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.

You open the exam and review the questions.
And you have no freaking clue how to answer the first one…or the second. Then you read the third.  Panicking, you look around the room. Everyone else has already started writing.  You start to sweat.

Finally, you find a question you at least understand.  You draw up a little outline, figure out what you are going to say and begin writing.

Things start out well. You got a good thesis statement, your thoughts are organized and you are sort of excited to answer the question. Then your hand starts to hurt. You put your pen down and shake it out. When you begin writing again, your neck begins to hurt. You pause and stretch it left and right, making sure to keep your eyes closed so no one thinks you’re cheating.

You continue writing.

About halfway through your answer you realize you forgot one very important section. You debate crossing everything out and starting over but there is no time. Instead you leave a little footnote for the grader and hope he/she finds this little paragraph in the back before they slap a big red grade on the front. Not that they will be able to read it; by this time you are so bored with writing the exam that your writing has gone from legible to 7-year-old boy.

You hear someone changing the time on the chalkboard and look up to find many students packing their things and leaving. There are only 20 minutes left and you still have a ways to go. You rip through the rest of the answer, filling one entire blue book and a few pages of another. With what? You have no idea. Tired and sick of writing, you forgo reviewing your answer, pack your stuff and leave.

Your hand hurts, your neck hurts, your brain hurts…. and now all you can do is bust out those Sour Patch Kids. And wait for the grade.

Yeah, we’ve all been there. And we’ve got the staple marks on the side of our hands to prove it.

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.

You open the exam and review the questions.
And you have no freaking clue how to answer the first one…or the second. Then you read the third.  Panicking, you look around the room. Everyone else has already started writing.  You start to sweat.

Finally, you find a question you at least understand.  You draw up a little outline, figure out what you are going to say and begin writing.

Things start out well. You got a good thesis statement, your thoughts are organized and you are sort of excited to answer the question. Then your hand starts to hurt. You put your pen down and shake it out. When you begin writing again, your neck begins to hurt. You pause and stretch it left and right, making sure to keep your eyes closed so no one thinks you’re cheating.

You continue writing.

About halfway through your answer you realize you forgot one very important section. You debate crossing everything out and starting over but there is no time. Instead you leave a little footnote for the grader and hope he/she finds this little paragraph in the back before they slap a big red grade on the front. Not that they will be able to read it; by this time you are so bored with writing the exam that your writing has gone from legible to 7-year-old boy.

You hear someone changing the time on the chalkboard and look up to find many students packing their things and leaving. There are only 20 minutes left and you still have a ways to go. You rip through the rest of the answer, filling one entire blue book and a few pages of another. With what? You have no idea. Tired and sick of writing, you forgo reviewing your answer, pack your stuff and leave.

Your hand hurts, your neck hurts, your brain hurts…. and now all you can do is wait for the grade.
Yeah, we’ve all been there. And we’ve got the staple marks on the side of our hands to prove it.

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.

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.

I returned my clipboard to the desk and was handed my driver’s license, which I was ordered to keep with me at all times. My bag was stowed away in one of the beaten-down lockers and I was led to the back where another man took my photograph, as evidently there needed to be further visual proof that I was the person taking the test, and then was told to sign in. With a stack of scratch paper in hand and a few number two pencils, I was led to a cubicle in one of the many testing rooms. There were audiophones available for anyone who found the sounds of keys clacking and computer fans blowing far too distracting.

With a whispered “good luck,” my new found friend returned to his cubicle to photograph the next unsuspecting test taker and to keep track of the various monitors that made his station look more like security than a place for people to sign-in and sign-out. The screen asked me to verify whether I was in fact the person who I claimed to be, then showed me a blurry photograph – the one that had been taken moments before – which looked more like a mugshot than one suitable for a testing agency.

Following this screen, I was given several tutorials, the first of which I took mainly to allow more time to calm down before the actual testing began. It also provided me with a moment of hilarity as the first tutorial was on how to use a computer mouse. I personally believe it provided me with more confidence, as after demonstrating that I could in fact left-click on a particular portion of the screen the computer offered me lavish praise.

