Two weeks never felt so short.

"If suffer we must, let's suffer on the heights."
-- Victor Hugo (Les Malheureux)

I've fulfilled a week of rest, and I know that the next week will be a week of work. I've done what I could to insert as much wholesome goodness (you know, the kind that propels you forward and helps you count your blessings, as opposed to the kind that promotes the smashing of your coherence and sobriety) into my routine. I've read a variety of book-types (from Marvel comic books to Jane Austen and now I'm attempting my mother's Oprah book: Love In The Time of Cholera). I've made my music lists and I've completed the task of dangerously shopping on Boxing Day. And I survived.

Now, I'm going through an Ocean's phase. I'm currently re-watching Ocean's 11 and I'll soon be onto Ocean's 12. Just a few days ago, including yesterday, I was on a movie rampage (this includes Superbad, Rush Hour 3, Pride and Prejudice, Bride and Prejudice, Enchanted and P.S. I Love You). In the span of a week, I managed to finish almost ten movies. Including Howl's Moving Castle (I'm a person of many interests, and I plan to stay that way).

And though two weeks is normally a long time... I feel like I could use more. I've work to do. I've life to catch up on and a week's worth of rest to inject into my ruddy circles. I'm sure everyone else does too... The countdown, this deadline, this doomsday to return to a term filled with work -- it looms over my head and haunts me in my dreams.


Ah. I've never felt so old. Time flies by too quickly.

First Term: Soundtrack for Fall Term 2007 (and Merry Christmas!)

"Every time you suppress some part of yourself or allow others to play you small,
you are in essence ignoring the owner's manual
your creator gave you and destroying your design."
-- Oprah Winfrey

I felt particularly creative last week, so I created a soundtrack (disc and all).
Really, it's just a compilation of the songs that were on repeat on my iPod this term.
They reflect on the emotions that ran through me at that period.
If you must know, the songs are chronologically ordered.
Not in terms of their release, but in regards to how I felt and at what part of the term.

If you're feeling up to looking up music, check out the playlist.
See if it suits you in any way.
I'm going to repost the list if it's too difficult to see on the file (click the thumbnail).

Merry Christmas to all. I'll be out of the city for two or so days.
Rest up, chin up and play it safe. Brain cells are of the utmost importance!

Adios, ciao, a bientot, and all that jazz.
Will have pictures of snow and restfulness up before/by the New Year.


Note: All images are (c) Suzette Llacer. Yes; those are her shoes, her UTSG calendar and fifteen-minute handiwork on Corel (her Adobe's on another laptop). Fancy them much?

Jane Austen and weeding out the freshmen

"I do not want people to be agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them."
-- Jane Austen

I was reading Emma by Jane Austen when I remembered something... And, I know it's almost Christmas. And I shouldn't be analyzing life, right now anyways. But, I'm obliged to do so. With this blog as my witness, I will analyze first year statistics and social patterns. I will take what I've learned in... enlightening discussions with teacher figures about the nature of this first year sweep. Yes. The weeding, as it's better called. So... cut me some slack. I'm going to be a mini-analyst, minus any Freudian assumptions.

I hate to be the bearer of obvious news (Captain Obvious, in layman's terms), but I gathered the impression that these exams were not (and have never been) a measure of one's intelligence. Oh no. Exams at U of T are not based on knowledge or intelligence, but are means of dividing the strong from the weak. Of course, intelligence doesn't have to play a part in this process. Let me use a term that BIO150 has already established: natural selection.

Like Austen's quote, our natural abilities, seen and shown, will help the "higher ups" decide whether or not we're worth keeping. They either like us (uber-genius children), or hate us (your average Joe). Depending on where we land, these exams will select against or for us, our kind.

Those of us who survive will thrive, multiply brain cells and continue to dominate down the road. Those of us who falter will be on the borderline of negative selection; we'll be processed and drained out of the batch, strained and sifted out of the creme de la creme. Then there are those that have already been sifted and drained, strained and beaten to a pulp; they're awaiting the compost, or possibly being reconsidered for the de-glazed sauce (you know, the stuff at the bottom of the pan that's scrubbed off with sherry and turned into a sauce for later?). That's only if you're lucky. Keyword is lucky.

