4B - The Michigan Daily - eke d Iijizin- - Thursday, April 10, 2003
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CAITLIN NISH - BEHIND CLOSED DOORSI
UNFINISHED BUSINESS AND POST-COLLEGE SEX
The Michigan Daily - Weekeld Maine-
[ 7 Am PAUL - I FOUGHT THE LAW
APRIL
I
S THE CRUELEST MONTI-
my editors e-mailed to say
that tis was my last column, I
was stumped. What was the one
thing that I hadn't written about that I
couldn't leave without doing? There are so
many topics that I didn't get the chance to
cover - sex etiquette, pornography, anal
sex, the rules of the random hook-up and
the use of food products during sex being
just a sample of my untapped ideas.
Then there were the ideas that people
have e-mailed me that I found either too
bizarre or disgusting; people who dress up
as furry animals to have sex, people who
have sex with furry animals, peeing on
someone as sexual stimulation and sex
while menstruating. See, I told you they
were bizarre and disgusting.
I also considered printing my answers
to some of the stranger emails I got in
response to my column. I decided that
would take too long, but to those who
wrote me, I have just this to say:
1. I am not a psychologist. I have only
taken one psych class and didn't even do
that well in it. My columns simply state
my opinions, opinions I've formed with-
Omliege Braduati M
Specil
out any scientific basis. They are usually
things my friends and I discuss after
returning home from the bar. And yes, I.
am well aware that sex is not just some-
thing to talk casually about. Yes, sex can
be very loving and very special. But let's
be honest, do you think anyone wants to
read about that? No, they want to read
about road head and doing it on the 50-
yard line, so that's what I give them.
2. I am not a matchmaker and I do not
run a sorority girl escort service. I don't
make housecalls to dorms and I can't help
you meet people or give you tips on how to
meet people. I've been with the same per-
son for close to four years. I barely think I
would know how to meet someone new I
live vicariously through my single friends.
I would like to help you find the perfect
mate, but that is not my area of expertise.
3. I am not a man hater. Yes, I make fun
of men, but only because they are easy tar-
gets, especially when it comes to sex. If
you are one of the many men who have e-
mailed me to say that you think that I treat
you unfairly, you should read the stories I
get from women. Men deserve to be made
fun of.If you have a problem with it, apply
for a column.
Anyway, while I was sitting in front of
a blank computer screen watching the
minutes tick away and my editors becom-
ing nervous as their deadline approached,
I realized that I couldn't decide what to
write about because I'm too worried about
graduating to think about sex.
April is a strange month here at school.
The weather is nice (okay, it's supposed to
be nice) and everyone's looking forward
to the end of classes, which means naked
people squirming on the Cube. But in
addition to the Naked Mile, the end of
classes also signals, for seniors, the end of
life as we now know it. I realized that I
could write about college sex etiquette or
about using food as a prop during sex but
that's not what my friends are talking
about anymore. Instead, they're talking
about how sex changes when we graduate.
One friend asked me, "How am I ever
going to be able to tell whether a guy is
a complete psycho who's going to take
me home to chop me into a thousand
pieces or if he's normal? Is it even safe to
think about meeting anyone at a bar?"
Let me tell you, she's never once been
concerned about the safety of going
home with someone she met at
Touchdown's or Rick's. Yes, she's a little
more worried about dating post-college
than most of my friends, but her con-
cerns are valid. At school we're in a little
cocoon where we think that just because
someone is in our English class, they are
perfectly safe. Most of the people I've
talked to here are concerned only that
their one-night stand will wake up as
they're trying to sneak out. Michigan has
provided it's students with a false sense
of safety. The real world is a different
story. It's like what my kindergarten
teacher always told us; be careful and
use the buddy system.
My friends are wondering whether their
college relationships can survive the hard-
ship of suddenly becoming long distance.
It's going to be a big change for those who
are used to semi-living with their signifi-
cant others (okay, and having sex on com-
mand, whenever they want it). I have one
friend who, when talking about her col-
lege boyfriend, dramatically flung herself
onto her bed and moaned, "Oh my God,
the first time I see him after July is going
to be at Christmas. I might actually have to
buy a vibrator." Instead of talking about
sex, we're talking about the fact that we're
not going to be having any.
Yes, this is definitely a strange time, not
only for seniors but also for those moving
back home for the summer. It's rough, you
know you're not going to be taking anyone
back home to a bedroom that still has
dinosaurs on the wallpaper and a mother
who wakes up every time you come home
late. School might be ending, but enjoy
the time you still have left. There's always
time later to worry about the real world.
- Caitlin Nish can be reached at
cnish@umich.edu.
Ann Arbor. Shit. I'm still only
in Ann Arbor. When I was
home after my first year, it
was worse. I'd wake up, and there'd
be nothing. I hardly said a word to
my parents until I said goodbye at
the airport.
When I was here, I wanted to be
there. When I was there, all I could
think of was getting back in school.
I've been here three years now.
Waiting for a letter from a potential
employer, getting softer. Every
minute I stay in this attic apartment
I get weaker. And every minute my
professors squat in their offices
they get stronger. Each time I look
around, the walls move in a little
tighter.
Though ostensibly it is spring, I
have a hard time realizing how fast
this year went by. I guess all the
fighting that went on this year was
just so much fun that I lost all track
of time.
I'd love to think that my adoles-
cent, impulsive anger was left for
dead in a city four states away, but
I've let the part of myself that
enjoys hurting other people have
regular outbursts.
Sure, I still contend that a lot of
the ranting and swearing over e-
mail, conversation and in this col-
umn were in the name of something
good (hey, I got to take a little cred-
it for Rick Dorfman apologizing to
the campus publicly, for which I
laud him), but my love of having
fun at someone else's expense is
immature. I feel I need to change,
but I think others do too.
T.S. Eliot was right, April is the
cruelest month, because as I stare
into a bleak future for this country,
and an uncertain one for me, I look
back on this past year and have to
face all the fighting and hatred that
did not have to happen here on this
campus.
My anger-driven activities have
also brought out the worst in others.
My exposure of some of the racist
things perpetrated Students Allied
for Freedom and Equality caused by
its leader, Fadi Kiblawi, to libel me
by proclaiming that I hate all Arabs
and am a 'delusional Zionist.'
Is detente possible? Maybe. To
turn a phrase from Adlai Stevenson,
perhaps if he promises to stop
telling lies about me, I will promise
to stop telling the truth about him.
Or, will he realize that in order to
achieve peace in one's self and oth-
ers, one must not allow anger to
distort one's vision? Will he learn
to love peace?
If he and his counterparts on the
other side of the Israelstine battle
continue to exploit suffering for
their careers or scribble hateful
comments, their tragic existence
falls into my domain, making it my
duty to stand firm between them
and in a position of power for the
sake of everyone else. And every-
one who shares the concern for the
greater good needs to stand up
against these people as well. They
will either change or they will be
defeated. There is no alternative.
My e-mail box has been the
source of much of my anger this
year. An announcement for a rich,
white economist to talk about why
sweatshops are good for the global
economy crossed into my box this
week. Would this product of cod-
dled, privileged society think differ-
ently if it were his sister, wife or
mother who has to be sterilized
with a rusted knitting needle and
beaten with a crowbar? I can't say
that I had a third-world upbringing,
but the oblivion to how the other
(more than) half lives while defend-
ing human rights abuses makes my
blood boil.
When the pro-war junkies strut
around on this campus full of
smugness, knowing that they can
watch the war on their big screen
TVs and not have to risk their lives
like their less fortunate, often
minority counterparts, it gives me
the
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