Easily the most destructive force against a successful college experience is sleep.
Or, rather, the lack of sleep.
95.7% of all fail college endeavors - such as late homework assignments, skipped classes, failed papers, mental fogginess, prevailing exhaustion, packed parking garages, poor notes, etc - are a direct result of sleep deprivation.
Sleep deprivation is where you lack sleep to such an extent that you run the risk of losing coherency. This can occur through a number of different situations; late nights doing homework, late nights not doing homework, early morning classes, afternoon classes, evening classes, night classes, and more. Truth be told, sleep is hard for college students to achieve.
Case in point: I have been working on this post for two weeks. Two, long, kinda blurry, sleep deprived, exhaustive weeks.
Sleeping, as a student will discover in psychology or physiology courses, is kind of necessary for, you know, life. Going through the proper stages and achieving satisfactory REM sleep is essential for optimal brain function, immune strength, and mental stability. Consequently, as they might tell you in psychology, depriving someone of REM sleep is the easiest and most effective form of brainwashing. True story.
The main cause for lack of sleep is, unsurprisingly, school. Classes that begin early, last long, start late, and pile on mountains of homework are inhibitors that prevent students from getting enough sleep. Homework can be time consuming and the first source of time that students delve into to finish late work is the time spent sleeping. Regrettably, this normally ends up with low-quality work and a tired, incoherent student.
Another cause for sleep deprivation is socialization. College is a time were students are encouraged by their peers to "forget about school" and "come hang out." While relatively few college students actually have a work ethic, even fewer have the ability to stand up to their friends and stay at home studying instead of going out. Understandably, a majority of students spend their free time out with other people, often until late (or early) hours of the night. This may cause sleep deprivation in and of itself, or it may cause homework to be late causing the student to stay up finishing which may cause them to lose sleep. Either way, *yawn*.
When a student is sleep deprived, they will attempt to make up their lost time in various ways and locations. There is the zonks-out-in-the-library sleeper. This student will deposit his or her backpack onto the nearest surface, grab a table if one is available, slouch down, and sleep. While they should be commended for their bravery, one can only hope that no one robs them in their sleep. There is the nods-off-during-class sleeper. This guy (its typically a guy) is funny. Normally, this student will establish a routine of coming in late, complaining about being tired, or just being generally out of it. Part way during class, this student will slouch down in their seat a bit, begin to sluggishly frown towards the front, and slowly their head will begin to bob towards their chest. If the teacher doesn't make any sudden noises or attempt to wake them up, they may actually begin to snore. While you chortle, you may take note to not let this happen to you.
Sleep is important. Not only does it help you re-energize yourself, it can keep you awake during class, help you get homework done on time, and it can help you make quality decisions. And while that bench outside your classroom might look comfortable, take the time and effort to get effective sleep, preferably in your own bed.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Friday, February 17, 2012
the taming of the Loo
Disclaimer: this particular post was constructed after a literally physical fight with a paper towel dispenser for over twenty minutes. Despite the overtone of bitterness, the content remains true and accurate.
At some point in the last decade, the powers that be have determined that, for fear of germs, a person should be able to completely navigate the restroom in its entirety without touching a single surface. Despite having existed for literally centuries by touching the bathroom facilities (and still remaining alive), a deep, primal fear has been sparked in college faculty that any contact whatsoever with the toilet/flush lever/sink/faucet/soap dispenser/paper towel dispenser/hand dryer will result in an immediate and contagious death.
Presumably, it is for this reason that the modern college bathroom is structured in such a way. The toilet flushes itself at will when an unsuspecting person sits or stands within its vicinity, even if they are not finished. Despite the colleges' water-conserving crusade, the demon toilet gleefully wastes up to three times the water as a traditional, germ-infested one. Perhaps the lack of human contact has caused attachment issues. Personally, I believe it is simply vindictive.
After maneuvering through the trial of the petulant toilet, one realizes that the dispenser for the translucent toilet paper has, conveniently, run out. One is forced to choose between asking someone in an adjacent stall or fumbling to grab a few sheets the size of tissues from the next stall on their own. Fortunately, although embarrassing, this does not happen on a regular basis.
