There are certain things I loathe about N.C. State. You know, the types of things that get under your skin, crawl around for a few days, make a little home, and lay eggs that hatch two months later when you find yourself consumed by them. You know what I mean?

Things like…oh I don’t know…the people that give themselves permission to walk in front of a one-and-a-half-ton vehicle expecting it to stop. Or how TRACS could never seem to accommodate the schedule I planned for. Or even the skateboarders and bicyclists that seem to have no respect for those of the one-foot-after-another persuasion.

I told myself I could tolerate these things for one more semester. I would go to my classes, I’d do the homework, I’d put up with these poor excuses for time consumers for one more semester. Come May 13, I was going to walk across the stage and never look back. I am going to be done.

For the majority of you who aren’t familiar with the experience of senioritis or what it’s like not knowing what your fall plans are going to be – let me shed some light on it because if you think it’s anything like high school, you ought to Saran wrap yourself to a tree so the rest of us can throw the moldy lettuce in our refrigerators at you.

Senioritis in high school was a joke – it was only something seniors built up because they could get some kind of superiority kick out of it and boast to the rest of the underclassmen about how they “are movin’ up in the world” and “have done their time” – knowing full well they were either going to be in school for another four to nine years or working the rest of their lives.

It’s different now. I’ve been in school for the last 17 consecutive years of my life and I have chosen to exit the world of academia and step into the world called “my life.” The only responsibility I’ll have is to eat, sleep, and at the end of the day tell myself, “Hey man, you did pretty good today.” That’s it and that’s pretty freakin’ significant after all the years of class, homework, teachers, professors, parents, obligations and many other black holes.

It’s a HUGE deal – and I want everyone that’s helped me along the way to be a part of that on May 13. There’s my mom, my dad, my step-mom, four sisters and a brother, a nephew, four uncles, three aunts, three grandparents, my cousins and my girlfriend. Then there’s Jessica, Mike, Heidi, Jason, Amanda, Chris, Brandon, Kelly, Sean, Jennifer and some cat named Bubba that used to hook me up with beer when I was 19 (I think I owe him that much).

Ok, so there’s no Bubba, but that’s a pretty long list.

So which three do I bring?

I’m not even kidding because that’s how many the English department is asking me to bring due to a “high number of graduates” and a cozy church that is more like a glorified barn, at least in terms of how many people it’ll hold.

So which three? Asking me that is like asking a wife if she wants her husband taken off life support. Or asking a guy on death row if he wants a lethal injection or the gas chamber. Or asking a brand new father to choose between the baby and the mother. Or asking if I’ll shoot someone on a deserted island with the last bullet in order to eat him to survive. These aren’t the kinds of questions I should be facing at graduation. The questions I need to be asking are, “What nifty contraption can I put on top of my cap?” and “How hungover is too hungover?”

So here’s what I’ve decided for the three people I’m going to bring to my graduation.

First invitation is going to President Bush because he needs to see that I can get a college degree without his help (maybe that was his plan all along, I don’t know).

Second invitation is going to Dave Matthews. I’ve spent more than 400 bucks in tickets, T-shirts and CD’s — he could at least repay me by coming to my graduation.

Third invitation is going to Jessica Alba just because she’s hot and stranger things have happened.

I’m an “all-or-nothing” kind of guy, so what I am going to do is set up a video camera in the back of the church and broadcast my graduation via webcam so my family and friends can watch from my house.

It’s just a shame that the whole reason they’re coming is me and they won’t even get to be there.

E-mail Jason at viewpoint@technicianonline.com