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. It runs weekly, on Fridays. 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.

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January 31, 1997

So there I was, checking my e-mail and wondering why nobody ever sends me anything other than letter bombs, when I see that I got a nice little note from the advising department of my college.

How sweet, I think to myself, that they care enough to congratulate me on my upcoming graduation in May and that they want to be sure to remind me to invite them to my too-long-in-the-planning, eight-keg graduation party.

Much to my surprise, however, they weren’t interested in getting fall-down silly with me.

They just wanted to let me know that somehow I was actually making backward progress toward my diploma.

I was now several classes shy of the required load and that I shouldn’t make plans to graduate in the class of 90-anything.

Granted, I’ve had a couple of senior years and a few freshman terms, but I thought that I was finally ready to move on to that proverbial real world in the city I’ve heard so much about.

After all, I have been a full-paying member of this university long enough to see The Coliseum turn into Shamrox into The Dean’s List into Tazzle’s West, and I have spent enough time in each to record frequent faller miles regardless of the proper name.

I’ve spent more time on the corner of Chamberlain and Welch than any gyro man could dream of, and that was just waiting for the money messiah to tell me the three-word gospel phrase, “Please Take Cash.”

In the years that I’ve been here, I’ve seen two Veishea riots and even watched the guy in the ’92 bash being marched down the middle of the street yelling, “Let’s take Welch!”

During my tenure I’ve been adventurous enough to get kicked out of most taverns, several theaters, a few stores in the mall and even the freshman honors program. (It was one helluva retreat.)

So one can imagine my surprise last semester when I learned that I was one class short of graduating in December.

One class for my second major that could have been taken any time in the ’90s, and it was going to keep me from my cap and gown.

That one class could have taken the place of most of the electives I’ve explored in my college career, including but not limited to: volleyball, racquetball, weightlifting, Theatre 106 and nude-model drawing (OK, maybe not that one).

I could have replaced my wine tasting class with a day at Whiskey River, Human Sexuality 276 with a night of Cinemax After Dark and Physics 101 (physics for the nonscientist) with one of my many swan dives down a staircase.

But no, I had to put it off and now I get to spend another spring semester at good ole’ ISU drudging through slush and falling on my ass in the ice, with only one consoling thought running through my head:

“Hey, only 35 more days until yet another spring break.”

But with this recent development, I’ve learned that I seem to be doing bad enough in many of my classes that I’ve actually nullified several of my required credits.

Through the years, I had heard that you could bludgeon brain cells with alcohol, but I didn’t realize that you could kill recorded grades of semesters past through the same process.

Regardless, the way I look at it, I won’t be graduating until somewhere around the turn of the century, but that’s not all that bad.

After all, a lot of people graduate with a double major, but I’ll be the only one to get a diploma with eight majors and a minor in possession.