I feel the old customs of standardized testing are dated and ineffective. Times are changing so why shouldn't the grad school system of aptitude testing change as well? The new college graduate is computer savvy, well-spoken, and nothing like the old world breed of graduate school applicants. We are adept problem solvers and masters of technology.
I realize that to change entire formulas of standardized tests is impractical and unrealistic. So, I propose the various boards take baby steps. For example, and specific to my scenario, the DAT (Dental Aptitude Test) is a standardized test of 4 sections. One of these sections is a perceptual test that gauges the applicants ability to visualize 3D images and solve puzzles. The conventional test has a bunch of ridiculously shaped objects and holes and the test takers must match the correct silhouette to the original shape. I propose that each testing station be assigned a classic 1989 original Game Boy and a copy of Tetris. Everybody would have 30 minutes to score as high as possible. It tests the visual and mental capabilities of the test takers and their ability to perform under pressure. Strategy and manual dexterity will never have been so accurately tested. The other sections regarding natural sciences, reading comprehension, and quantitative reason may stay the same for the time being, but to see action taken towards revising various portions of the test would be a vast improvement and reassurance that the institution of standardized tests is keeping up with the evolving student.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Four Loko: The Embodiment of College Life in a Convenient 23.5oz can
Making its debut in 2005, Four Loko was a heavily caffeinated alcoholic energy drink produced by three Ohio State University alumni: Chris Hunter, Jeff Wright, and Jaisen Freeman. These model citizens had a dream: to capture the essence of the college ideal, can it, and sell it to future collegiate generations to come for a reasonable $2.50.
Seeing this drink I had an epiphany about being at a University. There are two sides to collegiate life each conveniently represented by two very different beverages. One side of the coin shows its face during the work week where young adults all across the nation are worked to the brink of insanity. The other side is queued by the beginning of the weekend.
Allow me to begin with the former. Days are spent note taking in lecture halls and nights are spent combing through textbooks. Simply put, hopes of a successful and comfortable future loosely rests in the ability of these students to ingest ungodly amounts of caffeine on a daily basis. However, coffee's reign over the world of artificially induced vigor has been belittled by a more potent and diabolical energy drink. Here's a colorful analogy. Coffee is a lot like Frank Sinatra; classy, mild-mannered, and subtly useful as appropriate pick me up when one feels lethargic. The common energy drink like Monster, Red Bull, Full Throttle, Amped, Nos, and Rockstar, would be like 50 Cent: loud, gaudy, overly potent, and severely detrimental to the growing body.
Once the work week comes to a close and the American college student no longer needs to spend late nights awake reading and writing, late nights are spent awake drinking and partying. The liquid life-force that allows us to party hardy? Alcohol.
So, what was Four Loko and why was it important? Four Loko was essentially any one of these common energy drinks combined with malt liquor. I know, genius. Did this drink completely disregard any concern for the consumers well-being? Yes. Is mixing alcohol (a depressant) with caffeine (a stimulant) a bad idea? Yes. Unfortunately for us, the F.D.A has banned the production of original Four Loko. All the caffeine, taurine, and guarana has been taken out. What is left is essentially beer. A dream has been stomped on yet again by the Man. These three boys captured the idea of intellectually growing, experiencing profound things, and entering the real world with a brightly colorized aluminum can harboring some of the most detrimental and unnatural fluids to ever hit the lips of young Americans and the government won't let them share that with the rest of the world anymore. Shame on you F.D.A. You've "protected" the young, naive citizens of America from further illness. I hope you're proud of yourselves.
Seeing this drink I had an epiphany about being at a University. There are two sides to collegiate life each conveniently represented by two very different beverages. One side of the coin shows its face during the work week where young adults all across the nation are worked to the brink of insanity. The other side is queued by the beginning of the weekend.
