You’ve spent the past 4 nights in the library flipping through your tattered notebook. You’ve highlighted and re-highlighted all the most important sections in the textbook. You’ve answered the sample review questions your T.A. gave out and the entire review packet distributed at the review session.

Hell, you went to the review session.

And now, on the eve before the big blue book exam, you feel ready to go. You’ve done everything you can and now it’s time to show that little blue book who’s boss.

Before you climb into bed at the ripe hour of 11 p.m., you pack your messenger bag with two blue books, 2 pens (in case one runs out of ink), a few pencils (in case that is what the teacher prefers), White-out, gum, tissues and a bag of Sour Patch Kids (for a post-exam celebration). You set your alarm and snuggle into your Twin XL to get the required 8 hours before the big day.

Except you only got 5 hours. The other three were spent staring at the ceiling freaking out.

“Oh God. This exam is 50% of my grade. 50! I can not eff this up. What is an example of Intrinsic Motivation? What are the symptoms of Multiple Personality Disorder?! Why am I still awake?!”

When your alarm goes off, you shoot out of bed and spend the duration of your shower/hair drying/getting dressed testing yourself just a little bit more. You flip through your notes one last time as you scarf down a bowl of cereal, then review them again on the way to the lecture hall.

You find your assigned seat, unpack your abundance of supplies and wait for the exam to begin. You’re feeling confident and ready, already planning what you’ll be drinking to celebrate when this nightmare is over.

In what seems like slow motion, the T.A.s begin walking through the hall, passing stacks of exams to the end of the rows. You wait as the students to the left of you take one and pass. Finally, you get the stack. The professor makes a few announcements, writes the time on the board in giant numbers and it begins. Read More »

When most people think of condoms, 3 main questions come to mind:

1. Will this keep me safe?

2. Will this prevent me from having a baby?

3. Did it break?

A condom is one of those things that you use (a lot, if you’re lucky…and smart), but never really think about. You know which kinds you like (Trojan), you know where to get them (CVS because it’s open 24 hours), and you know that they are a must-have for a night of passion.

But did you ever think about how they are made? (Me either, mostly because I didn’t care. If they are keeping my uterus empty, a drunk monkey could make em.) The entire process is actually really cool and interesting. They check each and every one for leaks! They wash and sterilize them! They fill them with air to test their durability!

Fascinating! Watch the video above. Just know: condoms have never looked less sexy.

The building looked like any other corporate office building in America. As I pulled into the parking lot, my eyes scanned the area and I prayed I was at the right place. The innocuous sign on the door said “Prometric Learning Center, Suite 100,” as though it were any other suite in any building in corporate America. I parked my car, took a deep breath to prepare myself, and walked inside. A sign informed me that everything on the premises was video monitored and that by stepping inside I was giving my consent to appear on the footage.

Stepping inside, I couldn’t tell whether I was in a doctor’s waiting room or the locker area of a gym. To the right were chairs arranged in a tight circle, magazines scattered about the area; on the opposing wall there stood a row of rusted lockers.

A sign directed me to the front desk where a young man asked for my ID, and upon being certain that I was who I claimed to be, offered me a clipboard. I signed the honor code, promising that I would not use any forbidden study materials or divulge the contents of any question on the test. The specific rules for the GRE and testing in the center were stated on a piece of paper behind the one I’d signed, reminding me that nothing was allowed into the testing room with me, that study materials could not be used at any time after the test began, and that during my 10 minute break (if I wished to take said break) I could not leave the facility. Read More »

Heading back to campus? Psyching yourself up to lug giant suitcases across the quad? Rinsing out that Nalgene in hopes of filling it with a cran / vodka combo? (Protip: just fill it with cran and watch all the drunk people say things everyone will forget except you.)

Whatever your attitude or mode of moving in, most likely the majority of you will be settling into dorms you’ve never lived in before. At first, everything is clean and vacuumed and smelling like Glade. At first, it seems like you’ve picked the absolute best place to sleep, study, and veg out after a giant Econ test. But then.

The weekend happens. And suddenly it hits you like a splatter of what you hope is cake: you’re smack dab in the middle of a party dorm.

Here are a few ways to tell you’re living in the Bermuda Triangle of beer and screaming.

As you’re moving in, you notice that you’re the only one dragging a suitcase into your room. Everyone else is hauling dollies of 12 packs.

Your roommates are really friendly! Or…why are their eyes drooping like that?

The community fridge is stocked with liquor, sour cream, and mixers.

The community cupboards are filled with cheetos, salsa, pork rinds, and Alka Seltzer.

It’s Monday night, you’re reading Proust, and it sounds like the people in the room next to you are throwing…what’s that? Quarters? And then cheering? Read More »

After suspecting for years that I have sleep apnea, I finally got around to going to a pulmonologist and discussing it with him. He agreed that my symptoms sounded apnea-ish and recommended that I do an overnight sleep study at my local hospital.

I wasn’t afraid to do the study or anything like that, but I did want to get the best sleep possible since I had three job interviews scheduled for the next day. Error in judgment? Perhaps, but there wasn’t much I could do about it because I’d have to wait at least a month if I wanted to reschedule the sleep study.

