What is fall if not the chance to pull out your edgiest leather jacket and 

hit up some local music venues? Here are a few upcoming Ann Arbor 

music events — we promise, we’ve got something for everyone.

2B

THE LIST

MILK CARTON KIDS
The Ark, October 29th

THE AVET T BROTHERS
Hill Auditorium, November 6th.

COLIN HAY
The Ark, November 8th

BUZZFEED, BUT BETTER

GET YOUR JAM ON IN A 2

THE VERVE PIPE
The Ark, October 17th

VANESSA CARLTON
Blind Pig, November 13th

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Wednesday, September 30, 2015 // The Statement

F

irst, a joke: University 
President 
Mark 

Schlissel, if by “party 

culture” you mean sitting 
alone in your room, listening 
to a Pete Holmes podcast and 
thinking about masturbating, 
then I am definitely devaluing 
my education.

Thank you.
Spoiler Alert: This ends at 

3:30 a.m. with a couch, a movie 
and my Someone Special. 
Gush, nay?

Here goes:
I flirted with a woman. Yes, 

me, the leaser of a Murphy 
bed/owner 
of 
a 
Squirrel 

puppet. Most of my bumblings 
with women become fodder for 
my 
I’ll-Show-Them-When-

I’m-Famous book, but this one 
was different. No, wait, not 
different. Worse. 

She’s where my night began. 

(Wide shot of a crowded 
college street. “Baba O’Reilly” 
plays.)

At the Greenwood Block 

Party — a massive devaluation 
of our education — while my 
good 
buddy 
Graham 
was 

using these girls’ apartment-
bathroom, 
a 
beautiful 

sophomore (for anonymity’s 
sake, let’s call her “Richard 
Nixon”) asked me about my 
apartment.

“Yeah, it’s a pretty sweet 

deal,” said I, all seductive and 
such. “Got a Murphy bed, it 
folds out of the wall. Got a red 
couch, which is, you know, 
different, which I like. Love it! 
(cough) Oh, and I have my own 
room — yeah! — I put up these 
really cool posters like...”

Oh how we plummet when 

we can’t grow wings!

We 
asked 
Beth 
(Oops. 

Richard Nixon.) to join us 
at another party. She waved 
goodbye. Guess Nixon didn’t 
want to hear about my “Raiders 
of the Lost Ark” poster or my 
bagel supply or my stuffed 
meerkat Jerome.

Ricky-Nix, if you’re reading 

this: Sorry for going on about 

my posters, and sorry Graham 
was so weird. He’s just a lonely 
guy who really needed your 
bathroom.

And Graham: Don’t worry 

about that last paragraph. 
Just playing the game, ya 
dig? Coffee later? I like your 
sweater, bud! That wool?

The evening wore on.
Graham and I ended up 

at a bar: Mash, where our 
education further decreased 
in value. We whittled away 
the hours waiting for girls to 
talk to us first, a strategy that’s 
worked zero percent of the 
time, if you’re not counting that 
one day my female doctor told 
me I had a “weird ear canal.”

Once or twice, I peeked 

at the dance floor, imagining 
some 
attainable-looking 

woman holding a sign that said, 
“Hey, Alex Bernard! I’m not at 
all turned off by your weird, 
tiny wrists. Let’s do mind-
blowing oral sex!” (Note to self: 
Look up definition of “oral.”) 

Or maybe a woman giving 

me The Look, the one that said, 
“Yes. You. You’re what I had in 
mind.”

But 
I’m 
never 
that 

Somebody In Mind for anyone. 
I think when people are 
attracted to me, they’re proud 
of themselves for being so 
open-minded.

Which is fine, really. I’m 

proud of them too.

The dance floor was empty 

though, just a puddle of man-
sweat and a pounding in my 
head that was either the Queen 
cover band or that medical 
condition my doctor keeps 
calling, “Sadness.”

Explanation: I’d just broken 

up with somebody, which — in 
the words of my great-great-
grandfather — sucked major 
dick. They always do, break-
ups, or at least, they should. 
This one did — for reasons 
too intimate to disclose to my 
dozens of readers (Hi, Mom). 
It sucked.

So how I felt in Mash that 

night was … fine. Exactly 
fine. 
Rejected, 
foolish, 

uncomfortable. But fine. God, 
it was — is — terrible to be so 
Just OK.

The night wore on and on 

again and again, like it wanted 
to wear on. Eventually, I went 
to the bar alone and ordered 
my third free Coke. On TV, 
football was starting or ending. 
It was 1:30 a.m.

A girl slid next to me. She 

was blonde. Attractive too, 
which is my type.

She: “Personal question: 

Are you single?” I was. “Look 
over my shoulder.” – Shit. – 
“See my friend?” I did. “She’s 
also single and thinks you’re 
attractive. Can I set you guys 
up?”

I said I was flattered but fine, 

with my friends, didn’t want 
to do anything tonight, had 
cholesterol and chlorophyll 
and yada-yada-yada. It goes on.

But why? Why say no, you 

lonely man?

I don’t know. Back off, 

Sharon.

Maybe, I just didn’t think 

she was attractive. Maybe I 
just wanted to hang out with 
Graham. Maybe I hadn’t had 
enough Cokes to say “yes.” Ha.

Graham came up to me, gave 

me a look that said, “Whatever 
it is, me too,” and murmured 
our code word:

“Scott-Pilgrim.”
Which means, “Let’s go 

watch ‘Scott Pilgrim.’”

So we did, the first half. 

And then, at 3:30 a.m., I rose 
from his couch, high-fived 
my Special Someone, left 
Graham’s 
apartment 
and 

dragged myself home, where I 
sat in my chair for a while.

Then, after that while, I 

sighed, opened my computer, 
clicked a Pete Holmes podcast 
and devalued my education.

At 4:30 a.m., I went to bed.

If you have a crush on Alex, 
email him at adbnard@umich.
edu. He won’t know otherwise.

Another Thing: I devalued my education last night 

B Y A L E X B E R N A R D

WHAT’S NEW
ON THE RECORD

“The words “Michigan Daily” by themselves aren’t 
anything; it’s just a name. What’s meaningful is what 

they stand for — thousands of students who have devoted 

countless hours to produce the best journalism.”

–THE MICHIGAN DAILY EDITOR IN CHIEF JEN CALFAS, 

during a speech at a dinner celebrating the paper’s 125th anniversary.

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