There were some odd party guests in the room: a sea captain hunting schizophrenics, a man running from the Stay Puft marshmallow man, a nurse fainting at the sight of blood, a host desperately trying to figure out just who is in their house, and an audience laughing at the mayhem. But this is just a normal day at a UB Improv show.
It happens every year. Emails flood students' inboxes, assuring them that living on campus is the best decision, or reminding them to hurry up and sign a lease with the Villas. The decision regarding where to live in the next academic year is something that students stress over for months ahead of time.
After a long day of classes, he finally gets back to his dorm on Friday afternoon only to find that his roommate's out-of-town girlfriend is staying the weekend. It doesn't seem like a big deal at first, but after a while the happy couple start cuddling and giggling and he feels the overwhelming need to leave the room. He grabs his backpack full of textbooks, hoping he didn't forget anything and heads to the library for yet another night of being sexiled.
The house looks different to each person that sets eyes on it. To some it's just a dirty place to party for free and meet other college kids; to others it's their property and source of income. But to a small number of students, it's home.
All the laundry machines are taken, a professor cancels class with a note on the door, the weather is taking a turn for the better, the line at Moe's is too long, whatever issue a student has can be expressed and shared with 140 characters or less. The Twitter account @UBProblems was created in November as a place for students to voice their opinions about various problems and struggles amongst the UB community.
The attendance in the libraries has increased, Capen
Well-groomed students wearing dark suits and polished shoes with portfolios in their hands lined up outside Edward L.
Ryan Adams took a break from canoeing when somebody called out excitedly. A group of dolphins appeared in the water not too far from his group and Adams, at the time a junior mechanical engineering major, dove into the water to swim towards them.
After Burger King left the Commons on North Campus, students didn't have to wait long to go without a burger fix in the plaza.
Matt Green remembers watching as his abusive father was repeatedly slammed into their front lawn by police officers. He remembers staring at five two-liter bottles that were full to the brim with his own vomit ? he'd glance at them between sets of curls, push-ups, and sit-ups.
Taking a step into My Tomato Pie isn't the same as taking a step into your average Italian restaurant.
Exactly one year ago, Carly Schreiber, a sophomore communication major, lay on the bathroom floor of Target throwing up and shaking, losing feeling in her arms and legs.
The floor of the basement is sticky from beer and the black lights ? intended to create a club-like vibe ? illuminate two cobwebbed laundry machines positioned against a far wall. It's no ritzy nightclub, but to Zachary Goldstein, a freshman history major, it may as well be Madison Square Garden. Each night in the basement he makes his debut as a DJ, and though he is working for free, he has every intention of bringing down the (frat) house. Goldstein is not the only person whose interest in music ? specifically, electronic music ? has inspired him to give turntables a try.
At first glance, English professor Joseph Valente looks the part of a disheveled police officer, hardened by years of grotesque images and murderous aftermath implanted into his memory.
The club members sit in front of the panel of SA Senate officials ? sweaty palms, hearts racing.
She stared at herself in the mirror, disappointed in what she saw. She heard the voices of the popular girls of her high school in her head telling her that she was slutty and chubby ? that she didn't deserve to be on the cheerleading squad like the rest of them.
Solutions by The State News