The next tutorial taught me how to cut and paste, which again left me feeling above the bar. The only tutorial that taught me anything I hadn’t already known was the last one, which explained the different buttons that were used on the exam such as the “time” button, which would either hide or unhide the allotted time left; the “next” button that you clicked once you’d answered a question; and the “confirm answer” button if you were confident in your answer.

Finally, I was into the exam. Four hours later, I completed the last question and received my scores.

I share this story because, for anyone going into their senior year of college, graduate school is becoming a consideration. Personally I went through a lot of choices during the past year, debating between law school or another graduate program, before finally settling on psychology as my field of study.

There are many different exams required for graduate school, although the GRE is the most common. There is the online exam, which is the common GRE format, but then there are also subject tests for Biochemistry, Cell and Molecular Biology, Biology, Chemistry, Computer Science, Literature in English, Mathematics, Physics, and, my personal favorite subject, Psychology. Unlike the basic GRE exam, which is made up of Verbal, Quantitative and Analytic Writing sections, subject test are three hour examinations only on the one particular subject.

In order to prepare for the GRE, there are many classes available to students who might struggle in recalling exactly what they were taught in high school math classes or need other assistance. I know I didn’t recall how to calculate the area of a circle the first time I took a GRE practice test (it’s our friend pi times the radius squared, for those who might be curious), so these prep courses were especially helpful.

The two major test preparation organizations for GRE and other examinations are The Princeton Review and Kaplan. Other such wonderful materials can be found with The GRE For Dummies and other study materials available from Kaplan and the Princeton Review which you can purchase without actually enrolling in any of their classes.

And, of course, when you officially register for the GRE, ETS is always happy to send you preparation materials!

With graduate school application deadlines approaching over the next several months, there is still plenty of time to take the GRE. The online exam is offered nearly every day at times that are convenient for anyone and everyone. If you are looking for a graduate program that requires a subject test, now is the time to find out and register as the latest most institutions allow you to take the test is November.

Now that I have my computer exam out of the way, it is time to start preparing for my subject test. Grad school, here I come.

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.

It took about 45 minutes to put on all the wires, and I pretty much looked like Frankenstein’s monster when she was finished. She called me the “bionic woman.” Whenever I got up from a sitting position, I had to carry this remote control type of thing with me that was attached to all the wires. Nothing was at all uncomfortable, but I looked crazed because I had a bunch of gel smeared into my hair that helped to keep the wires on and dots on my face that marked where the face wires should go.

She told me the rules: during the night, I wasn’t allowed to go to the bathroom or get out of the bed for any reason without calling her on the intercom so that she could come help me by making sure that all the wires accompanied me to wherever I needed to go. Thankfully, I don’t normally get up and wander around at night, so I didn’t need to worry about that. Toward the morning I woke up and did need to go to the bathroom, but I just held it—not a big deal.

When it was time for bed, she attached a light with a sensor to my fingertip (to monitor my blood flow, maybe?). Then she dimmed the lights and I lay in bed while she went out of the room and had me do a series of movements—breathing in and out, moving my feet up and down, turning my head and eyes from side to side, etc. This was, presumably, to get information about how I normally move and breathe.

Then she turned out the lights and I was on my own. I had purposely woken up really early that morning in hopes that I would sleep like a log at the clinic, but it didn’t quite work out that way. I got to sleep initially without much trouble, but I kept waking up—probably about 10 times during the night. I’d go back to sleep right away each time, but I always wanted to turn around and reposition myself, and it’s really difficult to do that when you are the bionic woman with a tangle of wires attached to all your limbs. Apparently, I tore off two of the wires during the night without realizing it (oops).

In the morning, I got a snack and some juice and filled out some forms to give information about how I thought I had slept (poorly). The technician took off all my wires (hallelujah) and I had a shower and got to go home and then to all my job interviews. I managed not to be a zombie during the interviews, but by early evening I was zonked and feeling really sick, so I guess I had slept even worse than I thought.

I haven’t had my follow-up appointment yet, but even though it wasn’t the most pleasant experience of my life, I’m glad I went if it will help me sleep better in the long run. Sleep apnea is scary, so anything that will help me get rid of it is okay in my book!

[Image courtesy of sleepandtmdcenter.com.]

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.