Allow me to begin with the former. Days are spent note taking in lecture halls and nights are spent combing through textbooks. Simply put, hopes of a successful and comfortable future loosely rests in the ability of these students to ingest ungodly amounts of caffeine on a daily basis. However, coffee's reign over the world of artificially induced vigor has been belittled by a more potent and diabolical energy drink. Here's a colorful analogy. Coffee is a lot like Frank Sinatra; classy, mild-mannered, and subtly useful as appropriate pick me up when one feels lethargic. The common energy drink like Monster, Red Bull, Full Throttle, Amped, Nos, and Rockstar, would be like 50 Cent: loud, gaudy, overly potent, and severely detrimental to the growing body.
Once the work week comes to a close and the American college student no longer needs to spend late nights awake reading and writing, late nights are spent awake drinking and partying. The liquid life-force that allows us to party hardy? Alcohol.
So, what was Four Loko and why was it important? Four Loko was essentially any one of these common energy drinks combined with malt liquor. I know, genius. Did this drink completely disregard any concern for the consumers well-being? Yes. Is mixing alcohol (a depressant) with caffeine (a stimulant) a bad idea? Yes. Unfortunately for us, the F.D.A has banned the production of original Four Loko. All the caffeine, taurine, and guarana has been taken out. What is left is essentially beer. A dream has been stomped on yet again by the Man. These three boys captured the idea of intellectually growing, experiencing profound things, and entering the real world with a brightly colorized aluminum can harboring some of the most detrimental and unnatural fluids to ever hit the lips of young Americans and the government won't let them share that with the rest of the world anymore. Shame on you F.D.A. You've "protected" the young, naive citizens of America from further illness. I hope you're proud of yourselves.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
The City of Angels
Monday, 9pm:
Slamming the door behind me and bracing my back up against it as if I were running away from the zombie horde of some post-apocalyptic nightmare, I had a sudden epiphany about the city I called home. While catching my breathe, I realized the subtle irony of the nickname given to Los Angeles: The City of Angels.
Pause.
You may think at this point that this post is going to be a cynical yammering about how every person I came across today was unpleasant, rude, or in some way undeserving of the title "human being".
You're right.
Unpause.
Monday morning started off in a nonchalantly pleasant manner. I had just wrapped up a good night's rest and was greeted by my childhood friends who I now called roommates. We joked and chatted over breakfast while the calming voice of Josh Elliot recapped the weekend's highlights on Sportscenter. I packed my messenger bag and headed to the garage where I found my car boxed in by an unfamiliar black BMW seven-series. A neatly placed scrap of paper in his front windshield read: (almost illegibly) "call if need me to move",
then 10 digits. Irked, because I had to go back upstairs where my phone could get reception, I took a deep breathe and went back to my apartment. After about 10 minutes and 5 miscalls, an Asian man with a heavy accent answers the phone curtly. I explain to him that I owned the blue Honda Pilot he had graciously trapped in the stall and requested he promptly back out so I could go to school. Long story short, he moves and "forgets" to apologize. Obstacle cleared.
As a bonus pick-me-up, while waiting to make a left out of the garage, a middle aged man with an uncanny resemblance to Pat Morita from The Karate Kid yelled at me to "WATCH IT!". Of course, it was my fault for sitting there idly for an entire minute while signaling and not his absorption into his Blackberry that startled him. That one might be on me.
I'm about 1 hour into the start of a brand new week and already I begin to question how long I could last before involuntarily punching someone in the throat.
Proceeding. Classes go smoothly, thank God. Lunch time rolls around and I opt to indulge in a nice meal at Chipotle. On my way out, I'm greeted by a homeless African American lady who asks for spare change. Nothing wrong with that. Except when I apologize for not having any loose change on me she decides to heckle me about being stingy. Wide-eyed and shocked, the only thing I can muster to defend myself with is "I've given you money before..". A bad move on my part, for this opened Pandora's box. I was lectured for about 30 seconds on why I might think she wouldn't need to eat everyday or something along those lines. I was more concerned by the Chipotle patrons sitting outside and staring at me being chastised by this woman than her actual argument. I see her point now though. I SHOULD be the one to provide her with daily meals.. afterall why shouldn't a 22 year old college student financially support a woman he doesn't know?