A lot of success includes a good sum of luck. The same rule applies to success at this university, not necessarily in the social aspects of it, but in beating the system. You can't really beat the marking system or the administrative properties given and found, but you can evade it here and there. Life will occasionally do its business of dropping dollops of luck. And luck is, by far, the next-best tool (next to work ethic) against this godforsaken marking system.

They don't stop as you age; they don't realize their wrongs, as numbers dwindle. No, they just soften up, based on their motives. The marking system is only as hard as it is now because of Operation Garden Weeds, which, in my opinion, refers to the process of weeding and sifting out the people who are, and don't quote me, "just lucky to be here" from the "truly gifted and welcomed" students. Once you're in, they slow down a bit. They realize you might just be gifted and wonderful; they slow down their tactics, regain composure and watch you. Then they wait for the right moment to attack. Like predators, they stalk you and wait for you to show a sign of weakness. At this point, past the first year mark, is when you ought to be on your guard.

Until then, you're still in first year. So you're still allowed to have that minute amount of naivety, but you ought to compose yourself soon. My idiot card will only last me so long; soon enough, they'll take that from me, like they would in a card-game of War, and I'll only be left with low digits and one trump card.

Play it safe. Play it smart.
First year is a battlefield. A game to the higher-ups, maybe.
Exams are the weeding process. The mine-field. A game of War.
Hold your cards close and play the right cards, at the right times.
And maybe, maybe you'll eventually luck-out and win.
Or evade the system. Or both.

Call me crazy?

I'm so bored. I'm out of my mind. I look forward to school? That's terrible. You obviously know I'm lacking real neurons (the real ones have been thrown aside, if you're wondering).

No. I'm semi-kidding. I'm actually looking forward to Tuesday afternoon, where I get a good sit-down with a high school parental figure, four hours worth of chick-flicks and enchanted movies, and a kick-back and relax kind of outlook on life. Monday... it still irks me. My dentist awaits my teeth with a handy drill in hand. (I. Hate. Cavities.) And I'm possibly, maybe, hopefully, purchasing an online CD (via iTunes or Immortal Records). Check out A Santa Cause I & II. I can't believe it's not available at Indigo or HMV anymore. I'm more than shocked: I'm appalled.

This break will be good for everyone. Cleanse the mind, spirit and heart. Maybe you'll find Zen faster than I will, but I need it more than you do. No doubt. Reassessments are in order.

Now. I think I'm going to veg out. Shake my fist at the world.
Then truly, honestly, and appreciatively veg out.
(Then wake up at 9:00am; I hate the dentist. I really do.)

----------------
Now playing: Tegan & Sara - Dark Come Soon
via FoxyTunes

The Break: "It's like my healthy dose of vicodin, or morphine. Or both."

"I would visualize things coming to me. It would just make me feel better.
Visualization works if you work hard. That's the thing.
You can't just visualize and go eat a sandwich."

-- Jim Carrey (on Oprah)

First thing's first. The Winter Break has come, or: is at hand for anyone with an exam next week (this includes the CSC kids with their exam on Monday, or the ANT100 kids with their 50 000 monkeys and their Latin names).

There's no denying the antsy feeling you've got; the need to explode off the campus scene and go party. Get smashed, plastered and mended. Do something offensive, polite, and/or both. Just play safe.

Right now I'm in a state of utter disgust. I'm so tired. Everyday feels like a hangover. I'm in need of some major psychotherapy and I need to reassess myself; that is in great need. I don't remember who I am (a laid-back, sarcastic chick with a flair for literal dissections). Maybe the metalloid transformation into some U of T Android started long before I even mentioned it. I just can't remember, not for the life of me, what I want. What I like. What I plan to do with myself.

Aim high, but shoot low. Our mission is to take this monster down with one swift blow. (David Melillo, Morris County Blues)

I'm going to watch all corniest, cheesiest, most f'ed up movies in the world. I'm going to shop for CDs that I haven't listened to in ten years. I'm going to donate all the stuff I can. I'm going to do some social justice and find some inner Zen.

