Finals week is almost upon us, there’s no dead day and you’re stressed to the max. The last thing you need is a moralizing tale from someone taking 12.5 units. So today, we’ll take a little vacation – a safari, if you will. You’re about to get a glimpse into a dark, mysterious and sometimes odiferous place: the secret world of the California Aggie Marching Band-Uh!

Yes, you’ve heard the stories about this crazy band. I would like to say that these rumors are all utterly false, partly to avoid jail time and partly because it’s fun letting the general public’s imagination run wild.

But I can tell you some stories about Band-Uh’s latest adventure, a road trip to the Big West Conference basketball tournament in Anaheim. Here are the highlights:

Thursday

4 a.m.: My body says no, but my alarm clock says yes. Our manager, Ariel, was very adamant that we leave at 5 a.m. sharp, so I don’t want to be late to our 4:20 (har har) meet time. After somehow securing a huge backpack, messenger bag, grocery tote, sleeping bag and clarinet case to my person, I totter onto my bike and head toward campus.

4:25 a.m.: I roll into the mostly empty band room. In four years, I still haven’t learned that 80 percent of the band will be late to any given gig.

5:05 a.m.: The drivers are having a very official meeting that consists of getting our keys and playing with walkie-talkies. Though most of our road trips are on buses, this is a carryall trip – we’ll be driving ginormous vans checked out from Fleet Services.

5:30 a.m.: Driving one of the vans, I get confused on directions. “Right or left? RIGHT OR LEFT?! WHICH WAY AM I GOING?!” We’re leaving the ARC parking lot. We drive down I-5 for eight-and-a-half hours. It’s thrilling.

2:35 p.m.: The band converges in a parking lot in Anaheim. We’ve got quite some time before performing with the other bands in Downtown Disney, which can only mean one thing: It’s Tunak Tunak Tun time. One car blasts the Indian pop song and we circle up for a ritualistic dance worthy of multiple YouTube views.

8:30 p.m.: The band watches the UC Davis men’s basketball team take on Cal State Fullerton in an intense back-and-forth match. We cheer, we groan, we disparage Fullerton’s skanky dance team.

Due to about 300 time outs, the last 2.5 seconds of the game last so long the original players lose their NCAA eligibility and their children are forced to complete the game. Finally, the band plays the Alma Mater for our victorious team, which has already disappeared into the locker room.

Friday

5:17 p.m.: After some free time frolicking about Anaheim, the band reconvenes outside the parking lot to gear up for the men’s game at 6:30 p.m. – but alas! A hefty chunk of the band is missing. Earlier, some students went off to Riverside to take some proctored exams (we may ditch the last few classes of the quarter, but we’re not academically suicidal). Due to the bizarre and completely unforeseen occurrence of traffic in LA, they’d just made it to the exam location, despite leaving three hours earlier.

Not only is 20 percent of the band absent, but many of our instruments are in the van, too. We redistribute the horns belonging to the Riverside exiles (one flute player decides it’s a good day to learn trombone) and only one person is left without an instrument. Yep, it’s me. This makes up for earlier that day, when driving mishaps resulted in me making up the entire clarinet section. This was terrifying.

Saturday

11 a.m.: We attempt to surprise our women’s basketball team at their hotel. After a few songs and a massive love fest between our two groups, a man approaches our manager.

“You guys don’t know me, but I’m Bob Williams,” he says. Yes, the Bob Williams who led the UC Davis men’s basketball to a 31-2 record and a Division II national championship in 1998.

“I coach for Santa Barbara now,” he continues. “I saw your rally just now, and it’s the thing I miss most about Davis. It brought a tear to my eye.”

Once an Aggie, always an Aggie.

1 p.m.: The women’s championship game tips off. Aggie Pack gives us blue and gold pom-poms, which we spend a solid 10 minutes attaching to our instruments and our persons in creative ways. Once refocused on the game, we start freaking out on UC Riverside, our opponents, who seemed to have forgotten what sport they were playing. Judging by the number and brutality of the fouls committed by the Highlanders, they must have been convinced this was either WWE or a gang rumble.

