So it didn't really hit me that I'm graduating in less than two weeks until two days ago, when I went for a late jaunt on campus.

It was a cool spring night. As I headed out my door, I took the same route I've taken every day for the last two years to campus. Past the wooden Buddha, past the Chi Omega fountain where a group of kids were playing in the water. Past the Campanille tower, whose white hat seemed to match the moon.

And then I realized...I'm actually, really, 100%, going to graduate. And the next time I come to campus, I won't be a student. I won't be a high school kid going on a campus tour and I won't be a second grader going on a field trip to the Natural History museum.

Nope. I'll be a wistful KU graduate, and I'll probably feel like a ghost, as one beloved professor puts it.

It's kind of overwhelming having to cram all of my valuable lessons, nutty experiences and stories from these past five years into 300 words, but what better place is there to reflect than at the finish line?

I've learned to love transitions. During my favorite year, I went from living in a boarding house full of girls and lounging on the beach all summer in Brazil to living in a sorority for a semester, from the sorority to a house full of boys, then from the house full of boys to a residence hall in Argentina.

I've also learned to love the unexpected. I survived a microburst, danced in funk parades, came close to death on a dirt road in Bolivia when our jeep nearly flipped over, got hissed at by a penguin, saw a penguin on a beach in the summertime (which totally turned my world upside down), and pet fuzzy alpacas on Machu Picchu (I later found they were installed there on purpose so dopes like me would take pictures). And not too long ago, I saw Mass. Street overflow with 50,000 fans after we won the national championship.

It seems like there shouId be some kind of culminating moment after these five years. But I kinda already "fake graduated" last May so I could walk down the Hill with my friends. So this year, there will be no fancy processions, no cap and gown, and no teary goodbyes.

I guess I'll just take a late-night jaunt past the wooden Buddha, past the fountain, past the Campanille, down the road I know, for one last time.

Hey, who here remembers Mac Tonight? Click here for the sped-up version.

Oh yeahhhhh....wasn't he that moon-headed Vegas McDonald's lounge singer guy?

Well, I've got great news - I bet you thought he was dead, but I found his head at a local thrift store not too long ago. Perfectly preserved, no rottage, just minus the sunglasses. (The inside of his head smells like musty cologne and febreeze though, which makes me wonder where he's been.)

My proposal: to bring Mac Tonight back to life. So, I've got the head...does anyone have a body we can ...

Some folks mark the end of an era when they lose their last baby tooth. Others can mark it when they first ride a bike without training wheels and stop believing in Santa Clause (which usually happens simultaneously, I think).

In my childhood, I marked the chapters with the gradual aging of an old friend.

When I was seven, Aggie was timid and red like the autumn leaves. Every day, she would jump up and perch her petite feet on the chain-link fence to greet a messy-haired, chubby kid in a plaid uniform.

She was there for the beginnings, ...

Seven years ago, we thought Segways would be the wave of the future. Could they be the answer to urban congestion? Would flocks of business folk be zipping awkwardly to work every day, weaving in and out of traffic with their skinny black ties flapping in the wind?

Although that would have been my dream come true, until recently I had only seen a Segway once, and that was when an overweight police officer chased a guy across a Westport parking lot one night.

But this summer, my dream of awkward Segway armies finally came true. And after two months ...

It was my last winter break ever, and for months I dreamt of visiting my friends in Ecuador and lounging at their beach house. I envisioned two weeks lying on the warm sand, sipping from a coconut in the shade of a lazy palm tree.

Unfortunately, my budget put me on a tight leash.

Maybe sunny beaches were out of my reach, but luckily, a star-studded midwestern oasis called Branson was just four hours down the road.

It’s known as Las Vegas’s family-friendly counterpart, and for good reason. Nearly 7.4 million tourists flock to the strip each year to see ...