There are so many great things to do in Ithaca and I’ve certainly collected my fair share of memories and moments that have helped me to call this place home. I remember going to Taughannock Falls as a kid; I’ve been to the Ice, dog, and apple festivals; and I’ve spent days studying in the little coffee shops in The Commons and going to poetry readings at Buffalo Books (often because I was forced to trek down there when a professor didn’t want to support the Capitalist Pigs at the Cornell store). Each of these, in their own way, are indicative of this beautiful and weird place that we live in – the intense seasons, the amazing natural beauty, the weird, artsy-fartsy townies who got lost on the way back from Woodstock and never managed to get home. But I think that my own personal relationship with Ithaca is defined by one story. I was preparing to go visit my at-the-time long distance girlfriend in Atlanta for Valentine’s Day.