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.

The UCLA–USC rivalry is just ugly these days. I couldn’t even find the heart to Tweet any jokes, so you know it was a rough viewing.

Tis the season for couples, and you either love or hate Valentine’s Day for it. Tuesday’s holiday exists almost exclusively to celebrate a particular relationship status, which is awesome for those who have someone special and not necessarily anything super special for those who don’t.

In the hilarious and much-circulated YouTube video “Sh*t Nobody Says,” one of the lines goes something like: “I wish there was more WNBA on TV.”