Generally, these studies take about 9 hours—an hour to put on and take off the equipment, 7-8 hours to sleep (or perhaps I should say “sleep”), and a little bit of extra time to fill out forms. If you’re not an early riser, you’re out of luck, because at my sleep clinic the wake-up time was between 5:30 at 6 a.m. Luckily, I had to get up early anyway, so it wasn’t a big deal.

When I arrived at the clinic, the sleep technician greeted me and explained what she was going to do—put about a zillion wires on almost every part of my body. She explained to me that the wires on my arms and legs would monitor my physical movements, the wires on my chest would monitor my breathing, and the wires on my head would monitor my brain activity and sleep levels. Read More »

Putting aside the very hairy area of cheating in relationships, I’m wondering about academic cheating. Before college, I attended a very small, liberal all-girls school where everyone knew everyone else and we were all trained to be as “honorable” as could be. We all had to re-sign an extensive honor code each year, and there were serious penalties for violating it.

I remember in my senior year of high school, one girl was found to have plagiarized part of a paper from the internet. Not only was she suspended; she had to deliver a speech in front of the entire class, explaining why plagiarism was wrong.

Princeton has been particularly aggressive on the cheating front in the same way. We have honor code meetings, have to write a page on matriculation illustrating our understanding of it, and get regular updates from the honor committee. All the same, when I arrived there I discovered whole new layers of gray areas.

In problem set classes, for example, there are plenty of people who like to work in study groups. That’s all well and good, except when “study groups” turn into “let’s just copy the answers off each other.” I thought that kind of behavior was only in the occasional math class, but I was surprised to learn that it’s much more prevalent in college. When all that matters for your future career is that good grade in an Orgo class, it can be extremely tempting just to write down the process and answer of your friends, whether you understand it or not, and worry about the final exam later. Read More »

Days as a Freshman: 111

Mood: Cold and happy

“I didn’t know you knew Sammy.”

Justin and I walked away from the dorms, down a side path on the outskirts of campus, our breath grey against the dark shadows of the woods.

“I didn’t know you knew her.” The cold night air was scratching at my hands. I stuffed them into my pockets and gripped the fabric, flexing the ice out of my fingers. “You could have told me.”

“It never came up.” Justin pulled his sweatshirt hood over his head, jumping onto a small wooden bridge that led into the woods. “Wanna go down here for a bit? It might snow.”

“You sure nothing wild will eat me?” I joined him on the bridge. “I have finals tomorrow.”

“There’s nothing wild in these woods, kid. Believe me.”

Justin disappeared into the tall pines and I followed close behind, wishing I at least had a hat, and wondering just when I was going to go over my notes for the big English final on Monday.

Justin had knocked on Sammy’s door just to say hi, stopping dead in the doorway when he saw Rebecca and I. His eyes slid around the room, bouncing off our faces, his mouth trying to decide what exactly should come out first. Feeling the air pulling tight around everyone, I decided to do something I don’t normally do and spoke up. Read More »

Days as a Freshman: 58

Mood: totally freaking out

“So how do you combine these two molecules again?”

Sasha looked up, his adorable forehead knotted in frustration. I knew the answer, but something about his eyes catching mine stopped the flow of language to my mouth.

“It’s simple. You should have it in your notes. Here.” Grabbing Sasha’s notepad, Daniel Breely began to flick his pen across the page, shaking his puffy-haired head and mumbling under his breath.

I met Daniel B. (he insists everyone ad the “B”) during orientation, and quickly realized he would be a good ally to have. He’s one of those tall, skinny guys who wear pocket protectors with pride and he actually eats lunch at a table marked with handmade signs proclaiming “Caution, Geeks” and “Dorks Do it Better” in red marker. He’s got a reputation on campus as being the most genuine nerd alive.

He also helps people study for tests for $10 an hour.

Hiring Daniel B. to help Sasha and I with our Chem midterm was my idea. Needing some way to calm my anxiety about the whole Soccer House scandal, I decided having the most mind-numbingly flat personality in the world sit between Sasha and I would ease the tension.

Nothing but work would be talked about while Daniel B. was around. It was written in his “freelance tutor” contract.

“Hey, Grace?” Breaking my concentration on Daniel B’s tower of hair, Sasha leaned over, “What are you doing after this?” Read More »

SAT. What a horrible word. The lost hours that stupid test took from me will never be replaced, and the sheer embarrassment I felt looking at my math score will stay with me for the rest of my life.

The English part of that standardized bullshit was easier for me than the mind numbing numbers sections, but a little thing called vocabulary kept me from getting a top score. Learning words that people don’t use on a daily basis wasn’t ever something I cared to do, but had I only known a few more nerdy terms, I could have hit the language jackpot.

Classless Education, a “collective of comedy writers and educators” have decided I’m not the only one who could use some vocab help. The group recently put out a book called The Yo Momma Vocabulary Builder, an “irreverent, educational” paperback that attempts to teach the finer points of language with some of the oldest jokes in the book. Read More »

More important than finding the color of your aura or analyzing your handwriting, the Carbon Footprint calculator is an online test that actually means something.Sponsored by Live Earth, which is set to take the global stage on July 7 with a slough of powerful entertainers giving concerts, the calculator tabulates your “footprint” based on things like your electricity bill, your use of energy – efficient lighting, modes of transportation and dedication to recycling, plus more.

I scored a 220 (not having a car finally works in my favor!). The average American score is 325. You might be surprised by your score, but even more surprised by how easy it is to reduce the force of your tread.