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The Spring 2009 semester is quickly coming to a close – thank goodness! I don’t know what it was about this semester above all others, but it seemed so exhausting and I’m not sad to see it pass. I’m sure carrying a full course load, some upper level classes, in a school that is farther away, all, of course, while working, hasn’t helped matters, but nonetheless, it will be nice to bid farewell to these last few months.
Most of my peers are looking forward to a nice, long summer of chillaxin’ (or so the kids are saying), but not me. I’ve got two summer courses lined up and, with the potential of packing up and moving to a new home (no, I don’t have an update on that…sorry!) some time during these classes, I should be plenty busy and hating this semester, too. I say that with a smile on my face, though, because I am now officially a college Senior!!
I’ve never really paid attention to the traditional freshman-senior model since I figured it would take me much longer than four years to earn my bachelor’s degree (ironically, though, if I hadn’t changed my major FIVE TIMES, I could have graduated in UNDER four years. Huh. I’m not going to be bitter about that at ALL – haha). But being called a “Senior,” seeing that word in print next to my name in the PatriotWeb system, really means something. It means that the light at the end of tunnel is real, it’s getting closer, and it’s NOT a freight train. It means that now I have to really start putting some thought into what my next steps ought to be – like taking the GRE exam. Wow. It means that sometime soon (by my calculation, January 2011), I will have my bachelor’s degree and a boat load of free time on my hands. I haven’t had free time in over four years!! I actually have friends that have only known me as a full-time student and worker. What the hell am I going to do with myself and all that free time? It’s almost overwhelming to think that all of this suffering will end soon.
Oh, but wait, degree conferral does not a complacent Erica make!! I had initially set out, for this posting, to look back on the last 4+ years in one of those “you’ve come a long way, baby” Hollywood flashback montages. But seriously, who has time for that? My work isn’t even close to being over, not by a long shot. The bachelor’s degree was the first check in the box for admittance to veterinary school. There are many more boxes to go.
Oh yeah – veterinary school! Thought I forgot about that, huh? I suppose somewhere in this blog I led all to believe that I got a little wishy-washy in my life goals and some how decided I wouldn’t be going to veterinary school, after all. Blasphemy, I tell you! Nope, plans are still in place, or at least taking on a little better shape now. Sorry if I led anyone astray!! Admittedly, sometimes I feel like someone who is my age and at the same point in his or her career has no business plotting to finance a small mortgage worth of additional student loans for the privilege of playing with other people’s pets. Seriously, if you think about it, it is a little nuts. I admit it. But then there’s that little voice inside my head that intimates that a hard-earned 4.0 GPA should not go to waste. That maybe I’ve succeeded academically for a reason. Well, OK, there’s that and the fact that I’ve convinced myself that I’d never be happy doing anything else, but besides all THAT, I’m certifiable for even considering trying to get into veterinary school. I won’t even get into how competitive it is to get into vet school (exponentially harder than medical school); that’s another post for another day.
That said, now that I’m this close, I feel like there’s no direction to go but forward. I still have so many things left to do and so many questions yet unanswered! After graduation, I have to find a part time job in a veterinary office (cross your fingers that the job market improves by then – entry level positions are quite scarce at present). I have to somehow find somewhere to gain some research experience (this requirement has me VERY stumped and I’d love a nod in the right direction if anyone can think of anything I can do!). I need to continue the various side projects I’ve been working on already (volunteering with the horse therapy program and the wildlife refuge, etc.) and find more of them if I can. Quite daunting, but very exciting, I must say.
In a stroke of luck, I actually managed to get in contact with what I imagine may be a very valuable resource in finding my way to vet school in the form of a current, soon-to-be 3rd year vet student at VA Tech. Also from the NOVA area, this person seems to be my life-double who just happened to be a couple years ahead of my schedule. I’m looking forward to sitting down with this person and picking her brain to hopefully gain some insight into making this dream a reality for me. I won’t divulge too many details about this person except to say that I’m exceptionally grateful for her willingness to help guide my way. Helping a total stranger, with nothing in return to gain, doesn’t seem to happen real often in this society, let alone from someone as busy as a vet student. I’m quite thankful to have found someone who can help me sort things out, logistically speaking. If you’re reading this, you know who you are, and THANK YOU!! Best of luck on those finals :-)
I suppose, in closing, I can allow myself one brief moment of reflection to feel a bit proud of myself for (FINALLY) setting a goal and sticking to it. Even if, heaven forbid, I should not make it into veterinary school (in which case ALL of you should purchase stock in Kleenex immediately), I can hold my head high knowing I gave it the ol’ college try (pun not intended).
Showing posts with label School Daze. Show all posts
Showing posts with label School Daze. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
Parlez-vous français ? Comment dit on “what am I doing here?”
The holidays are over (even for the Simmons family!), and thus begins a new semester at George Mason University. I expect this semester will be fairly laid back, with not too much to stress about, even though I’ve committed myself to 13 credits. 13 credits from only three classes, if you can believe it. But I don’t think it will be as bad as it sounds. For once, I’m pretty optimistic about the school vs. work balance.
The elementary French class I’m taking is a whopping 6 credits as they have combined two basic classes into one that meets 6 hours per week. Why am I even taking French, you ask? Because it’s a requirement for a Liberal Arts (Pa-tooey! Pa-tooey!) degree program. Ugh. It’s Political Science…Science!…couldn’t I please have a Bachelor of Science in Political Science, puh-lease?? *Sigh,* but I digress. Another class is some Political Science Research Methods class that will officially be my FOURTH statistics-based class. It appears as though each degree program has its own statistics class and every time I change majors, I have to take yet another damn statistics class. At this point I’m pretty sure I could teach statistics. If I ever change my major again, I’m changing it to statistics because…well, what do you want to know about statistics? I got it all upstairs (*taps my noggin). T-man has already taken this class with this professor and assures that I’ll do fine. You bet your sweet bum I will. The last class is some 100-level Comparative Politics class that T-man and I have together. After the first class last Thursday, it appears as though this class is going to rock like AC/DC. Right out of the gate, the professor was dropping f-bombs and GD-bombs like it was going out of style. He’s former military and leans waaaaaaaaay conservative. This should be an interesting dynamic in a college setting (predominantly very liberal views amongst professors and students alike). Ha! Plus he’s funny, so the time won’t drag, which will be quite nice. And the hardest assignment in the class will be a book report. A book report! Come on…I thought I was in the big leagues now.
By the title of this posting, I’m sure you have all guessed which class I want to talk about. We’ve had one meeting so far and I’m already ready to start yanking out my hair. Why? It’s not because I don’t like the French language or French classes, but because I am apparently the only American in the class room. I’ll explain.
As is the usual custom for the first day of a new class, the professor wants everyone to introduce themselves and give a little background on their experience with the topic at hand. I don’t hold that much regard for that particular practice, but at least, for once, I actually have some experience with French from high school and my family, so I wouldn’t have to give the stock answer this time – “I’m here because my degree program is forcing me to take this class and Rate My Professors* said that you didn’t suck, so there you go.” Though I hate this part of the class, I'm feelin' pretty good.
I had a little time to really craft my answer since the professor started at the opposite side of the room. Now, let me say that I’m already feeling a bit awkward because it is plainly obvious, not even by a little bit, that I am the oldest student in the room. The professor also looked to be my age, so that made me feel SO much better, of course (note the sarcasm). Gone are the good ol’ community college days where there are tons of 20- or 30-something schmucks in the classes. No, no…now I’m stuck in Romper Room hell.
But it gets worse. As I’m sitting there trying to figure out how to make my three years of high school French sound absolutely fascinating to my peers, I realize that, as I’m listening to their introductions, my efforts will be futile at best. I mean, who would have thought nearly 15 years ago when I took my last French class that this would be woefully insufficient later in life?