I’m not taking a holier-than-thou position on this, either. I’m just lucky I’m not tempted in my classes. As an English major, I don’t have much opportunity to enter the grey area of cheating short of blatant plagiarism, which offends my sensibilities as a writer. I’m curious how fellow students feel about the study group phenomenon, however. When the chips are down in a really tough class with a really tough grader, would you copy the answer of a friend on a problem set?

I have friends who specifically take the classes of people they know just so they can hit them up for answers on a regular basis. I find it disturbing, but I also acknowledge that not every college class is going to reach the ideal of “I just take it to learn!” Some classes are a grind and are meant to be endured rather than enjoyed. But how far will today’s college student go to endure them?

Last year I was on the receiving end of some of the grey area-cheating. I took a class with a friend that was heavy on the paperwriting. I was accustomed to this, but my friend wasn’t. He took to sending me drafts the night before the deadline, pleading for revision help. On a couple of occasions, I gave revision suggestions. Then I told myself that enough was enough, and I wouldn’t do it anymore. I don’t think giving revision help is cheating at all; it’s not giving any direct answers, and at Princeton you can get revision help from the teachers right up until the day the paper is due. But it still made me cautious about how much help to offer.

Nowadays, with the ease of the internet, it seems like the grey area of cheating or plagiarism has expanded hugely, and the good ole-fashioned honor code is struggling to keep up.

Where do you draw the line?

[Photo courtesy of reviewjournal.com]

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.

“Your Momma’s so emaciated,” one sample joke goes, “she can hula hoop in a fruit loop!” The entry also includes the word origin, how to say it, and an explanation for today’s times. “Emaciated isn’t just skinny, it’s too skinny, unhealthy looking, skeletal. Think Olsen twins, supermodels, Gollum from Lord of the Rings, and Ally McBeal.”

Besides the fact that no one remembers—or cares about—Ally McBeal anymore, The Yo Mamma Vocabulary Builder sounds like an amusing way to learn bigger, better words. Will the majority of the jokes in there most likely be lame? Sure, but leafing through a Thesaurus is lamer.

…And listening to a tutor with giant coke glasses explain the meaning of pallid on a Friday night is even worse. My junior year in high school can attest to that.

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.

Ok, not really… but according to a new study, cancer might be brewing inside me as I sip my diet coke. (Why am I such a Debbie Downer today? Wah wahhhhhhhhhh.)

The study found that one of the most popular artificial sweeteners may cause cancer. And I don’t know about you, but that is practically a death sentence for me.

As artificiality has become a societal fundament, I’ve managed to resist plastic surgery and fake tanning. Hell, I don’t even have a fake id. But, because I’m such a lucky gal, the one faux treat that I’ve wildly indulged in is now linked to cancer.

The study claims that aspartame—often used in diet soda and also marketed as table condiments like Equal and Nutrisweet—caused leukemia, lymphoma and breast cancer in the rats tested.

The Center for Science in the Public Interest—a U.S. consumer group—urged the FDA to review the safety of aspartame after the findings were published last week.

The FDA has not yet reviewed the study but claims that previous studies evaluated by the FDA give it no reason to deem aspartame unsafe as a general purpose sweetener.

Who are we to believe? On one hand, I want to dismiss the claim because, let’s face it, there are studies claiming that just about everything causes cancer. On the other hand, I devour Equal like it’s my job… so I’m thinking if this turns out to be true, I’ll probably die unless I halt consumption immediately.

Til the FDA promises that Equal won’t kill me, I think I’m going to err on the side of caution and cut aspartame out of my diet. I’d advise my fellow artificial sweetener junkies to do the same.

A few alternatives:

• Splenda: While Splenda is still an artificial sweetener, it contains sucralose—not aspartame. I’m not saying it’s better, but it hasn’t been linked to cancer (yet).

• Stevia: Stevia’s a more natural alternative—extracted from South American herbs and shrubs. Although it’s banned by the FDA, hippies are obsessed with it, and hippies live forever, right?

• Agave nectar: A true hippie product. Plus it hasn’t been banned by the FDA (again, yet). It’s natural syrup that serves as a sugar-substitute. Sweet.

I’ll probably try them all out, though they’ll probably all be linked to some terminal illness within a few months.

Maybe the best bet is to use real sugar (gasp!). I know, I know… calories suck. But cancer—and keeping up with the incessant cancer claims—sucks more.