I’ll admit that I didn’t really start reading the Sun until the end of last year, after I knew I’d be writing for it in a few months. I’ve since determined that there’s no model for a good column; if anyone came close this year, it was Shannon with her flow chart. The only consistency I can see is that the ones I’ve written in Libe Café are better than the ones I’ve written on my back porch. Since it’s nice out, I’m obviously writing on my back porch instead of in Libe. The point is I’m not promising anything here. In lieu of any insightful commentary on Cornell and undergraduate life then, let me conclude the column with some obvious remarks on the twin pillars of the American collegiate tradition: the liberal arts education and the senior scramble.

I have a lot of conversations on stairways. It’s a thing. Most are political, most of them fairly banal as well. Recently they’ve tended to involve the phrase “institutional legitimacy in Latin America” due to the invasive influence of my thesis, which is also why I haven’t written a column in a month. In that month a wave of anti-emo kid violence has erupted in Mexico and Chile, gripping shopping malls from Tijuana to Santiago. Causality between this and my hiatus is suspect yet plausible. But for the record I fully endorse anti-emo kid violence in any part of the developing world.

There was, I imagine, a moment in history when courtship rituals among the young men and women far above Cayuga’s waters were fairly homogenous. That moment having been summarily executed in a parking lot, our current dating repertoires are sorely in need of documentation. It was the practice of pre-1990s anthropologists to write ethnographies that trampled all hopes of agency and otherized with grace rarely seen in today’s literature. It is my intent to follow in that tradition with this column.

Anyone who tried to talk to me about politics in the past two weeks probably got some response along the lines of “I don’t know I’m not really paying attention anymore; I’m trying to emotionally disengage so I can get some work done.”

Right so that policy is going into effect tomorrow. First I need to comment on some incredibly important and AHISTORICAL characteristics of Tuesday’s primary results. (Read: if you hail from a state that hasn’t voted yet, I implore you to take note of what just happened, and send in for an absentee ballot like stat). And how can I abstain? I mean, we were the only Ivy mentioned in the New York Times’ election coverage.

I have The Lion King soundtrack on my iPod, and I know more about good witches and bad witches than anyone at Cornell. Although it’s tempting to say that’s just how I roll, where the witches and Simba are concerned, I have to give credit to my son Luke. He’s three-and-a-half, and also knows more about good witches and bad witches than anyone at Cornell. And after those three-and-a-half years, subtle manifestations of my identity as a father point to the conclusion that I’m becoming increasingly dad-like. They’re not just things I’ve picked up from Luke either. Sometimes I play classical music at high volume when my housemates are out of the apartment. And I’ve developed this weird affinity for sweaters without hoods … like ones that should have paint on them.

Vegetarianism, for me, has been a lot like the Iraq War in that it has lasted a long time but the rationales have kept changing. Sadly, I have a hunch that my affair with vegetarianism is soon to collapse. When contemplating a return to omnivorocity though, I feel guilty about the environmental implications. I know I should compensate with some other means of reducing my ecological footprint (which, for the record, is 3.6 — Google it if you don’t know yours). Then, in a stroke of brilliance (or something), I realized that convincing someone else to take the baton would have the same effect. Thus, I have but one goal with this column: to produce one newly branded vegetarian from Cornell’s ether.

Statistically it’s true. Your mom is, on average, an upper-middle class white 51- year-old registered Democrat. Statistically, she’ll vote for Hillary.

Your dad, however, is statistically a 54-year-old registered Republican (also white, in case there was doubt) who will vote for Giuliani.

And you, a WASPy-but-could-almost-be-Asian-or-Jewish (statistically) Ivy League student, will vote for Barack.

Domestic tensions will fester over winter break as you and your parents bicker about your irreconcilable political differences.

Writing a conservative column is an art, and like any art, it takes talent. Despite what you may assume, however, the ability to write a conservative column is not a genetic trait that one simply does or doesn’t possess; you too can learn to write a conservative column. In fact, consider it your civic duty. Just follow the pointers below.

Once upon a time, war was thought to result from an escalation of conflict. Threats were usually identifiable as whole nations. People could tell when a war was looming, for the buildup was visible and violent.

Then somewhere between when you and I were born and when you and I started high school, a global transition long in the making came full circle, and international conflict became significantly more difficult to understand. Threats to security no longer came only from states, and the precursors to war were often a series of politically charged armaments and disarmaments, accords and disagreements, power configurations and reconfigurations — instead of violent escalation. Pre-emption became legitimate. The world’s publics were at times confused by these changes, but did their best to reconceptualize the new causes of war and understand that the precursors to war in the modern world had changed.

Today, I’m doing something that’s rare in the 21st century: I’m selling people. And despite whatever rumors you may have heard, I’m not involved in any sort of transpacific child trafficking. Rather, the Cornell Democrats are having a date auction to raise money for (and by “for” I mean “not for”) global warming. It’s a great idea, and it’ll likely raise a ton of money, as did the one we held two years ago. Still, part of me is slightly uncomfortable with the notion that I’ll be selling people. The reason I’m doing this, however, and the reason I’m OK with it, is the same reason why I’m a Democrat.