When one is finished running the gauntlet in the stall, the next proper step leads them to the sink. The modern college bathroom sink is a brilliantly designed instrument where, using high-tech technology, one can apply soap, wash and rinse their hands, and dry them completely, all without making any physical contact with the appliances. The modern college bathroom sink is quite a genius design. However, there is one flaw; nothing worksproperly. The soap dispenser grinds like an automatic pencil sharpener so you know it's working, however, it produces no soap. Short of smashing the thing, one must be satisfied with the four suds that it finally produces, evidently from foaming at the mouth; after all, it has been working hard. The sink, compensating for the wasteful spiteful toilet, spits out lukewarm water in 1.5 second increments. In between these trickles, the poor victim, who is rapidly regretting using the restroom, frantically moves their hands in circles beneath the faucet in a desperate attempt to find the sensor that dispels water, only to have their hopes crushed 1.5 seconds later when the water stops again. Experts say that the proper hand-washing technique is to hold your hands under running water for at least 20 seconds. Be comforted, your college is germ-conscientious.
Adjacent to the sink is two forms of hand drying apparatuses; there is the automatic air blow dryer or the lower-tech paper towel dispenser. Both of these have been outfitted with their new and improved versions, where hands placed below the dryer produces a stream of hot air or the simple act of waving in front of the dispenser will provide you with a sufficient-but-not-wasteful amount of paper towels. Given the fact that these are the last devices the unfortunate victim will encounter before leaving, they have become malicious tormentors. Taking its cue from the sink, the air blow dryer will spurt out two seconds of scalding hot air when the hands are, ironically, placed outside if the airflow; once the hands return to the proper position, the machine will abruptly come to a stop. The dryer will alternately sputter start and sputter stop like a leafblower running out of gas until the exasperated sufferer will turn their dripping hands to the paper dispenser. Sadly, this fatal mistake plays directly into a trap. The paper towel dispenser, proud to be the center of attention, will gleefully run its motor to laboriously produce two inches of towel. After it's proud accomplishment, it will be unresponsive for roughly 15 seconds before jerking back to life with an irritated groan. Be satisfied with however few inches you are allotted; they often enjoy jamming themselves.
Despite being a rough generalization, this description holds true for 90% of college restrooms. Some actually work (I am told, I have never encountered one). Others are a hybrid of modern technology and traditional germ collecting equipment. Then there are those that no one dares to use, mainly because the last janitor sent to clean them was never heard from again. But restrooms are a necessity to the school day, so either hold it or get really brave really fast.
At some point in the last decade, the powers that be have determined that, for fear of germs, a person should be able to completely navigate the restroom in its entirety without touching a single surface. Despite having existed for literally centuries by touching the bathroom facilities (and still remaining alive), a deep, primal fear has been sparked in college faculty that any contact whatsoever with the toilet/flush lever/sink/faucet/soap dispenser/paper towel dispenser/hand dryer will result in an immediate and contagious death.
Presumably, it is for this reason that the modern college bathroom is structured in such a way. The toilet flushes itself at will when an unsuspecting person sits or stands within its vicinity, even if they are not finished. Despite the colleges' water-conserving crusade, the demon toilet gleefully wastes up to three times the water as a traditional, germ-infested one. Perhaps the lack of human contact has caused attachment issues. Personally, I believe it is simply vindictive.
After maneuvering through the trial of the petulant toilet, one realizes that the dispenser for the translucent toilet paper has, conveniently, run out. One is forced to choose between asking someone in an adjacent stall or fumbling to grab a few sheets the size of tissues from the next stall on their own. Fortunately, although embarrassing, this does not happen on a regular basis.
When one is finished running the gauntlet in the stall, the next proper step leads them to the sink. The modern college bathroom sink is a brilliantly designed instrument where, using high-tech technology, one can apply soap, wash and rinse their hands, and dry them completely, all without making any physical contact with the appliances. The modern college bathroom sink is quite a genius design. However, there is one flaw; nothing works
Adjacent to the sink is two forms of hand drying apparatuses; there is the automatic air blow dryer or the lower-tech paper towel dispenser. Both of these have been outfitted with their new and improved versions, where hands placed below the dryer produces a stream of hot air or the simple act of waving in front of the dispenser will provide you with a sufficient-but-not-wasteful amount of paper towels. Given the fact that these are the last devices the unfortunate victim will encounter before leaving, they have become malicious tormentors. Taking its cue from the sink, the air blow dryer will spurt out two seconds of scalding hot air when the hands are, ironically, placed outside if the airflow; once the hands return to the proper position, the machine will abruptly come to a stop. The dryer will alternately sputter start and sputter stop like a leafblower running out of gas until the exasperated sufferer will turn their dripping hands to the paper dispenser. Sadly, this fatal mistake plays directly into a trap. The paper towel dispenser, proud to be the center of attention, will gleefully run its motor to laboriously produce two inches of towel. After it's proud accomplishment, it will be unresponsive for roughly 15 seconds before jerking back to life with an irritated groan. Be satisfied with however few inches you are allotted; they often enjoy jamming themselves.
