A Pixelated Mind

Dear Gabe,
Many months ago, my adviser recommended I add a particular faculty member to my committee: call him Dr. X. I had misgivings about adding Dr. X because I’ve never known him to have any students and I’d heard other graduate students disparage him for various reasons. Nevertheless, I added him to my committee. Fast forward to my prelims.  Two months before my prelim exams, I sent my entire committee a copy of my prelim document. I heard nothing from any of them. Two weeks before the exam, I sent the document again, asking for comments. My adviser signed off on the paper, but again– I heard from nobody on any specifics.

The day of my exam came and– in the very first slide, Dr. X challenged some of the setup to my presentation. This wasn’t a major issue, it wasn’t even something that was controversial. In fact, I was claiming something as basic as “the grand unified theory is a major problem for physics.” But as the presentation went on, Dr. X kept challenging every point I made and asking me to provide evidence for ridiculous things. On deliberation, the rest of my committee wanted to pass me, but Dr. X refused to sign off on me. So they told me that I had ‘conditionally passed.’ Only– it turns out there is no such thing! So I failed. Not only that, but in my department, prelims aren’t supposed to be such a big deal. The going assumption is that if your committee lets you get to the prelim exam, the actual examination is a mere formality. Obviously it wasn’t in this case.

My committee agreed on the changes I needed to make for my document and so I spent three months working on those changes. I recently sent it out for comments. I corrected all of Dr. X’s original concerns and added that I wanted to address any further concerns before my next exam. My adviser signed off on this document as well. I just now received an e-mail from Dr. X in which he added SUBSTANTIAL comments to my document in red. To fix his concerns, I would have to spend another three months. But recently I heard that there was bad blood between Dr. X and my adviser. I am at a loss. I have spent over a year on this stage of my career and am nowhere closer than I was a year ago. What do I do?

–Jake in Biology

(more…)

Hello and welcome new denizens to another classic column by your very own Gabriel O’Beaver Leibowitz.

As you are well aware, next week shall be New Mexico College of Agriculture and Mechanic Arts’ March week off from school (Go NM A & M Aggies!).

This year, our progressive school has decided to allow us to have a “break,” during the “spring.” This has led many alumni to protest President Roger “the goat” Corbett for apparently turning his back on his agricultural roots (ha ha!) and appeasing the homo-commie-nazi-hippie leftists seeking equal rights for colored folk.

As you’ll no doubt recall, the last time the alumni were in such an uproar was when they proposed changing Pistol Pete to Six-shooter Pete (the “Piñata Pedro” we printed last issue was white lie-colored yellow journalism). Then it turned out that that incident had been made up in some humor column in order to create debate. This too caused many alumni to protest.

Now, we’re going to have an entire week free from classes to study and move ahead with our degree plans without being distracted by regular homework! I don’t know about you, but I expect to see far more students in the library starting Saturday morning. I’m going to arrive at dawn just to get a good study spot with access to a typewriter with E and I keys that don’t jam if you hit them at the same time.

My roommate, Dave, and his girlfriend Geena Davis are flaking off to some spot in Florida called Fort Lauderdale that they saw in last year’s hit comedy, “Where the Boys Are,” but I doubt too many other people will not be stoked to have an extra week to study. I predict I will have to punch, kick, and grope all of the Delta Zetas bogarting the microfiche, or periodicals, or waiting in line for the bathroom, or just standing around not being groped.

I also predict Cincinnati will take Ohio State in college basketball and Brazil will take Czechoslovakia by two in the FIFA world cup. It’s too bad that at press time it is four decades after the events occurred, so I’ll never get the credit I deserve for my psychic abilities.

What you choose to do for the break is your choice. I recommend trying that new quick chow restaurant in town: McDonald’s. I hear it angers the alumni.

Then again, what doesn’t?