3:15 p.m.: After a narrow defeat, Aggie Pack and Band-Uh! wait outside the locker room to congratulate the ladies on a game well-played. We wait in depressed, funereal silence – that is until we get distracted by our pom-poms again.

Finally, the ladies trickle out in various stages of misery and heartbreak. We play an inappropriately chipper fight song, then wait around awkwardly for the next team member to emerge. But the smiles they muster up when greeted by their Band-Uh! make it all worth it.

And that was pretty much the trip. We had fun, supported our teams and made others proud to be Aggies. At the end of the day, that’s what it means to be the Band-Uh!

BETH SEKISHIRO much preferred this year’s Anaheim trip to last year’s, when half of us got a stomach virus and were puking too much to drive back. To share your crazy Band-Uh! rumors, contact her at blseki@ucdavis.edu.

As I sit with my Macbook in my lap, biting my nails and racking my brain for any little idea on how to start my column, my boyfriend Arthur feels a dire need to be of some assistance. He turns to me and flashes a crafty smile. Sometimes he’s just too cute for words.

“Let’s have sex. Maybe that’ll give you some inspiration.”

I’m tempted. But with finals just one day away, maybe sex shouldn’t be a priority. Maybe I should open up those novels I’ve been ignoring instead of opening up the condom wrappers. Maybe I should remember topics covered in class instead of remembering superior fellatio techniques. Then again, those are big “maybes.”

Thinking more about it, perhaps Arthur’s on to something. It has been a while since I’ve last written about sex. I have to write about something. And quite frankly, I’m going to take him up on his offer so I have to get this column out of the way quickly.

So, sex it is – not only for tonight’s sake but for this column’s sake, as well. Inspired by my horny boyfriend and the rampant emergence of study guides and review sessions all over campus, I’ve decided to write my own study guide, if you will. Consider this your reader for “Sex 101: Tips and Tricks for Chicks and Dicks.” After all, some of us may want to take a load off from finals.

Foreplay

Some love it, some hate it. In my opinion, I love to hate it.

Foreplay is great when you’re sure you’re going somewhere. If you know that you’re about to go all the way, foreplay is oftentimes a pleasurable build-up.

But sometimes it goes on for too long. You may think to yourself, Okay, sure. Making out with you feels really good and I really like what you’re doing with your hands but can we please move on to something more stimulating?

My take on foreplay is this: Offer it. If ever offered, take it. Foreplay is definitely a most pleasant appetizer, but it sure as hell better not be the only thing I get to order.

Oral

Eating out? Not a problem. Whether you’re giving or receiving, oral sex never fails to disappoint – unless you suck at it.

Since I only have experience with blowjobs, I’ll write accordingly. (My apologies to cunnilingus enthusiasts.)

If you’re getting your member worked, don’t be afraid to speak up. Tell your partner how you like it, ask the fellator to slow down or let him/her know if it’s just not working. Make requests, but don’t be too picky. Some of the best times come along when you just let go and have someone else take the reins.

I’m a giver, so I know a thing to two about taking that damn rein. First of all, just because it’s a blowjob doesn’t mean your hands shouldn’t be in on the action as well.

Secondly, open wide. Sure, it might take some getting used to, but do trust me when I say the recipient of your service will appreciate it.

And lastly, don’t forget about the balls to his bat, the boys, the family jewels – they need some love, too. Paying attention to all of a man works wonders.

The dirty

Newsflash: Anal isn’t just for gay men. Plenty of people of all shapes and sexualities enjoy taking a ride on the caboose. If you don’t, then by all means, keep doing what you’re doing. But for those of you who do like booty action, here’s what you need to know: 1) A happy bottom is a clean bottom, 2) lubricant is your best friend and 3) start out slow.

For the ladies, don’t hesitate to get on top – show your man who’s boss. Let him lie down and put his hands behind his head. Remind him your sexual needs are just as important and need to be met just as much as his do.

Sex is a tango for two (or three, four – however many you want!). Make sure both (or every) sex partner is receiving and giving satisfaction. Sex isn’t a one-person show (I’ll get to that in a bit), so just remember that your partner has needs and desires, too.

