Grad School Games

98.  I have terrible posture, but I’m working on it.

This is basically just the Pixelated Games taken to grad school, so I’ll just introduce the games as I develop them, rather than try to make this a running Olympic-style series:

The Syllabus Hunt

Participants have seven days to collect as many syllabi as they can.  They may sit in on the classes, or e-mail the professors for them, but they may not print out syllabi from school Web sites (unless they are registered for the class).

Rules:

1. No sharing syllabi, nor borrowing or stealing syllabi from other people.
2. No revealing the nature of the game.
3. No one can suspect that you are not actually in the class.
4. You may not actually lie to anyone.  If anyone asks you your name, you must be honest, even if it violates rule 2.
5. Violating rule 2 or rule 4 disqualifies you, so try not to be asked any questions

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nabµf #14 of 29

85. I worry I share too much. I also don’t worry that I share too much. But it turns out I rarely worry about sharing the right things at the right times.

Pixel was the kind of guy that would leave at any occasion. He often found himself going on vacation, international study, and even just moving for no reason. And, as Pixel made friends everywhere he went, this meant that half the time his leaving was (partly) to go visit other friends. Pixel’s life was a very hectic one.

In fact, one fine day, Pixel moved to Seattle. He did it because he wanted to earn money for his plans that year: he wanted to travel the world during the summer. He also moved because he had some friends in Seattle and he figured they would let him stay with them.

Pixel arrived with very little money and no prospects for a job or an apartment. He spent two weeks looking for an apartment before it became painfully obvious to him that he was wearing out his welcome with his friends Yoshi and Bekkah. See, Yoshi and Bekkah each had a studio apartment, so for two weeks they never had a moment to themselves.

Pixel knew he had to find his own solution.

Pixel panicked. Obviously.

He scoured Craigslist for job vacancies, but his only hope was a Deus Ex Machina: that is, a literary device in which all of his problems would be solved as if by a God from a Machine.

Unfortunately, when his Machina did come, Pixel didn’t move out of the way in time and the Deus squished him.

p.s.  Bye bye!  See you in August!

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nabµf #13 of 29

78.  I twice had long(ish) hair.  I claim I’ve had red, yellow, and pink hair, but most of the time I’m exaggerating.  (We had no idea what we were doing at the time.)

Pixel was invited to his younger cousin’s graduation.  She talked to him about high school and he reminisced about the crazy things he did in his youth.

“Like when you painted your hair blue?”  his cousin asked.  Pixel had never dyed his hair blue, but he did pose in a blue wig for a photograph once.  He kept this photo in his wallet as proof that he did crazy things in his youth.  He didn’t show it to anyone, because he didn’t want them to think he was crazy.  But he did mention it constantly, though. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to see that,” his cousin continued.

“Yeah, I did crazy things back then,” Pixel lied vociferously.  “I should do it again for your graduation.”

So Pixel decided to dye his hair blue despite his cousin’s objections that she was joking.

Pixel bought some hair dye and bleaching products so that his friend’s girlfriend could do the unmentionable thing to his hair.  First, they bleached it and Pixel’s hair turned a magnificent shade of yellow.  But, since it was blue they were after, they had to bleach it again.

They did not realize the first bleach had washed out all of his scalp’s natural oils.  Pixel, not having bleached his hair twice in a row before, was not expecting the feeling of 10,000 red ants biting his scalp as the peroxide ate at his skull.  He also was not expecting the toxic fumes his head was emitting to be deadly.

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nabµf # 12 of 29

71.  Every year since high school, my friends and I walk across ‘the gap’ in the mountain.  We’ve grown to hate the tradition in the past seven years.  After college, I’m thinking a ‘drinking’ tradition is in order.

Teenage Pixel was going to graduate from high school and he wanted to do something special to symbolize the passage from one stage of his life to another.  As Pixel’s school had been on the other side of the mountain, he thought a very symbolic thing to do would be to walk across it on the last day of school.

Pixel had somehow talked his friends Frank and Alethea to walk with him.  The day came and the three of them layered sunscreen on, ready to hike the ten miles home in time for the pool party they’d set up at the end.

The trio began the hike talking jovially of what they had accomplished in the past four years, wondering what would be in store for them in the future.  Would they get a doctorate?  Would they have a child?  Would they live with their girlfriend of four years as they worked on their seventh and final year of a philosophy major?

Then, about halfway through they began thinking crazy thoughts and staring at each other with hatred.  They stopped for water and sandwiches, but suddenly the hike didn’t seem so brilliant anymore.

Finally, they hitchhiked walked across the last stretch of the mountain and arrived at Pixel’s house and jumped in the pool to start the party.  Unfortunately, it had not been an hour since their sandwiches and Pixel’s leg cramped.  He sunk to the bottom of the pool and drowned.  He died of an old wives’ tale.

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nabµf # 8 of 29

64. My parents once promised me a new video game if I placed in the top 5 in a local spelling bee. I did not, but lied and said I placed sixth, hoping they would give me some leeway. They did not. I was impressed, but insulted. Also, after this story took place, my teacher, Rosangela “Espiritu Santo” Rogers asked me to lie to everyone and tell them I’d won the Spelling Bee. Yeah, she didn’t belong in the education system.

There was a spelling bee at Young Pixel’s school and Young Pixel decided that he wanted to participate.

Unfortunately, too many students were participating, so they decided to split the total in two. Pixel’s group would compete first. The best five would then go up against the best five of the second group.

Young Pixel, an avid reader, did not misspell a single w6rd on the first day. Then, when he had to go up against the best of the best, he missed two words and ended up receiving second place. Pixel was sad because he didn’t get a trophy, but happy that he didn’t have to move on to regionals.

The teacher, however, had different plans. Not trusting the fellow that won first place, she decided to fudge the numbers and move up Young Pixel to the regional Spelling Bee.

She advised Young Pixel to study up on his Latin and Greek, but Pixel wasn’t hungry, so he didn’t. During the contest, Pixel made it through the first round with ease. His teacher was very excited because she found out that she would go with him to nationals if he won.

Unfortunately, the Bee got a lot harder by the last round and Pixel was eliminated like a Senate reform bill. His teacher was devastated, feeling Young Pixel had violated some sort of unspoken agreement. And from that point on, she seemed to find his work to be D quality.

Obviously, he soon died of dysentery. D-I-S-S-I-N-T-E-G-R-A-T-E.

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