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.

As a graduating senior, my reign as sex columnist is too quickly coming to an end. I’ve spent four years expanding my sexual horizons with adventures such as Arts Quad building rendezvous deemed “study breaks,” woodland lovemaking (on film), girl-on-girl-on-guy action and a recent love sesh on Schoellkopf field where touchdowns were, for once, plentiful.

My freshman year, on Slope Day, I was graced with the opportunity to see a truly inspiring artist, a voice for a generation and a cultural icon. Yes, I am of course talking about Drake, the former wheelchair bound Degrassi star turned Bob-Dylan of rap.

For my last column of the semester I’m going to have to speak about what seems to be the current “hot topic” at Cornell: Greek life. Recently everything about Greek life has been questioned from its diversity to its very existence.

The economic crisis in the Eurozone has progressed to a point at which it is impossible to follow and understand. A nebulous, parasitic presence, it more closely resembles a disease the continent is slowly learning to live with rather than one for which there is a cure. One need only glance at the Financial Times’ aggregation of stories about the crisis to realize the absurdity at play.

To get trashed or not to get trashed? That is the question. After a year of college in outlandish and standoff-ish Ithaca, one will encounter the multifarious faces of alcohol and the variegated shades of behavior alcohol produces in people. When one does a free association test with the words “alcohol” and “Cornell,” a deluge of terms flood into the mind map.

Coming home this past Monday to news that there had been a bombing in Boston, I experienced a wide range of emotions. 

As a Bostonian at Cornell, I’ve always felt like something of an oddity. There are a fair number of us here, but having never lived outside of Massachusetts, Ithaca seemed like a far cry from the city I called home. 

One day after the tragic explosions that interrupted the Boston Marathon, The New York Times ran a front page story entitled “Blasts at Boston Marathon Kill 3 and Injure 100.” Of course, I learned about this tragedy much sooner from the numerous iPhone notifications, the general buzz on campus and the abundance of Facebook posts filling my news feed.

I was out of state during winter break when I learned from a housemate that our apartment had been burglarized.