It’s interesting how entertainment can be so different from one city to the next just because of a few details.

Turning 21 in Ames is a pretty huge deal because it means going to the bar for the first time (legally, of course). But in Iowa City, where being 19 earns admittance to bars, turning 21 is no big deal.

When I turn 21 tomorrow I will finally be able to go to the bars with my own ID. I will no longer have to use Thomas’ ID (I never met you, Thomas, but finding your license at Woodstock was a big part of my early corruption).

I was a D.A.R.E. role model in high school, and I actually held up my end of the deal by not drinking. Even when I got to college, I never touched a drop my whole freshman year.

But for some reason, I grew into a real college student my sophomore year and started consuming – and throwing up – alcohol.

I must have a weak stomach because I used to find myself praying to the porcelain god way too often. It became such a regular thing that I was getting skilled at how I did it – like spewing into cups of all sizes with no mess.

But it was the days when I had to be somewhere and still didn’t feel good that have left the worst taste in my mouth.

Like the two times I threw up in the middle of class. Once into my stocking cap and once on the floor – in the middle of a test.

Then there are the times I accidentally returned the alcohol to the bars that served it to me (right onto the floor), causing me to get thrown out.

Yep, I was actually that guy.

Or when I was trying to drive to work in the middle of a hail storm and throw up at the same time. I ended up driving onto the lawn of a church and getting under a tree to protect my car and give me a chance to fill up my cup – with puke.

There is the time when I was talking on the phone with my cousin in boot camp. It was the one time I was able to talk to him in six months, and the only thing that came out of my mouth was the drink special from the night before. I did the same thing two weeks later trying to talk to my brother on a Sunday morning.

And I guess I can’t forget when my stomach was just too full, and I blew chunks all over the sidewalk on Welch and some street in Iowa City.

But that’s the beauty of puke `n’ rally. You just keep on partying.

As I have gotten older and more experienced, these sorts of things don’t happen as often. On spring break I made it the whole week without upchucking, almost.

On the way out of Florida, I decided I didn’t feel well and I couldn’t find a single cup in the truck. So the next best thing I could think of was to decorate the interstate – and about five cars around us.

By the time I was done, I looked behind me to see that every car around us had slammed on their breaks, and my buddy’s truck needed a wash.

The lady in the Volvo had it coming with her driving.

So all this, plus many nights left unmentioned, is what I have to look forward to when I turn 21.

And people call it entertainment.

I have a tendency to not make points with my columns, so I’ll try my best with this one.

The purpose of telling all these puking stories is that it wouldn’t happen as much if Ames had more stuff to do. At least that’s what I tell myself, but I think I’m just a wimp.

And when people tell you the phrase, “beer before liquor, never been sicker,” believe them.