Being that this will be my final column for The Sun, I wanted to do something supremely obnoxious and ignorant (which actually wouldn't differ much from my usual fare). Originally I planned on going textless, filling the entire column space with a photograph of myself wearing only earmuffs and lying on a bed covered in $100 bills. It would have been titled "Adventures in I'm Completely Ass Naked On a Bed of Money Right Now, Motherfuckers," but the no-nudity clause in my contract prohibited it. Facing a deadline and a poverty of ideas, I had an epiphany: what could be more facile, irrelevant and clichéd than writing a genuine, sentimental and esoteric farewell column? Let's begin.

Until recently, I was the only columnist who was actually a current member of The Sun's editorial board. In truth, that fact means little other than that I never had to obey deadlines and could always strategically place my column next to the crossword puzzle, thus ensuring that, at the very least, people would see my name before they contemplated the identity of Across 54. However, it does bear significance in that my genesis as a writer (for better and worse) was largely shaped by my time here and the people I got to know.

To be honest, the only reason I ever became an editor at The Sun was that the person selected in front of me lost his mind before editorial training even began. Likewise, the only reason I ever became the associate editor was that no one wanted to do it because two of the last three associate editors had suffered nervous breakdowns (true story). Thus, illegitimacy and insanity were always intimately wedded to my time at The Sun. The knowledge of why, in the paucity of able bodies, I was chosen to be an editor still eludes me to this day. But I know that if I hadn't been chosen, I would not have met the two people who defined my Sun experience for nearly three years: Alex Linhardt and Erica Temel.

The inimitable Alex Linhardt and I were surreptitiously conjoined as the editors of the arts and entertainment section from March 2003 to March 2004, a period that will likely go down as the most destructive in Sun history. Trust me, I'm not self-aggrandizing, we just fucked up that much. During our tenure together, we started an epic feud with Mensactivism.org, nearly bankrupted The Sun through a libel suit from College Town Bagels, insulted Jesus Christ and sent an e-mail to thousands of alumni and parents proclaiming that "we're so stoned right now." While I will cherish those instances of idiocy, I honestly believe that my fondest memories at The Sun will be driving into on-coming traffic with Alex and lighting boxes of raisins and spoonfuls of butane on fire. Alex is still the smartest person I have ever met, and I think I became a better writer just from spending time with him.

Midway through my first Sun elections, a girl running for news editor timidly approached the podium and implored all in attendance to vote for her because she "loved the Sun" and had e-mailed the editors of The Sun while still in high school to express her enthusiasm about joining. I loved that she would publicly admit to something so embarrassing, and when it was my turn to speak, I promptly made fun of her. That girl was Erica Temel, who would eventually become editor in chief. Since then, she's taught me Yiddish, been perpetually late in finishing her editorials and has been one of the most constant friends I've ever had. And Erica - I would have never stood up and spoke for you if I didn't believe every word that I was saying. You will do great things.

If anything, The Sun has made me vainglorious and embarrassingly open. If any of you actually read my column, then you bore witness to a weekly release of neuroses, fears and narcissisms. From the beginning, it was the intention of this column to be ill-informed and hastily executed, and in those regards I believe I have succeeded wildly. Whether I have achieved any other successes, of course, is open for discussion. At the very least, I wanted my column to be something that I felt The Sun was sorely lacking at the time - entertainment. If my column ever meant anything deeper to the readership, then that is more than I really ever hoped for. I never wanted to take myself or be taken too seriously - I did name my column "Adventures From the Outerworld" for Christ's sake. And why, you ask? The first reason is that, in general, I think column names as serious statements of purpose (especially those that employ active verbs and/or references to the military) are painful and boring. The second is that it made coming up with weekly column titles an infinitely easier process. And the third is that, in 2004, I joined a transcendental meditation cabal outside Harrisburgh, Pa., renounced my worldly possessions and achieved enlightenment. Actually, there's one more reason: the title is a direct allusion to a wonderful album by The Orb entitled The Orb's Adventures Beyond the Ultraworld, which, if anyone is familiar with it, should fully explain the general content of my column.

Thank you to all of those people who made my time at The Sun so enjoyable and weird. To Andrew Gilman and Erica Stein, who had the impossibly poor judgment to give me responsibility. To Andy Guess, who always gracefully endured the numerous headaches that I and others caused him. To Eric Finkelstein, who, like a combat surgeon, used anything he could to keep The Sun from bursting apart. To Brian Tsao, who is really a great writer in spite of his overreaching hubris. To Erica Fink, who introduced me to the wonders of matzo ball soup. To Logan Bromer, who is the most enthusiastic person I know. To John Schroeder, whom I could always count on to save my ass and listen to my half-baked design ideas. And to Carlos Maycotte, whose existence makes an argument for opening the borders entirely because, well, Mexicans are dope.

Thank you to the columnists that I had the pleasure of editing. Yeah, sometimes I wanted to light all of you on fire, but you always provided me with a fascinating and variegated group of voices to critique and learn from, and more often than not, you taught me something new.

Thank you to my roommates Kat and Taylor, who have always made me feel at home. Taylor, your nonchalance in the face of dire circumstance is a continual inspiration for me. And Kat, the only word to describe you is divine - you're like the sister I never had.

Thank you to Nancy Lie, who has been a wonderful friend throughout, and always had the honesty to tell me when what I did sucked.

Thank you to my mother and father, whose act of casual fornication made me so damned good-looking and witty. Your genes are awesome, mom and dad.

And thank you to everyone at Cornell, who never ceased to make my life easier by doing dumb things like puncturing each other's chests and constructing heinous red archways, thus giving me column fodder. I've enjoyed pointing out your general mediocrity and occasional disasters, but believe it or not, I'll miss the whole, throbbing mass of you.

Zach Jones is The Sun's former Associate Editor. He can be reached at zmj2@cornell.edu. Adventures From the Outerworld appeared Wednesdays.

Archived article by Zach Jones