The dog days of summer have finally concluded and the drunken haze that we commonly refer to as “college” is finally back in session. I would like to welcome everybody back and give all the literate freshmen a hearty yet succinct “Moo.” (See page 53 in the guide to freshmen insults).

Let the vacation begin.

Now, I’m certain that anyone reading this is thinking, “Vacation? I thought summer was over?” I would like to say that you’re right. Summer is over. But that means the vacation starts now.

When I think about vacation, I imagine spending time with my closest friends, partying incessantly and doing things that I love most. My friends are in Syracuse, the parties are in Syracuse (don’t tell the townies) and I won’t be referred to as an alcoholic until I start showing up to Alcoholics Anonymous meetings.

Other than the Newhouse students, who I’m sure all spent their summers personally interviewing Michael Phelps and LeBron James, I am willing to bet that most of us spent our time toiling in the monotony of menial summer jobs and being yelled at by old men who want to know why they can’t find a part for their lawn mower they bought 15 years ago. Maybe that’s just me.

I found a few things quite reassuring upon my return to Syracuse. Construction projects still move slower than a Zonies delivery order. State University of New York College of Environmental Science and Forestry students are still hippies who won’t mow their lawns. Scholarship in Action is still used as a punch line. Varsity Pizza and Chuck’s Cafe are still filled with seventh-year seniors waiting to get their degrees in the mail.

The Department of Public Safety has inundated my inbox with safety alerts already this year. My neighbors have funneled off their second story porch and my friend has already tried to coin the term “that’s naked.”

My fall semester vacation has been magnificent thus far, as I sit on my friend’s porch waiting for all of Sadler Six to walk by looking for a party so we can welcome them with insults. These range from making farm noises to shouting, “Enjoy Writing 105.” College is truly the time of intellectual exploration.

These past three months, I must admit that I sorely missed our radioactive tropical mascot, and the thousands of sorostitutes and their high pitched screaming. I even missed walking down the street at night, wondering if I was about to get mugged. Hell, I even missed making fun of our fearless leaders, who gave us Queso’s instead of Taco Bell.

No longer must I worry about calories so I can look like a chiseled albino at the beach. Instead, I now concern myself with taking casual strolls across the ESF quad. That, and wondering why I find a giant acorn named Oakie to be infinitely more absurd than a gargantuan orange with a Nike symbol for a face.

The most significant inconvenience with my vacation this semester is going to be those pesky classes that I am expected to show up to. It’s not that bad when I put it into perspective — I can either sit in class and prepare myself for the real world or go back to the real world trying to find that old man a lawn mower belt. That would totally not be naked.

Brett Fortnam is a senior newspaper journalism and political philosophy major who will be unemployed in nine months. His column appears every Thursday until there are enough complaints to make him stop. He can be reached at [email protected], but he will not respond.

Published on August 30, 2012 at 2:56 am