Ten Things I Learned In My First Semester of College, Number Ten: A Phallic Phenomenon

(As always, I apologize for posting so sparsely. Thanks for sticking with me.)

Like most college freshmen, a “whiteboard” hangs on the outside of my dorm room door. Perhaps I should have known that my tendency to invite constant fun-poking and jibe-slinging would follow me to college. I fell asleep my first night at school and woke up the next morning to discover that someone had obnoxiously drawn a penis on said whiteboard. Now I had gone to high school with a few people who enjoyed drawing such things on any available flat surface, so I wasn’t immune to the phenomenon. However, after all, this is college. You know, a time of maturity, of taking responsibility, right? Apparently not! Nary a day has gone by when I haven’t discovered such perverse artwork on my whiteboard.

It is also worth noting that this activity is not confined to the sui generis “three-second version” (though this is certainly the most popular manifestation). Oh no, dear readers, sometimes I emerge one morning to find a drawing so explicitly, appallingly detailed (courtesy, usually, of one Strong Islander in particular) that I must make audible my bemusement at human weirdness (usually a chuckle, sniff, or guffaw). I refuse to go into further detail because it would serve no good—suffice it to say that such scenes as are drawn on my whiteboard would hurt the eyes of any decent person.

BOTTOM LINE: It would appear that some young adult males are so very intrigued by their own, shall we say, unique equipment that they wish to express their love for said equipment by drawing it hither and thither. Is it because they feel inadequate and therefore must compensate by bringing such a heretofore-taboo subject into daily life so incessantly? Are they so desperate for the intimate companionship of another that their fixation with drawing penises should be seen as a cry for help and counseling? I am not altogether sure of the answer.

Perhaps an appropriate lyrical selection for this subject is the anthem of all those who are sexually lonely and frustrated: Jackson Browne’s ode to his own member, “Rosie.”

“She was standing at the load-in when the trucks rolled up,
She was sniffing all around like a half-grown female pup,
She wasn't hard to talk to; looked like she had nowhere to go,
So I gave her my pass so she could get in and see the show.

Well I sat her down right next to me and I got her a beer,
While I mixed that sound on stage so the band could hear,
The more I watched her watch them play, the less I could think of to say,
And when they walked off stage, the drummer swept that girl away.

But Rosie you're all right - you wear my ring,
When you hold me tight - Rosie that's my thing,
When you turn out the light - I've got to hand it to me…
Looks like it's me and you again tonight, Rosie.

Well I guess I might have known from the start: she'd come for a star,
Might have told my imagination not to run too far,
Of all the times that I've been burned, by now you'd think I'd have learned
That it's who you look like, and not who you are.

But Rosie you're all right - you wear my ring,
When you hold me tight - Rosie that's my thing,
When you turn out the light - I've got to hand it to me…
Looks like it's me and you again tonight, Rosie.”