Despite being a rough generalization, this description holds true for 90% of college restrooms. Some actually work (I am told, I have never encountered one). Others are a hybrid of modern technology and traditional germ collecting equipment. Then there are those that no one dares to use, mainly because the last janitor sent to clean them was never heard from again. But restrooms are a necessity to the school day, so either hold it or get really brave really fast.
Friday, February 10, 2012
test anxiety
One of the worst parts of any new semester is the first test day.
Another one of the worst moments is the day you get your results back.
Statistically, this will be the worst test score received the entire semester. This is due to many different factors: sleep or the lack thereof, studying or again the lack of, stress, additional homework (for a different class), and the fact that no one ever reads the chapter until the week before finals. Plus, at this point in the semester, the campus seems to have a collective "screw it" attitude where no one cares whatsoever.
These factors add up to make a rather harrowing first exam experience. This is the test were pencils are never sharp, erasers take expeditions into the far reaches of your backpack never to be heard from again, and you show up late because the idiot on his cellphone stole your parking spot. This is the test when you bust into the classroom, causing disproving glances from all inside, hot and panting and so not ready to take a test. In the event that you actually did study, this is the test where the results show that your IQ leaves something to be desired. A teacher I had once referred to this as "test anxiety."
"Test anxiety" occurs when you glance at a question, usually a true or false, and proudly claim "The answer is A." However, when you get the test results back, you will realize that you marked "B." After explaining my mistake to aforesaid teacher, he smugly chuckled and told me "It happens a lot in my classes. People don't read well enough and end up marking the wrong answer. It's test anxiety." Needless to say, I detested this professor.
"Test anxiety" is also the cause of many a failed essay question. Given roughly 45 minutes to write approximately 500 words is a tedious task for any student. When a student experiences test anxiety during an essay question, any material covered in class will miraculously vanish into oblivion. The Psyc test I had recently called this a problem with "memory retrieval." I marked "blank slate memory." Anxiety. Go figure. But when 50% of the test relies on a properly composed essay, this is when you hope the teacher assigns extra credit assignments because you're screwed.
There are ways to get past test anxiety. Much like a military drill, it helps to review study guides and main points before entering class on test day. The hope is that when all coherent thought vanishes, there will be one or two pertinent facts that remain. Also, hope the teacher grades on a curve.
The anxiety of taking the test is comparable to the anxiety of receiving the grade. There are several different tactics of psyching oneself up. For instance, there's the "hope I did good" karma technique. This is only satisfying if one did indeed "do good." There is the "act like I flunked so I'm pleasantly surprised" technique. Again, this only works if you were actually surprisingly good. Otherwise, you disappointingly correct in your assessment. I personally go the whole "pathological avoidance" technique and pretend nothing ever happened. This statistically does not work.
After one's heart sinks into their stomach while reading their grade, the teacher takes this opportunity to proudly state "Now, it is possible to get 100% on these tests. In fact, someone did in this class." He will proudly beam at the person ironically sitting right next to you with the big "A+" circled on their test. But, on the bright side, your teacher knows you aren't a cheater.
The first test is always the most difficult and the black spot on your grade for the entire semester, but the first test proves to be a great motivator for studying for the next test. Granted, students still don't read the book and they often cram the night before but the next test score will most likely show a 25% improvement. If it doesn't, copy from the person next to you.
Another one of the worst moments is the day you get your results back.
Statistically, this will be the worst test score received the entire semester. This is due to many different factors: sleep or the lack thereof, studying or again the lack of, stress, additional homework (for a different class), and the fact that no one ever reads the chapter until the week before finals. Plus, at this point in the semester, the campus seems to have a collective "screw it" attitude where no one cares whatsoever.
These factors add up to make a rather harrowing first exam experience. This is the test were pencils are never sharp, erasers take expeditions into the far reaches of your backpack never to be heard from again, and you show up late because the idiot on his cellphone stole your parking spot. This is the test when you bust into the classroom, causing disproving glances from all inside, hot and panting and so not ready to take a test. In the event that you actually did study, this is the test where the results show that your IQ leaves something to be desired. A teacher I had once referred to this as "test anxiety."
"Test anxiety" occurs when you glance at a question, usually a true or false, and proudly claim "The answer is A." However, when you get the test results back, you will realize that you marked "B." After explaining my mistake to aforesaid teacher, he smugly chuckled and told me "It happens a lot in my classes. People don't read well enough and end up marking the wrong answer. It's test anxiety." Needless to say, I detested this professor.
