Opinion

Yawning is a most flavorful exercise indeed. It’s kind of like Pringles: once you pop you might not be able to stop because MSG shares a near identical chemical structure with high-grade heroin. I’m bullshitting. But let’s say your friend yawns and you yawn back. This is a perfectly normal part of yawning behavior, although an odd one (are we communicating subconsciously, like telling other members of the human herd that we’re exhausted and sleepy-time should commence or is it that our brains are overheating?). And when it happens with strangers I always feel a little violated or like I’ve violated the other person’s privacy.

A lot can change in a year. That’s what a friend recently said to me. The moment she said those words, I couldn’t help but laugh a little – they sounded so dramatic and cliché to me. I imagined a season finale for “One Tree Hill” ending with some monologue and that sentence smacked right at the end of it.

Many of us have everything we need on campus – classes, dining commons, student housing and friends. But in the Community Chambers on Russell Boulevard, the city government is making decisions every day that affect several aspects of our lives while attending college.

I’m honestly uncertain on how I feel about my personal sluttiness. If you were to ask me about sluttiness as a concept,

I was told a carrier pigeon was searching for me. It flitted about the cold, stone walls of my manor all weekend, eyes peeled for my curly golden mane. It looked for me in my smoking gallery, at the archery range and at the pool hall. It even sought me in my trophy room, where I might be admiring my latest prize. But to no avail. The carrier pigeon couldn’t find me because I wasn’t in my manor this past weekend – I was in Inverness, sitting on a porch watching an osprey hover lazily on the wind.

I suppose it was only a matter of time until I jumped the shark and decided to write about the meaning of life. After all, the apocalypse is fast approaching, so it’s time to bring out the big guns. My friend once told me she knew, but she was high and said to ask her the next day. She didn’t remember shit the next day. I guess I wasn’t meant to find out that night.

You all have friends. And if you don’t, I’ll be your friend. You might have girl friends or boy friends. You might have tall friends, short friends, blonde friends, smelly friends, smart friends or best friends.

I guess I’ll preface this column by apologizing for how all over the place it will probably sound. I attribute this to the fact that I’m currently locked in my room trying to write while my roommates are in the living room screaming about “The Bachelorette.” As much as it pains me to feed into female stereotypes by admitting that, I felt it was necessary because I can’t even hear myself think.

Beginning tomorrow, students will have the chance to make a strong and definitive statement to Mark Yudof and the UC Regents about whether or not they have confidence in the administration and its voting members.

I don’t like being sentimental, really. It’s in poor taste most of the time. I like to take the British stiff upper lip approach when it comes to socially-demanding displays of crocodile tears. So my last two columns will not be emotional, and I’m certainly not going to thank anyone. The trite phrase, “I couldn’t have done it without you” is absolute bullocks and I will not partake in such nonsense.

A seemingly kind but shabby looking man offers you Seattle’s Best Coffee at Borders. The old man has been sitting across from you on a stool for at least an hour. He disappears for a few minutes and comes back to offer you a cup of coffee. What do you do?

Two nights before I drove back up to Davis at the end of my one-week spring break, my parents sat me down in their last-ditch effort to convince me to study abroad and learn Chinese in Hong Kong instead of going to Turkey.