Going solo

The absence of a partner is no reason to deny yourself of sexual satisfaction. Masturbation is the perfect way to take a load off and receive some instant gratification. You get to know yourself. It’s reliable. It’s safe. It’s what you’re used to. And there’s nothing to be ashamed about.

So when all else fails, there’s no harm in resorting to “Ol’ Reliable,” a.k.a. your hand. We all need a little love, even if it’s self-induced.

With finals week looming around the corner, I urge you all to take a load off. Take a break from studying and have a little fun. Whether it be a night out with friends or some crazy hot sex, stress relief is always encouraged.

As for me, I’m just glad I finally finished this column. Now I can “study” with Arthur.

MARIO LUGO hopes each and every one of you kicks your finals’ asses. He also wishes you all a fabulous spring break. Until next quarter! Reach him at mlugo@ucdavis.edu.

The only three books that matter in life to me are the Bible, Harry Potter and the Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. Read all three, and you’re almost set for life. (No, the Bible and Harry Potter are not contradictions.)

Out of the three, I learned this quarter that the Norton Anthology is especially important.

Have the urge to learn about mimeticism? Interested in our suppressed roles in a capitalistic society? Curious about the similarities between interpreting dreams and poetry?

The Norton has (almost) all of your answers – once you find the focus to decipher through the endless paragraphs that desperately scream “edit me!” At least you’ll feel smarter just lugging the anthology around campus.

But it’s that time of the quarter when the freshness of reading about the abstract theories of Lacan and Butler just dies down. This is probably true the second you read the syllabus, but by the last week of the quarter, the passion especially goes away.

You no longer feel cool playing the part of an “intellectual,” but you instead feel the massive chunk of anthological pages weighing you down. This cycle likely repeats each quarter.

A few days ago, a friend of mine gave herself a pep talk for next quarter. You know, like how it’s going to be the best quarter yet with no lecture ditching, procrastinating, oversleeping or anything else that could possibly go wrong in a college student’s academic life. It felt like a ton of effort just listing all the hypothetical habits.

Halfway through the list, I wondered if we would have to go through so much effort if we really were passionate about what we were doing. Wouldn’t you want to do what you enjoy the most?

As I was about to flip open the omniscient Norton for the answers to life’s problems, the Oscars began. Of course, I quickly dropped the anthology and began watching. Most people hate the Oscars because of the earnest, superfluous acceptance speeches that don’t end until the music starts playing, but I watch it exactly for those speeches.

Maybe it’s because winners like to tout their accomplishments, making themselves sound all the more special and throwing in a lesson or two. Discouragement and passion were big, intertwining themes, too. The extravagance is all you need when feeling discouraged.

Sure enough, somewhere between Monique’s “sometimes you have to forgo what’s popular to do what’s right” and Michael Giacchino’s (the composer for Up) “being creative is not a waste of time,” I was inspired.

The people on stage may be filthy rich, self-indulgent and have a questionable sense of fashion, but many of them are also newcomers working their way through the business, waiting for their big break.

Thinking back on the quarterly pep talk with my friend and the doubts we have, I began figuring that maybe you know you’re passionate about something when you put in all the effort toward that thing, knowing it provides a mixture of emotions nothing else can offer.

If you procrastinate on writing papers by writing columns, you know that you’re still writing and that you’ll get to the paper sooner or later. Maybe I know I’m passionate about writing because it not only brings joy, but also doubt and frustration. Because the more you delve into something, the more aspects you see of it. When you first encounter something new, it’s always fresh and exciting – just like when you first start the quarter, you’re motivated.

So although the procrastination and laziness may never fully disappear, the passion (and caffeine) is hopefully what keeps us going. Behind all the dread and the complaints is passion – it could be real passion for your work or it could simply be passion for getting the grade.

But of course, you can’t find all your answers in a single book – not even the chunky Norton can fit everything in.

Just be small. Dream big. Work hard. That’s all that really matters.

TIFFANY LEW was contemplative this week and found this quote from Oscar Wilde: “Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else’s opinion, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.” E-mail your thoughts to her at tjlew@ucdavis.edu.