Hopping a coachclass out of Los Angeles at high noon one day in late June of 2007 I found myself watching season one of Lost on DVD next to a 250 lb Brazilian on his way to Seattle. I lay down with my sweatshirt balled up under my head and legs crossed as I recline my seat as far as it will go as we rolled north towards Santa Barbara.
As the train went up through the San Fernando valley, my thoughts went back to my days at UCSB. For a small percentage of the population, college is nothing more than grooming school for upper-class aspiring, non-identity frat brothers who usually find their perfect expression on the outskirts of campus in rows of ratty apartment buildings with beirut tables and couches in each lawn and everyone thinking the same thoughts as they all watch the same girls at the same time every day as they bike down Pardall Road to get to class. Continue reading






