The Morning After

My name is Chance Petek and his name is Alex Gersovitz.  I attend the University of Montana, while Alex, my assistant, is on leave from Reed College.  And women are one of the only things we've consistently given a shit about our entire life; the jigsaw puzzle of craziness, the incomprehensible nature that is women.  For this reason, we are writing the newest incarnation of the Kaimin sex column.

In high school we were nerds.  Though more hip, more sarcastic and probably smarter than you, we were often passed over by the opposite sex. But, out of a kind of necessity, we started to look at interactions and behaviors.  And we learned.  

We learned that the strong rule the weak, but the clever rule the strong. We learned that confidence, hygiene, humor and a good smile could compete with loudmouths in branded t-shirts. We learned that college girls aren't impressed so easily.   

We believe in having personality, charm and charisma, not Ed Hardy. We believe in Michael Cera and Seth Rogen.

Now, we're the guys you turn to when you get sick of flash and aggressiveness.

At the same time, we write for all men. We write for the bros, the pretentious illiterates, the average joes and the perfect man.

We write for the hipster assholes in your upper level English or history conference who are busy saying "grotesque purjuration" and "corporeal manifestations."  The ones outside smoking in tight black pants, almost apologetic for the space they take up in the world.

We even write for that hippie deadhead on the couch next to you, who makes up for his heavy marijuana use by expounding on some mish-mash of philosophy concerning treatises on Freud and Kant in a surfer-bro accent.  Word vomit slurs out of his hazy brain in attempts to woo a spinning head that will somehow be impressed and confused into going home with him.

 We don't advocate abstinence. We advocate fulfilling basic human needs. We live in a base reality, with wildly different sexual ethics.  Curious young people possess imaginations and build real desires.  Sex happens.

And, on a deeper level, there's something beautifully masochistic about all the successes and the failures.  It's a game people play during every interaction. We constantly test each other for a compatibility that we often abuse and choose to throw away in the hope of a better prize.  Such are the mistakes that make our young adulthood so memorable.  

Through botched opening lines, speeches well rehearsed and poorly executed; through the embarrassing firsts, the pregnancy scares and the insomnia — we're constantly fascinated by women: the Crazies, the Scenesters, the Sororities, the Religious, the Hippies, the Vanillas, the Jewish American Princesses, the California Valley Girls, the Southern Belles, and whatever endless other types await us.

And through all the insanity, we learn. We sit back and laugh — muse and impart, misty-eyed — about all the places we woke up, all the names we forgot and all the things we figured out.  Of course we're still learning, but we're happy to share what we already know.  

You're welcome in advance.

chance.petek@umontana.edu