level zero: Searching for gamer cred with a portal gun
How to de-clutter your bedroom in eight doable steps
by Melissa Low
I
have a collection of video games at home, and not to brag, but I’m pretty good at them. I’m quick with the arrow keys, I know how to rack up high points and I’m fantastic with reaching achievement levels. Sound impressive? Apparently, it’s not. Because playing Angry Birds, Singstar and The Sims 2 doesn’t mean anything, according to gamers. To gamers, I’d be a person riding a dorky tricycle while elite gamers ride their shiny motorcycles around me. It’s a shame because I have a lot to say on those darn pesky green pigs. But when standing in a circle of gamers, they’re more interested in discussing weird World of Warcraft minerals or the things they shot up in Minecraft last night. (I’m making this up; I don’t even know what you do in those games.) So this gives me two solutions. One, find a new circle of people to stand with, or two, actually learn how to play these games so I actually have some clue what they’re saying. I don’t know why, but learning to play games seemed like the more appealing option. Maybe it’s the fantasy of being able to earn cool points in the nerd realm, or maybe it was the idea that boys would forget my lack of cooking skills as I distracted them with my ability to take down virtual evil robots and zombie gorillas. So, with a Steam gamer account installed, I started with a video game that was suggested to begin my “gamer” conquering journey with: the 2007 computer game, Portal. For months, I had heard about the phrase “the cake is a lie” but never understood what it truly meant. Playing this game would allow me to finally figure out what those circle of gamers kept talking about. I’ll admit, Portal sounded easy. It’s basically a puzzle where you have to get from the start point to the end point on each floor, with only a Portal Gun in hand to teleport yourself with. No bloodshed, no assassins out to get me – just learning how to solve the puzzle. And I like puzzles (it’s why I play Angry Birds). And although you’re the only person in the game, the friendly computer voice GLaDOS guides you through all the levels. Everything was just so nice and polite. Even the little laser robots (called turrets) were apologetic when you had to kill them to get past, telling you “no hard feelings” or “I don’t blame you” as they died. Every time they would say that, it made me feel so guilty, like I had squashed a forgiving sympathetic kitten. It took a while to get to the end of the puzzles (you need to know the law of physics for this game) but I made it, expecting a celebration and the virtual cake that GLaDOS promised. But when I did reach the “end”, I finally found out why everyone said “the cake is a lie”; because (SPOILER ALERT) GLaDOS tries to kill you in a fiery furnace. What kind of twisted up game leads you on for 20 levels before it ends up killing you without virtual cake? I have to confess, after that false ending, I had some help with finishing the rest of the game properly. But your virtual persona feels violated and alone after being tricked by the artificial intelligent program that tried to kill you. So in this first “gamer’s conquest”, this video game has taught me a few things about games: One: don’t trust the robots even if they tell you to. Two: don’t pity sympathetic laser shooting turrets. And three: games make promises but then try to kill you when you go look for virtual cake. Damn robots.
14
issue 01 2012
by Rachel Ramsay
I
t was the end of semester one, 2011 when I finally decided that enough was enough. A small mountain of cups balanced precariously on my desk, my corkboard was filled with APA referencing guides and various garments were strewn over the floor from the previous day when I’d lost my keys. I had just nearly stepped on my cat who was sleeping on a stack of debate magazines and I had an assignment due that day which remained incomplete despite it being 12.22pm and despite it being due at 4pm. I was standing in the middle of my bedroom, nails bitten, hair in disarray, and I had just forgotten what I had been looking for two minutes ago. Life was not good. I concluded that a cluttered bedroom leads to a chaotic student life filled with all-nighters, caffeine induced body shakes and unhealthy procrastination proficiency. An orderly bedroom translates to a peaceful student life filled with vitality, low level stress and punctually submitted assignments. I have since compiled an eight-step approach for bedroom declutterisation. Classes have only just started, meaning there’s ample time to get your life in order. Take a deep breath, roll up your sleeves and follow these steps. I have four words: you. will. thank. yourself One: Clear your working space — Empty your bin, pick up your laundry, take used dishes to the kitchen, strip your bed and so forth. Basically, get everything that’s in your way out of the way. You should finish with a relatively clear space that’s ready for an overhaul. Two: Wardrobe — Get everything out of your wardrobe and chuck it on your bed. Label three boxes ‘Keep,’ ‘Donate’ and ‘Pending Approval’. Categorise your clothing/other crap accordingly. You should only keep items that a) You have worn in the past six months b) Make you feel good c) You fit properly Anything else should be definitively placed in the ‘Donate’ box. If you’re really struggling to make a decision on something, don’t waste time dithering. Put it in the ‘Pending Approval’ box. Three: Desk — Start with the paper – recycle old worksheets, to-do lists and AUT brochures. Put important documents in labelled folders. Next, tackle stationary. Toss dead pens and protractors you haven’t used since fifth form. Get your old Interpersonal Communication textbook ready to sell. Move onto your computer, deleting old files and programs. Tidy your desktop and categorise important documents into unambiguously labelled folders. Finally, sort out your chargers, headphones and chords, tossing the ones that belong to old gadgets. Four: Shelves — Take everything off your shelves. Again, categorise items into ‘Keep,’ ‘Donate’ and ‘Pending Approval.’ Dust each item as you make a decision on it, and return only the best, most useful items to the wipeddown shelf. Five: Bedside table — Remove old magazines and books you aren’t reading. Put away that hot water bottle you haven’t used since winter. Six: Get cleaning — Give your room a huge clean, doing all the stuff you wouldn’t do in a normal tidy-up. This includes moving furniture and vacuuming behind it, washing your walls down and cleaning your windows. Seven: Do your laundry — Wash, fold and iron any clothes you cleared away at the beginning. Put clean sheets on your bed. Eight: Reward yourself — Pick some flowers or buy a new light fitting or something that will make you feel exultant in your new refuge. Feel good about yourself. You’ve de-cluttered your life and you’re hopefully ready to tackle whatever curveballs 2012 throws your way - or at the very least, you’ll have a clear patch of floor to curl up on when it all gets a bit too much. Here’s to a clutter-free year filled with tidy bedrooms and sane minds. Happy O-Week everyone!