Recently, Stanford University announced a new campaign to curb bike accidents. I’m ecstatic. With all the traffic directed from the Main Quad to one or two intersections of constant traffic, my social life couldn’t be busier. Let me clarify: like most Stanford students, I find the most social interaction I can fit in my busy day is the awkward calamity that is the bike accident. Rather, without bike accidents, I would get no dates at all.

I’m guessing some people may be against my preferred method of finding a date at Stanford. Some may call it “unsafe” or “dangerous” or “random.” But they could not be more wrong! It’s not random at all. My likeminded “Crash-daters” and I pick our targets very carefully. Then we employ any variety of methods to get ourselves noticed. Sometimes we’ll just accidentally stop short in front of them. Sometimes we’ll suddenly lose balance and need assistance getting up. And sometimes, toilet plungers fall from trees and get stuck in the spokes of our bikes. Cupid’s arrow needs a little help, that’s all.

Look, love hurts. I figure I can usually get her name if I come away with a few scratches, maybe some bruises. I have to suffer several head wounds and a couple broken ribs usually just to get a phone number, you know, for insurance purposes. The women are usually pretty kind as they help me into the ambulance. If it doesn’t look like I’ll make it through the night, well, I’m pretty much guaranteed a first date. I mean, she probably thinks I’m just in shock. And I am. The shock of love. A concussion and some internal bleeding is a small price to pay for love. But constantly having to replace my bike isn’t cheap.

One can see the correlation between grad students’ lack of social life and their propensity to wear protective helmets. Oh sure, they ride around accident free, but then they go back to their labs and name their test tubes after girls they like, creating elaborate romantic theatrical performances depicting their sexual frustrations with 5 mL of iron bromine and a Petri dish of amoeba. Tonight, folks, the role of Romeo will be played by the understudy, carbon peroxide.

Right now, I just want the administration to go further with their plans to limit where people can bike. If they also outlawed bikes in White Plaza, that would be awesome: Even more traffic could be directed to key points across campus. These would be bike accident “hot spots,” or as I’d like to think of it “speed dating opportunities.” I’d meet so many people; I’d be the Don Juan of the IC unit.

Dating in college is tough. To fit students’ busy schedules, many students are forced to resort to such mechanisms of meeting people as speed dating, which is commonly mistaken for dating people while on speed — a practice I don’t encourage even if it makes the dates seem shorter and more action-packed. Some people don’t even have time for the plastic cup politics and the hook-up culture that has about as much intimacy as Bob Dole petting a rhino.

So I’ve come up with a solution that is, well, a death wish. But many students feel they have to resort to dangerous, life-threatening and creative solutions in order to meet people in college. The only thing worse, they’ve found, is meeting your significant other at Full Moon on the Quad.

Chris asks your forgiveness for writing about the Bike Ban and grad students. He’ll go back to thinking they don’t matter next week. Send complaints to cholt@stanford.edu