Well, someone very smart in the Department of Education (*rolling my eyes) must have thought that the level of education provided by the average two years of a foreign language (of which I had three – I was such an overachiever!) was just NOT good enough. Oh, no. As I’m listening, all of these little kiddie-poos have 4+ years of French, they lived in France, they had French immersion classes in elementary school, they were fed nothing but French bread, escargots, and fois gras as little kids, had French nannies, rode French school busses and wiped their little French-immersed hinies with French toilet paper (I’m sorry… papier de toilette)! Oh, and to make matters worse, these little freaks are also somehow fluent in English, Portugese, and Mandarin, too. WTF!!!! These rugrats were probably wearing diapers, watching the Teletubbies, and alternately sucking their thumbs and freezy pops while I was last suffering the throes of passé composé, conjugating millions of French verbs, and hacking up “-tre”-induced hairballs. This is SO not fair. I swear, if they start throwing up white flags and running out of the room, I'll just loose my damn mind.
So my introduction went something like this: “Hi, I’m Erica. My grandmother and great-grandmother spoke Canadian French, none of it I ever understood because they spoke too fast and too Canadian. I took three years of high school French, but my last class was in 1995. So…….yeeeaaahhh…” as my voice trails off. Well, at least they laughed. I fully maintain that they were laughing with me rather than at me. Hey, it’s my story.
I was, however, pleased to see that my years of hacking hairballs paid off since my accent still almost sounded tolerably French, so I won't sound like a complete dumbass in class.
Oh well. I'm just going to sit and wait for the perfect moment to moment to exclaim, "fechez la vache! I fart in your general direction!" No one will be old enough to catch the reference, but it will be funny to me and, really, that's all that matters.
*Rate My Professors – http://www.ratemyprofessors.com/ is a website for college students who want to shop for the best professors in any given subject before actually signing up for next semester’s classes, thus improving your odds that your class won’t suck and you might get a good grade. I will fully admit to abusing the hell out of this web site and give full credit to this web site for my still pristine 4.0 GPA.
The elementary French class I’m taking is a whopping 6 credits as they have combined two basic classes into one that meets 6 hours per week. Why am I even taking French, you ask? Because it’s a requirement for a Liberal Arts (Pa-tooey! Pa-tooey!) degree program. Ugh. It’s Political Science…Science!…couldn’t I please have a Bachelor of Science in Political Science, puh-lease?? *Sigh,* but I digress. Another class is some Political Science Research Methods class that will officially be my FOURTH statistics-based class. It appears as though each degree program has its own statistics class and every time I change majors, I have to take yet another damn statistics class. At this point I’m pretty sure I could teach statistics. If I ever change my major again, I’m changing it to statistics because…well, what do you want to know about statistics? I got it all upstairs (*taps my noggin). T-man has already taken this class with this professor and assures that I’ll do fine. You bet your sweet bum I will. The last class is some 100-level Comparative Politics class that T-man and I have together. After the first class last Thursday, it appears as though this class is going to rock like AC/DC. Right out of the gate, the professor was dropping f-bombs and GD-bombs like it was going out of style. He’s former military and leans waaaaaaaaay conservative. This should be an interesting dynamic in a college setting (predominantly very liberal views amongst professors and students alike). Ha! Plus he’s funny, so the time won’t drag, which will be quite nice. And the hardest assignment in the class will be a book report. A book report! Come on…I thought I was in the big leagues now.
By the title of this posting, I’m sure you have all guessed which class I want to talk about. We’ve had one meeting so far and I’m already ready to start yanking out my hair. Why? It’s not because I don’t like the French language or French classes, but because I am apparently the only American in the class room. I’ll explain.
As is the usual custom for the first day of a new class, the professor wants everyone to introduce themselves and give a little background on their experience with the topic at hand. I don’t hold that much regard for that particular practice, but at least, for once, I actually have some experience with French from high school and my family, so I wouldn’t have to give the stock answer this time – “I’m here because my degree program is forcing me to take this class and Rate My Professors* said that you didn’t suck, so there you go.” Though I hate this part of the class, I'm feelin' pretty good.
I had a little time to really craft my answer since the professor started at the opposite side of the room. Now, let me say that I’m already feeling a bit awkward because it is plainly obvious, not even by a little bit, that I am the oldest student in the room. The professor also looked to be my age, so that made me feel SO much better, of course (note the sarcasm). Gone are the good ol’ community college days where there are tons of 20- or 30-something schmucks in the classes. No, no…now I’m stuck in Romper Room hell.
But it gets worse. As I’m sitting there trying to figure out how to make my three years of high school French sound absolutely fascinating to my peers, I realize that, as I’m listening to their introductions, my efforts will be futile at best. I mean, who would have thought nearly 15 years ago when I took my last French class that this would be woefully insufficient later in life?
Well, someone very smart in the Department of Education (*rolling my eyes) must have thought that the level of education provided by the average two years of a foreign language (of which I had three – I was such an overachiever!) was just NOT good enough. Oh, no. As I’m listening, all of these little kiddie-poos have 4+ years of French, they lived in France, they had French immersion classes in elementary school, they were fed nothing but French bread, escargots, and fois gras as little kids, had French nannies, rode French school busses and wiped their little French-immersed hinies with French toilet paper (I’m sorry… papier de toilette)! Oh, and to make matters worse, these little freaks are also somehow fluent in English, Portugese, and Mandarin, too. WTF!!!! These rugrats were probably wearing diapers, watching the Teletubbies, and alternately sucking their thumbs and freezy pops while I was last suffering the throes of passé composé, conjugating millions of French verbs, and hacking up “-tre”-induced hairballs. This is SO not fair. I swear, if they start throwing up white flags and running out of the room, I'll just loose my damn mind.
So my introduction went something like this: “Hi, I’m Erica. My grandmother and great-grandmother spoke Canadian French, none of it I ever understood because they spoke too fast and too Canadian. I took three years of high school French, but my last class was in 1995. So…….yeeeaaahhh…” as my voice trails off. Well, at least they laughed. I fully maintain that they were laughing with me rather than at me. Hey, it’s my story.
I was, however, pleased to see that my years of hacking hairballs paid off since my accent still almost sounded tolerably French, so I won't sound like a complete dumbass in class.
Oh well. I'm just going to sit and wait for the perfect moment to moment to exclaim, "fechez la vache! I fart in your general direction!" No one will be old enough to catch the reference, but it will be funny to me and, really, that's all that matters.
*Rate My Professors – http://www.ratemyprofessors.com/ is a website for college students who want to shop for the best professors in any given subject before actually signing up for next semester’s classes, thus improving your odds that your class won’t suck and you might get a good grade. I will fully admit to abusing the hell out of this web site and give full credit to this web site for my still pristine 4.0 GPA.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Taking the Scenic Route
Until about three weeks ago I was a happy little college student pursuing my B.S. in Biology, hoping to transfer all that knowledge to a DVM (veterinary) program elsewhere.
Now, not so much.
Working full time during the day requires me to take night classes. Due to the complete lack of Biology-related courses offered in the evening, I had to find another program that DID offer classes in the evening. To be fair, to say that earning the Bio degree would have been entirely impossible is deceiving since my employer was willing to work with me and let me take some day classes. However, sticking with the Bio program meant having to attend classes until my mid thirties, just for the B.S degree. Yeah, I’m still in my 20’s. I don’t THINK so, Joe – next idea, please.
Those who know me well often throw some well-deserved ribbing my way for having changed my major three times while in the associates program. Now I have to change again, which I’m sure won’t be a real shock to anyone, but this time it’s for reasons outside of my own flakiness and that kinda sucks. I don’t want to change, but if I’m going to be a student for the next seven years, you’d better be calling me “Doctor” by the time I’m done with all of it. Know what I mean, Vern?
