“Ithaca, you’re f—in’ me,” a deranged roommate of mine likes to say, his creepy, class-conscious voice cracking as he utters the forbidden curse word. He’ll be an investment banker in a year, in jail in five and something pains him as he yells the magic formula for all to hear. “Ithaca, you’re f—in’ me!”

What prompts this outburst of original opprobrium from the mouth of one of Cornell’s Finest? Usually, it’s something small and inconsequential, and usually it’s nobody’s fault. It’s snowing? “Ithaca, you’re f—in’ me!” Line at the Palms? He’s always up for it, but hey, “Ithaca, you’re f—in’ me!” Dry cleaner taking a little too long? You know the drill by now. Kid sounds like a broken record.

Sure, this gumbag’s obnoxious, but he’s not alone. Cornellians love to complain about Ithaca — its distance from major highways, how it isn’t Long Island, or how the weather is terrible. I grew up in the Northeast, and I don’t understand why people from New York whine about Ithaca weather. It snows at home too, but I digress.

People grumble about everything Ithacan because they’ve limited themselves to Ithaca, and haven’t gone beyond the confines of Cornell to explore the spectacular region of upstate New York. I love upstate New York —the people, the ambience, the inexpensiveness. It gets me going. As a veteran of dozens of upstate roadtrips, I can share the highlights (and a lowlight or two) of Ithaca’s greater metropolitan area.

Most Cornell students who have ventured beyond the Vet School have done so for one of two reasons. The first is Syracuse Airport. I don’t have much to say about that, other than it pretty much defeats the purpose of my column. If people are going to Syracuse for the sole purpose of leaving the region, they’re missing out big time.

The second reason is the magical wine tour. I went on my first wine tour last weekend, and while it was, overall, an excellent experience, I want to note one unpleasant matter that left a bad taste in my mouth. At Cobblestone winery, on the north end of Cayuga Lake, the I.D.-checker with a receding hairline and an undeserved scowl refused entry to two of our friends. While they were 21, they were trying to use foreign passports, since they are, as holders of foreign passports tend to be, foreigners. Are the Terrorists really posing as college seniors on wine tours in Waterloo, New York? Do people try to forge Malaysian and South Korean passports? Anyway, only go to Cobblestone winery if you’re American as apple pie.

Back to upstate New York, though. I could write a book about upstate roadtrips, full as they are of whimsical, overcast days, but instead, I’ll stick to a place close to my heart: Cortland. Cortland is the home, as the commercial says, of no hassle, no razzle dazzle.

Cortland might not have much in the way of rhyme, but it’s the place to go for an incredible time. Cortland is Ithaca’s sane sister, the one that didn’t exploit Rich Uncle Ezra to live a life of hippy, socialist fantasy. Cortland is gritty and hardworking. Take Route 13 up to Cortland and you’ll find dozens of fast-food joints, with everything from KFC to A&W (they bring the food out to your car!). Delve a little deeper, though, and you’ll find that Cortland is about more than revolting KFC Snackers and fifties-style carhops.

There are other parts of upstate New York worth visiting, too. Go to Turning Stone Resort and Casino, but not for the craps or fruit wheel. Gas is 10 cents cheaper per gallon, and it’s segregated; there’s a separate part of the gas station marked “Tribal Members ONLY.” Elmira, 40 minutes to our south, is the hip-hop capital of upstate New York, according to a waitress I once had at Manos Diner. Dryden has a Chinese restaurant in a house. And don’t forget majestic Owego, where you can get soup, salad, soda and entrée for $3.98. What a country!

Ithaca is a great place, but it’s an oasis of fantasy. Traveling beyond its borders is worthwhile because upstate New York, for all its 1970s fast food signs, sclerotic feeling of deindustrialization and abandoned ghost towns, is real. Upstate New York has emotions. Ithaca has the Haunt and four head shops on the Commons. That’s not real at all.

I’ll admit, this was a tough column to write. Maybe because it’s my last column — I’ve written six before and in this business, difficulty comes in sevens. How can I adequately express myself, how can I leave a mark to remember? It’s tough. I’ve written and rewritten this column a few times, and now, as time ticks away to the deadline, I still don’t know what my last words in The Sun should be.

I was going to leave this idea for Sun columnist Charlie Niesenbaum ’08, but it was too good not to use on my own. Quickly: Triphammer Wines has free tastings on Fridays. The bakery next door has free cheese. Across the way, Chinese-and-Cajun-Chicken-Country will give you free chicken for as long as you want. Auntie Anne’s = free pretzel bites. Cornell Orchards lets you take as many free apples and as much cider as you’d like. Big Red Barn has Grad Food Hour Thursday afternoons. Great pre-prelim snacktime place.

I’ve digressed again. My advice, which all graduating Sun columnists seem to give, is pretty simple. Live it up. Travel around upstate New York. Eat lunch at Macs and dinner at Manos. Take a class with Jefferson Cowie, because he likes the Boss (Springsteen, not Steinbrenner). Visit East Hill Plaza.

Finally, there’s only one way to really conclude my brief, off-the-hook tenure at The Sun: pure shoutouts. Elia Zaitsev ’07 for keeping me at the knife’s edge. The Lamkays for being down-to-earth. The Gentlemen of MLODA. Sun columnist Missy “Restraining Order” Kurzweil ’07. Carlos Maycotte ’07 and Erica Fink ’07 for giving me a column, against their better judgment. My editor, Olivia Oran ’08, for not censoring me all too much and pretending to laugh at my jokes. (“It’s funny, but ...” is her favorite line.) Like bleach from a bottle, I’m out.

Justin Weitz is a senior in the College of Arts and Sciences. He can be contacted at jdw42@cornell.edu. Free Weitz appeared alternate Wednesdays.