Updates on your cell phone. Bloggers in the Supreme Court. The lucky newspapers up for sale; the unlucky ones down for the count.  Now that everyone with eyes and ears seems to have access to a computer and the mainstream media outlets find themselves in honest competition with upstart bloggers, podcasters and Wikipedians, the already fast-paced world of the media is in a state of constant kinesis.

The media never fails to trumpet its responsibility to the people, but with more of the traditional filters gone, we the consumers must consider the evaluation of information a crucial endeavor. 

Now that all of the college-picking kerfuffle has died down, I can share with minimal pain the delightful happenings surrounding my fantastic trip to the East Coast.

It started out simply enough. My mom and I packed up our bags, swigged some coffee and headed off to the airport at some ungodly hour with a spring in our step. We ate matching veggie burgers at the airport and stationed ourselves neatly in the aircraft, excitedly anticipating the anything-but-boring safety presentation that comes complimentary with every trip. After fine cuisine and several pleasurable hours on the plane, we arrived in Boston.

(Photo: For Warriors fans, this past season was unforgettable.  Credit: Nhat V. Meyer -- Mercury News archives) 

In my 18 years of life, I’ve experienced a lot of exciting events that I’ll never forget.

But recently, one event gave Bay Area basketball fans like me a feeling we haven’t experienced in a long time: The Golden State Warriors making the postseason.

Their season has been over for a few weeks now, but I still can’t wrap my head around what the Warriors accomplished. They snuck into the playoffs on the very last day of the regular season and were matched up against the Dallas Mavericks -- a team that had won 67 games and was everyone’s choice to win the championship.

I really want to like the San Francisco Giants.

They're a franchise with the potential to be great. They have a gorgeous new stadium, some fire-balling young pitchers and a superstar who happens to have hit the second-most home runs in Major League Baseball history.

In fact, I do like the Giants; I'm just continually frustrated by them.

On April 17, the Giants wasted a two-hit, seven-inning masterpiece by their young ace-in-training, Matt Cain. The bullpen gave up five runs in one inning, and the Giants went on to lose to the Colorado Rockies, a perennial last-place finisher in the National League West.

Every kid has a vision of her senior year.

Maybe she wants to be prom queen, maybe editor in chief of the school newspaper.  She might imagine her hunky quarterback boyfriend or her tortured artist “guy friend” who is secretly in love with her. 

Me?  I imagined I’d be a mock trial county champion directing a one-act play that would knock the socks off student audiences come May.

What I didn’t imagine, when I pictured my epic senior year, was that I would be a Cabbage Patch Kid.

Typical teenager that I am, the word “swollen,” like the word “rescinded,”  had an intellectual significance to me.  I understood the concept (bad) and the fact that this word could, should something unfortunate happen, apply to me. What I did not understand was that a doctor and a teacher adviser are two very different things.

One of the most annoying trends at my school is an obsession with poker.

I’m not sure how big poker is at other schools, but at my school, you’re not cool if you can’t play Texas Hold ‘Em, Five Card Draw or a plethora of other card games.

This gambling trend started about two years ago, with poker tournaments on channels such as ESPN. The risks and rewards of poker, and the mysterious, masked poker players, were romanticized. Players such as Johnny Chan, who would bet big and cover their personalities with stone-cold poker faces, became role models.

Soon, poker games were springing up all across campus, and almost every student had a deck of cards in their backpack. Two years later, the gambling craze has passed its prime but is still very much alive.

California’s demographics are changing. It’s time to start wondering whether our schools should catch up.

According to the 2000 U.S. Census, 32 percent of children in California ages 5 to 17 speak Spanish at home. This number has been growing, and if the fact that a greater percentage of children than adults speak Spanish at home is any indication, the percentage of Spanish-speaking households will continue to grow.

Spanish is still a minority language, and 86.2 percent of those children who speak Spanish at home also speak English “well” or “very well,” according to the census. However, the fact that the use of Spanish dwarfs the use of any other non-English language and it's use is on the rise begs the question of bilingual education.

One of the best "gifts" I've ever gotten was a watch.

If I remember correctly, it was a woman's watch that I bought with the intention of giving to my mom. I liked it so much that I almost refused to give it up, and she let me keep it. Its black band and green face remain forever imprinted in my memory. It had a veritable cornucopia of modes: countdown timer, count-up timer and alarm. It even had a snazzy turquoise backlight. I thought it was the epitome of gadgetry. As far as I was concerned, if there was anything my watch couldn't do, it wasn't worth doing.

As someone who isn’t happy with the current state of rap, I have to say: I’m sick and tired of rap songs that tell us to do a certain “dance.”

Don’t get me wrong, I’m a big fan of the hyphy movement. I like Keak Da Sneak and E-40, just like anyone else. If I’m at a dance, sure, I’ll thizz face and do what the songs tell me to do, whether it’s to “walk it out” or “lean with it.”

But it’s getting old. When I listen to a song, I want more than a catchy beat – I also appreciate good lyrics and a message.  It’s a problem when an industry that should be known for its creative lyrics and beats is bombarded by seemingly the same melodies, lyrics and dance moves.

The hour was late, and I was sitting upstairs in my room reading “Crime and Punishment.” Downstairs, my parents were watching some sitcom, having a jolly old time as I toiled away with my pal Dostoevsky.

In my easily distracted state, I heard chirps of laughter coming from downstairs. Looking up from the pages, I listened carefully and determined that the dozen or so different giggles were not, in fact, emanating from my amused parents, but rather from a laugh track.