This California transplant will be missing the Plains

When I came to Auburn I had no friends.

None.

I'm not even joking when I say that. No one from my high school had ever even heard of Auburn University.

Growing up in California, life is a bit of a bubble. Alabama is represented only through the continuum of "My Cousin Vinny."

I, on the other hand, knew differently since I had family in the South.

I knew all I needed to know - football is in the roots of this region.

Bo Jackson, Archie Manning and Herschel Walker aren't just names. They are legends, icons and gods we all had the privilege to enjoy Saturdays in the fall.

At first I was ashamed to say it, but SEC football is the reason I looked only at SEC schools when making a decision about where to go to college.

I wanted to be a sports reporter and I went where I could cover the best college sports.

So, after visiting the Auburn campus as a senior the decision was made for me.

The red brick, sweet summer air and nostalgic feel of the campus had me at first sight.

Ignore the construction for a minute and reflect on the sheer beauty of Auburn University's home.

It's a campus stuck in the 70s, but in the best of ways.

I could go on for paragraph after paragraph about the red brick. I don't know what it is about it, but it gives the buildings on campus an almost human characteristic.

They blush at you when the sun shines and remind us of decades past.

Somewhere stuck on this campus, at a place many of you have never seen, lies the best part of Auburn.

The Plainsman offices.

The old office was a hovel. No chairs matched. None of the computers worked. The hallway to the bathroom looked like a lost set from "The Shining."

It had character and it gave me the character I have today.

I've made friends that I am confident I'll never lose - Facebook chat may never allow me to.

I've spent so many hours of my life half-awake, running on the sweet nectar of sweet tea, polishing off a story facing down a deadline like the barrel of a gun.

The Plainsman is a learning lab, but writing on deadline and producing a newspaper each week is not all you learn.

You learn that you will be made fun of for everything you may or may not say.

You learn keeping secrets is useless - journalists don't allow such a thing.

You learn some chairs you can race in and some are meant for work.

You learn the best way to fix a machine is to first scream obscenities at it, then restart it, all the while praying to whatever twisted god believes hanging prepositions must be punished.

You also learn to be humble - there is nothing worse than spelling a name wrong.

I've had the pleasure of giving my opinions in this paper for two years now, and I've never got it 100 percent right, but such is life.

I won't even get this column right, so I'll stop.

I couldn't have asked for a better place to work, a better group of people to work with or a better two years of "experience."

For those of you sticking around next year, treat this paper right. I know you all are going to do great and finish what we started with a little reverse text and a nice, long conversation on ethics.

I've had a great four years and I thought YOU should know.