If you look hard, you'll notice my Art class was the one with the secondary project (the bastard).
Showing posts with label finals. Show all posts
Showing posts with label finals. Show all posts
Saturday, December 6, 2008
One step PAST crazy
Midterms were always just an overwhelming time and professors suck. Most of all that Art Professor.
If you look hard, you'll notice my Art class was the one with the secondary project (the bastard).
If you look hard, you'll notice my Art class was the one with the secondary project (the bastard).
Sugar High
From working in the computer lab, senior year:
"Ahh, another late night in the computer lab. I'm working a double shift, from 8pm to 2:15am, and I'll probably feel pretty darn tired at the end of it, but my coworker, A- has got to be exhausted. She's been here since 7:45 this morning, taking 6 shifts in a row. Exhausted and CRAZY. This is what happens to you when you have no exams. She's written 3 essays today, and when I look across the hallway, she's actually dead asleep at the desk. I don't blame her.
I recently had a conversation with some of the older folks in my dorm about jobs and employment. Looking back, I haven't had it too bad, and my work experience is definitely well-rounded. They say that's a good thing, since a lot of places won't hire college students straight-off because they've never had any office experience. I've had plenty. I present to you a vague resume of my life:
Chore Pay - My parents paid me a $5 a week allowance if I did all my chores. This included making the bed, tidying up my room, doing the dishes, helping to fold laundry, taking care of the dog and so on.
Dotcom Pay - In 7th grade, I somehow managed to make it onto the roster as a beta tester for a pre-teen website. I gave suggestions and edited and created content. Pretty sweet gig until I realized that I was only making $200 a month. But the dotcom bubble burst 4 months later anyway and it ended up not much mattering. Which wasn't much of a shame because whoever chose their color scheme must have been blind. It was that ugly.
Icecapades Pay - In 10th grade, I became the newest skate guard at the local hockey arena. This would have meant a lot more if they weren't so desperate for staff that they'd hire any schmo off the street. They even hired people who couldn't skate. But the pay was minimal ($6.25 an hour), and my boss was a jerk. And it's hard to get to a skating rink that far away when you haven't got a car. And did I mention my boss was a Jerk?
File Pay - After skate guarding and nursing a lot of scraped knees and bruised egos, I got a job at the local news-clipping agency. You know how after talk shows they say, "If you would like a transcript of this show please contact...." I worked at the place that made those transcripts. I filed. Good God, did I file. I was so fricking efficient. And at the end of the day, it was like I hadn't even made a dent in the pile. There was no feeling of accomplishment, because as soon as I'd finished filing a stack, my supervisor would have already placed a new stack on my desk. It never ended. It was awful. The following summer I went back. And I managed to make it into the summer-worker elite of computer input. Which didn't suck. But my boss was still a Jerk.
And there have been internships and summer jobs
And now I work in a computer lab where people of questionable intelligence abuse me daily. "My computer won't start up!" "Why don't you have PC's?!" "I forgot my printing card!"
Today's comic is of myself and my coworker.
It never ends. I brought candy to work today. Too bad that sugar wears off so quickly..."
"Ahh, another late night in the computer lab. I'm working a double shift, from 8pm to 2:15am, and I'll probably feel pretty darn tired at the end of it, but my coworker, A- has got to be exhausted. She's been here since 7:45 this morning, taking 6 shifts in a row. Exhausted and CRAZY. This is what happens to you when you have no exams. She's written 3 essays today, and when I look across the hallway, she's actually dead asleep at the desk. I don't blame her.
I recently had a conversation with some of the older folks in my dorm about jobs and employment. Looking back, I haven't had it too bad, and my work experience is definitely well-rounded. They say that's a good thing, since a lot of places won't hire college students straight-off because they've never had any office experience. I've had plenty. I present to you a vague resume of my life:
Chore Pay - My parents paid me a $5 a week allowance if I did all my chores. This included making the bed, tidying up my room, doing the dishes, helping to fold laundry, taking care of the dog and so on.
Dotcom Pay - In 7th grade, I somehow managed to make it onto the roster as a beta tester for a pre-teen website. I gave suggestions and edited and created content. Pretty sweet gig until I realized that I was only making $200 a month. But the dotcom bubble burst 4 months later anyway and it ended up not much mattering. Which wasn't much of a shame because whoever chose their color scheme must have been blind. It was that ugly.