"Test anxiety" is also the cause of many a failed essay question. Given roughly 45 minutes to write approximately 500 words is a tedious task for any student. When a student experiences test anxiety during an essay question, any material covered in class will miraculously vanish into oblivion. The Psyc test I had recently called this a problem with "memory retrieval." I marked "blank slate memory." Anxiety. Go figure. But when 50% of the test relies on a properly composed essay, this is when you hope the teacher assigns extra credit assignments because you're screwed.
There are ways to get past test anxiety. Much like a military drill, it helps to review study guides and main points before entering class on test day. The hope is that when all coherent thought vanishes, there will be one or two pertinent facts that remain. Also, hope the teacher grades on a curve.
The anxiety of taking the test is comparable to the anxiety of receiving the grade. There are several different tactics of psyching oneself up. For instance, there's the "hope I did good" karma technique. This is only satisfying if one did indeed "do good." There is the "act like I flunked so I'm pleasantly surprised" technique. Again, this only works if you were actually surprisingly good. Otherwise, you disappointingly correct in your assessment. I personally go the whole "pathological avoidance" technique and pretend nothing ever happened. This statistically does not work.
After one's heart sinks into their stomach while reading their grade, the teacher takes this opportunity to proudly state "Now, it is possible to get 100% on these tests. In fact, someone did in this class." He will proudly beam at the person ironically sitting right next to you with the big "A+" circled on their test. But, on the bright side, your teacher knows you aren't a cheater.
The first test is always the most difficult and the black spot on your grade for the entire semester, but the first test proves to be a great motivator for studying for the next test. Granted, students still don't read the book and they often cram the night before but the next test score will most likely show a 25% improvement. If it doesn't, copy from the person next to you.
Monday, January 30, 2012
keep your friends close and your classmates as far away as possible
This may seem like a stupid thing to say, but one unavoidable aspect of classes are the other students. Whether or not you are in a physical classroom or posting in an online class forum, dealing with other students is impossible to escape. When you have a difficult professor, sometimes it's nice to have another person to deflect some of his attention. Other times, well... lets just say that not all classmates are BFF material.
Now, normally classmates develop a "bonded together through misery" type of relationship, similar to soldiers in trench warfare. You hate the class, you hate the teacher, you hate the topic but having that person at the next table who shares your hatred can form a strong alliance. After all, misery apparently loves whatever socially awkward and loud company it can get.
There are many different types of fellow students, but I have categorized (code: stereotyped) some of the average types you will encounter.
The Silence-of-the-Bored-s:
A rather unmotivated group, these students will stare off blankly in the general direction of the front of the room. They never speak up in class and seem to have a perpetually unfocused gaze. Many times you may wonder if they are conscious. Or alive. Don't be alarmed, they are simply bored. At least, I assume, I've never successfully held a conversation with one. However, you never want to be assigned a joint project with one of these students. They will not help you, voice their opinion, or even give you their name. You will never speak with this person again, assuming you did at all.
The Ghost Whisperers:
This group of students come in pairs with an attached friend. More often then not, they will choose a spot near you and proceed to whisper throughout the entire semester. Not necessarily loud enough to disturb the entire class, just loud enough to disturb you. During a rather important part of the lecture, you will suddenly be privy to information you neither desire or have a need for. Sometimes you won't even be able to hear more than mice-like squeaks and giggles. This person(s) is too preoccupied to ever notice you, and you will most likely never speak to them. Consider yourself lucky.
The Commiserate-rs:
These students are bonded together during periods of distress, often under the instruction of a mutually despised professor. Generic grumbling before class, meaningful glances during, and full-blown complaining afterward are the main conversation tactics that drive these relationships. These students are often more forceful than you in their hatred towards the teacher but you completely agree with them nevertheless. This is a deep, meaningful relationship that will end when the class does. Enjoy their company, copy notes, and then move on.
The Re-questioners:
A group of students that everyone loves and hates. You love them because you look brilliant in comparison, and you hate them because they ask idiotic questions. These students don't seem to have a full pack of braincells to work with; as a result, they resort to asking questions on material the instructor literally just finished explaining. Evidently, listening the first few times, just wasn't enough. Beware if you sit by them, they have a tendency to turn to the person next to them if the teacher didn't explain to their standards. However, if you tell them you don't understand as well, they will feel obligated to ask the instructor on your behalf. If you are pulled into a relationship with one, I am sorry. But take heart, it will end shortly before finals.
The Walking-in-your-Shoes-rs:
Perhaps the best group of students you will encounter are those in your class who are working toward the same or a similar major. Often times, you are like-minded enough to enjoy their company and will have multiple classes with them. Finally, someone else understands when you talk about Piaget's stages of development and can comment on your application of Bernoulli's Principle. Having a kindred spirit in a tough class can make your entire semester. These relationships often last beyond class and can continue past college. Cherish them.
