The End.
Such finality in the words, such magnitude of meaning. The phrase is commonplace in our culture ““ ironic, because we clearly hate endings.
Since 1919
The End.
Such finality in the words, such magnitude of meaning. The phrase is commonplace in our culture ““ ironic, because we clearly hate endings.
I was late to my first-ever college class, an astronomy lecture in Kinsey Pavilion that I’m surprised I’m not still looking for.
Missing the bus is a bad thing. When you’re 8 years old, it means your mom has to be late to work to take you to elementary school.
A day after an article in Sports Illustrated harshly criticized the character of the program, the UCLA men’s basketball team executed its finest weekend of the season, a three-day stretch that featured a 30-point trouncing of Washington State and an impressive victory over Washington, the Pac-12’s best team.
We canceled practice that night, and instead spent two-plus hours in a circle of chairs at center court. Lots of confession, lots of emotion, lots of real talk.
It’s awards season in Los Angeles.
I remember Friday nights as a kid; we all do.