Icecapades Pay - In 10th grade, I became the newest skate guard at the local hockey arena. This would have meant a lot more if they weren't so desperate for staff that they'd hire any schmo off the street. They even hired people who couldn't skate. But the pay was minimal ($6.25 an hour), and my boss was a jerk. And it's hard to get to a skating rink that far away when you haven't got a car. And did I mention my boss was a Jerk?
File Pay - After skate guarding and nursing a lot of scraped knees and bruised egos, I got a job at the local news-clipping agency. You know how after talk shows they say, "If you would like a transcript of this show please contact...." I worked at the place that made those transcripts. I filed. Good God, did I file. I was so fricking efficient. And at the end of the day, it was like I hadn't even made a dent in the pile. There was no feeling of accomplishment, because as soon as I'd finished filing a stack, my supervisor would have already placed a new stack on my desk. It never ended. It was awful. The following summer I went back. And I managed to make it into the summer-worker elite of computer input. Which didn't suck. But my boss was still a Jerk.
And there have been internships and summer jobs
And now I work in a computer lab where people of questionable intelligence abuse me daily. "My computer won't start up!" "Why don't you have PC's?!" "I forgot my printing card!"
Today's comic is of myself and my coworker.
It never ends. I brought candy to work today. Too bad that sugar wears off so quickly..."
The best way to die...
So I had a wonderful dream after finals and during Winter Break. It was a dream above all dreams. In truth, now that I've gotten my special studies grade back, my major advisor doesn't really deserve much of the treatment in the comic... at least... not the flaming arrow. I managed an A-, which meant that fall of senior year was my first college semester that I managed straight A's (of any kind).
She totally deserves to at least be a little harassed by a squid though...
On a more serious note though, the spring semester went a lot smoother, and I no longer feel any sort of antagonism toward her. Advisor love!
She totally deserves to at least be a little harassed by a squid though...
On a more serious note though, the spring semester went a lot smoother, and I no longer feel any sort of antagonism toward her. Advisor love!
Are you Joking?
Well, it didn't happen just like in the comic, but my advisor didn't bring up the fact that she'd investigated me for cheating or plagiarism. I have nothing funny to say here. But I'll let you all derive some enjoyment from the comic.
Yikes. All your comments on the previous post are greatly appreciated. Looks like although I wrote an A-/B+ paper, I'll be getting a B+/B because I procrastinated so much. Ah well. At least it's over...
Yikes. All your comments on the previous post are greatly appreciated. Looks like although I wrote an A-/B+ paper, I'll be getting a B+/B because I procrastinated so much. Ah well. At least it's over...
Rage... Building,...Vision... Blurring... AAAARGH!
I know more of you are just dying to know what happened after I sent in my special studies. It eventually got there on time. On the other hand, maybe you're NOT dying to know, since you're probably all of the impression that that was the end of it. I know, I certainly did.
Unfortunately, no. It's not the end.
More stress and GRAAAAAAH! was headed my way. Needless to say, I was less than thrilled. I got an email from my advisor which basically said, 'I can't give you a grade until I talk to you face-to-face'. Big uh-oh moment. I marked it as un-read and vowed not to think of it for 2 days. Two days later, I opened it, sent her a reply and suggested a meeting time.
The day after I heard from my advisor, I also got a message from my Mentor who said my advisor had been talking to him and she had said my paper was SO good, she was trying to find out if I'd copied parts of it from somewhere or had had any outside help.
Yikes! Serious accusations there, and totally false! I was filled with worry and stress once again, because I needed to talk to her and make it all right. Tsoris! Anger! Frustration! Like a good soap opera, right? Now all I needed was an evil twin sister to run off and marry some guy named Hernando and they would come back in 2 seasons with a small child/baby and dump him on me. I hate babies.
Unfortunately, no. It's not the end.
More stress and GRAAAAAAH! was headed my way. Needless to say, I was less than thrilled. I got an email from my advisor which basically said, 'I can't give you a grade until I talk to you face-to-face'. Big uh-oh moment. I marked it as un-read and vowed not to think of it for 2 days. Two days later, I opened it, sent her a reply and suggested a meeting time.
The day after I heard from my advisor, I also got a message from my Mentor who said my advisor had been talking to him and she had said my paper was SO good, she was trying to find out if I'd copied parts of it from somewhere or had had any outside help.
Yikes! Serious accusations there, and totally false! I was filled with worry and stress once again, because I needed to talk to her and make it all right. Tsoris! Anger! Frustration! Like a good soap opera, right? Now all I needed was an evil twin sister to run off and marry some guy named Hernando and they would come back in 2 seasons with a small child/baby and dump him on me. I hate babies.