Love,
Gabriel “the Beav” O’Beaver Leibowitz II

“Hey, Children! Guess what year this classic article was written and you get a prize! Was it 1962, 1963, or 2006? Send your answers to jayna@nmsu.edu for a chance to participate in a drawing of some sort!”

Gabe the Notorious Beaver, 18, passed away Sunday from congenital heart failure and dehydration caused by chronic, explosive diarrhea. He was 21.

Beaver, widely recognized for his record-worthy control of his flatulence and butt-gustingly hilarious columns in local and international newspapers, led a life of severe drinking followed by regular kickboxing matches with unsuspecting kittens and homeless people. This was directly responsible for his deportation (via deforestation) from Canada shortly after graduation from Ridgemont High (a coincidence, we assure you).

Though he refused to go into rehab and often reacted violently to the insinuation that he had a problem, Beaver was beloved by his fans, adored by his acquaintances, and tolerated by as many as half of his friends at any given time.

Beaver’s habit was expensive and often created great troubles for him. His constant living outside of his means led him to join the circus for several years in the late ‘70s as a ticket taker.

Widely believed to be the only walking, talking, meter-tall humorist beaver, Beaver is actually one of thirteen in Canada alone, albeit the second most famous one (Mike Myers is first, Tom Selleck’s toupee is third).

Beaver was eventually kicked out of the circus when his cocaine habit got out of hand and into nose. This was followed by an 18-month period in which Beaver lived ‘off the grid’ and was widely presumed dead (from which we’ve managed to salvage two-thirds of this obituary).

Upon his return, Beaver returned to the university to seek his master’s and eventually his doctorate degree from a previously prestigious education-related institute in the suburbs of Amsterdam.

After graduation, he opened up a psychology practice in a building that doubled as a brothel during the late evening and night. He then returned to the United States and pursued the prestigious work of being a freelance advice and humor columnist, which he continued until his death Sunday and past it into this July.

Survived by two-and-a-half ex-wives, his cousin Dave, and numerous excommunicated children of various degrees of legal and biological probabilities of paternity, Beaver will be missed sorely by his own ego. Also, the writer of this is Asian; that word should be ‘solely.’

Beaver passed away from congenital heart failure in a gas station bathroom this Sunday. Congenital is Spanish for “with genital.” It is widely suspected in internet fandom that this is merely a ruse by God to introduce a zombie, vampire, alien, or ‘classic’ version of Gabe to campusses nationwide. Whether this is actually the case remains to be seen.

Necrophilic Love,
Gabe.

“Remember Kids: McDonald’s French fries aren’t potatoes, they’re deviant migrant workers boiled in oil.”

Gabe the Magnanimous Beaver here to reminisce about my youth, so shut up, stupid!

See, I was raised in French Canadia— don’t let this fool you, it’s just a reference to the type of kissing we do— and in Canada, we tell it like it is. Speaking of which, the invisible pink unicorn is behind all alien abductions from February 21, 2002 to March of 2003.

In Butterfly Canada, my cousin Dave and I grew up relatively isolated from the rest of the world. In fact, I spent my entire youth only ever speaking with my mum, the dozen black market fur trappers, and a rotating cast of characters I’ll make up in some future column/cartoon show with a cereal box tie-in.

I even have the Gabe the Beaver theme song written, in case you’re interested. Hopefully, we’ll be able to entice Fergie from the Black Eyed Peas, 31, Alyssa Milano, 33, Cameron Diaz, 33, Janet Jackson, 39, Baby Spice, 30, Tara Reid, 30, and Tatyana Ali, 27, of the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. Also, after we entice them, they can probably sing for us. (Note: this only applies to major television executives and/or cereal tycoons.)

(Preferably or. I’d hate to meet the man that was both.)

But life in Eskimo Canada was not so bad. For one thing, we had snow, which is a white, fluffy substance that falls from above somehow. Snow is often cold and only fun for children who are wearing enough layers of clothing to have their center of gravity be at their ankles.

