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ISSUE 121 VOL 1 PUBLISHED 9/21/2007

Sex on the Hill: Fall hornies

By Miriam Samuelson
News Editor

Friday, September 21, 2007

Ladies, gentlemen and everyone in between: Welcome to fall on the Hill. You'll notice something crisp in the air, the leaves turning brilliant yellows and oranges; you'll notice students buried in their books as exams and papers begin to pile up; and you'll see lights on in dorm rooms later and later as last Tuesday's homework gets done for this Thursday. And among all these phenomena, if you look closely (or even not so closely), you'll notice the fall hornies.

You may even feel them yourself - they come every year, as part of the ebb and flow in the lives of sex-crazed college students who live in close proximity to other sex-crazed college students.

They're distinct, these hornies, quite different from the springtime ones. While spring hornies force one outside into the debutante ball of blooming flowers and new life, fall hornies draw one indoors toward warm cups of tea and fleece blankets. And, of course, a body (and mind and soul, I suppose) to share these things with - that's the drive behind the fall hornies. The fall hornies are a closing in, a contemplative meditation on the fact that everything is dying or hibernating, and everyone is writing papers.

But let me make something clear: this whole writing papers business can work to the advantage of the fall hornies. The fall hornies are actually primarily intellectual in origin. Sure, your fling during Week One was fun; yes, it was nice to imagine hooking up with that guy you met at a party last weekend. But somewhere between the looming dread of Monday and the utter exhaustion of Friday, you realize that academia is taking over your life.

You need to combine the interests of your professors (and looming summer job or grad school applications, yikes) and these intangible yet insistently undulating God-forsaken hornies. So here's what you do: you rely on your homework to get you some.

You know those people who write with such poise or finish off that equation with such robust confidence that it's hot? Study with those people. Edit their papers; if you can't get with them, at least revel in the subtle beauty of their language use, the poignant placement of a semicolon in that sentence or the use of "penultimate" in their well-organized analysis of social movements at the turn of the century.

And then there's always the tried-and-true St. Olaf pasttime: stalking. No, you're not creepy, and of course you love sitting at the same table in the Cage for seven hours a day. But it just so happens that your newfound friend from Biology 125 also likes sitting at the adjacent table during the break between her 10:45 and 12:55 class on Mondays… so you just want to make yourself available in case she has any questions. It's completely legit.

And it's not like you tried to be in the same group as the hot/smart guy for your Great Conversation project; you were just looking out for the interest of the project and wanted to make sure it incorporated a diverse range of ideas: yours and his. And maybe you happen to go to dinner together afterwards; he subtly leads you to a date table from which someone has stolen the vase of flowers, but that doesn't matter because it's still totally romantic the way he talks about Luther's 95 Theses.

After that, you walk back to Ellingson and talk about how stressed you are together. Then awkwardly wave goodbye to one another when your paths part - it was no big deal, and you'll see him tomorrow in class. When you get back to your room you're as flushed and twittery as you would have been from a hardcore session of foreplay — but all you did was study! It's brilliant. Seriously brilliant.

So next time you notice some tactless drunk people dry humping during their beer-infused conversation or some students flirting in Fireside before lunch, know that you are above them. You, oh brilliant individual you, have learned to combine the pursuits of academic rigor and sexual vigor. You've molded your alleged thirty-six plus hours per week of studying and classes into a beautiful and fragile balance of intellectual pursuit and sexual tension. Go you.

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