Peace out and holly-stars.

CHM138: "I'm starting to worry about Ray."

"They say the future's out to get you.
You know that I won't let you fall."
-- The Hoosiers (Worried About Ray)


I'll see you on the dark side.
If tomorrow isn't a pain-in-the-backside, I think I'll enjoy my holidays.
I'm crossing my fingers; I'm hoping for the best -- yet I still expect the worst.
Chemistry is fun. Just... Not when it gets superbly ridiculous.
I'm hoping 3 hours is enough time. (When is time ever enough?)

Then. After tomorrow. I'm home free. Well. For two-or-so-weeks.
First chemistry. Then come the holidays.

NOTE: All photos are (c) Suzette Llacer 2007. That is a sticky-note posted on her laptop, yes, it's bizarre. She knows.

----------------
Now playing: The Hoosiers - Worried About Ray
via FoxyTunes

BIO150: "Faaair ball!"

"Never trust anything that can think for itself
if you can't see where it keeps its brain."
-- J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter)

Dear Prof Stinchcombe,

Exams are always hard; that's a given fact of life. Yours was no exception. But it was fair. There was nothing completely out of the blue (except for material you probably wouldn't remember unless you attended the lecture an hour before). We were fairly warned about the article content. Some of the questions were hilariously nitty-gritty (detail-oriented), but it wasn't a tear-jerker like the first term test (I suppose Spencer Barrett's horrendous test questions made up for his cool-Brit accent). It wasn't impossible, yet it wasn't completely satisfying (you know, for holiday-and-grade hopes, i.e. Christmas presents and moot points?). All in all, it could have been better (please don't hesitate to ask how; I have 101 tips on how to write easier, more approachable tests). And though some may think that the term test was a foul ball, past the line and a little ambiguous, or a "Strike two!", or even "Home run!" ---- if I were the ump, I'd call, "Fair ball."

So... Good job. On being honest. At UofT. (A rare thing, I know.)

Kudos.

- Suzette Llacer


PS: I have the "Chicka-dee-dee-dee..." lecture in my head. So sad. So sad.

X-mas tv specials vs. UofT mind control?

"And they will try to make us forget ourselves, one by one, one by one.
Call me crazy but they are after us, one by one, one by one."
-- Eisley (Invasion, Combinations)

Has my mind done that yet? I'm not completely sure. I should check. ASAP.

I'm going to spontaneously combust. I need sleep. I slept at 4:00 in the a.m.
So much for moderation of sleep and all things healthful. And I've still got to "read."
Well. This is fun. Super-fun-fun-fun.

Insert dialogue: "What's so bad about being a UofT android: mindless and smart!"
Retort in mind? "Can I do that after the new year? I swear, I'll conform!"
Seriously. If you want an android, a hard-working robot, I'll be that by January. I swear!
(Note to self: watching Disney movies = bad study tactic.)

I'm so utterly disoriented. I told myself I wouldn't watch Christmas specials (on TV) until after exams, and I flipped through the channels (oh the perks and downsides of having my own TV) and came across The Grinch Who Stole Christmas. Man, oh man! I watched it. Was disoriented. Went on to watch Hockey Night In Canada -- and poof. There went four hours of potential brain-cramming. But it felt so, so good! For a moment, I escaped the mind control of repetitive reading and application -- the stuff UofT androids are made of! (I swear I'll be this way soon. I swear!)

But... TV? Studying? Never again.



Note: All images are (c) Suzette Llacer. Yes, the movie shot shows "Road to Eldorado" and a picture of fireworks she took a few years back, on Canada Day. Oh the good, old, simple days. Oh woe is she.

Loss of Focus and the Need to Watch Shrek 2

"I think we have an emergency; I think we have an emergency.
If you thought I'd leave then you were wrong, because I won't stop holding on."
-- Paramore (Emergency, All We Know Is Falling)

I zonked in and out of focus today. I really do have a problem studying before the Winter Break. I'm mentally dying (Note to self: condition your mind for pre-holiday exams, if not now then for next year). I've had exams in November. I've had exams in January. Just never December. "Peace of mind is dead. Holiday cheer and frivolousness is nonexistent. Welcome to U of T?" Yipes.

