stacy b-log

... ass-kicked?

Because that's what happened to me this semester. I stumbled across the finish line last week with a bottom-scraping, round-up A on the final (87.8% - yes, I know, us old school folks aren't used to seeing anything in the 80s resembling an A, but welcome to the era of lowered expectations: I'll take it).

Thanks to the generosity of Dr. Steve Carell Look Alike, my "resurrection final" also replaced the worst grade from my previous three tests (83.8% - rate laws and equilibria) - thus I ended this forced-march of a semester with a 90.78%.

The good news is, I don't think the med school admissions officers check the actual percentages - an A is an A is an A. The bad news is, I still have Biology 1 & 2, Physics 1 & 2 and Organic Chemistry 1 & 2 before I can even apply. That being said, as much as I don't like acid-base titrations (a recent discovery), I think I had a lot more fun this semester... that is, if you can actually have fun water-boarding yourself.

Read on for more lessons learned from the 37-year-old Pre-Med Student...

Schedule permitting, my back-to-school philosophy has been to take the hardest classes first, so I can weed myself out without wasting a whole lot of money. What's the point of breezing through biology if you get bitch-slapped by Chemistry 116, right?

That was working out pretty well until the Arizona state legislature began raiding university funds to cover the billion-dollar holes in our state budget deficit - and tuition and fees began rising to plug the multimillion-dollar craters left in the ASU funding formula. As one who pays graduate school rates for undergraduate classes - i.e. $485 per credit hour, minimum 4-hour class with labs (gulp) - I didn't need a quadratic equation to determine this irresistible force of pre-med aspiration might meet the immovable object of my bank account. Sure, the federal government can borrow 45 cents of every dollar it expects to spend next fiscal year - and it has plausibly good reasons for doing so. Unfortunately, I can't - there will be enough time for borrowing if / when I get to med school.

Fortunately, the tuition increase hit just south of my threshold for pulling the plug, so I enrolled in organic chemistry for the fall - because not only do I like to waterboard myself, I like to pay top-dollar for the privilege.

Besides the recent discovery that I like to punish myself for fun, Chemistry 116 reinforced my belief that the next generation will send our country straight to hell on a full scholarship* - but with a few notable exceptions: Michael, Michael, Rachel, Stephanie, Taylor, Kaitlin, Katelyn and the guy who fought in Iraq and Afghanistan (and apparently is sweet on Stephanie, but whose name escapes me). Out of 190 people, that's ... unfortunate. And if you think I'm being too hard on my classmates, just check out the performance of these proud Sun Devils on national television:

Or as the young people say: Good times... Good times...

So here are some other miscellaneous lessons learned in Chemistry 116:
1) I am a mule-headed SOB (if a girl can be an SOB) - I spent 14 hours trying to figure out one equilibrium reaction and realized the night before the final that I knew how to work the chemical reaction, but I JUST DIDN'T REMEMBER HOW TO WORK THE ALGEBRA. Then I spent another 2 hours working on the algebra, FINALLY figured out the right answer, only to have Dr. Steve Carell Look Alike LEAVE THAT PROBLEM OFF THE TEST. Are you kidding me?

2) Satire is wasted on the masses. See TURN IN THE TEST, MORON.

3) SUMMER IS COOL. I don't have any classes between now and late August. I didn't realize I would be so thrilled with this state of affairs but apparently it gives me more time to devote to serious hobbies like training for the Navy SEALs, creating Peeps dioramas and drinking heavily.

4) I hope next semester is one that does not involve my mother-in-law's recovery from heart attack, my husband's recovery from a broken collarbone and subsequent surgery for his torn rotator cuff, three weeks of furlough for Pat and what is shaping up to be a pending visit to a surgeon for me (female stuff - nonserious). Ugh.

5) I'm not fond of acid-base titrations.

I think that's about it. Onward to O-chem!

*I wish I could claim this as original, but I cannot. Found it on m new favorite evil time-kill: www.textsfromlastnight.com

Posted by stacy at 01:32 PM | Permalink

In this era of lowered expectations, our student handbook states that if you have more than three exams on one day, you can petition to have one moved. Well, 12 of my classmates asked to have their test moved from Thursday (the first day of exams) to another day of Dr. Steve Carell Look Alike's choosing: The following Monday.

