Editor’s note: The following is a continuing journal of a fictional college student. It is intended to be a humorous and enjoyable feature about an average Joe. Though written by Iowa State’s own Scott Jacobson, a Daily staff writer, people, places and events detailed below are not analogous to a real student.

October 8, 1999

So there I was, watching Taylor walk down the aisle in her bridesmaid dress at the end of Jane’s wedding when I turned to Eddie and simply told him, “Damn, she looks good.”

He just looked at me and rolled his eyes and told me to shut up. Maybe it’s because he’s perennially single. Maybe it’s because he hates dressing up. Or maybe it’s because it was the eighth time I’d told him during the half-hour ceremony.

Regardless, she looked good.

That’s the thing about weddings. Everyone looks a helluva lot better than they ever do on any random night at the bar. Even Carl was all pimped out in his double-breasted GQ best. I was proud.

The reception was all we’d expected and more. We danced on chairs, I sang “Runaround Sue,” and I did shots with Glenn and Larry.

I hung out with Taylor’s brother and his best friend during most of the reception and we had a hoot. In fact, at one point, Larry was taking me around, introducing me to everyone he could find. When they asked how we knew each other. He’d just look at them, shake his head and say, “He’s my best friend’s sister’s boyfriend. Duh.” And that would be the end of it.

I just wish Glenn and Larry could have been back in Ames with us the next night when a bunch of us went bowling at the Memorial Union. We’re not quite sure why we went bowling, but it just seemed like the thing to do.

So there I was, bowling my first ball — a delightful little sphere I called Cocoa Puff due to its brown marble texture — when I got a strike on my first frame. The guys were impressed. I was surprised. And my thumb was dislocated. Damn those small holes.

That was the end of Cocoa Puff. However, I did recommend him to a guy bowling on the lane next to us. I forgot to ask how he did.

Next, I used Carl’s ball, Gumball. We called it that because of all the pretty colors swirled together. We get creative when we’ve had a couple.

Gumball failed me miserably. It was a little too heavy and the holes were too big this time. I felt like Goldilocks after three beers.

But then I found Lil’ Smokie. Not too small, not too big, but just right. Sure, I struggled to reach 100 in my first couple games, but I had a cool-looking ball with a cool-sounding name so I was ready to roll in my slicky shoes.

After the first game, we split up teams and started taking it seriously. Of course, the first thing we had to do was come up with names. Not for our teams, but for ourselves.

Whenever you go bowling, you need a bowling name. Something that would look good stitched on an ugly shirt. For example, my bowling name was Vern. I don’t know why, but Vern just seemed right.

Carl was Phillippe, Walt became Ted, and Carl’s brother Sam earned the name Hank. Eddie was tabbed Don Juan because of his recent adventures with the ladies, and our neighbor Sherm was called Sherm. I mean, what can you come up with that’s better than Sherm?

By the end of the night, our new names had not only found their way onto the scoring sheet, but they had also become part of our vernacular.

Somehow, when someone asked Hank — or Sam, for those keeping track at home — if he wanted another beer, it became, “Can I give you a knock?” I’m not really sure how “Would you care for another drink?” evolved into “Can I give you a knock?” but these things happen.

So there I was, giving old Hank a knock, when Carl thought that sounded kinda funny.

“Boy that could mean just about anything,” he said as his mind raced with possibilities.

Need to call someone up? Give old Hank a knock. Hungry for some pizza? Give old Hank a knock. Wonder where your roommate’s been for the last couple hours? He’s probably been giving old Hank a knock.

And that’s the beauty of it. It can mean absolutely anything.