The Do-You-Even-Know-How-to-Stop-Talking?-rs:
One of the most detested students to ever darken a desk, this group of people has been told from an early age that they are smart/pretty/engaging/funny and they believe it is their personal mission to let everyone else know. Pretentiously sitting near the front of class, they will quickly abandon the ritual of raising their hand in favor of simply talking. These students have something to say about anything and everything and they will not hesitate to broadcast it. Even if all they are saying is "you know that's right" after the teacher explains something. You will wonder if they are capable of not speaking, but soon you'll be too irritated to even care. These people will talk at you if given the chance, but often won't last beyond the length of the class. After all, they don't care what you think.
The Average College Student:
These students come to class about on time, sit in an average location, speak up an average amount, put in an average amount of effort, and get average grades. They constitute roughly 65% of all college students. These students may strike up great relationships with you. Or you may not even notice that they exist. I am one such student.
These are the most basic categories of potential classmates. Remember, they are a necessary part of college life, and it is not acceptable to strangle them if they don't shut up. Maybe they're just as
miserable as you.
Now, normally classmates develop a "bonded together through misery" type of relationship, similar to soldiers in trench warfare. You hate the class, you hate the teacher, you hate the topic but having that person at the next table who shares your hatred can form a strong alliance. After all, misery apparently loves whatever socially awkward and loud company it can get.
There are many different types of fellow students, but I have categorized (code: stereotyped) some of the average types you will encounter.
The Silence-of-the-Bored-s:
A rather unmotivated group, these students will stare off blankly in the general direction of the front of the room. They never speak up in class and seem to have a perpetually unfocused gaze. Many times you may wonder if they are conscious. Or alive. Don't be alarmed, they are simply bored. At least, I assume, I've never successfully held a conversation with one. However, you never want to be assigned a joint project with one of these students. They will not help you, voice their opinion, or even give you their name. You will never speak with this person again, assuming you did at all.
The Ghost Whisperers:
This group of students come in pairs with an attached friend. More often then not, they will choose a spot near you and proceed to whisper throughout the entire semester. Not necessarily loud enough to disturb the entire class, just loud enough to disturb you. During a rather important part of the lecture, you will suddenly be privy to information you neither desire or have a need for. Sometimes you won't even be able to hear more than mice-like squeaks and giggles. This person(s) is too preoccupied to ever notice you, and you will most likely never speak to them. Consider yourself lucky.
The Commiserate-rs:
These students are bonded together during periods of distress, often under the instruction of a mutually despised professor. Generic grumbling before class, meaningful glances during, and full-blown complaining afterward are the main conversation tactics that drive these relationships. These students are often more forceful than you in their hatred towards the teacher but you completely agree with them nevertheless. This is a deep, meaningful relationship that will end when the class does. Enjoy their company, copy notes, and then move on.
The Re-questioners:
A group of students that everyone loves and hates. You love them because you look brilliant in comparison, and you hate them because they ask idiotic questions. These students don't seem to have a full pack of braincells to work with; as a result, they resort to asking questions on material the instructor literally just finished explaining. Evidently, listening the first few times, just wasn't enough. Beware if you sit by them, they have a tendency to turn to the person next to them if the teacher didn't explain to their standards. However, if you tell them you don't understand as well, they will feel obligated to ask the instructor on your behalf. If you are pulled into a relationship with one, I am sorry. But take heart, it will end shortly before finals.
The Walking-in-your-Shoes-rs:
Perhaps the best group of students you will encounter are those in your class who are working toward the same or a similar major. Often times, you are like-minded enough to enjoy their company and will have multiple classes with them. Finally, someone else understands when you talk about Piaget's stages of development and can comment on your application of Bernoulli's Principle. Having a kindred spirit in a tough class can make your entire semester. These relationships often last beyond class and can continue past college. Cherish them.
The Do-You-Even-Know-How-to-Stop-Talking?-rs:
One of the most detested students to ever darken a desk, this group of people has been told from an early age that they are smart/pretty/engaging/funny and they believe it is their personal mission to let everyone else know. Pretentiously sitting near the front of class, they will quickly abandon the ritual of raising their hand in favor of simply talking. These students have something to say about anything and everything and they will not hesitate to broadcast it. Even if all they are saying is "you know that's right" after the teacher explains something. You will wonder if they are capable of not speaking, but soon you'll be too irritated to even care. These people will talk at you if given the chance, but often won't last beyond the length of the class. After all, they don't care what you think.
The Average College Student:
These students come to class about on time, sit in an average location, speak up an average amount, put in an average amount of effort, and get average grades. They constitute roughly 65% of all college students. These students may strike up great relationships with you. Or you may not even notice that they exist. I am one such student.