Because of the Monday 12, those of us taking the test on Thursday were not allowed to take our tests home after the exam (and check our answers against the grading key posted on the class website - which I do for every exam so I can get my grade before they're posted (and/or curved) because I'm a nerd, what can I say?) No, instead, we had to follow a strict procedure to ensure that our exam would not be leaked to the Monday 12: Turn in the test booklet to designated Teaching Assistant. Turn in our test answer sheet to Dr. Carell. Confirm with him and said TA that said TA had said test booklet and be on our merry way (or in the case of the four of us old enough [and cool enough to be invited]) to have a beer with Dr. Carell and the TAs.

Well, you can guess where this is going: Dr. Carell was late to our designated drinking establishment because one test booklet was unaccounted for, which could only mean one thing... So Dr. Carell sent out a class-wide email imploring the alleged skofflaw to turn in the test, lest he fail us all... and with a wink and a nod, I replied to all ...

Dear Anonymous Classmate,

So that you can save face in front of the knuckledragging flatheads to whom you intend to sell our final exam (resulting in Fs for us all), I am providing you with what we in the real world call "PLAUSIBLE DENIABILITY." Sell the following test to your soft-bellied, bottom-feeding co-conspirators, and return the real test promptly:

ALTERNATE CHM 116 FINAL EXAM
1) When I throw a battery at your head after I find out who you are, which will hurt worse on impact?
a) The cathode
b) The anode
c) The salt bridge upside the bridge of your nose
d) Doesn't matter because it's a lead battery.

2) Calculate the Ecell generated when I connect an anode to your left nipple and a cathode to your right nipple? Answer in three significant figures.

3) Which of the following reaction rates is fastest?
a) Your ability to outrun all 190 of us when we find out who you are.
b) The rate at which your concrete-clad ankles will sink in Tempe Town Lake when we find out who you are.
c) The beta decay that occurs when we impale you on a uranium rod and drop you into the Palo Verde Nuclear Reactor after we find out who you are.
d) The alacrity with which you crawl under your bed, assume the fetal position and beg for your Mamma when we find out who you are.

4) Your body will experience 5.6 disintegrations per minute when we find out who you are. A body dumped by mobsters in the Jersey Pine Barrens undergoes 8.2 disintegrations per minute. How long will you live when we find out who you are?

5) An angry mob that just received failing grades in their CHM 116 class surrounds the sleazy undeveloped social outcast that stole their test, resulting in a wasted semester and countless wasted tuition and taxpayer dollars. Determine the equilibrium constant for the following reaction:

Angry Mob + Weapons + Unquenched Rage <-> Sleazy Undeveloped Social Outcast
(Hint: REACTANTS ARE FAVORED. Kc < 1)

ESSAY QUESTION (Minimum 500 words)
6) When you're 57 and working as an assistant manager in Taco Bell, how will you feel knowing that your selfish, insecure, pathetic ineptitude - and, I might add, shitty perversion of capitalism - resulted in the failure of not only your sorry, worthless self, but also in the failure of 190 innocent people who were just trying to better themselves and improve their world?

EXTRA CREDIT
If you have some semblance of conscience residing in the detritus of your toenail clippings and you don't want to spend the rest of your life under the staggering burden of your guilt (or the scintillating paranoia of your deception), turn in the damn test, asshole, and all will be forgiven.

Sincerely,
Stacy Bertinelli, age 37
(I'm too old for this shit!)

Suffice it to say, this little ditty was an exercise in deja vous, all over again. When I was in college the first time - 20 years ago - I wrote for my college newspaper, The Battalion, where I learned the hard but painful truth: Satire is lost on the masses. Anything you say can and will be misinterpreted (and you'll hear about it in spades). You'd think that at the ripe old age of 37, it would be a lesson that didn't need to be repeated. WRONG. Satire is lost on the masses.