Resigned to my fate, I scoured the Schedule of Classes for degree programs that were a little more “9-to-5” friendly. With my choices limited to Business Management, Psychology, and Political Science, (none of them provoking any stirring interest out of me), I paused to consider. Business Management was a no-go because, as I stated in an earlier posting, I refuse to take accounting classes when QuickBooks will suffice and I’m betting that any economics classes will just cause me to cry over my shriveling 401k. That’s just a poor use of my time. Psychology seemed like a reasonable, even interesting, possibility, but then my thoughts turned to my poor friend and fellow student, AC. She transferred to Mason as a Junior like I did this fall. She is a psych major, has had half her classes this semester run by TA’s (teaching assistants), and is suffering miserably. I don’t think I could survive studying the mind and mental processes while being taught by nitwits. Well, I could, but I would probably be kindly asked to leave the campus after attempting to set some nitwits straight.
So a B.A. in Political Science it is or, as it’s called at George Mason University, “Government and International Politics.” Ugh. Sigh. I remember once saying to myself, “there is no WAY I’d ever be interested in Political Science…BORING!” Unfortunately, I still feel that way. At this point it’s all about getting that stupid piece of paper (degree) so I can move on to something else. However, there are a couple of cool things about the GAIP program. First, T-man is in the same program and has already taken some of the classes. Now I won’t have to go to class all the time and he can just fill me in on what I missed. Next, it will require absolutely zero brainwork out of me – just the use of my already fine-tuned bullshitting skills. It will also give me a chance to vent at the end of a crappy work day when I argue, I mean, debate topics with others. Plus I got to drop organic chem., which was sucking like a kitty on a titty. No hard feelings there.
It won’t be so bad, I guess. As T-man puts it, when presented with a less than appealing food choice, “it’ll make a turd.” The worst part about the part about B.A. over a B.S. (besides its credibility, or lack thereof - *sigh*) is the additional foreign language requirement. Damn! I guess I’ll just take French since I already wasted three years on it in high school. And I was SO close to forgetting all of it, too.
Does this mean I’m derailed off the beaten path to veterinary school? Not necessarily. Prospective students can major in anything they want, provided they take the appropriate prerequisite classes which I can do later at NOVA if I want. In finding a silver lining to this raw deal, this allows me to accomplish roughly the same goal, but in a much less stressful manner. And who knows, maybe I’ll abandon the vet school idea and run for public office. Tippecanoe and Simmons, too. Yeah? Whatever.
Oh well. At least I won’t have to wear those ugly laboratory goggles that put funny lines on my forehead anymore. Woo hoo!!
Now, not so much.
Working full time during the day requires me to take night classes. Due to the complete lack of Biology-related courses offered in the evening, I had to find another program that DID offer classes in the evening. To be fair, to say that earning the Bio degree would have been entirely impossible is deceiving since my employer was willing to work with me and let me take some day classes. However, sticking with the Bio program meant having to attend classes until my mid thirties, just for the B.S degree. Yeah, I’m still in my 20’s. I don’t THINK so, Joe – next idea, please.
Those who know me well often throw some well-deserved ribbing my way for having changed my major three times while in the associates program. Now I have to change again, which I’m sure won’t be a real shock to anyone, but this time it’s for reasons outside of my own flakiness and that kinda sucks. I don’t want to change, but if I’m going to be a student for the next seven years, you’d better be calling me “Doctor” by the time I’m done with all of it. Know what I mean, Vern?
Resigned to my fate, I scoured the Schedule of Classes for degree programs that were a little more “9-to-5” friendly. With my choices limited to Business Management, Psychology, and Political Science, (none of them provoking any stirring interest out of me), I paused to consider. Business Management was a no-go because, as I stated in an earlier posting, I refuse to take accounting classes when QuickBooks will suffice and I’m betting that any economics classes will just cause me to cry over my shriveling 401k. That’s just a poor use of my time. Psychology seemed like a reasonable, even interesting, possibility, but then my thoughts turned to my poor friend and fellow student, AC. She transferred to Mason as a Junior like I did this fall. She is a psych major, has had half her classes this semester run by TA’s (teaching assistants), and is suffering miserably. I don’t think I could survive studying the mind and mental processes while being taught by nitwits. Well, I could, but I would probably be kindly asked to leave the campus after attempting to set some nitwits straight.
So a B.A. in Political Science it is or, as it’s called at George Mason University, “Government and International Politics.” Ugh. Sigh. I remember once saying to myself, “there is no WAY I’d ever be interested in Political Science…BORING!” Unfortunately, I still feel that way. At this point it’s all about getting that stupid piece of paper (degree) so I can move on to something else. However, there are a couple of cool things about the GAIP program. First, T-man is in the same program and has already taken some of the classes. Now I won’t have to go to class all the time and he can just fill me in on what I missed. Next, it will require absolutely zero brainwork out of me – just the use of my already fine-tuned bullshitting skills. It will also give me a chance to vent at the end of a crappy work day when I argue, I mean, debate topics with others. Plus I got to drop organic chem., which was sucking like a kitty on a titty. No hard feelings there.
It won’t be so bad, I guess. As T-man puts it, when presented with a less than appealing food choice, “it’ll make a turd.” The worst part about the part about B.A. over a B.S. (besides its credibility, or lack thereof - *sigh*) is the additional foreign language requirement. Damn! I guess I’ll just take French since I already wasted three years on it in high school. And I was SO close to forgetting all of it, too.
Does this mean I’m derailed off the beaten path to veterinary school? Not necessarily. Prospective students can major in anything they want, provided they take the appropriate prerequisite classes which I can do later at NOVA if I want. In finding a silver lining to this raw deal, this allows me to accomplish roughly the same goal, but in a much less stressful manner. And who knows, maybe I’ll abandon the vet school idea and run for public office. Tippecanoe and Simmons, too. Yeah? Whatever.
Oh well. At least I won’t have to wear those ugly laboratory goggles that put funny lines on my forehead anymore. Woo hoo!!
Monday, September 22, 2008
Unlikely Contents & Same Fish, Different Pond
Quick funny story:
My last blog entry highlighted the fantastic vacation T and I took in Michigan. Anyone who knows me, especially my parents, will appreciate this story. You see, I MIGHT be a little forgetful…sometimes. Just a little. Actually, I’m so forgetful that my folks started calling me Hansel and Gretel – the little kids who left a trail of bread crumbs behind them wherever they went so they could find their way back. I have this oh-so-slight tendency to leave my stuff wherever I go. MI was no exception.
Turns out, we didn’t even make it 15 miles away from the house when my Aunt calls me and says, “hey! You left some stuff here! Do you just want me to send it back to you in a care package?” Laughing, I said, “absolutely.” Sure enough, about a week later, I receive a package in the mail. I open up the package. Inside the box was my curling iron…and a sock. Not a pair of socks. A curling iron and ONE sock. One sock…REALLY!?!?!?!?! The sad thing is, I don’t think I ever found his buddy in the stuff that DID make it home. It’s probably in the garage or the back yard or something. Geez. Huge thanks to Aunt K for sending me my curling iron…and a sock :-)
So anyway, if you’ve been following along, I started classes at George Mason University this semester. I received my Associates degree in a rather lackluster way – they sent it to me in the mail. So now I move on to Phase II - finishing my B.S. in Biology. I guess it would be about right here in the ol’ blog that I’m supposed to sit here and revere on being a little fish in a bigger pond. I guess that would be the case if I was having the “normal” college experience, but clearly I am not. Instead, I’m just commuting from my giant work pond to a comparatively bigger school pond that has really crappy parking. There are, however, some notable differences between a “real” University and a Community College that I’d like to take a moment to mention.
Community Colleges are usually filled with the following subpopulations: 1) Adults like me who, for one reason or another, got busy after high school and didn’t go to college right away; 2) Kids who really want to go to college, but are trying to find the most inexpensive way to do it; 3) Kids whose parents said, “get off your ass and get a job or take some classes before I kick you out on the street.” I only met one or two people who fit the latter description; the rest were mostly normal folks just trying to “get their learn on.”