I should have seen it coming
I'm sure you're all wondering how my special studies project ended up. If not, I'll tell you anyway. I got a minor extension to work until the day after Christmas. I was done by 2am Christmas morning. So I emailed a copy to the dean and prepped to send a hard copy to my major advisor on the 26th. Little did I know what dangers lurk in the US postal service system. The plan was to overnight the damn package and get it to my advisor by the next day. I was to ensure that she wouldn't have to sign for it. "I'm not chasing down your special studies," she informed me, "I'm not going to run around looking for it. Get it to my doorstep or I'm not grading it." Ultimatum Ouch.
At this point I was wondering just what exactly had crawled up her butt and whether she had noticed it yet. My guess was leaning towards something spiny (like some really skinny porcupine) and Yes. Well, arguing wasn't going to solve anything. So I vowed I would do just as she had requested and hope for the best.
Alas, the US Postal Service service leaves a lot to be desired. On the 26th, I went to the post office and for a whopping $14.40, I had all my papers mailed express to Easthampton, with a waiver of signature attached. I leave the story here to give a brief overview of what happened then:
Yes, the comic's style changes as I become more melodramatic. I promise the funnier ones will be back to color and minimalistic expression.
In the meantime, that's exactly what happened. By 3 days later, (according to the USPS online tracking services), my special studies still had not been delivered. As though anything in this entire ordeal could be easy. As if. A series of phone calls later, I was finally told by the post office in Easthampton that my major advisor was on vacation and had requested a hold on her mail so it wouldn't be delivered until the hold was removed the next day. *facepalm. I decided to take no chances. I told the folks there that if she hadn't picked up her mail by noon that day, to deliver the package.
And so now, it is safely at her house. Thank goodness. I'm ready for some real relaxation now. Too much tsoris surrounding this whole thing. And as I have credentials to be a professional worrier, I've been stressed like nobody's business. There's absolutely no reason for all the crap I've had to put up with for this stupid special studies.
But it was done! Hooray!
At this point I was wondering just what exactly had crawled up her butt and whether she had noticed it yet. My guess was leaning towards something spiny (like some really skinny porcupine) and Yes. Well, arguing wasn't going to solve anything. So I vowed I would do just as she had requested and hope for the best.
Alas, the US Postal Service service leaves a lot to be desired. On the 26th, I went to the post office and for a whopping $14.40, I had all my papers mailed express to Easthampton, with a waiver of signature attached. I leave the story here to give a brief overview of what happened then:
Yes, the comic's style changes as I become more melodramatic. I promise the funnier ones will be back to color and minimalistic expression.
In the meantime, that's exactly what happened. By 3 days later, (according to the USPS online tracking services), my special studies still had not been delivered. As though anything in this entire ordeal could be easy. As if. A series of phone calls later, I was finally told by the post office in Easthampton that my major advisor was on vacation and had requested a hold on her mail so it wouldn't be delivered until the hold was removed the next day. *facepalm. I decided to take no chances. I told the folks there that if she hadn't picked up her mail by noon that day, to deliver the package.
And so now, it is safely at her house. Thank goodness. I'm ready for some real relaxation now. Too much tsoris surrounding this whole thing. And as I have credentials to be a professional worrier, I've been stressed like nobody's business. There's absolutely no reason for all the crap I've had to put up with for this stupid special studies.
But it was done! Hooray!
Line-Art Therapy
Somewhere in my history I fell out of the habit of asking people for help. I think this is a trait my parents encouraged as they saw it as a type of independence and they knew that as an only-child, I was going to need to fend for myself a great deal. Far be it from me to judge my parents' techniques, but this one could have used some addendums. For instance:
You CAN ask for help or support when...
...you've made a total fool of yourself.
...you're about to fail at life.
...you're about to fail at school.
...dealing with annoying relatives.
So what do you do when you ask for help too late?
From Senior Year right before finals:
"I'm in a peculiar situation. I've never (in the whole of my life) asked a teacher for an extension on a paper or project. I'm currently doing a semester-long special studies that's a little outside my realm of experience, and it is battering me. I figured that since I'd basically been totally out of touch for a week (what with a needle in my foot and surgery and Vicodin and all that), it would be reasonable to ask for a 5-7 day extension for medical reasons.
