I was having a bad day recently and, as per usual, my best friend from home, Janine, was the only one to answer my call. She listened, gave advice and spoon-fed me classic lines like 'you're better than him,' and 'please don't set anything on fire.'

The economic downturn could not have come at a worse time for the beleaguered newspaper industry. Already facing declining revenue and shrinking circulation due to competition with the Internet and other new media, traditional newspapers have had to cut staff, shrink sections and close offices just to survive. Some papers have simply closed.

If at some point in elementary school you debated who could push the tire swing the coolest, which name will make the class's gerbil most peer-friendly or why your Meowth totally deserves to be traded for that other guy's holographic Charizard, you have inadvertently been a part of this week's ThingFight.

In a few short weeks, I'll be printing off my last papers, scribbling on my final Scantron sheets and turning in my remaining projects. That's right, dear readers, my illustrious career here at Boston University is '- sadly '- coming to a close this May.

Did you know that the first American bicycle race was held in Allston on May 24, 1878, at what was then Beacon Park? Allston also used to be home to the Charles River Speedway, where such studs as A.J. Furbushat and H.B. Ralston furiously raced their horse-drawn carts at the turn of the century.

I love mixtapes. More than likely, you do, too (I hope). They are perfect little reminders to the ones we have feelings for of exactly what those feelings are. But, in college, we often find ourselves in relationships that last less than 24 hours (specifically, the part of 24 hours called night).

Does the iPhone have a breathalyzer? I know it has applications that allow you to play beer pong and even chug virtual beers, but I haven't heard anything about a breathalyzer.

Ask me about self-publishing your blog or continuing an abusive relationship, and I will give you hope. I can't think of a bad decision without wanting to buy it dinner, maybe spending a year together before we grow too different and are only in it for the sex.

Tuesday was St. Patrick's Day, a day of revelry, celebration, Hiberno-American pride and moderate imbibing of intoxicating substances. It is appropriate then to turn our attention to the actual Emerald Isle, which, were it not for tourists, would probably see the day as a mostly religious event.

I visited my sister at her college dorm room in San Francisco over spring break. On Tuesday morning, we awoke in her twin XL bed with a picture of her wearing a funny hat and holding an alcoholic beverage staring down at us.

It's St. Patrick's Day, and you know what that means: life-changing dilemmas. Perhaps you can't decide whether you should get your significant other a box of Lucky Charms or a bottle of whiskey, or whether you'd rather wear something green or be groped by strangers.

It's been a rough seven years and change since 9/11, hasn't it? Somehow, despite shooting innumerable brown people (just like the ones who flew planes into our nice buildings), terrorism has grown, anti-American sentiment has flourished and another Beatle has died (George, for my uncultured, music-hating readers).