I think I'm in need of a Shrek fix. I can't seriously do bio for another ... two hours.
I'm going to spontaneously combust one day. You wait.

In Stinchcombe We Trust...?

"What's a wedding? Webster's dictionary describes it as the act of removing weeds from one's garden."

-- Homer Simpson (The Simpsons)

So the pre-BIO150 exam tutorial was pretty impressive, considering it was two hours of hardcore Q&A, in the Earth Science building (no less) and with more than a hundred kids firing queries. The senior TA that came in today was very informative (and superior to some I've met and spoken to, not that I'm pointing any fingers -- save for my aunt, who once was a TA at U of T). And I thought I was the only one who used analogies (with effect); hmph! to anyone who ever judged me for such.

Despite its impressiveness, which honestly counts for moot points, I'm getting the subliminal message: Know every-effin'-thing possible. After my run-in with heartfelt failure (MAT135Y term test 2 = heinous), I'm hoping I can trust in BIO150. I'm hoping I can trust in Stinchcombe's test. (I'm so optimistic and idealistic that it kills me to frown. I suppose this could also be the aftermath of post-anxiety denial.)

"The direction in which education starts a man will determine his future life."
-- Plato

Funny Plato. Isn't he just the darndest philosopher you ever did read up on? It's funny how he states the Western Dream (my personal derivative of the American and Canadian dream -- a good mix of winning the Stanley Cup and getting into an Ivy League school): to make it big, through the right people, through the right institutions, which will send you in the right direction.

Now, according to 1 of my 6 sticky notes posted on my desk, I've got to study.
(Personally, I love BIO. I just hate studying. This conflict kills me inside. Ah.)

Note: All photos seen are (c) Suzette Llacer. Yes. That is her lab manual.

Calc Exam: "Let's never speak of this again."

"Do not worry about your difficulties in Mathematics. I can assure you mine are still greater."
-- Albert Einstein

Let's skew Einstein's quote, take it completely out of context, and replace his name with mine. For anyone who found the test difficult and heinous, you're not alone. I was suffocating (more like a mild form of dyspepsia). After the first few questions, I realize just how defective MAT135Y is as a course: none of the past tests, nothing that was worth focusing on, was really on the test. A load of the biggest bullshit was on it -- in short, stuff no one thought was worth fiddling over was on that written form of mental homicide. Absolutely ridiculous.

It'd be nice to pass, to be honest. A sympathy pass, hopefully. (Are you reading this God? Or better yet: Prof Lam -- are you getting my telepathic pleas?) For anyone who found it easy: up yours. Honestly though, that's great -- good for you. Seriously. But! Keep that tidbit of info to yourself, or else you'll find many glares and a thousand daggers headed your way (figuratively speaking; though the wind does a well enough job portraying a thousand daggers, as it whips your face red, as you walk down St. George Street).

I wasn't intending to find out if calc was the Career Killer, the Jack-the-Ripper of university. But I got my whiff of failure today and absolute helplessness. Have you ever felt like you were completely powerless? Utterly speechless and without the ability to dictate your own actions? This test pretty much abducted me, threw me into a cell and instructed me to dig my way out with a plastic spoon. Helpless and hopeless. Oh so wonderful! (Please note the heavily-laden sarcasm.)

Lucky for me, I had Grey's Anatomy and Whose Line is it Anyway? to look forward to. They always make me feel better. That and a good, warm cookie. Oh thank you very much, dearest mumsy.

Off to bed.
I'm not going to speak of this again.
I'm going to glare at bio and chem.
But I'm not going to let this soil my to-be-established exam mood.

MAT135Y has numbers. We are numbers. But not really.