The bulk of my day passes without any more unfortunate interactions until a heavily tattooed man at Seven-Eleven asked me "What the *%$# I was staring at". I wanted to reply with "this month's issue of Vogue behind you", but I realized that would probably only further provoke him and embarrass myself in the process. I opted with a respectful "nothing man, I'm cool". Upon completing my transaction with the store clerk I sprinted to my car like a NFL draftee doing the 40-yard dash at the combine, and hauled gigantic ass back home. Finally within the safety of my own apartment I couldn't help but laugh at the severely misleading nickname "City of Angels". Walking into my room I realized what a beautiful blog post this would be and... voila!
Slamming the door behind me and bracing my back up against it as if I were running away from the zombie horde of some post-apocalyptic nightmare, I had a sudden epiphany about the city I called home. While catching my breathe, I realized the subtle irony of the nickname given to Los Angeles: The City of Angels.
Pause.
You may think at this point that this post is going to be a cynical yammering about how every person I came across today was unpleasant, rude, or in some way undeserving of the title "human being".
You're right.
Unpause.
Monday morning started off in a nonchalantly pleasant manner. I had just wrapped up a good night's rest and was greeted by my childhood friends who I now called roommates. We joked and chatted over breakfast while the calming voice of Josh Elliot recapped the weekend's highlights on Sportscenter. I packed my messenger bag and headed to the garage where I found my car boxed in by an unfamiliar black BMW seven-series. A neatly placed scrap of paper in his front windshield read: (almost illegibly) "call if need me to move",
then 10 digits. Irked, because I had to go back upstairs where my phone could get reception, I took a deep breathe and went back to my apartment. After about 10 minutes and 5 miscalls, an Asian man with a heavy accent answers the phone curtly. I explain to him that I owned the blue Honda Pilot he had graciously trapped in the stall and requested he promptly back out so I could go to school. Long story short, he moves and "forgets" to apologize. Obstacle cleared.
As a bonus pick-me-up, while waiting to make a left out of the garage, a middle aged man with an uncanny resemblance to Pat Morita from The Karate Kid yelled at me to "WATCH IT!". Of course, it was my fault for sitting there idly for an entire minute while signaling and not his absorption into his Blackberry that startled him. That one might be on me.
I'm about 1 hour into the start of a brand new week and already I begin to question how long I could last before involuntarily punching someone in the throat.
Proceeding. Classes go smoothly, thank God. Lunch time rolls around and I opt to indulge in a nice meal at Chipotle. On my way out, I'm greeted by a homeless African American lady who asks for spare change. Nothing wrong with that. Except when I apologize for not having any loose change on me she decides to heckle me about being stingy. Wide-eyed and shocked, the only thing I can muster to defend myself with is "I've given you money before..". A bad move on my part, for this opened Pandora's box. I was lectured for about 30 seconds on why I might think she wouldn't need to eat everyday or something along those lines. I was more concerned by the Chipotle patrons sitting outside and staring at me being chastised by this woman than her actual argument. I see her point now though. I SHOULD be the one to provide her with daily meals.. afterall why shouldn't a 22 year old college student financially support a woman he doesn't know?
The bulk of my day passes without any more unfortunate interactions until a heavily tattooed man at Seven-Eleven asked me "What the *%$# I was staring at". I wanted to reply with "this month's issue of Vogue behind you", but I realized that would probably only further provoke him and embarrass myself in the process. I opted with a respectful "nothing man, I'm cool". Upon completing my transaction with the store clerk I sprinted to my car like a NFL draftee doing the 40-yard dash at the combine, and hauled gigantic ass back home. Finally within the safety of my own apartment I couldn't help but laugh at the severely misleading nickname "City of Angels". Walking into my room I realized what a beautiful blog post this would be and... voila!
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