I received 25 responses, six of which quoted the aforementioned student handbook, article V, chapter 3 about grading appeals. One student referenced the faculty code of ethics stating how Dr. Carell cannot fail us based on "criteria not directly reflective of course performance." Several were concerned that because of my graphic threats of violence, the absconder (who probably just accidentally placed it in their innocent bookbag) would be afraid to return the test as I used harsh and frightening language. Suffice it to say, I'm waiting for the notice from Student Affairs in which I am put in triple-secret probation time-out for being "mean." Sigh. The good news is, the majority of kids thought it was funny. So I guess there's hope for us yet...

Wrapping up loose ends: Dr. Carell gave the Monday 12 a different exam, so tragedy was averted. Sadly, he apparently received a flurry of emails from knuckleheads who FORGOT that our FINAL EXAM was on THURSDAY and so they didn't bother to show up and were begging to take the test with the Monday 12. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? They "forgot" after he wrote it in 2-foot letters on the chalkboard, posted it on our class website, announced it six times in class, sent an email about extra help available for the final two days beforehand - and oh, by the way, the university publishes a final exam schedule at the beginning of each semester for EVERY CLASS!!!

Here's another bonus question for the ALTERNATIVE CHM 116 EXAM:
QUESTION: Is stupidity "criteria not directly reflective of course performance?"

ANSWER: FAIL. See you at Taco Bell, flatheads.

Posted by stacy at 08:53 AM | Permalink

Went home this weekend - to Louisiana and East Texas and back to Arizona, all in the span of three days.

Home: 70 percent humidity. 80 degrees. 100 percent misery. Even shade is no haven - the warm damp just sticks to the backs of your thighs like so many vinyl car seats. But it's my home - it's where I'm from, or as they say back home, where my people are from.

Now I make my home in Arizona. 15 percent humidity. 100 degrees. Sunshine 300 days of the year. Climatically, it's a much better trade off if you ask me - though it did my heart good to see the silver backs of oak leaves hissing in the wind. You don't really hear the breeze through the leaves out here in Arizona - and I don't really miss it until I go home to the tangle of kudzu among the trunks of roadside woods. Forest primeval and all that.

We ate crawfish - my all-time favorite food in the whole world and the very definition of "in season" and "locally grown." Apparently you dial a phone number 1-800-555-BUGS, and a nameless gentleman will meet you on the side of the road with some fifty-pound sacks on ice in the bed of his pick-up truck. Cash only. They were the most gorgeous big-fat mudbugs I've ever eaten (and yes, I say that every year - absence makes the heart grow fonder and the eyes grow bigger).

So we drank cold beer and ate hot bugs, and allow me to state for the record, that the folks back in Athens, Texas do a mighty fine job with the Pat and Stacy Krewe of Helios-Arizona gumbo recipe. We are honored to be on the guest list for the Clays' annual crawfish boil and I believe we've (I've) made it to each one (I believe attendance is mandatory since we were sort of the inspiration for the shindig). Truly, this is one of my trips "home" every year because I go to see old friends and my family makes the drive from Shreveport.

In his comet-like appearance - once in a blue moon, and really exciting when it happens - Pat riled up the children, demonstrating why it's important to pull up your shorts, lest you trip and fall while giving chase (or being chased).

Of course, he ended the evening with the unforgettable quote: "Where have y'all been all night? I've only saved the galaxy only three times while y'all've been out here drinking beer?"

He said it while holding a light saber and beating back a marauding horde of under-10s that came at him in waves like mini-Mel Gibsons from Braveheart.

And then it was time to come home. Pat says his home now is in Arizona - our home is here. I'd never go back to Louisiana to stay: There's not as much opportunity there for us, and frankly, it's too damn hot. But when I'm leaving to go there, I say I'm going home...

Home to the leafy trellis and porch swing in my folks' backyard, resonant with good memories and good times to come. Home to lazy drawls and screen porches and buzzing locusts and whining frogs. Home to people that sweat the crawfish season and compare gumbo recipes and bring sandwiches for the kids and anyone else, just in case they don't want crawfish. Home where your friends miss your mom because she couldn't make it this year to save the day like she always does.

But when it's time to take leave and return to the desert, I return with relish and longing. It's time to go back home, I say, back to our dogs and the nest that we've made, back to our backyard and our small piece of parched earth in this strong and barren landscape. It's good to be back home. It's more than where I hang my hat. It's where I lay my head and dream my dreams.

Posted by stacy at 08:12 PM | Permalink