These are the most basic categories of potential classmates. Remember, they are a necessary part of college life, and it is not acceptable to strangle them if they don't shut up. Maybe they're just as
miserable as you.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
the blues
You know what I love about the first day of school?............
Yeah, me neither.
Quite honestly, the first day of class sucks. There's no parking, every single class takes 52 minutes to go over a 20 page syllabus, someone always takes the good seats by the window, the cafeteria is packed, the bookstore is packed, the hallways are packed, and one callus teacher will have homework assigned that's due in 2 days.
But no worries, this will pass. In two weeks, you will be able to park within eye-sight of a building, the class will be into the assigned coursework, and the person who sits by the window will probably drop out.
The average college student, especially a returning student, will most likely encounter a period of diminished spirits and lackluster efforts. I call this "the blues." The blues often strike during the first week of school, following in the wake of the stressful first day. Returning to the monotonous grind of schoolwork following weeks of vacation and free time is borderline depressing. Plus (depending on what part of the country you're in) the weather is often dreary. All in all, trudging around under the weight of a newly loaded backpack becomes increasingly difficult.
The blues do not necessarily last very long. However, the period that they do stay seems to take years. Homework, if completed at all, is done so in a lackluster manner; work is sluggish and slow, and free time drags on with little to no motivation. Eventually, school settles in, work returns to normal, and the blues start to dissipate.
Sadly, once the blues are gone, you are still in the middle of a long semester. Hopefully you will build up momentum and tackle each new assignment with enthusiasm. Most likely though, you will settle into a stressful rut where you procrastinate, cram, and lose sleep over last minute assignments.
Join the club.
Yeah, me neither.
Quite honestly, the first day of class sucks. There's no parking, every single class takes 52 minutes to go over a 20 page syllabus, someone always takes the good seats by the window, the cafeteria is packed, the bookstore is packed, the hallways are packed, and one callus teacher will have homework assigned that's due in 2 days.
But no worries, this will pass. In two weeks, you will be able to park within eye-sight of a building, the class will be into the assigned coursework, and the person who sits by the window will probably drop out.
The average college student, especially a returning student, will most likely encounter a period of diminished spirits and lackluster efforts. I call this "the blues." The blues often strike during the first week of school, following in the wake of the stressful first day. Returning to the monotonous grind of schoolwork following weeks of vacation and free time is borderline depressing. Plus (depending on what part of the country you're in) the weather is often dreary. All in all, trudging around under the weight of a newly loaded backpack becomes increasingly difficult.
The blues do not necessarily last very long. However, the period that they do stay seems to take years. Homework, if completed at all, is done so in a lackluster manner; work is sluggish and slow, and free time drags on with little to no motivation. Eventually, school settles in, work returns to normal, and the blues start to dissipate.
Sadly, once the blues are gone, you are still in the middle of a long semester. Hopefully you will build up momentum and tackle each new assignment with enthusiasm. Most likely though, you will settle into a stressful rut where you procrastinate, cram, and lose sleep over last minute assignments.
Join the club.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
the epic struggle
Today, I had the enormous pleasure of fighting tooth and nail through a crazed line of a couple hundred people to purchase one of the most essential elements of each semester: The textbooks.
The day started out well enough. I had to get off work so I could get to the bookstore in the first place, but that really only messed up the rest of my week. Then I found out that I couldn't get my books until I paid fees at the business office. Did you know that most colleges have a business office? I didn't. Long story short, thirty minutes and one heck of a walk later, I found the hidden business office and forked over a few hundred bucks for fees that I didn't know existed. The payment of these fees led me back to the bookstore to two different help desks and six additional forms to sign. Armed with a hefty stack of papers, I set forth into the mad scramble to find my textbooks.
There is an interesting feel to college bookstores. Much like I would imagine a bank run to feel like. People are quickly walking back and forth, pretending that they aren't panicking while desperately searching for something that they can't find nor afford. In turn, they are hounded by the "helpful" attendants who ask if they need help with such frequency that one wonders if they know how to say anything else. It's amazing how complicated the bookshelves of textbooks are. Are they numerical, are they alphabetical? I mean, who knows? But no one wants to admit to the employees that no, they aren't "finding everything okay". However, letting them know the truth is futile; they really don't know where anything is either. Agreeing to their assistance only ensures that they will lead a desperate tour through the entire bookstore to end up back in the exact location where they originally volunteered their help, the only thing gained from the experience is the loss of roughly fifteen minutes.