'Course, my class dean is completely on some sort of bizarre power trip. She won't grant extensions for medical reasons (I have a friend who was just diagnosed with esophogeal cancer and is currently on 12 pills a day and the dean won't give her an extension) and says that a note from the hospital and health services isn't enough. She says she'll talk to my major advisor (who is currently in a state of HATE), and see what SHE says. That means, I won't know about an extension until Monday. For a paper that was technically due on Friday (yesterday). The following actions have run through my mind:
- jump in front a car
- have a tree branch drop on me all of a sudden
- use a voodoo doll on the dean (which won't get me an extension but will make me feel better)
Technically, the first two wouldn't get me an extension either... the dean has basically said no medical reason is ever good enough to get an extension. It's your fault for not looking both ways when you started to cross the street..."
You CAN ask for help or support when...
...you've made a total fool of yourself.
...you're about to fail at life.
...you're about to fail at school.
...dealing with annoying relatives.
So what do you do when you ask for help too late?
From Senior Year right before finals:
"I'm in a peculiar situation. I've never (in the whole of my life) asked a teacher for an extension on a paper or project. I'm currently doing a semester-long special studies that's a little outside my realm of experience, and it is battering me. I figured that since I'd basically been totally out of touch for a week (what with a needle in my foot and surgery and Vicodin and all that), it would be reasonable to ask for a 5-7 day extension for medical reasons.
'Course, my class dean is completely on some sort of bizarre power trip. She won't grant extensions for medical reasons (I have a friend who was just diagnosed with esophogeal cancer and is currently on 12 pills a day and the dean won't give her an extension) and says that a note from the hospital and health services isn't enough. She says she'll talk to my major advisor (who is currently in a state of HATE), and see what SHE says. That means, I won't know about an extension until Monday. For a paper that was technically due on Friday (yesterday). The following actions have run through my mind:
- jump in front a car
- have a tree branch drop on me all of a sudden
- use a voodoo doll on the dean (which won't get me an extension but will make me feel better)
Technically, the first two wouldn't get me an extension either... the dean has basically said no medical reason is ever good enough to get an extension. It's your fault for not looking both ways when you started to cross the street..."
Out, out damn line!
Back in my senior year of college, I was unfortunate enough to step on a sewing needle that had been dropped on my carpet. My weight caused it to snap in half. One half was found across the room, the other half, was MIA. It was right around 2 weeks before finals, and I found myself suddenly in an immense amount of pain. From the event:
"Tomorrow's adventure includes attempts to schedule myself for surgery to get the darned thing out. It hurts like crazy. This only confirms to me that waving a magnet around my foot in an attempt to figure out if it was still inside worked. Probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, but there you have it. It's a lot more than I thought it would be as well. I thought there'd be maybe an eighth of an inch in there... but no. It's more like 3/4 of an inch, and pressed up against my bone for super extra fun. I include for your ultimate enjoyment, a fantastic x-ray from radiology.
The school's health services are gonna hear about this one. I guarantee it. (side note: the school's health office told me it was nothing to worry about and since they couldn't see anything, it was unlikely there was anything in my foot. "soak your foot in warm water every day and apply this anti-biotic ointment!" . . .right... right.) On the actual x-ray, you can see the eye of the needle. It's actually pretty darn cool. And if the surgeons let me keep my x-rays, I'm definitely going to build myself a lightbox frame and it'll be the first work of art to grace my grown-up apartment (that is, when I can afford a grown-up apartment).
"Tomorrow's adventure includes attempts to schedule myself for surgery to get the darned thing out. It hurts like crazy. This only confirms to me that waving a magnet around my foot in an attempt to figure out if it was still inside worked. Probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, but there you have it. It's a lot more than I thought it would be as well. I thought there'd be maybe an eighth of an inch in there... but no. It's more like 3/4 of an inch, and pressed up against my bone for super extra fun. I include for your ultimate enjoyment, a fantastic x-ray from radiology.
The school's health services are gonna hear about this one. I guarantee it. (side note: the school's health office told me it was nothing to worry about and since they couldn't see anything, it was unlikely there was anything in my foot. "soak your foot in warm water every day and apply this anti-biotic ointment!" . . .right... right.) On the actual x-ray, you can see the eye of the needle. It's actually pretty darn cool. And if the surgeons let me keep my x-rays, I'm definitely going to build myself a lightbox frame and it'll be the first work of art to grace my grown-up apartment (that is, when I can afford a grown-up apartment).
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