The other day, we found a tattered copy of one of those "Choose Your Own Adventure" books. We were psyched. We paged through it, thrilling to the various dilemmas and triumphs and cheesy illustrations that we remembered from our youth.

This made us think: too bad real life isn't as exciting as "Choose Your Own Adventure, #6--"Your Code Name is Jonah."

Or is it?

We went to work. What follows is "Choose Your Own Adventure in Section #1--"Your Code Name is Flex."

"I thought we'd play a little game to, uh, break the ice, and stuff," the young section leader is saying. He looks little older than you, in fact.

"Okay. How about if we go around the room and everyone says his or her name, plus everyone who's preceded them. The last person in the room has to say everyone's name." He pauses, and something in his facial expression tells you that he thinks that this little game will come as a new one to all of you, and what's more, you'll love it.

"Okay then," he says, "I'll go first."

You realize that, because of your decision to sit to the immediate left of the section leader, you will be the last one. Quickly, you glance around the room and realize that this is one of those famous overcrowded sections you read about on page one of The Crimson. By the time it's your turn, you will need to recite thirty-one names.

If, when it's your turn, you decide to babble incomprehensibly, go to page 3.

If you sing the "Name Game" for all thirty-one students, go to page 4. Hey, it's never to early to impress the TF.

If you kick the section leader under the table and leave, go to page 5.

"So what did people think of Bailyn?"

Silence.

Ted the section leader is nervous. No one is answering his questions. Everyone's eyes are averted. You've read the first paragraph, looked at the maps, and skimmed page 56, "Conclusions." Perry, the annoying sophomore, is mustering up his courage. He's flipping through his notes, and clearing his throat.

"I didn't get a chance to reread the notes I took on the reading, but..."

Enough of this shit. He is not going to get away with this again. Or is he?

If you interrupt Perry and raise your hand with a question about the map, turn to page 12.

If you roll your eyes and shake your head as if to say, Perry, Perry, Perry, turn to page 14.

If you make the profound statement, "Bailyn's conclusions are a complete cop-out. Can we go on to discuss the lecture?" turn to page 16.

You're sitting in your "Myth of America" section, and the demure, totally glam English grad student asks you to analyze and describe the mythic aspects of an L.L. Bean ad. A first-year jumps up and starts to shout: "The frontier, Daniel Boone, Emerson, mythic contradictions, Poe as the anti-mother, Freud, Oedipus, Daniel Cooper..." He bites his tongue off and blood begins to spurt out of his mouth.

If you decide to switch sections, turn to page 25.

If you avert your eyes and hope this means the TF won't notice you didn't do your response paper, turn to page 30.