The funny thing about college newspaper writers is that we are unceremoniously fired after four years of dedicated service, no matter how magnificent the prose, no matter how hard-hitting the journalistic prowess.
Yesterday I went to a chili cook-off, a fraternity philanthropic event that I've enjoyed for the past four years.
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.
The dream is over. My final collegiate Halloween has come and gone. My fantasies of outlandish costumes have gone out the window faster than Michael Jackson's children.
Every once in a while, a class comes along that really makes you re-think what you know about something.
The e-pocalypse is upon us. In a good way. The University has decided to partner up with Google to make the mail system here at TJ's stomping grounds about a trillion times better.
Can you believe that college actually has to end at some point? Nobody forwarded me that memo. My impression was that you'd graduate from high school and then go off to college until you die.
College life is expensive. Well, OK -- it doesn't have to be pricey, if you currently reside in a sub-letted Clemons cubicle, as I do.
I've got a problem: Famous people keep writing me letters and asking for my help. Maybe Scientology can't solve everything after all.
It finally happened. I got hit by a car riding my bike to class. Maybe it was karma, for all those times I rode without a helmet.
