It's freezing cold outside, and snowing, and some people still haven't taken down their Christmas lights yet. It's pretty much the middle of winter.

So, of course, it's time for Penn State's Spring Break.

And Spring Break is a funny time. It's the time of year when all the cities in North America that have sunny warm climates and friendly beautiful residents completely lose their minds.

They spend a whole year employing a police department to arrest people for public drunkenness, public nudity, sleeping in the streets and just general ugly public scariness in order to make their city more attractive to potential Spring Break travelers -- who will, by the way, spend most of their time drinking beer, passing out in the streets, and having wet T-shirt contests, and throwing up on various members of the local Chamber of Commerce who have no one to blame but themselves.

Then, after Spring Break is over, the members of these communities will complain about the discarded beer cans and articles of clothing and the general lawlessness wreaked on them by a young group of aspiring lawyers, scientists and elementary school teachers.

They also will complain about how difficult it's going to be to get the mess cleaned up in time to attract more college students for the next Spring Break.

And I thought this year, since I've never gone anywhere for Spring Break, I should go somewhere. After all, it'll be one of the few times in my life when I'll be able to hold up a sign in a crowded public place asking people to expose various parts of their bodies. And they actually will do it.

So I asked my roommates, who are going to Jamaica, where I should go. And they gave me their pamphlet on Jamaica which said, "Jamaica is an island paradise of white beaches and beautiful people. It has a rich cultural history . . ." and so on.

And then the inside of the pamphlet went on to describe some the cultural things that my roommates would do, such as: The Welcoming Party with rum punch and drinks; The Day Excursion with rum punch and drinks and sun; The Night Excursion with rum punch and drinks and no sun; The Beach Party with rum punch, drinks, sun, and optional clothing; and The Big Day Night Beach Excursion Party with rum punch, drinks, sun or no sun, optional clothing and dirty Port-o-Johns.

It was almost too much culture to stand. I decided to call a travel agent.

A travel agent is a well meaning person who likes to help people realize their wildest dreams of seeing far-off exotic places about which they only had dreamed. They know how to arrange flight schedules and hotel accommodations. And they know all about things like special rates and package deals which can save you money.

But more importantly, a travel agent knows no matter how badly they screw up your vacation there's really nothing you can do to them because you'll be in a foreign country with a faulty itinerary and one semester of remedial Spanish.

So I called the travel agent and explained my situation and asked how much it would cost me for seven days in Jamaica.

"More than you got, pal," she said.

And it was more than I had. It was a little more than the cost of tuition. But this year I was determined to be big and bronze on a white beach instead of little and pasty faced in front of the VCR.

So I asked her if there was any way at all I could go, and she gave me a few options.

The options all involved differing times of arrival and departure, and odd accommodations, and things like that.

For instance, for roughly the cost of a new car, I could leave three days later and come home three days earlier provided I spent all my time in the terminal without bothering anyone.

Another good deal, for roughly the cost of the New York Yankees, I could spend three days and one night in Jamaica with the provision that I figure out a way to actually stay three days and only one night.

Another deal was not that expensive but it required that I travel not on a commercial airline but with a group of undesirable Jamaican deportees, and then spend at least one day while I'm there throwing rocks at the American Embassy.

All of these were good deals. And I had to think long and hard about them before calling my parents and telling them my decision.

"Break out the sunlamps and the rum punch, ma," I said. "I'm coming home, again."