Then you observe a “real” University setting. There are too many subpopulations to list here, the stereotypes run the full gamut at this school. There are the kids with the Mohawks/”faux”hawks with skateboards and studs, the really dweeby types who haven’t grown out of “nerd” yet, “mean girls,” jocks, band geeks walking around with their instruments, hippie types playing anti-war songs on their guitars in the courtyard. You name it, George Mason has it. It’s just an extension of high school. It’s really kind of funny, especially when you consider that these people will get out college, start real lives, trading their guitars and Mohawks for briefcases and baby food. They just have NO idea – and that, to me, is hilarious. I love the irony that these kids of all types spend so much time trying to be "individuals" that they all end up looking the same. Me? I'm just trying to survive organic chemistry.
One thing I can say for the student body that I have noticed in just the short amount of time I’ve attended classes there – they sure do have some school spirit. I see at least a third of the people walking around with George Mason gear on: sweatshirts, shorts, t-shirts, back packs, all adorned with the school name right on them. I can’t say I haven’t fallen victim to a bit of pride – I definitely own a couple items bearing the school moniker. I was just really psyched about being at a “real” school. You don’t see anyone running around NOVA with a whole bunch of NOVA spirit. Hell, it’s a good day if you can get most people to put their trash in a proper receptacle.
The concept of school spirit in and of itself makes perfect sense to me. I think a lot of what drives school spirit is the sports programs at a particular school. VA Tech has tons of school spirit because they have a kick ass football team. University of MD has a great football and basketball program. Schools with great sports teams drum up that sense of competition that leads to solidarity and, thus, school spirit. However, George Mason doesn’t quite fit the bill of a school with a robust sports program. There is no football team and the basketball team did something cool for the first time (made it to the NCAA Tournament Final Four when they shouldn’t have had a prayer of winning) only 2 1/2 years ago. I’m not sure if the abundance of Mason spirit I see today is residual from that event two years ago, or if people are actually proud to be attending the largest university in Northern Virginia. Whatever it is, it’s pretty cool to be surrounded by a bunch of people so enthused about their school, however unsubstantiated it may be.
The last and most awesome defining aspect of being at George Mason is the shocking availability of condiments at this school. Not just any condiment. I’m talking about the sweet and tangy goodness that is honey mustard. I’m not sure who sat on the George Mason University Dining Board and decided that there shall be honey mustard wherever there are students, but they should get the Nobel Peace Prize. Seriously.
I bought a plain ham and cheese sandwich from their little convenience store to stave off some I-missed-dinner hunger pains. Seeing that the sandwich was as dry as the Mojave on a Tuesday in August, I decided to hit up the condiment bar for some yellow mustard or some mayo, whatever was available. As I’m scoping out the selection, which I’m sure you’d agree is generally pretty poor wherever you go, my eyes fell upon a beautiful sight. It was as though the heavens opened up and rained sunshine into the room packed with oblivious students. I thought I heard angels sing as I feasted my eyes upon a never before seen phenomenon: there, in all of its glory, was a big, giant dispenser of honey mustard. I couldn’t believe my eyes! I rubbed my eyes to be sure it wasn’t a chemistry-induced mirage. I pinched myself to make sure I was awake. Then, after people around me started looking at me funny, I finally dispensed the inaugural tablespoon of golden yummy-ness onto my sandwich. That was the coolest thing ever!
Oh, but it gets better. A few weeks later, I stopped in at Chick-Fil-A to grab some chicken tenders. As I’m paying for my trans-fat-laced lumps of breaded nutrition-free fowl, I ask the kid at the register for some barbeque sauce. He reaches into a bin behind him and grabs a couple sauce packets. I noticed another bin of sauces sitting next to the one from which the BBQ sauce originated. Could it be? Oh, yes, it can! Sure enough, it was honey mustard. I asked the kid to peel me off a couple of those, too. [Incidentally, Chick-Fil-A does NOT live up to its hype. Why does everyone rave about it so much?]
I can’t believe my good fortune, really. I mean, I’m at a really good school that continues to quickly increase its national acclaim (but not enough to drive up tuition prices), I’m on an academic track that will serve to ultimately fulfill my dreams and, best of all, I don’t have to very far from my favorite condiment/salad dressing/dipping sauce.
Does it get ANY better than this, I ask?
My last blog entry highlighted the fantastic vacation T and I took in Michigan. Anyone who knows me, especially my parents, will appreciate this story. You see, I MIGHT be a little forgetful…sometimes. Just a little. Actually, I’m so forgetful that my folks started calling me Hansel and Gretel – the little kids who left a trail of bread crumbs behind them wherever they went so they could find their way back. I have this oh-so-slight tendency to leave my stuff wherever I go. MI was no exception.
Turns out, we didn’t even make it 15 miles away from the house when my Aunt calls me and says, “hey! You left some stuff here! Do you just want me to send it back to you in a care package?” Laughing, I said, “absolutely.” Sure enough, about a week later, I receive a package in the mail. I open up the package. Inside the box was my curling iron…and a sock. Not a pair of socks. A curling iron and ONE sock. One sock…REALLY!?!?!?!?! The sad thing is, I don’t think I ever found his buddy in the stuff that DID make it home. It’s probably in the garage or the back yard or something. Geez. Huge thanks to Aunt K for sending me my curling iron…and a sock :-)
So anyway, if you’ve been following along, I started classes at George Mason University this semester. I received my Associates degree in a rather lackluster way – they sent it to me in the mail. So now I move on to Phase II - finishing my B.S. in Biology. I guess it would be about right here in the ol’ blog that I’m supposed to sit here and revere on being a little fish in a bigger pond. I guess that would be the case if I was having the “normal” college experience, but clearly I am not. Instead, I’m just commuting from my giant work pond to a comparatively bigger school pond that has really crappy parking. There are, however, some notable differences between a “real” University and a Community College that I’d like to take a moment to mention.
Community Colleges are usually filled with the following subpopulations: 1) Adults like me who, for one reason or another, got busy after high school and didn’t go to college right away; 2) Kids who really want to go to college, but are trying to find the most inexpensive way to do it; 3) Kids whose parents said, “get off your ass and get a job or take some classes before I kick you out on the street.” I only met one or two people who fit the latter description; the rest were mostly normal folks just trying to “get their learn on.”
Then you observe a “real” University setting. There are too many subpopulations to list here, the stereotypes run the full gamut at this school. There are the kids with the Mohawks/”faux”hawks with skateboards and studs, the really dweeby types who haven’t grown out of “nerd” yet, “mean girls,” jocks, band geeks walking around with their instruments, hippie types playing anti-war songs on their guitars in the courtyard. You name it, George Mason has it. It’s just an extension of high school. It’s really kind of funny, especially when you consider that these people will get out college, start real lives, trading their guitars and Mohawks for briefcases and baby food. They just have NO idea – and that, to me, is hilarious. I love the irony that these kids of all types spend so much time trying to be "individuals" that they all end up looking the same. Me? I'm just trying to survive organic chemistry.
One thing I can say for the student body that I have noticed in just the short amount of time I’ve attended classes there – they sure do have some school spirit. I see at least a third of the people walking around with George Mason gear on: sweatshirts, shorts, t-shirts, back packs, all adorned with the school name right on them. I can’t say I haven’t fallen victim to a bit of pride – I definitely own a couple items bearing the school moniker. I was just really psyched about being at a “real” school. You don’t see anyone running around NOVA with a whole bunch of NOVA spirit. Hell, it’s a good day if you can get most people to put their trash in a proper receptacle.
The concept of school spirit in and of itself makes perfect sense to me. I think a lot of what drives school spirit is the sports programs at a particular school. VA Tech has tons of school spirit because they have a kick ass football team. University of MD has a great football and basketball program. Schools with great sports teams drum up that sense of competition that leads to solidarity and, thus, school spirit. However, George Mason doesn’t quite fit the bill of a school with a robust sports program. There is no football team and the basketball team did something cool for the first time (made it to the NCAA Tournament Final Four when they shouldn’t have had a prayer of winning) only 2 1/2 years ago. I’m not sure if the abundance of Mason spirit I see today is residual from that event two years ago, or if people are actually proud to be attending the largest university in Northern Virginia. Whatever it is, it’s pretty cool to be surrounded by a bunch of people so enthused about their school, however unsubstantiated it may be.
