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 29, 1999

So there I was, listening to Jim Morrison, Ritchie Valens, John Denver, Elvis and Tupac yell at Milli sans Vanilli for lip synching all those crap songs when I realized one simple fact of life.

I love Halloween.

Only on a weekend late in October can a bunch of dead rock stars gather in my living room to play Trivial Pursuit over a case of Busch Light before heading to the bar. The scary thing was that we were doing this yesterday afternoon.

There’s something about dressing up that demands urgency. Even though we’re not using our costumes until Sunday night, we had to have a test run.

So, I’m a little tired today from a long night of hair in my face and extra padding on my stomach, but that’s the price you pay when you transform into Jerry Garcia for the evening.

I got stuck with Jerry because of my goatee and my gut, and I didn’t know how to pull off a bearded Roy Orbison. Carl claimed Jim Morrison, Pablo snagged Ritchie Valens, Walt chose Elvis, and Chet got stuck with John Denver. To punish us, he cranked up “Grandma’s Feather Bed” on his stereo, locked his door and left for two days. We were just glad it wasn’t “Thank God I’m a Country Boy.”

Hank is representing Tupac, and he’s hoping it’s a nice night Sunday since he has to walk around topless all night with Thug Life scrawled across his belly.

Eddie got the best draw of them all though. As the late Rob Pilatus, or Milli, he gets to walk around all night just mouthing conversation to people. In fact, last night when a girl didn’t like the pick-up line he used on her, he just explained, “I didn’t really say that. I’m only used in the video.”

Brilliant.

I’m just relieved we have everything figured out for Sunday night, because this weekend looks packed full until then.

My old buddy Ira is coming into town this afternoon, and he wants to F.A.C. for old times sake. The first time I met him, he was hitting on my then girlfriend, but as soon as she dumped me, he and I became good ol’ fashioned drinking buddies. We both bug the hell out of each other, but we’re always good for a few laughs, so we put up with us.

A couple hours after Ira rolls in, my old roommates Ashley and Brooke are scheduled to arrive with their new roomies Jessica and Katie. These ladies like to tie one on and get their swerve on, but trying to have a conversation is like listening to that damn “Mambo No. 5” song on repeat.

The great thing about Homecoming weekend is that all of our friends who left Ames the day after graduation need a place to crash for two nights. Fortunately for them, Eddie, Chet and I are still here after eight years and Casa de Cerveza always seems to have some open floor space.

During the Iowa-Iowa State weekend, we packed everyone in by having Carl and Pablo, who crash on our couches every weekend as it is, sleep on the deck. Carl snuggled up under the grill while Pablo passed out beside a lawn chair.

Walt spent the night upside-down in the recliner and couldn’t walk straight for two days while Hank curled up underneath the dining room table. Of course, none of these guys thought to sleep on one of the two open couches.

Ashley, Brooke, Jessica and Katie shared my bed while Ira slept on the floor next to it, hoping for some fall-out. Chet and Sydney slept in his bed while Taylor, Jane and Liza stayed cozy in Eddie’s room.

The verdict is still out as to whether Eddie and I actually slept that weekend. He thinks we napped for a couple hours near Lake Laverne before getting whipsmacked by the swans while I slightly remember dozing off on the practice turf near Jack Trice.

Regardless of the confusion in the past, our hotel is open and ready for business and for one night we will find room for some of the biggest deceased names in rock history. I’m just glad we didn’t invite Mama Cass and Notorious B.I.G.