Sixteen days.

No, it’s not the amount of time I’m giving Robert Downey Jr. in rehab.

It’s not even the number of days until the opening of “Pearl Harbor.” (That would be 22 days).

No, in exactly 16 days, I will be walking down the aisle of Zorn Arena and claiming that long-awaited diploma I’ve been dreaming about for four long years. Well, I haven’t really been dreaming about it, but you catch my drift.

With this sacred day looming ever so close, one is forced to do a little reminiscing, not just about his or her college education, but about the “college experience” altogether.

And instead of humiliating myself by being a volunteer commencement speaker, I’ll get it all out right here.

Dorm life. The experience I’ll never forget, and the one I hope to never repeat.

It was a nice way to get us in the college groove, to introduce us to new people, but after two years of hot, molten rooms in the middle of summer, obnoxious fire drills in the middle of winter, and puke in the middle of the floor, it’s nice to move on.

General education classes. Only at a liberal arts college was I able to learn about the Salem Witch Trials (“United States History to 1877”), the formation of Mammoth Cave (“Geology of National Parks”) and the different stages of the female orgasm (“Courtship and Marital Relations”).

Thanks to the wide variety of classes I was able to take, I can now start off conversations with “Do you know how to calculate the frequency of an ocean wave?”

I’ve learned to ignore the weird looks, too.

And of course, I can’t talk about the “college experience” without mentioning the word “alcohol.” I’ve seen it go down, I’ve seen it come up. Enough said.

And now I’d like to take this time to give a thank you, a shout-out, a “prop,” if you will, to all the people who have made the college experience the best – and in some cases, the worst – it could be.

I’d like to thank my best friends, for without them I would have to pay rent on the house myself, and that includes utilities. And I can’t imagine running the Red L alone.

I’d like to thank the professors who didn’t notice when I skipped class and gave me good grades, and the professors who made my life a living hell by taking attendance and making me rewrite a paper three times until I got it right.

Guess who I learned more from.

I’d like to thank all the members of group projects with whom I’ve been involved, because I don’t think they get the recognition they deserve.

Whether it’s capturing random people on film to create a poem or filming a scene from a Shakespeare play, you never realize how much fun you’re having until after you’ve turned it in.

For a brief moment, you wish the project could last for another two weeks. Then you wake up.

I’d like to thank all the boys who have broken my heart. Unfortunately, even they don’t know who they are because they don’t know I exist.

Maybe someday I’ll learn how to talk to them in person and not in my head.

I’d like to thank The Spectator for allowing me to fill my columns with shameless plugs (www.jumptheshark.com).

And finally I’d like to thank the Academy.

Sorry, I’ve just always wanted to say that.