Last Thursday night, I left my apartment and embarked on a quest to find the finest public restroom at UC Irvine. I had just finished a very large plate of leftover spaghetti, and my stomach hurt badly enough that I probably should have sprawled out on the couch and watched ‘Seinfeld’ reruns for an hour or two to digest my food. However, I had a job to do, and I wasn’t going to let anything stand in my way, not even marinara sauce.
With my iPod on full blast, I made the seemingly endless trek from the apartments where I live to the main part of campus. That night, I began listening to Jeff Buckley’s ‘Yard of Blonde Girls.’ I felt dangerous