These days always end up being particularly nuts for me. There are just a lot of things going on at once. Prelims, papers and the like are usually always there, though they pile up particularly high in mid-February, usually without fail, year after year. Other things are particularly February-specific. Like the height of Ithacan winter, free with a sky that is already dark by five, giving the impression that the day is considerably shorter. Or receiving your tax return forms in the mail, so you have to think about that, too. Many people get to know where they’ll be going to grad school, and, if having both the blessing and curse to be admitted to several places, the necessity to choose where to go to is also a burden shared in the very long February nights.

I remember May 26, 2009 quite vividly. My friend Ben and I took the subway into San Francisco. Protest signs in hand, we made our way to the steps of the California Supreme Court building, joining the throngs of people who had been waiting there all morning — waiting, eagerly, for the announcement of the decision of Strauss v. Horton, the case that would decide the fate of the well-known and highly controversial Proposition 8.

‘Tis the season. No, I’m not horribly confused. Despite the fact that I still have a wreath on my front door, I am well aware that it’s not Christmas. No, no, my dears. I’m talking V-Day.

If I were an incredibly lazy columnist, I would write an extremely generic article on how I have always been single on Valentine’s Day, how I contemplate killing every hand-holding couple on campus this time of year and how my only comfort this season is the free chocolate my Valentine (read: my mom) sent me.

When Mike Wallace asked for his thoughts on Black History Month, Morgan Freeman famously responded that it was “ridiculous” to “relegate my history to a month.”

“I don’t want a Black History Month,” he stated. “Black history is American history.” Wallace had no response, save “how we gonna get rid of racism?”

“Stop talking about it,” Freeman responded. “I’m going to stop calling you a white man. And I’m going to ask you to stop calling me a black man.”

Time for a pop quiz, Cornellians:

1. What causes the characteristic soreness that develops 24 to 48 hours after hard exercise?

a.) Lactate.

b.) Microtrauma to muscle.

c.) Working out too hard.

2. You will get fatter from:

a.) Taking in more sugar than your body can use.

b.) Taking in too much diet soda.

c.) Taking in more than the recommended amount of fat.

3. Drinking diet soda:

As many of you know, the Department of Theater, Film, and Dance is being asked by Arts College Dean Peter LePage to cut about two million dollars over the next two years, which is about a third of what the College of Arts and Sciences is trying to cut overall.

Early last month, when the heavy underdog Cornell basketball team nearly upset Kansas, the number one ranked team in the nation at the time, it was surely a wakeup call: The Big Red is not to be underestimated this year.

Welcome back, bitches. Flip through today’s Sun and notice the abundance of columns related to sex. Following Cornell’s sex-starved Winter Break it looks like coeds are ready to go Spring Break crazy a little early, packing Collegetown bars and slutting it up for the tide of mixers hitting the frat scene. I can’t help you get laid (unless you are an attractive female, in which case: let’s talk), but I can help you attain at least one of your goals this semester (the one just below “4.0 GPA” and above “not taking Basics Level 2”). Here’s some rock-solid advice on how you — yes, you! — can make it into this beloved little rag known as the sex column. Time to make Mom and Dad proud.

Two weeks ago, the sorority women of Cornell spent hours primping and priming ourselves: we painted our nails, cut our hair and faked our tans, not to go out and meet guys, but to stay indoors and talk to other women for the five day girl-flirting marathon that is Rush Week. But there is one part of the girl grooming ritual that isn’t covered in the Pi Phi recruitment dress manual: pubic hair. After all, this is Cornell. The last time we gave thought to our bikini lines was our swim test. But for girls, grooming the hair down there requires extensive decision-making, foresight, strategy and a tool kit (think baby scissors, wax and/or specially designed bikini razors) that could rival any sorority’s six-page dress code.

“And after I walked out of the movie, all I could think was, where’s my little black boy to adopt? I want one!”

I was getting my nails done, a very irregular occurrence for me, and the woman next to me was giving me bite-sized movie reviews of this season’s Oscar nominees. Avatar was a favorite — the love story between the “cute white crippled boy” and the “exotic blue cat girl” was beautiful, apparently — but The Blind Side took the cake, mainly for Sandra Bullock’s portrayal of that heroic woman, Leigh Ann Tuohy.