"I try to avoid looking backward and keep looking upward."
-- Charlotte Bronte

So I'm sitting here and I'm wallowing in my own lethargy, post-French oral miderm. I stared my math notes straight in the face, and all they did was stare back (menacingly, mind you). I've memorized only two trigonometric identities and the graphs are varying and splicing themselves inside my photographic memory. I'm looking at the previous tests and whistling inappropriate things to no one in particular; I'm feeling very lazy and very vulgar about this MAT135 term test. In short: calculus smells. Terribly.

As much purpose as math has, it is one of the most variable subjects out there: variables all over the place, limits and asymptotes -- there is no definitiveness in this course. All you know is that you will never know enough to know what is necessary. As a certain person once said, math is too vague, too ambiguous to be liked; whereas chemistry (CHM138H) is more practical and understandable; the concepts are pliant, yet embedded and firm. There's no, "If x is equivalent to ya^2, then it is most certain that if you..." (Though I'm pretty sure Prof Anthony Lam [such a funny man] would disagree and find a way to correlate a lot of things, including the un-correlatable, to calculus.) The ifs and buts of society rest on the shoulders of Calculus and all those who linger by its side. (No offense to anyone that really loves the course, though secretly, I'm shaking my finger at you and wondering why.)

Maybe calculus is the Career Killer. Who knows. (I don't intend to find out.)

I'm looking back at the previous post and I'm thinking that maybe I lacked humanity when I wrote those words. I wrote what was on my mind, which is all UofT really asks (what is in your mind; is your IQ good enough; are you smart enough to be here?) us for, but I forgot to add a bit of sympathy. We are numbers, yes. We are thoughts, yes. But we also are people, and being subjected to the harshness of the cold and the harshness of reality has blurred that warm ideal. We live, we breathe and we hurt. Let no one, no institution take that realism from us.

To quote Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice:

"If you prick us, do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?" (Quote Act III, scene I)

And we do bleed. We do laugh. We do die. All that jazz. Numbers, as much as we are, we are not. By regulation and by standardization and by nameless-facing, we are numbers. The university looks at us with bar codes and bills, and in a sense that is who are to them, but we're not. Give yourself the freedom to be a face and a person, which you are. The previous post was a bit cold, a bit unforgiving, and a tad bit too brick-in-the-face. It was my way of coming to terms with brutal reality; I took every aspect into account, except for the fact that we aren't machines.

Enough of this madness!

Back to trigonometric functions, The Hospital's Rule (yes, the Hospital, as in the test wounds your ego and you end up there), the MVT (best known to me as fab minus fa over ba), and all that jazz.

Oh curse you Pythagoras, Archimedes and Euclid.

"You win some, you lose some."

"Failure will never overtake me if my determination to succeed is strong enough."
-- Og Mandino

I'm pretty sure a lot of us came into university thinking the worst, yet we weren't exactly expecting it. We came in with high hopes, and we harbored that juvenile expectation that we'd always do well and get what we wanted. But realize that when you walk into UofT, as harsh and as bitter as the administration and marking system so happen to be, you're walking into a slap-in-the-face. For kids who've never experienced this before, it's the hardest possible lesson to learn: Real life happens.

What exactly does "real life" entail? Let me rephrase this: Life is full of unexpected things, half of which are unfathomable. Real life happens at UofT. Here, you learn the real meaning of working your ass off; the line, "I'm going to pull an all nighter," never seemed so real. You actually do pull all-nighters. You kill yourself for hours trying to master a concept that will barely, if not never, cling to the recesses of your mind. You struggle to stay focused, but you're having too much fun being distracted. Work ethics come into play at UofT, no matter what anyone says -- you can contest that you came from a grungy high school, and I'll wholeheartedly believe you: Strong foundations build strong buildings. The same goes for futures: if you weren't well-educated and weren't encouraged or challenged, you obviously haven't experienced education to its fullest. As hard and as heinous as UofT is, you know they're challenging you and they want the best from you. No less. If you feel like it, please do yell, "High school robbed me of an education." It'll be well attested.

"Success is liking yourself, liking what you do, and liking how you do it."

