So, I'm done. This is it for me. The curtain call. The culmination. The final countdown. After today, I will have no further presence in collegiate publishing at Penn State.

I can hope that elicits at least a dab of disappointment from some of you. I've been fortunate enough to garner more than anyone's fair share of feedback from the wide and diverse audience I'm exposed to, some of it complementary, a bit flat out creepy.

But on the whole, I can imagine my stepping aside at this semester's close is being met with a very heartfelt and sincere lack of caring at all.

In keeping with the fact that my writings have been somewhat unpredictable, spontaneously unique at best, I decided to embrace that uniquely randomized and simply unplanned and unexplored style, until now.

Dozens of completely trivial ides have cluttered my brain to the point of resembling sitcom-esque closet stuffed by an accelerated room cleaning.

Now, it's time to open the door and be flooded with flashbacks, all the things I've thought through Thursday of this week that weren't worthy of publishing.

There are two current fashion trends among young women that drive your male counterparts Miss Daisy crazy. In the summer, it's those ocular nightmares. With them on, we can recognize hair color and height. We can't recognize you. Get a snorkel.

With the winter, comes the Uggs. I want a pair. Lavender ones. Not purple, lavender. I saw a guy sporting them for the first time this week, and I've been trying to find a 14 color code e48hl6g since. All I've seen is lavender blush. Ew.

Of course, I draw the line at tucking in my jeans. I'd feel like a paratrooper. Leggings though? We'll talk.

Thank god Facebook finally changed the format of status updates. If I had to read one more update like "John Jones is had an awesome time last night" or "Jane Smith is thanks for all the birthday wishes!" I might've denounced grammar forever. As a journalist, that is never works good. Now we're free to stalk each other grammatically.

Pennsylvania's alcohol laws have a very distinct and productive reason for being as constrictive as they are. We can't buy beer at grocery stores or gas stations and take more than 192 ounce out of a bottle shop at one time because this state loves to confuse the hell out of visitors.

Selling beer at a local bottle shop, I've gotten some baffled looks from out-of-town customers when I tell them we don't sell cases. It's when I say, "Sorry, we don't sell cases" and they look like they heard, "Prohibition's back." It's heartbreaking, except when they're from Ohio. Then, it's golden.

Finally, Christmas, or whatever holiday you celebrate, isn't what it used to be. My mom called me a short while ago, asking me what I wanted for Christmas. I panicked.

Frozen in confusion, I had absolutely no idea what I wanted. For the first time in my life, I paused and then out slipped "Uhhhhh... nothing really. I'm fine."

When you're a kid, that question's answered with a reflexive and almost instinctive response. Think Ralphie in A Christmas Story spitting out an entire ad slogan for his heart's one desire, the Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle. That doesn't happen anymore. Maybe I'm growing up. Maybe Santa doesn't make "Unlimited Free Beer" coupons.

Yep, this semester's been a menagerie of strange thoughts and complaints, some of which I'm sure many of you have noticed and or been bothered by.

For a sign off, I didn't break any ground, but I had a fabulous time. I hope I entertained this fall, as there's no better feeling than making a stranger laugh.

I'll miss being Friday guy; thanks for having me.