The last and most awesome defining aspect of being at George Mason is the shocking availability of condiments at this school. Not just any condiment. I’m talking about the sweet and tangy goodness that is honey mustard. I’m not sure who sat on the George Mason University Dining Board and decided that there shall be honey mustard wherever there are students, but they should get the Nobel Peace Prize. Seriously.
I bought a plain ham and cheese sandwich from their little convenience store to stave off some I-missed-dinner hunger pains. Seeing that the sandwich was as dry as the Mojave on a Tuesday in August, I decided to hit up the condiment bar for some yellow mustard or some mayo, whatever was available. As I’m scoping out the selection, which I’m sure you’d agree is generally pretty poor wherever you go, my eyes fell upon a beautiful sight. It was as though the heavens opened up and rained sunshine into the room packed with oblivious students. I thought I heard angels sing as I feasted my eyes upon a never before seen phenomenon: there, in all of its glory, was a big, giant dispenser of honey mustard. I couldn’t believe my eyes! I rubbed my eyes to be sure it wasn’t a chemistry-induced mirage. I pinched myself to make sure I was awake. Then, after people around me started looking at me funny, I finally dispensed the inaugural tablespoon of golden yummy-ness onto my sandwich. That was the coolest thing ever!
Oh, but it gets better. A few weeks later, I stopped in at Chick-Fil-A to grab some chicken tenders. As I’m paying for my trans-fat-laced lumps of breaded nutrition-free fowl, I ask the kid at the register for some barbeque sauce. He reaches into a bin behind him and grabs a couple sauce packets. I noticed another bin of sauces sitting next to the one from which the BBQ sauce originated. Could it be? Oh, yes, it can! Sure enough, it was honey mustard. I asked the kid to peel me off a couple of those, too. [Incidentally, Chick-Fil-A does NOT live up to its hype. Why does everyone rave about it so much?]
I can’t believe my good fortune, really. I mean, I’m at a really good school that continues to quickly increase its national acclaim (but not enough to drive up tuition prices), I’m on an academic track that will serve to ultimately fulfill my dreams and, best of all, I don’t have to very far from my favorite condiment/salad dressing/dipping sauce.
Does it get ANY better than this, I ask?
Friday, July 25, 2008
Endless Summer - Part II
Before I had a chance to recover from the nutrition-induced beating incurred over the last six weeks, I moved on to a condensed, six-week Physics 202 course. This is a four-credit laboratory science that, if anything like its chemistry and biology counterparts, would be a challenging class even in its 16 week format. What the hell was I thinking?
I know, I always say that. When I stack up a 14 credit semester with two lab sciences and a statistics course, I say that. When I insist that changing my major and taking on an extra class to catch up/stay on schedule won’t be a problem, I end up saying that. Sometimes I guess I just need the beatings to continue before I really get the message.
Now, it’s not bad enough that I decided to take a Physics "boot camp" style class. Nope. I decided to make it REALLY interesting and take the class that was scheduled in the MIDDLE of the work day. Seemed to me that it would all work out fine. My boss is really cool and approved it; the school is only 15minutes down the highway, so no big deal. Minimum time lost. Sweetness.
When we received the syllabus on the first day, I nearly passed out. This guy had ambitions of covering three chapters in the book per week and holding two lab experiments per week, in the same amount of time traditionally devoted to one lab experiment. Holy hell. Four days per week for six weeks. Bring it on.
In addition to having an out-of-control work load, I would have to make sure that I worked all my hours, got everything done for everyone at work, got all my homework done, take care of everything at home and, oh yeah, sleep.
Naturally, the sleep thing isn’t happening and it’s showing. I’m really grumpy a lot of the time. I seem to be in a permanent funk. My psyche has become uncharacteristically dark, too. I won’t go into details about that, but suffice it to say that I’m really looking forward to the return of my Bob Rossian-esque dreams about ponds, critters, and “happy little trees.” People are starting to notice at work, since now I just go straight to my office and don’t come out unless it’s to eat or take a restroom break. I feel really bad, but hey, I’m tired. Leave me alone. Oh, and did I mention that I hosted my poor family at my house during this class? They haven’t been down to see me in 4 or 6 years (there is a raging debate about that at the moment between me and my friend, “Stevis.”) and I’m running around all week trying to get to class and make sure they are having a good time. *Sigh* I just hope they had fun and come back to see us again! Sorry Mom and Dad! Thanks for being really good sports!!
Add to the frustration of an already difficult class, I share the class with a bunch of third graders. No, they’re not actually 3rd graders, they just freakin’ act like it. You see, typically the students in my classes are all like me – working and schooling, older, more respectful and responsible than your average college kid. Since I chose a class in the middle of the day, in the summer, I am surrounded by a bunch of kids that are on break from their REAL universities who are taking summer courses to knock out some classes. This, in itself, is a commendable decision on their parts. I can’t say, given the opportunity to go back and do school the RIGHT way (right after high school) that I would have done the same thing. My work ethic was really crappy 10 years ago. But I digress.
Their drive to finish their respective educations, however, does not constitute an excuse for the fact that they act like little bastards in the class. There’s a group of about eight of them who sit in the back of the classroom, throwing sarcasm at the professor (who is actually a really good professor), talking/texting on their phones in class, whatever. It makes it really hard for those of us who give a shit to concentrate. If I weren’t getting an A in the class so far, I would totally take the little cretins on. Seriously, I feel like I’m in a class of toddlers.
[Proof of grumpy weariness…in the last 8 paragraphs, I have cracked ZERO jokes and have sat here and keyboard-whined for the last 15 minutes. Dude, I hate whining and now I’m doing it. There I go again. Ugh.]
It doesn’t end there. [Yes, more whining]. Because I’m taking this class in the middle of the day, I miss work. I then need to make up those hours, putting me at work until 6 or 7 pm. Then, since every day in the condensed class equals one week of the regular session class, there’s homework to do – every night. Basically, my day looks like this:
- Get to work at 7 am
- Leave for class at 10 am
- Get back to work at 1:30 pm
- Stay at work until 6 or 7 pm
- Shove something small and quick (and healthy!) in my throat
- Do homework
- Go to bed at 1 am
- Lather, rinse, repeat.
OK, I’m done whining. I’m so tired, I don’t have the energy to whine anymore. Yeah, I’m SO done with this class. Only one week to go. Woo hoo!!
Oh yeah, did I mention that this was my last class needed for my Associate’s degree??
Next post – I bitch about how obtaining a Biology degree from George Mason University in a reasonable amount of time while working a traditional full time job is next to impossible.
I know, I always say that. When I stack up a 14 credit semester with two lab sciences and a statistics course, I say that. When I insist that changing my major and taking on an extra class to catch up/stay on schedule won’t be a problem, I end up saying that. Sometimes I guess I just need the beatings to continue before I really get the message.
Now, it’s not bad enough that I decided to take a Physics "boot camp" style class. Nope. I decided to make it REALLY interesting and take the class that was scheduled in the MIDDLE of the work day. Seemed to me that it would all work out fine. My boss is really cool and approved it; the school is only 15minutes down the highway, so no big deal. Minimum time lost. Sweetness.
When we received the syllabus on the first day, I nearly passed out. This guy had ambitions of covering three chapters in the book per week and holding two lab experiments per week, in the same amount of time traditionally devoted to one lab experiment. Holy hell. Four days per week for six weeks. Bring it on.
In addition to having an out-of-control work load, I would have to make sure that I worked all my hours, got everything done for everyone at work, got all my homework done, take care of everything at home and, oh yeah, sleep.
