The night before Thanksgiving, I went to some local bars with my few friends that were still in the area. So many people had left campus already, I felt like I was in Independence Day, coming each bar for survivors. "I thought they had cleared this area out already, but it's good to find some others. You look a little woozy we'll get something to take care of that. I know you used to call this place home, but things are different now. We're all rendezvousing in a few hours. Sir, let it go it's time to move on to the next bar." Every year, it seems that Thanksgiving gets longer and longer. Freshman year, most people went home Wednesday night. Sophomore year, people didn't want to deal with flying in late and started booking flights for Wednesday morning. Last year, a few of my friends went home the weekend before. If I ever go to grad school, I think I'm going to see the first 47-day weekend in history. In any given week, you pray that somehow, someway, you can just get two extra hours to finish your work in time. So you get a four-day weekend right before finals, and how do you spend it? Watching Sylvestor Stallone and Clint Eastwood marathons on TBS and eating leftovers from Thursday night. Then you get back to school, realize you have a paper due that week, and pray that somehow, someway, you can just get two extra hours to finish your work in time. When I was a kid, I remember waking up first thing Thanksgiving morning to watch the parade. What the hell was I thinking? I guess the balloons can keep a kid entertained, but the high school bands and B-list celebrities singing songs I've never head of are just not worth setting my alarm for. Then again, neither is a 9:00 class. It makes perfect sense that turkey and wine both make you tired. The typical Thanksgiving dinner involves your siblings quizzing you on who you're dating, your mom asking you what your GPA really is, and all your extended family discussing their insurance policies and recent operations. I don't know about you, but the earlier I get to sleep, the happier I am. Like this column? Then buy the book!