Dear Natalie Portman: This is my last chance to discuss sex with the wider world and I want to use this chance to talk to you. Ms. Portman, you’re an intelligent, articulate, beautiful woman. A single glance from you strikes me with the full force of Thor’s Mjolnir! Everyone says I love you, but I know love is just a phantom menace, coming down from a cold mountain to where the heart is. I don’t love you, love is for the other women. I just really, really, really want to have sex with you. And frankly, at this time in my life, I just don’t want any other borin’ girl. I would even fly through Newark, a weed in the Garden State, to be with you. If that’s not dedication to getting closer, I don’t know what is. If we hit it off, I’ll take you first class through India on the Darjeeling Limited, through the lands of my birth. I’ll show you the magical emporiums of Uttar Pradesh, where you can find the only zoo in this land with a black swan! If you say no and shame me, don’t worry, I’m mature. I won’t take out revenge or start up a vendetta. I know there are other beautiful girls waiting to hear je t’aime.
Natalie, take a chance on me, no strings attached. I won’t let anyone else know that you assented to it — I’d hate for you to have all of the clones, copying my letter, attacking you with requests. Your highness, I am but a lowly knight, waiting for your smile. Let me know and I am but yours.
But seriously guys, enough about that. I’m here for you, Cornell. Well, I mean, I’m serious about Natalie Portman. But because this is my last column, I have to thank people and dish out the final dregs of advice I have tucked away. First, I want to thank E.L. for thinking I would be a worthy candidate to fill in for a sick columnist last spring. To C.D., for groaning at my puns and to T.G. for laughing at them. To A.I., C.H., K.F. and R.B. for giving me feedback every Thursday at work. To D.A. for telling me how much the columns sucked and that he didn’t understand anything that was going on in them, even though he didn’t read any of them. Oh, and I guess thanks to my editor Liz, who alone had to deal with the full force of my column every other Wednesday night.
To my parents, for letting me abandon my filial duties, travel to exotic locales and try to woo the natives. To my grandparents, who upon hearing that I was writing this column, thought it was the funniest thing they had ever heard and started to give me ideas. To alcohol and to gumption, to consent and to protection. And last, but not least, to the myriad of people and experiences that I have dissected, reassembled and smushed into my columns.
It’s not about the things you can check off a list or who you end up at the end, but about the stories you collect on the way. Never stop your own quest for the perfect tale. Seniors, enjoy these last few weeks. You’ve earned them, so don’t forget to make ’em sexy. Everyone else, you should probably be incredibly stressed and not see the forest for the trees. Also, that problem set you’re working on will totally determine your future and whether anyone will ever love you.
Now, my friends, I must bid you all adieu. I’m off to go find someone to have sex with me during the last lecture of PSYCH 1001.
Jimothy Singh is a senior in the College of Arts and Sciences. He may be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org. Quest for the Perfect Tale appears alternate Thursdays this semester.
Original Author: jimothy singh