Naturally, the sleep thing isn’t happening and it’s showing. I’m really grumpy a lot of the time. I seem to be in a permanent funk. My psyche has become uncharacteristically dark, too. I won’t go into details about that, but suffice it to say that I’m really looking forward to the return of my Bob Rossian-esque dreams about ponds, critters, and “happy little trees.” People are starting to notice at work, since now I just go straight to my office and don’t come out unless it’s to eat or take a restroom break. I feel really bad, but hey, I’m tired. Leave me alone. Oh, and did I mention that I hosted my poor family at my house during this class? They haven’t been down to see me in 4 or 6 years (there is a raging debate about that at the moment between me and my friend, “Stevis.”) and I’m running around all week trying to get to class and make sure they are having a good time. *Sigh* I just hope they had fun and come back to see us again! Sorry Mom and Dad! Thanks for being really good sports!!
Add to the frustration of an already difficult class, I share the class with a bunch of third graders. No, they’re not actually 3rd graders, they just freakin’ act like it. You see, typically the students in my classes are all like me – working and schooling, older, more respectful and responsible than your average college kid. Since I chose a class in the middle of the day, in the summer, I am surrounded by a bunch of kids that are on break from their REAL universities who are taking summer courses to knock out some classes. This, in itself, is a commendable decision on their parts. I can’t say, given the opportunity to go back and do school the RIGHT way (right after high school) that I would have done the same thing. My work ethic was really crappy 10 years ago. But I digress.
Their drive to finish their respective educations, however, does not constitute an excuse for the fact that they act like little bastards in the class. There’s a group of about eight of them who sit in the back of the classroom, throwing sarcasm at the professor (who is actually a really good professor), talking/texting on their phones in class, whatever. It makes it really hard for those of us who give a shit to concentrate. If I weren’t getting an A in the class so far, I would totally take the little cretins on. Seriously, I feel like I’m in a class of toddlers.
[Proof of grumpy weariness…in the last 8 paragraphs, I have cracked ZERO jokes and have sat here and keyboard-whined for the last 15 minutes. Dude, I hate whining and now I’m doing it. There I go again. Ugh.]
It doesn’t end there. [Yes, more whining]. Because I’m taking this class in the middle of the day, I miss work. I then need to make up those hours, putting me at work until 6 or 7 pm. Then, since every day in the condensed class equals one week of the regular session class, there’s homework to do – every night. Basically, my day looks like this:
- Get to work at 7 am
- Leave for class at 10 am
- Get back to work at 1:30 pm
- Stay at work until 6 or 7 pm
- Shove something small and quick (and healthy!) in my throat
- Do homework
- Go to bed at 1 am
- Lather, rinse, repeat.
OK, I’m done whining. I’m so tired, I don’t have the energy to whine anymore. Yeah, I’m SO done with this class. Only one week to go. Woo hoo!!
Oh yeah, did I mention that this was my last class needed for my Associate’s degree??
Next post – I bitch about how obtaining a Biology degree from George Mason University in a reasonable amount of time while working a traditional full time job is next to impossible.
Endless Summer - Part I
Remember when summer meant 2 ½ months of doing exactly nothing? Going to the pool, maybe working a few days a week, hanging out with friends, driving around, getting into trouble…you know, fun stuff. Even now, as an adult, summer is the time of year where taking off early from work on a Friday is expected and vacations with family mean actually getting to relax for a minute?
*Sigh* Those were the days. Why, oh why, do I keep thinking that taking on class schedules that suck actually “won’t be so bad?”
I was scheduled for two six week classes this summer. Not so bad, considering I did it last year and it was gravy. This summer would be a Nutrition class first, a nice easy class that didn’t really do much for me except check off another prerequisite in the list of classes to prep for veterinary school.
Well, my easy “skate through” class turned out to be 1) one of the most informative classes I’ve ever taken in the field of personal health; and 2) one of the most stressful classes I’ve ever taken in the field of personal health. Don’t get me wrong, the class was SUPER easy and the instructor was amazing – one of the nicest people on the planet, I’m convinced. Seriously, the woman brought in homemade popcorn for us because she just wanted to bring us a treat, a courtesy not seen extended since the 3rd grade. However, behind the warm fuzzy persona was a diabolical health nut set to destroy all the food consumption conventions held dear to all of us since we were weaned off the bottle (or booby, if your mama was into that sort of thing). The feeling of ease I looked forward to in terms of class schedule and reduced intellectual challenge was handily replaced by the immeasurable doom of the course’s content.
In six short weeks, this woman has scared me off eating anything doesn’t have an “organic” label on it. Actually, she did a good job of scaring me out of eating anything that doesn’t come from the outer ring of the grocery store (fine by me, I was tired of mops and zip lock baggies for dinner anyway – oh, snap!). T and I have even started shopping at the local hippie food store, buying organic produce and all natural, whole grain crap. Don’t be surprised when you get the invite to the all night Kumbaya sing-a-long at our house – I’m sure it’s right around the corner.
[I had originally intended to write a post that went into GREAT detail about all of the horrors of commercial food production, but I’m still having nightmares about it, so I’ll spare you the grisly, nasty facts. Well, except one: if you think the mass-produced milk you drink doesn’t have mucus and/or blood in it, you’re horribly deluded. Can you see, now, why I’m mourning the loss of many years of ignorant bliss?]
These revelations have had both positive and negative effects on my lifestyle. Shopping trips have become exponentially simplified, since the square footage of store I need to traverse has been reduced significantly. The amount of decisions I need to make has also been drastically cut as now I eat salads and some form of meat for dinner and cereal/yogurt/fruit for breakfast. This is nice. I hate making decisions. And, through eating better, I can perhaps get a better handle on losing some of that “Freshman 15” I gained when I started school. OK, Freshman 25…whatever.
But what I gain in a more efficient, nutritious and better digested diet I lose in psychosocial well-being. What it really comes down to is, what I would kill to sit down to a nice meal of Kraft macaroni and cheese dinner and a bag of Oreos. But noooooooooo! Anything made with any sort of hydrogenated oils (partially or fully hydrogenated) is bad for you. [I won’t be discussing why that is in this forum, but go google it some time. You’ll see.] Do you know how freaking hard it is to break an addiction to all things hydrogenated? Seriously, start reading your labels. A large majority of your processed foods contain these evil fiends. Even Triscuits, yes Triscuits contain the awful stuff. If you do start checking labels, don’t blame me for your subsequent depression, though. I’m still recovering myself.
I got out of this class a much wiser person. As with anything, I suppose, with wisdom comes a sadness attributed only to innocence lost, in this case, a dietary innocence. And to think that I didn’t even need this class to satisfy a degree requirement, but in anticipation of a larger calling, a fact that may prove even more depressing. I knew veterinary school would cost me a fortune, to the tune of a mortgage payment, but I didn’t expect to lose my Oreos, too.
Next posting…physics class or Romper Room?
*Sigh* Those were the days. Why, oh why, do I keep thinking that taking on class schedules that suck actually “won’t be so bad?”
I was scheduled for two six week classes this summer. Not so bad, considering I did it last year and it was gravy. This summer would be a Nutrition class first, a nice easy class that didn’t really do much for me except check off another prerequisite in the list of classes to prep for veterinary school.
Well, my easy “skate through” class turned out to be 1) one of the most informative classes I’ve ever taken in the field of personal health; and 2) one of the most stressful classes I’ve ever taken in the field of personal health. Don’t get me wrong, the class was SUPER easy and the instructor was amazing – one of the nicest people on the planet, I’m convinced. Seriously, the woman brought in homemade popcorn for us because she just wanted to bring us a treat, a courtesy not seen extended since the 3rd grade. However, behind the warm fuzzy persona was a diabolical health nut set to destroy all the food consumption conventions held dear to all of us since we were weaned off the bottle (or booby, if your mama was into that sort of thing). The feeling of ease I looked forward to in terms of class schedule and reduced intellectual challenge was handily replaced by the immeasurable doom of the course’s content.
