Little people need big people. Like the birds that pick flies off of African water buffalo, it’s a mutually beneficial relationship. The little guy makes the big guy look bigger, and the big guy stops other big guys who want to beat the little guy’s ass.

Maybe my little sister would like it (if I had a little sister). Maybe she would like the Backstreet Boys, too. And Carson Daly from MTV. Alas, I haven’t that sweet little shnookums of a young protégée.

Anyway, Josie and the Pussycats have lived through the ’60s with a comic book series, the ’70s with a cartoon series, and are trying to transition into the next millennium with their new movie.

Everyone always complains about how far away Los Angeles is from Claremont, and with good reason. LA has more bars than it does residents, and we have Heroes or The Press. LA has Melrose and Third Street Promenade, and we have that weird cat-themed clothing store in the Village. And, of course, on any given night in LAthere are dozens of bands playing at venues that range from dark, seedy clubs to the Staples Center.

When I was a high school student eagerly devouring Pomona’s glossy prospectus literature and traipsing through the green gardens listening intently to the chirping of my tour guide, I distinctly remember it being impressed upon me multiple times that Pomona was the oldest member of a college consortium founded on the model of Oxford University.

Abbott and Costello. Siegfried and Roy. The Captain and Tennille. America has produced a number of exceptional duos in the entertainment world, but none have captivated our generation as much as Corey Haim and Corey Feldman did in the late 1980s. The two Coreys, best represented in License to Drive, were icons of wholesome rebellion: cool enough to get the girl, kind enough to chill with the parents.

Who wants to go to college? I do not care how many giant glowing crucifixes are crowding up the local skyline, or how stupid the bars are, or how few Thai restaurants are within 25 miles of my house. I am living the high life right here in Hicksville, USA, because my mother has finally left for Arizona, leaving me with custody of the car, the house, my brother, and a big pile of Tennis magazines from 1982.

It’s an easy thing to pick on a college theater department. For one, theater and other more "artistic" majors are not among the most popular majors at schools like Pomona and are rarely viewed by students as being "real" or serious studies. Further, there is a certain initial stigma attached to college theater which situates it, like athletics, in the very distant realm of the "theater people" or "the jocks."