COLUMN: Gobble, Gobble

From Kenneth Baer's "Wired for Cable," Fall '93 Despite the great diversity of this country, we all can pretty much expect the same thing tomorrow: turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie. That is, of course, unless you are a freshman. If this is your first pilgrimage home to your idyllic suburb outside of a not-so perfect city, odds are you're in for a doozy of a weekend. First, your girlfriend of boyfriend from high school will undoubtedly be referred to in the past tense by the end of break. The nightly phone sex and weekly letter writing of the past three months will in no way be able to prevent the inevitable Thanksgiving break-up. After 12 weeks of exposure to Penn's hallowed ivy halls, you'll find yourself having nothing in common with that high school significant other. His witty comments now seem banal; his insight seem shallow. Don't feel guilty – your state school other will probably be thinking the same thing about you. So over a turkey salad sandwich this Friday, you and your sweetheart will have a "what's-wrong-I-think-we-need-to-talk" talk. You'll tell him that it's just not working out, and you need your space – and he'll agree. You'll both cry and laugh at old times. Then after you promise to be friends, you will call that junior you've been seeing since September to ask him if he chewed his turkey carefully. First-year romantics reading this at 30th Street Station or at the airport may scoff at my prediction, but I'm sure of this. In fact, I'm so certain that in August I bet my friend's pre-frosh sister a large sum of money that by November 25, she'll be a bachelor. Then again, I didn't break up with my high school girlfriend (read: get dumped) until Passover my freshman year. Yet, what's Thanksgiving but a seder without praying. For most freshmen, come Turkey Day, their lives will be in ruins. Feeling dejected, the depressed frosh can now turn to his friends, his high school buddies of now freshman hall and pledge class legend. Right? Guess again. Sure, Wednesday night the phone lines will be humming with anxious 18 year-olds trying to make plans, and no doubt "best friends forever" will eventually reunite over the weekend. But, as the frosh will see, they too have changed. Remember your teammate Joe? He's drinking a fifth of scotch a day and failing out of school. Your party animal friend Mike? Mired in a new girlfriend and schoolwork, and he's considering the rabbinate. Eric? A chronic masturbator. And your friend since kindergarten Brian? Pledging a house and out of the closet. Despite the differences, your core group of friends will still get along fine. You'll go to the Turkey Trot, Plymouth Rock, Pilgrim Pulse, or Squanto Tonto dance held in your town and reminisce about old times. But memories can not sustain a friendship, and by junior or senior year, your circle of friends will shrink to just a handful. That is unless you live in Long Island; then your old friends will easily be replaced with your Penn ones. With all these changes, do freshmen have anything to be thankful for? Of course they do. In about three years, you'll realize that you're boyfriend was a complete loser and lousy in bed. In addition, you'll discover that your friends smelled and used you for test answers. And we all can be thankful that a group of Puritans over 300 years ago had a good harvest and broke bread with Bob Feller, Tonto and the rest of the Indians. What does it matter that Miles Standish and company would have exiled all of us from their colony for being heretics? At least, they built Boston Garden. Individually, we all have a lot to be thankful for. I, for one, am thankful that my house has cable. For the next 72 hours, I will mindlessly channel surf accomplishing none of the work I promised myself I will do. I am also thankful that I know myself so well to realize this now. I am thankful that the Athletic Department put vaseline all over the goal posts Saturday. Now, I'm fully lubricated, and my lips won't be chapped for decades. I'm thankful for Lee Thomas. He crafted a pennant-winning team out of nothing. Mind you, it was only a few years ago that the Phillies had started pitchers named Ruffin, Carman, and Cowley. Believe it or not, I'm thankful for Claire Fagin. Without her, I would have forgotten and would have not fully appreciated the leadership style of Sheldon Hackney. I'm also thankful that I'm a history major. Studying in the largest department was a wise strategic move considering the fate of American Civilization, Religious Studies, et al. But if this trend continues, we may all only be thankful that we have not been swallowed up by Wharton – yet. I could go on and on. Trust me, I've been poking fun, criticizing, and – as the Commission for Strengthening the Community claims – implementing my evil agenda on this page all year. But before I thank my parents, God, and the United Way, here's a little reminder. No matter how bad the break-up or how dry the turkey is this weekend, just be thankful that...oh shit. You're train's here. Hurry up. We'll finish this later. Kenneth Baer is a senior History major from Cherry Hill, New Jersey and the Editorial Page Editor of the Daily Pennsylvanian. Wired for Cable appears alternate Wednesdays.

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