In six short weeks, this woman has scared me off eating anything doesn’t have an “organic” label on it. Actually, she did a good job of scaring me out of eating anything that doesn’t come from the outer ring of the grocery store (fine by me, I was tired of mops and zip lock baggies for dinner anyway – oh, snap!). T and I have even started shopping at the local hippie food store, buying organic produce and all natural, whole grain crap. Don’t be surprised when you get the invite to the all night Kumbaya sing-a-long at our house – I’m sure it’s right around the corner.
[I had originally intended to write a post that went into GREAT detail about all of the horrors of commercial food production, but I’m still having nightmares about it, so I’ll spare you the grisly, nasty facts. Well, except one: if you think the mass-produced milk you drink doesn’t have mucus and/or blood in it, you’re horribly deluded. Can you see, now, why I’m mourning the loss of many years of ignorant bliss?]
These revelations have had both positive and negative effects on my lifestyle. Shopping trips have become exponentially simplified, since the square footage of store I need to traverse has been reduced significantly. The amount of decisions I need to make has also been drastically cut as now I eat salads and some form of meat for dinner and cereal/yogurt/fruit for breakfast. This is nice. I hate making decisions. And, through eating better, I can perhaps get a better handle on losing some of that “Freshman 15” I gained when I started school. OK, Freshman 25…whatever.
But what I gain in a more efficient, nutritious and better digested diet I lose in psychosocial well-being. What it really comes down to is, what I would kill to sit down to a nice meal of Kraft macaroni and cheese dinner and a bag of Oreos. But noooooooooo! Anything made with any sort of hydrogenated oils (partially or fully hydrogenated) is bad for you. [I won’t be discussing why that is in this forum, but go google it some time. You’ll see.] Do you know how freaking hard it is to break an addiction to all things hydrogenated? Seriously, start reading your labels. A large majority of your processed foods contain these evil fiends. Even Triscuits, yes Triscuits contain the awful stuff. If you do start checking labels, don’t blame me for your subsequent depression, though. I’m still recovering myself.
I got out of this class a much wiser person. As with anything, I suppose, with wisdom comes a sadness attributed only to innocence lost, in this case, a dietary innocence. And to think that I didn’t even need this class to satisfy a degree requirement, but in anticipation of a larger calling, a fact that may prove even more depressing. I knew veterinary school would cost me a fortune, to the tune of a mortgage payment, but I didn’t expect to lose my Oreos, too.
Next posting…physics class or Romper Room?
Monday, May 19, 2008
For Whom the Bell (Curve) Tolls
There can be no cooler concept in academia than that of grading on a bell curve. It is this curve concept that has bailed my butt out of many a close call in my quest for the perfect 4.0 GPA. In fact, I’m sure my raw GPA is actually somewhere around 2.8, but thanks to bell curve grading, I’m holding strong at a 4.0.
Take one of my last classes, for example: Physics 201. This is the Trig-based Physics, not even the Calculus based Physics. I thought this was going to be a really easy class since there was no Calculus required. Ha! Think again! This was about the most screwed up class I’ve ever attended. From not having a real instructor for the first three weeks of the course to finally ending up with an instructor fresh off the boat from India who showed up so late we couldn’t drop the course, all the odds were stacked against anyone doing well in this class.
Here is a fine example of the many challenges this class offered:
This professor, though he was a nice individual, had a VERY thick Indian accent. Additionally, he appeared to have learned British English, not American English. The combination of these two factors sometimes made it damn near impossible to understand what the heck he was saying. Case in point – during the lecture on Energy, he kept saying that energy had to be conjured. Conjured? How does one conjure energy? Are we Wiccan? But he kept saying it, so I wrote it down in my notes hoping that we’d never be tested on that. It took me about two weeks to realize that he was saying “conserve” energy, not conjure energy. Fascinating.
Anyway, my raw score at the end of this class was an 84%, minus the final exam, which I estimated to be around the mid-B range, with partial credit. Well, at least the dude had the kindness and decency to “conjure” my ass an A grade. As this was a 4 credit-hour class, this bodes well for GPA maintenance.
You’d think this would be really great news, considering GPA is one of the most important factors in gaining admittance to vet school, or any graduate school for that matter. However, while part of me is ecstatic that I appear to be some kind of kick ass student, the realistic side of me says, “holy crap, this is how people like me (with seemingly modest intelligence) put MD or DVM after their names!” ‘Tis a sobering thought, indeed.
So, then, taking all of THAT into account, the worry wart side of me kicks in and thinks, OK, maybe someday some vet school is actually going to let me in through their doors. Then what? Will I know all I need to know to do well in such an environment? Will my community college education have been good enough to get me where I need to be to become a good critter doctor? Will I keep up? Will I excel? Shall I befriend an especially nerdy-I-mean-gifted person now to keep in my back pocket for later tutoring purposes? Maybe I should have eaten the rabbit turds that the freckled fifth grader on my school bus called smart pills. Oh, the worry! Oh, the fret!
Seriously, it’s these thoughts that keep me up at night. And all this because my dumb ass actually managed to score an A in Physics. Who’da thunk it? Without a doubt, I had no business ending up with an A in that class. For crying out loud, this is the class where I scored my first D score on an exam, like, EVER. Considering the presumed raw score, that must have been hell of a bell curve. You’d think I’d just be happy and move on.
Well, as I do not have a class to worry about right now (until tomorrow anyway) I need something to worry about. That seems like a worthy topic: Just How The Hell I Ended Up With An ‘A’ In Physics: What This Really Means For All Earthly Fauna.
Methinks I’ll write a book.
Take one of my last classes, for example: Physics 201. This is the Trig-based Physics, not even the Calculus based Physics. I thought this was going to be a really easy class since there was no Calculus required. Ha! Think again! This was about the most screwed up class I’ve ever attended. From not having a real instructor for the first three weeks of the course to finally ending up with an instructor fresh off the boat from India who showed up so late we couldn’t drop the course, all the odds were stacked against anyone doing well in this class.
Here is a fine example of the many challenges this class offered:
This professor, though he was a nice individual, had a VERY thick Indian accent. Additionally, he appeared to have learned British English, not American English. The combination of these two factors sometimes made it damn near impossible to understand what the heck he was saying. Case in point – during the lecture on Energy, he kept saying that energy had to be conjured. Conjured? How does one conjure energy? Are we Wiccan? But he kept saying it, so I wrote it down in my notes hoping that we’d never be tested on that. It took me about two weeks to realize that he was saying “conserve” energy, not conjure energy. Fascinating.
Anyway, my raw score at the end of this class was an 84%, minus the final exam, which I estimated to be around the mid-B range, with partial credit. Well, at least the dude had the kindness and decency to “conjure” my ass an A grade. As this was a 4 credit-hour class, this bodes well for GPA maintenance.
You’d think this would be really great news, considering GPA is one of the most important factors in gaining admittance to vet school, or any graduate school for that matter. However, while part of me is ecstatic that I appear to be some kind of kick ass student, the realistic side of me says, “holy crap, this is how people like me (with seemingly modest intelligence) put MD or DVM after their names!” ‘Tis a sobering thought, indeed.
So, then, taking all of THAT into account, the worry wart side of me kicks in and thinks, OK, maybe someday some vet school is actually going to let me in through their doors. Then what? Will I know all I need to know to do well in such an environment? Will my community college education have been good enough to get me where I need to be to become a good critter doctor? Will I keep up? Will I excel? Shall I befriend an especially nerdy-I-mean-gifted person now to keep in my back pocket for later tutoring purposes? Maybe I should have eaten the rabbit turds that the freckled fifth grader on my school bus called smart pills. Oh, the worry! Oh, the fret!
Seriously, it’s these thoughts that keep me up at night. And all this because my dumb ass actually managed to score an A in Physics. Who’da thunk it? Without a doubt, I had no business ending up with an A in that class. For crying out loud, this is the class where I scored my first D score on an exam, like, EVER. Considering the presumed raw score, that must have been hell of a bell curve. You’d think I’d just be happy and move on.
