Press START to Begin Play. . .
On a more joyful note, the game room is a blast, despite the fact that I'm only a proficient at one of the games: air hockey. We used to own a full-sized air hockey table at home and it's the only arcade-ish game I've ever bothered to get good at. Apparently, practice pays off--ask the people I've played against. ;) Of course, they also say I'm violent; maybe they're too scared to play to their best ability. . . The other games however cause much more of a dilemma.
Fooseball for instance . . . I understand the basic concepts of soccer and my feet occasionally move with some measure of dexterity. However, fooseball makes soccer a hands-only sport and any competency I had in the game is instantly destroyed. My specialties lie in accidentally leaving a row of defenders suspended upside-down and getting jabbed in the stomach by the other player's violent pole thrusts, while my defenders are still waiting to be relieved of their head-rush as they watch the ball roll unmolested into my goal. Sound painful? It is.
Thus, I move to something less active, pool. It is the only sport in which I can take all the time I want and am completely unchallenged by the movements of others while I cautiously aim and fire; yet, I can still make a COMPLETE fool of myself. Charming.
The next game in the room is ping-pong. Unlike my multi-talented boyfriend with his special paddles in foam-padded cases, for me, this game is a desperate attempt to play fetch like a dog as little as possible. The goal for me is to limit the game to it's name, table tennis, NOT under-the-couch tennis, in-the-trashcan tennis, wayyyyy-under-the-table tennis, and certainly not David-hits-Dr. Goliath (replace with favorite prof.'s name)-in-the-face tennis. Daddy said all I have to do is keep my eye on the ball and hit softly. I have a funny idea there's more to it that he's not telling me.
The challenge that beats all the others, however, is not your typical arcade game. It's a game called, "Get your bum off the incredibly soft couches and go do your thesis." I stink at this game. No matter what I do, those couches are like a black hole on steroids--I get sucked into them and then stuck there like gum on the bottom of your favorite shoes. If I get into heaven some day it will be primarily due to the extreme amount of heroic effort it takes for me to win this final student center game.
GAME OVER . . . Wanna play again?