Now that the first and last semester of my reign as editor has come to pass, I thought I’d share some of the highlights that never made it to print.

The first concert I ever reviewed for The Daily was Jimmy Page and Robert Plant. Talk about pressure. Of course, I never had the chance to interview either Plant or Page.

In fact, when I called their publicist to see if I could set one up, she literally laughed at me over the phone. In between her chuckles, she managed to inform me, “Mr. Plant and Mr. Page don’t have to do interviews.”

So began my induction into the world of hot-shot-rockstars.

A lot of people think the arts and entertainment reporters have it easy. We get to hear a lot of music, hang out with performers, use profanity in our stories. Well, some of that is true.

But by-and-large, trying to get some often-drunk, arrogant, spotlight-loving show boys to tell you what motivates them to travel for 60 days straight with seven other people in a van the size of a shoe box is not always the best way to utilize your journalistic skills.

But my almost-got-to-meet Dave Matthews high is one I’ve only just recently come down from.

It started last spring when he came to Ames with his close friend Tim Reynolds to perform an “intimate” show at Stephens. Just those two.

Thus began my quest to get Dave.

Yes, I thought. This is why I got into this profession. I would get to interview Dave Matthews. I would find out his deepest, inner-most secrets.

I would get to the heart of his lyrics. I would find out how a white guy from South Africa got together with four other dudes to make some rather extraordinary music.

I tried everything within my power to get an interview with Dave.

I called his publicist (a wonderful woman by the name of Ambrosia) almost everyday.

I faxed RCA, his record label, at least once a week. No luck. Well, I wasn’t about to let this opportunity go by.

Finally, Ambrosia told me Dave wouldn’t be doing any interviews. Just who did this guy think he was? Even Hootie gave the Daily an interview.

And, at the time, nobody was bigger than Hootie.

So, I asked Ambrosia if I could get backstage passes to talk to Dave “for just a moment” after the show. Nope — wasn’t going to happen. But I had faith in Dave. I’d read just about every interview he’d ever done.

I’d seen just about every MTV moment he’d ever done. He just seemed like a really nice guy. So why wouldn’t he want to talk to a young college student just doing her job?

Answer: Because he doesn’t have to.

I see. So the very college students that put food on his table and allow him to do what he does weren’t deserving of a live interview. Well, that made sense.

The fact that several people I knew were dodging collection agents from Visa because of all the DMB merchandise they had charged was just a slight technicality.

But we all know what happened on Nov. 23.

The second coming. Dave returned with his namesake band to perform, this time in Hilton. Let’s just say by that time I had Ambrosia’s phone number on speed dial. I thought surely this time I would be granted an interview.

Nope.

I guess people whose albums debut at No. 2 on Billboard’s Top 40 don’t have to do interviews to promote themselves. Ironically, Hootie’s latest release was at number one. And, can you say “show didn’t sell out”?

Four Dave discs, two hats, five glossies and a poster later, it was over. Dave left Ames. And, to add insult to injury, he’s profiled in the latest issue of Rolling Stone. I guess Dave does do interviews with some folks.

As much as it sounds like I’ve swallowed the bitter pill on this one, it’s merely just one example of the trials and tribulations we reporters go through to get big name interviews.

We try, they say no. We try again — denied.

We rant and rave about how they suck anyway and how they’ll just be one-hit-wonders.

Then, in my case, I go home and relax while listening to Crash.