After fighting through the surprisingly dense crowd, who all seem to congregate in front of the exact location of the book I'm looking for, I stood in the slow moving line for 20 minutes. No, that's not an exaggeration. At this point, I am carrying my stack of forms, two additional pieces of paper, about seven textbooks, a study guide, and a notebook. I personally think I strained my elbow. Every 45 seconds or so, I'd move two feet forward. One would think that a checkout manned by a minimum of 5 people would check out two hundred students at a quicker pace. After the excessive wait, I gained three more forms, signed about five more, and gained two bags full of textbooks worth the cost of a small car. And it only took 2 hours.
I have a policy of always visiting my classrooms before classes start. This comes from a panic filled first day where I left my class schedule at home and spent 20 minutes convinced I was in the wrong room. So today I found each of my classrooms and determined that I have enough time to get from one room to another between classes, assuming I sprint the entire way. This shall prove to be an interesting semester. Well, the epic struggle for books has been won. Only time and my bank account will tell if it was worth it.
The day started out well enough. I had to get off work so I could get to the bookstore in the first place, but that really only messed up the rest of my week. Then I found out that I couldn't get my books until I paid fees at the business office. Did you know that most colleges have a business office? I didn't. Long story short, thirty minutes and one heck of a walk later, I found the hidden business office and forked over a few hundred bucks for fees that I didn't know existed. The payment of these fees led me back to the bookstore to two different help desks and six additional forms to sign. Armed with a hefty stack of papers, I set forth into the mad scramble to find my textbooks.
There is an interesting feel to college bookstores. Much like I would imagine a bank run to feel like. People are quickly walking back and forth, pretending that they aren't panicking while desperately searching for something that they can't find nor afford. In turn, they are hounded by the "helpful" attendants who ask if they need help with such frequency that one wonders if they know how to say anything else. It's amazing how complicated the bookshelves of textbooks are. Are they numerical, are they alphabetical? I mean, who knows? But no one wants to admit to the employees that no, they aren't "finding everything okay". However, letting them know the truth is futile; they really don't know where anything is either. Agreeing to their assistance only ensures that they will lead a desperate tour through the entire bookstore to end up back in the exact location where they originally volunteered their help, the only thing gained from the experience is the loss of roughly fifteen minutes.
After fighting through the surprisingly dense crowd, who all seem to congregate in front of the exact location of the book I'm looking for, I stood in the slow moving line for 20 minutes. No, that's not an exaggeration. At this point, I am carrying my stack of forms, two additional pieces of paper, about seven textbooks, a study guide, and a notebook. I personally think I strained my elbow. Every 45 seconds or so, I'd move two feet forward. One would think that a checkout manned by a minimum of 5 people would check out two hundred students at a quicker pace. After the excessive wait, I gained three more forms, signed about five more, and gained two bags full of textbooks worth the cost of a small car. And it only took 2 hours.
I have a policy of always visiting my classrooms before classes start. This comes from a panic filled first day where I left my class schedule at home and spent 20 minutes convinced I was in the wrong room. So today I found each of my classrooms and determined that I have enough time to get from one room to another between classes, assuming I sprint the entire way. This shall prove to be an interesting semester. Well, the epic struggle for books has been won. Only time and my bank account will tell if it was worth it.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
christmas math
I found this recently. I was horrified by the fact that someone went to the trouble to figure out the math of this, but it was too funny to pass up. This is what a college education will do for you. Enjoy.
"IS THERE A SANTA CLAUS?
1) No known species of reindeer can fly. BUT there are 300,000 species of living organisms yet to be classified, and while most of these are insects and germs, this does not COMPLETELY rule out flying reindeer which only Santa has ever seen.
2) There are 2 billion children (persons under 18) in the world. BUT since Santa doesn't (appear) to handle the Muslim, Hindu, Jewish and Buddhist children, that reduces the workload to 15% of the total - 378 million according to Population Reference Bureau. At an average (census) rate of 3.5 children per household, that's 91.8 million homes. One presumes there's at least one good child in each.
3) Santa has 31 hours of Christmas to work with, thanks to the different time zones and the rotation of the earth, assuming he travels east to west (which seems logical). This works out to 822.6 visits per second.
This is to say that for each Christian household with good children, Santa has 1/1000th of a second to park, hop out of the sleigh, jump down the chimney, fill the stockings, distribute the remaining presents under the tree, eat whatever snacks have been left, get back up the chimney, get back into the sleigh and move on to the next house. Assuming that each of these 91.8 million stops are evenly distributed around the earth (which, of course, we know to be false but for the purposes of our calculations we will accept), we are now talking about .78 miles per household, a total trip of 75-1/2 million miles, not counting stops to do what most of us must do at least once every 31 hours, plus feeding and etc.