Well, as I do not have a class to worry about right now (until tomorrow anyway) I need something to worry about. That seems like a worthy topic: Just How The Hell I Ended Up With An ‘A’ In Physics: What This Really Means For All Earthly Fauna.
Methinks I’ll write a book.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Shopping Spree
Last Friday, I bravely battled the fierce traffic of downtown Washington, D.C. and made my way to the Westin Hotel, on the corner of 14th and M Streets, to attend a Veterinary Medical Career Fair sponsored by the Association of American Veterinary Medical Colleges (AAVMC). Here, representatives from the majority of the vet schools accredited by this organization set up tables featuring their recruiting literature and a plethora of useless tchotchkes (seriously, what on earth do I need with a foam stress device in the shape of a dog bone?). I figured this would be a fantastic opportunity to talk to the different schools and find out what they’re all about. A bit of school shopping if you will (and y’all know how much I love to shop!). Plus, it got me out of work a bit early on a Friday – woo-hoo!
After spending the better part of two hours talking to the various schools, here’s what I found out:
- Kansas State seems really desperate to recruit students. This is probably not a fair statement since ALL the vet schools are hard to get into, but the recruiter working the table seemed overly excited to talk to me and quite literally shoved everything he had to offer into my hand – brochures, pencils, bandanas for my dog – all while speaking at a rapid fire pace. Not a slam on the man as he was quite nice; I just thought he was funny. However, he did inform me that KSU has no minimum hour requirements for the non-academic “animal experience” portion of the application process. Hmmmm, interesting...
- Americans and Europeans differ greatly on their opinions regarding how much “personal space” each human is entitled. I spoke to a recruiter from the Royal Veterinary College from the University of London who was a real sweetheart and absolutely fascinating to talk to, but did so at a very close range. Honestly, she was so close I felt like she was going to reach out and hug me at any moment. However, she told me enough great things about the school that I feel like London could be a very neat place to attend vet school.
- Don’t like lecture-based learning? That’s OK. Cornell, Western and Colorado State Universities all have some form of what is called “Problem-Based Learning,” PBL for short. This is really cool. Instead of sitting in lecture for three years and doing clinical rotations only in the fourth year, you start working on cases the first day you step foot into the school. They break the class up into groups of about 8 or 10 and in these small groups, you break each case down by medical component, study it, digest it, lather, rinse, repeat until you finally do your formal rotations in the fourth year. In other words, you get to do doctor stuff from day one. Wow.
- The guy from University of Pennsylvania gave me a great strategy on how to better my chances of getting in. Become a resident again. This places you into a different applicant pool that increases your chances of acceptance from under 0.5% all the way up to 25%. Still pretty shaky in terms of numbers, but MUCH better than trying to apply from out-of-state. My gut tells me this strategy is not limited to U of PA. Something to chew on…
- Apparently Michigan State University is too sexy for its recruiters. Or decent brochures. Their table was in a corner, by itself, no one behind it, with only flyers consisting of two stapled, letter-sized pieces of paper offered to those interested. However, from talking to other people, reading articles and doing my own research, I hear MSU is still a great school and is definitely worth looking at. I suppose it helps that I have family living about an hour away.
- Speaking to representatives from Virginia Tech, the school I had most anticipated gaining admittance (for obvious reasons) was a bit of a let down. When asked similar questions to those asked of other schools, which did require a certain amount of comparison to other schools, the woman became a bit defensive and called out other schools on some of their faults. Salesmanship 101 will teach you that bad mouthing the competition does not serve as a successful marketing strategy and can, in fact, backfire. This was exactly how I felt. I know very well that one person’s opinions may not reflect the quality of the school in its entirety, but to say I was somewhat disappointed would be a gross understatement. I feel like I will still apply, but perhaps with less enthusiasm as before. Perhaps a visit to the campus will reinstate my good feelings toward the school. After all, the gentleman from VA Tech did say that most applicants who declined their acceptance offers had done so without ever seeing the campus.
So there you have it, the top 7 schools I am interested in applying to a few years from now. Which one of these schools would I like most to accept my application? Whichever school will admit me, that’s which one.
Oh, but wait! Those counting along will note that I mentioned 8 schools. Yeah, there’s no way in hell I’m going to Kansas. Sorry Kansas! I’m sure you’re a very nice state and you have a wonderful personality; I’m just not feeling the chemistry, if ya know what I’m sayin’. Same goes for states that begin with the letter “I.” Too bad there isn’t a vet school in Hawaii.
Ha! I suppose beggars can be choosers, afterall.
After spending the better part of two hours talking to the various schools, here’s what I found out:
- Kansas State seems really desperate to recruit students. This is probably not a fair statement since ALL the vet schools are hard to get into, but the recruiter working the table seemed overly excited to talk to me and quite literally shoved everything he had to offer into my hand – brochures, pencils, bandanas for my dog – all while speaking at a rapid fire pace. Not a slam on the man as he was quite nice; I just thought he was funny. However, he did inform me that KSU has no minimum hour requirements for the non-academic “animal experience” portion of the application process. Hmmmm, interesting...
- Americans and Europeans differ greatly on their opinions regarding how much “personal space” each human is entitled. I spoke to a recruiter from the Royal Veterinary College from the University of London who was a real sweetheart and absolutely fascinating to talk to, but did so at a very close range. Honestly, she was so close I felt like she was going to reach out and hug me at any moment. However, she told me enough great things about the school that I feel like London could be a very neat place to attend vet school.
- Don’t like lecture-based learning? That’s OK. Cornell, Western and Colorado State Universities all have some form of what is called “Problem-Based Learning,” PBL for short. This is really cool. Instead of sitting in lecture for three years and doing clinical rotations only in the fourth year, you start working on cases the first day you step foot into the school. They break the class up into groups of about 8 or 10 and in these small groups, you break each case down by medical component, study it, digest it, lather, rinse, repeat until you finally do your formal rotations in the fourth year. In other words, you get to do doctor stuff from day one. Wow.
- The guy from University of Pennsylvania gave me a great strategy on how to better my chances of getting in. Become a resident again. This places you into a different applicant pool that increases your chances of acceptance from under 0.5% all the way up to 25%. Still pretty shaky in terms of numbers, but MUCH better than trying to apply from out-of-state. My gut tells me this strategy is not limited to U of PA. Something to chew on…
- Apparently Michigan State University is too sexy for its recruiters. Or decent brochures. Their table was in a corner, by itself, no one behind it, with only flyers consisting of two stapled, letter-sized pieces of paper offered to those interested. However, from talking to other people, reading articles and doing my own research, I hear MSU is still a great school and is definitely worth looking at. I suppose it helps that I have family living about an hour away.
- Speaking to representatives from Virginia Tech, the school I had most anticipated gaining admittance (for obvious reasons) was a bit of a let down. When asked similar questions to those asked of other schools, which did require a certain amount of comparison to other schools, the woman became a bit defensive and called out other schools on some of their faults. Salesmanship 101 will teach you that bad mouthing the competition does not serve as a successful marketing strategy and can, in fact, backfire. This was exactly how I felt. I know very well that one person’s opinions may not reflect the quality of the school in its entirety, but to say I was somewhat disappointed would be a gross understatement. I feel like I will still apply, but perhaps with less enthusiasm as before. Perhaps a visit to the campus will reinstate my good feelings toward the school. After all, the gentleman from VA Tech did say that most applicants who declined their acceptance offers had done so without ever seeing the campus.
So there you have it, the top 7 schools I am interested in applying to a few years from now. Which one of these schools would I like most to accept my application? Whichever school will admit me, that’s which one.
Oh, but wait! Those counting along will note that I mentioned 8 schools. Yeah, there’s no way in hell I’m going to Kansas. Sorry Kansas! I’m sure you’re a very nice state and you have a wonderful personality; I’m just not feeling the chemistry, if ya know what I’m sayin’. Same goes for states that begin with the letter “I.” Too bad there isn’t a vet school in Hawaii.
Ha! I suppose beggars can be choosers, afterall.
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