Most people who write these columns are going to be filling the pages with endless goodbyes and shout outs to “that guy who lived down the hall freshman year.” I don’t want to do that. Read more...

When I first toured UCLA as a high school junior, my initial thought was, “Oh, man, I am so glad I’m not going to school here.” During a brief spring visit, I slumped down in the family minivan’s backseat as students seemed to deluge the sidewalks and cars jostled for a lane. Read more...

Picture a baseball game with a pitcher on the mound in the late innings. The afternoon sun has yielded to evening dusk, and the shadows engulf the outfield, slowly stretching from foul ground into fair territory. Read more...

Looking back, it seems as if the things you want to change can lead to your own metamorphosis. As an experimental 18-year-old, I had developed an enormous lack of respect for this university and to an extent, college life. Read more...

A few days before I moved into Rieber Hall in the fall of 1995, my otherwise stoic dad called me over to have a little “talk.” He started off by saying, “When you walk down Bruin Walk, a lot of people will try to make you join their group.” He cited various religious, Greek and political organizations that he heard about from his UCLA alumni co-workers. Read more...

You know that old out-of-focus photo of you and your best friend drunk and cross-eyed somewhere in a college dorm, or a beach in Mexico? Or that one of your boss with her head in the toilet? Read more...