Also, in Platonic Canada, we have about 30 million people spread over the second largest country in the planet (9,984,670 km²or about 133 billion times the size of your flat). This doesn’t really translate well until you realise that we had to hike 20m² to borrow sugar from our neighbors… also, in Canada we can hike areas the way other countries hike distances.

And my neighbor, Barry Manilow (a possible guest star in my future set of feature films/granola bar box), never had anything but Burnt Sugar!

Ha! You thought I was going to make a joke about Castor sugar, because Castor is the same Latin root word as the genus of beaver, but you forget: in Oral Canada, we call Castor sugar “Fruit Sugar” or “Super-fine Sugar.” Also, when a joke is so specific only people with the rare gift of knowledge of the international marketing practices of various types of sugar and scientific nomenclature will get it, then it’s a bad joke.

Especially since I’m not one of the two people that gets it. Can you fill me in? I feel ever so ignorant. What the hell am I talking about? I just woke up.

And now that I’ve brought myself down with my nostalgia about [expletive deleted]fuck Canada, I will go cry myself to sleep. I hope it was as entertaining and new to you as it is going to be for the people that knew me growing up.

Young Love,

Gabe D. Beaver

“Remember Kids: Smiling all the time is the only way people will ever like you.”

Tao of Gabe

Gabe the Light-hearted Beaver here continuing his analysis of what happens when the human genders, XY and Roman numeral twenty, are forced into confined spaces for large periods of time. As you’ll recall, last week I gave an analysis of women.
My analysis, from my extensive research into the archives of stuff I’ve pulled out of my ass in the past, said that women talk trash due to a genetic abnormality: their need to ‘share‘ their troubles.
Guys don’t understand this. Though, to be fair, guys don’t understand much of anything.
In fact, I bet all of the women reading this just thought to themselves how true that was and all of the guys just skimmed past it in hopes of getting to more naughty words like ‘ass.’
Girls say that guys are complicated, completely missing the point: that girls overcomplicate things. They also overanalyze things. This combination creates a “Dynasty” situation for women in which every single person has their own agenda and every woman wants to bring every other woman down.
I’m not saying that this isn’t the case. Hell, women usually hate other women, who then pick up on the animosity and run with it. This creates what I’ll call the ‘Dynasty-effect.’
Guys don’t live like that. For a true guy, life is more like Seinfeld. And as such, when guys are around other guys, the focus isn’t on who hates who, but what is going on, amusement, and philosophy.
This, like all other situations of human interaction, is greatly reduced when multiple humans are involved. I call this the ‘lowest common denominator effect.’
Here’s an example: suppose you show up to a party in which you have no choice but to interact with dozens of strangers. Now suppose you find yourself with a group of guys on some balcony somewhere talking. It doesn’t matter whether the guys are rocket scientists or frat boys, you won’t find yourself discussing people but superficially.
You might discuss how blotto everyone was last Saturday (very) and how close your friend was to being arrested (ridiculously), but not that you can’t tell whether a girl at school likes you (she doesn’t). Alternatively, you might discuss the meaning of life (pi) and whether humans define their existence through misery (no, but it’s the closest Stephen King book), but not how you feel inside when you’re with the person you care about.
This isn’t to say that guys don’t talk about this stuff; they just talk to fewer people at a time about it. Even if they’re alone with a dozen other guys throughout the day, inner thoughts just won’t be discussed.
Unfortunately, this shutting off of the frontal lobe when guys are around multiple acquaintances causes some ill effects… as can be seen in the proverbial frat party and political committees.
Guys are goal-oriented, which means that they ignore the minutiae that girls thrive on. Girls are relationship-oriented and so ignore the fact that each new relationship tears apart an old one.
It’s not that one way is wrong; it’s just that humans are stupid.

Love, Dynastically,
Gabe D. Beaver

“Remember Kids: that time I was so drunk that I wrote a column about how guys always compare their ‘drunk’ stories like anybody ever gives a damn? Yeah, that was a funny column…“