her matching dish has the word "Diva" printed on it.
Ask any band to classify its music, and its members are likely to give a thoughtfully drawn-out list of categories. A band's sound never fits into one simple genre.
It's 15 minutes until midnight on a Saturday. The bouncer sits at the entrance to Spannk, wrapping neon green bands around clubbers' wrists. As they enter the bar, green and red beams of light dance through the thick smoke from the fog machine like laser confetti.
T13C! is a band on a mission.
Joshua Lyon became addicted to prescription drugs when he was introduced to Vicodin as part of an assignment for Jane magazine.
No matter the time or setting there is a likely to be the sound of a phone buzzing or a screen being rapped on nearby.
When I was in the fifth grade, my teacher introduced a new weekly competition called "Student of the Week." Every Friday afternoon she would saunter out from behind her desk, a freshly word-processed certificate in hand, and appoint one poor soul to a weeklong sentence of hatred from his or her peers.
On Saturday it is time again to celebrate all that is the great U.S. But America's birthday party is bound to be smaller this year as small city budgets and low monetary contributions have led many cities to dwarf or even altogether cancel Independence Day celebrations.
Road rage truly brings out the worst in us. All it takes is a Buick to cut me off during rush hour for me to rethink my position on social security.
What happens on stage at a Get the Led Out concert is something unlike anything any Led Zeppelin fan has ever experienced.
Nestled on the corner of Southwest Depot Avenue and South Main Street lies an old red brick warehouse which, to the untrained observer, appears to be abandoned.
I have a thing for office supplies. Pens, highlighters and staplers put me in a mood that makes it nearly impossible to get work done.
Charlotte Porter, Avenue contributing writer
People lounged in multi-colored hammocks strung between oak and pine trees, sucking on bowls, sipping over-priced beer and nodding their heads to a reggae beat.