As we approach Thanksgiving, we as a university have now gone about 15 weeks without a break. For the longest time, Thanksgiving seemed like a distant, far-off magical place in my mind — like Narnia or Portland — that I would never get to.

But lo and behold, we made it, which is surprising, judging from the new low I hit this past Sunday. I listened to that new song “Timber” eight times in one night while working on an essay.

I mean, Ke$ha is irresistible; she’s like that dirty lollipop you find in the crevasse of your car seat: astonishingly delicious. But I found myself outwardly complimenting Pitbull, an artist who seems to have built his career on rapping like your uncle would after a few glasses of red wine at your cousin’s wedding.

Clearly, I need a break.

But as we start to leave for our respective homes to lie to our parents that, “Yeah I did laundry like every other week,” or, “I think my professor really likes me,” or, “Alcohol tastes icky,” I’m starting to get a little wistful about the things in Syracuse that I’ll be missing for the entire week we’re gone.

So I’ve written up some things I’m thankful for. Feel free to read this aloud as you leave to sit on I-81 for an inordinate amount of time.

And for extra drama, might I suggest you score this with any song in the Enya catalog? Her sad wails pair like a fine wine with the melancholy slice of cheese I’m about to serve up.

Here it goes:

I’m thankful for morning classes. I know we haven’t seen each other much in the past few weeks, but know that when I turn off my alarm and grumble, “Screw this,” I say it with love. I mean, there’s no other class I can go to while wearing weirdly-stained sweatpants because everyone else has legitimately grumbled, “Screw this.”

I’m thankful for the dorm room above me. Whether the bangs that I keep hearing are the beginnings of a progressive rock band, the practice space for the Syracuse basketball team or murder, most foul was always unclear. What is clear, though, is that without that ever-present mystery for a week, my old grumpy man voice will be severely underutilized.

I’m thankful for the dining hall that rhymes with Blernie Gravis. You’re like a piece of modern art come to life. You make absolutely no sense and make me question what state of mind the creator was in. But someone’s gotta like it, right? So I guess I’ll miss you.

I’m thankful for the greeks. Your theme parties always looked fun from the safe distance I saw them from — away from the juiced up bouncer at the door who looks like he not only just broke up with his girlfriend minutes earlier, but also that everyone forgot his birthday and insulted his boat shoes. Know that I’m still waiting for an invite. It probably just slipped your mind or something, right?

I’m thankful for those guys who insist on wearing athletic shorts in 20-degree weather, who shove their bare legs in all of our faces because they say, “It’s not that cold.” You guys give me something to rant about to my friends who obviously want to listen to all of my complaints.

Maybe that was too mean spirited. But know that these annoyances are things that I’ll legitimately miss next week. You guys do actually make my days brighter; I mean, complaining is the only thing that keeps me sane while writing essays after a half hour straight of dirty lollipop and drunk uncle raps.

Be safe, guys. And go home, Syracuse. You’re more than likely drunk.

Christian Unkenholz is a sophomore public relations and political science major. You can identify his car as the one blasting “Timber” constantly or the car getting pushed off the road by the other cars for the incessant “Timber.” He can be reached at cdunkenh@syr.edu.

Published on November 20, 2013 at 11:05 pm