Nips' Conniptions

The life of a grad student is an odd one. The casual observer may conjecture that graduate school, being an extension of the academic pursuit of an undergraduate education, must, in fact, be like attending an undergraduate university. Similarly, those in industry see the products of graduate school filling leadership roles in their respective companies and may be tempted to think that graduate school is much like an industry boot camp. I assure you, both are completely incorrect. So far, graduate school at the University of Minnesota has been much more like purgatory. You're just stuck here. Want something done? Be prepared to talk to 5 different people and trudge to 4 different buildings. Desire to reach out and connect with your fellow students? Good luck. If you are in this building, you are not what some might call "normal." Or "interesting."

I was blessed to have 4 brothers. Fortuitously, I was the middle kid and my two oldest bros took off to school shortly after my formative years. This left me as the "oldest" at home, who has also learned all the crucial lessons that an older brother will- nay- must teach, as well as their inherent value. The role of the older brother is much like walking an invisible tightrope. You have an obligation: you must bestow the fruits of an older brother on your ilk, but you are also being watched: one must not be tempted to take his academic fervor to excess. One of the primary lessons that an older brother teaches is this:

Silence is Golden.

Singing, clapping, gabbing, swaying, bapping, humming, drumming, and strumming are NOT allowed by the older brother and should not be acceptable to society at large. The older brother effectively communicates this valuable lesson through punishing pain, often concocting novel, complex methods of torture to accent the importance of his instruction (See: Snakebite, Charlie Horse, Noogie, etc.), while potentially involving personal entertainment. Given time, the younger brother will almost certainly learn to consider his audience, intentional or otherwise, before unleashing his malformed inspiration on sensitive ears.

Surrogate older brothers have been tested for the role, with varying success: it is all too easy for the surrogate older brother to go overboard. He then becomes a bully. I once knew a fellow who was a prodigy musician: featured on public television, in fact. It turns out that his muse was dance. He swayed. The gentleman seated next to him in band, being his elder, decided to fill the obviously vacant role of older brother. Swift blows rained down. Ruined the poor kid. Never played again.

Despite such horror stories, the benefits far outweigh the risks. One must learn his place (Which, incidentally reminds me of a certain mantra once composed: "SDH '05. Put the Food on the Tray and Get Out of My Way"), bringing me back to graduate school.

People here sing. People here cannot sing. People here sing ALL THE TIME. In all sorts of languages. In all sorts of horrible notes. With no provocation! Enjoying sitting in the NFC with bays and bays full of whirring machinery? Don't worry! Some guy will come in and start busting out in the most recent East Asian pop song. Just in case, ya know... you're lonely. Or something.

In fact, I've noticed this trend on the streets, too. People singing or blabbering at you. People hollering down alleys and "freestyling" on busses.

It is from these observations that I have come to my conclusion: There are not NEARLY enough older brothers out there. It also appears that many have been delinquent in fulfilling their duties.

To those of you brothers who carried out your birth-order-directed charges, I salute you.

To those of you socially awkward people in the EE building, Emily just got me a new iPod Shuffle.

Posted by ndNips on Thursday, February 08, 2007 at 12:01 PM | Permalink