This means that Santa's sleigh is moving at 650 miles per second, 3,000 times the speed of sound. For purposes of comparison, the fastest man- made vehicle on earth, the Ulysses space probe, moves at a poky 27.4 miles per second - a conventional reindeer can run, tops, 15 miles per hour.
4) The payload on the sleigh adds another interesting element. Assuming that each child gets nothing more than a medium-sized lego set (2 pounds), the sleigh is carrying 321,300 tons, not counting Santa, who is invariably described as overweight. On land, conventional reindeer can pull no more than 300 pounds. Even granting that "flying reindeer" (see point #1) could pull TEN TIMES the normal amount, we cannot do the job with eight, or even nine. We need 214,200 reindeer. This increases the payload - not even counting the weight of the sleigh - to 353,430 tons. Again, for comparison - this is four times the weight of the Queen Elizabeth.
5) 353,000 tons traveling at 650 miles per second creates enormous air resistance - this will heat the reindeer up in the same fashion as spacecrafts re-entering the earth's atmosphere. The lead pair of reindeer will absorb 14.3 QUINTILLION joules of energy.
Per second.
Each.
In short, they will burst into flame almost instantaneously, exposing the reindeer behind them, and create deafening sonic booms in their wake. The entire reindeer team will be vaporized within 4.26 thousandths of a second. Santa, meanwhile, will be subjected to centrifugal forces 17,500.06 times greater than gravity. A 250-pound Santa (which seems ludicrously slim) would be pinned to the back of his sleigh by 4,315,015 pounds of force.
In conclusion -
If Santa ever DID deliver presents on Christmas Eve, he's dead now. "
"IS THERE A SANTA CLAUS?
1) No known species of reindeer can fly. BUT there are 300,000 species of living organisms yet to be classified, and while most of these are insects and germs, this does not COMPLETELY rule out flying reindeer which only Santa has ever seen.
2) There are 2 billion children (persons under 18) in the world. BUT since Santa doesn't (appear) to handle the Muslim, Hindu, Jewish and Buddhist children, that reduces the workload to 15% of the total - 378 million according to Population Reference Bureau. At an average (census) rate of 3.5 children per household, that's 91.8 million homes. One presumes there's at least one good child in each.
3) Santa has 31 hours of Christmas to work with, thanks to the different time zones and the rotation of the earth, assuming he travels east to west (which seems logical). This works out to 822.6 visits per second.
This is to say that for each Christian household with good children, Santa has 1/1000th of a second to park, hop out of the sleigh, jump down the chimney, fill the stockings, distribute the remaining presents under the tree, eat whatever snacks have been left, get back up the chimney, get back into the sleigh and move on to the next house. Assuming that each of these 91.8 million stops are evenly distributed around the earth (which, of course, we know to be false but for the purposes of our calculations we will accept), we are now talking about .78 miles per household, a total trip of 75-1/2 million miles, not counting stops to do what most of us must do at least once every 31 hours, plus feeding and etc.
This means that Santa's sleigh is moving at 650 miles per second, 3,000 times the speed of sound. For purposes of comparison, the fastest man- made vehicle on earth, the Ulysses space probe, moves at a poky 27.4 miles per second - a conventional reindeer can run, tops, 15 miles per hour.
4) The payload on the sleigh adds another interesting element. Assuming that each child gets nothing more than a medium-sized lego set (2 pounds), the sleigh is carrying 321,300 tons, not counting Santa, who is invariably described as overweight. On land, conventional reindeer can pull no more than 300 pounds. Even granting that "flying reindeer" (see point #1) could pull TEN TIMES the normal amount, we cannot do the job with eight, or even nine. We need 214,200 reindeer. This increases the payload - not even counting the weight of the sleigh - to 353,430 tons. Again, for comparison - this is four times the weight of the Queen Elizabeth.
5) 353,000 tons traveling at 650 miles per second creates enormous air resistance - this will heat the reindeer up in the same fashion as spacecrafts re-entering the earth's atmosphere. The lead pair of reindeer will absorb 14.3 QUINTILLION joules of energy.
Per second.
Each.
In short, they will burst into flame almost instantaneously, exposing the reindeer behind them, and create deafening sonic booms in their wake. The entire reindeer team will be vaporized within 4.26 thousandths of a second. Santa, meanwhile, will be subjected to centrifugal forces 17,500.06 times greater than gravity. A 250-pound Santa (which seems ludicrously slim) would be pinned to the back of his sleigh by 4,315,015 pounds of force.
In conclusion -
If Santa ever DID deliver presents on Christmas Eve, he's dead now. "
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