I am going to miss you schmucks.

This is the 45th column I have printed in The Sun, and it will be the last. Under the theory that my final column should somehow reflect the ones that went before it, I'll try to make the words that follow as narcissistic, as painfully unfunny and as arrogant as possible. Let's start by talking about me, me, me!

When I began writing for The Sun, I was a diehard political moderate. I wrote columns because I believed my politics were correct, and because I believed that, using a judicious mix of disarming humor and irrefutable logic, I might be able to change readers' minds.

Three years have disabused me of both beliefs. In the first place, Cornell has made me more comfortable with cognitive dissonance, and I've finally grasped that some questions can't be resolved by blind ideology, especially not the unoriginal dime-store ideology of a college-age pedant. In the second place, I've discovered that readers do not, in fact, change their minds.

Since I'd staked a claim on the moderate stretch of the political spectrum, I next became interested in fostering compromises between opposing radicals. In column after column, I showcased political viewpoints that defied the combative liberal-conservative dichotomy, imagining that they might persuade partisans to reconsider pieces of their respective dogmas.

In retrospect, I don't think those columns really worked, either. We're college students; we're not especially interested in trying to reevaluate our positions or to empathize with opposing perspectives, when we might instead defend our weary old ideologies and all the ego, social identity and outrage we've invested in them.

In order to unwind between these exercises, I took to choosing targets I found contemptible and writing columns that explained my contempt as logically as I could. One piece dissected my disgust for professional phony Cynthia McKinney. Another mocked Transcendental Meditation. Another attacked the arrogant, monumentally wasteful Class Council apparatus. Columns like those were really, really satisfying to write - it felt a lot like hitting someone with a bat.

And that has actually been a major function of this column for me. I could have vented philosophical frustrations and political aggressions by pummeling a punching bag, but that wouldn't have helped me sort out whatever idea was troubling me. Or I could have sifted ideas quietly in my dorm, but that would have been viscerally unsatisfying. Writing thousand-word jeremiads lets me blow off steam and resolve beliefs at the same time.

But in retrospect - of all the types of columns I've written - I'm happiest with the ones that took themselves least seriously: my periodic fumbling attempts at playful humor. Thank you for enduring them.

All right, here we are: the 700-word mark. This is where I stop worrying that my column might be too short and realize it's actually going to be much too long. So enough about old columns.

I had decided I wanted my column's moniker to be an Oddball Phrase. Mark Harrison's column was called "Off the Mark"; I toyed with naming mine "Off the Jim." Hmm. Maybe not.

I asked Mom for suggestions. Unfortunately, she fixated quickly and irrevocably on my avowed political centrism, and couldn't seem to stop suggesting titles with some variation on the word "middle" in them. She wanted me to call the column "Centrally Located," or "From Where I See Things, Which is to Say, From The Approximate Midpoint of The Political Spectrum," or at least "Hoppin' Down Middlesville Street."

So I asked Dad. Dad wanted me to call the column "A Big Ol' Boat." I asked Mom again.

The question of the column's name began to haunt my every waking minute. Family life came to consist of hopeful relatives popping up from behind furniture and blurting Oddball Phrases. Dinner conversations became surreal:

Jim: Can you pass the jam?

Mom (frenzied squeal): "Middle of the Road!"

Jim: Aaaah!

Dad (pouncing instantly; not to be outdone): "Drinking all the Juice!"

Jim: Huh?

The Fraternal Scott: What?

Mom: "Wham, Bam, Middle!" "Let's Go, Middle Guys!"

Jim: God damn it.

Scott: Drinking all what juice?

Jim: Just pass the jam!

Scott, Mom, Dad (triumphant; in unison): "Just Pass the Jam!"

I knew I needed to end the madness when Mom gave me a list of 35 would-be titles, each at least a paragraph long. Tragically, all this insanity had put me in such a twisted state of mind that I was receptive to Scott's next idea.

"How about 'Arrgh?'" offered my brother - doing That Pirate Thing - in a moment for which I'll never forgive him.

"It's perfect!" I declared, ignoring the frantic protest of the working part of my brain. "What could possibly be the downside to naming my column after an unnatural guttural noise?"

The downsides, it transpires, are too numerous to list, not the least of which is that it's quite impossible to list a column named "Arrr!" on your resume. I should have gone with "Ask Doctor Science."

Heartfelt thanks to my editors: Laura Rowntree, whose unfailing instinct for reorganizing a column made me a better writer; Nate Brown; Erica Stein, the best editor I will ever have; Andy Guess, who fixed my most broken columns; Zach Jones, Carlos Maycotte and Erica Fink - skillful editors and writers all.

And to some fellow columnists: A-Bom, who boggles the mind; Danny Pearlstein, whose bizarre leftist rants made my bizarre centrist rants look more reasonable; Josh Katz, professional dork; Mark Harrison, whose sense of humor I would kill for; Jake Honigman, Elliott Marc Davis, Paul Ibrahim, Elijah Reichlin-Melnick, Jamie Weinstein and many friends I'm certain I'm forgetting. Plus some chick named Elise Kramer, who makes life worth living.

To my loving, supportive family, and to my best professors, who've after all been the whole point of my time at Cornell.

Finally, the most satisfying part of writing this column has been the opportunity to hear from you, the Cornell community. No 1000-word Sun column is complete until I've exchanged 1050 words of arrr!gumentative e-mails with readers who disagree with me.

Thank you all for this wonderful experience.

Jim Shliferstein is a senior in the College of Arts and Sciences. He can be contacted at jimshlif@optonline.net. Arrr! appeared alternate Thursdays.

Archived article by Jim Shliferstein