Note: The original title of this commentary was, "Turkeys, hip clothes and why can't we all get along while watching little bits of cosmic dust burning up in the atmosphere: not so much the making of one large and significant point, but rather a listing of a series of smaller ones." The editors, however, felt that that was just too long so·

Thanksgiving is upon us again, and I, for one, couldn't be more pleased. Not only because I am very, very hungry, but also because I get to see members of my family, which is always such a joy. This one will be particularly special because it will probably be the last time in a long time that I get to experience it. Why, you ask? Because I am graduating and moving far, far away. I have to treasure these special moments while I have them. I also have to start packing, switch the name on the bills from mine to my roommates and start getting rid of the stuff I don't want to take with me.

Say. That reminds me.

I took some clothes to The Buffalo Exchange to sell the other day. Talk about a humiliating experience. How am I supposed to feel after they go through an entire duffel bag of my clothes and all they want is a pair of Dickies cover-alls that I wore once? Once was all it took to discover that in cover-alls, a high five can make your balls hurt.

That's all they wanted, and I had to take everything else home with me. They wouldn't even let me donate it. But I'm okay. I should have known better. Buffalo has been far too hip for me for far too long. I can remember a time when they actually had good deals and clothes that weren't all name brands.

But I'm not bitter. If I were bitter though · then · I might be hip.

Say. That reminds me.

Just the other night, I was feeling pretty hip, and so I went out on the town. It was Saturday night, and I was having some brewskies with some bros at the bars and feeling awesome! And lo-and-behold, the topic on everyone's lips was science, namely astronomy. Finally, everyone was talking about the same thing - people were at last on the same page - peace was almost at hand.

But it would not come to be. Though we all had the same plans, we all had different agendas.

"I hear that Reddington Pass is the place to be."

"I don't know man. Gates Pass is a lot closer and the mountains see · the mountains will block the lights of the city."

"And you can't go to Mt. Lemmon because you won't get a clear view of the right side of the sky. Right meaning correct, not the opposite of left."

Within a couple days of hearing about the event, everyone became an expert on where the best places to view a meteor shower were, and everyone was terrified that everyone else was right. This led to arguing cleverly disguised as an educated debate.

I'd be a liar if I didn't say that it's a real shame when people who all have the same interest can't get along. A real shame.

Say. That reminds me.

I think there are two people who work for this very newspaper who aren't getting along very well right now, and they have tons in common. They both appear on the back page. They both draw those cute little pictures. And they both have a very special gift.

Leah. Norman Charles. I don't know how this little spat started, and I don't care. All I care about is that it stops. Right now. It has to. The students at this university need your dazzling wit and cutting insights now more than ever before. We need to smile. We need to sing. We must dance!

I don't care how you end it. Just end it. I beg you. We beg you. Please. Please! For the love of all things holy! PLEASE!!

Note: When I was writing this by hand, a teardrop fell right here: X