-- Maya Angelou

You come into first year and you are either shocked by the impersonal atmosphere created by thousands of kids, or the newness of failure. Failing your first test, ever, doesn't mean you failed life. It just means you came across a prominent bump in the road (to where? I'm not sure, but you can decide that yourself). And for others, especially those that hail from a very well-fashioned lifestyle where everything just seemingly went well/your way: Not getting what you want doesn't mean the world's against you.

"Success is the ability to go from one failure to another with no loss of enthusiasm."
-- Sir Winston Churchill

For anyone who's had their heart broken this year (either in realizing that "nothing was going to happen" or that "it was an impossible scenario," you all get what I'm saying), or had their dreams dashed, or had their hopes drowned: you'll live. I give you a good couple of weeks, which should be plenty of time to rejuvenate yourself and recuperate from all this stress, and you'll be fine. The only person who can help you is yourself. Only you can refuse to be put down by these thoughts. Failed? Study your ass off for the next test. The same principle applies to all other aspects of so-called "failure" (which is terrible, terrible word). If at first you don't succeed, try again; that doesn't mean you take the same route, or approach the same person after all truths have been established -- it means you have to find a new route. Find a new approach, a new ideal. Evolve and progress damn it!

So you didn't get your anticipated 99.9% and ended up with a 70% instead; that's not bad. If you think that's bad, think of everyone else who would kill for a 70 (I would honestly kill for a constant 70 in all my courses; that would be a fantastic Christmas gift). Think about everyone else who's trying so much harder than you to understand concepts, but doesn't obtain something near that mark. Count your bloody effin' blessings, children. That's the least you can do amidst all this madness. There's no point bitching and moaning, when you can be working on something.

If you can fix a problem, fix it. If you can't, then go and cry.
There's no point crying over something that can be altered. Nothing is ever set in stone (maybe except for your genetic makeup, which obviously mutates as things go haywire). If you settle for less, if you settle for this so-called fate, you're obviously not trying hard enough; thus, you don't want to do as well as the other kids, hence your own failures. So do something already! Gah.

And back to anyone who's been slapped in the face about the imperfections of expectations versus hopes. "So if I try hard enough in school, and get what marks I want, I can apply this try-and-try-again rule to relationships and all that jazz?" Well. No, not really. Love, crushes, all that rose-tinted stuff can't be tampered with. Working for you obviously involves one person and their ability to push themselves past their threshold, past their own expectations. Working something out, like a relationship, takes two. It takes two to tango, hun. If one end doesn't bother working out the steps, it'll look like badly-choreographed jive. And don't confine yourselves yet. No one is anyone's soulmate. I'm not saying they don't exist, I'm just saying there aren't defined people for your happiness. Don't let other people draw the line when it comes down to how you feel, or how you are.

Changing for the sake of someone else is never a good sign.
Quirky is as quirky does; what would the world do without this you that you are?
Imbalance would occur! That's what. So just... be you.
Hope. Dream. Dance. Scream. Be you.
There's no point in thinking otherwise.
(I'd respect you less; a whole lot less.)
And if nothing seems to go your way... Find another way.
Not everything will be perfect. Get used to it.
Life with it. Real life is at UofT. Real life can hurt.
But don't lose faith or hope in it. No point in moping.
When one door closes, find another. When they're all shut...
Find a window. It's obviously a haunted house you're in.


Peace out.

PS: This post goes out to all those who've been disappointed in the past four months. You're good people and you're all fantastic; don't you ever think that one test, one moment, one defined feeling that governs your sanity, defines you and the path you're taking. Because it doesn't. And if you think that way, please call my cell phone. We will have a very, very long talk. Crumpets and tea? I'd like that. With a smack on the head and a reality check to boot. (You know I love you guys.)

Exam reminders: T-Cards are a must!

Pre-Post Reminder:
If you've already forgotten that you have school and that you have exams (well that's fantastic; you're off to a very, very good start: go check the December 2007 Exam Schedule), let me be the first and last to remind you that T-Cards are a must. You must present your number, or else they will not (I repeat: will not), recognize you. You are only as good as the number on your card (that, and the face accompanying the card-holder). If you've lost it, ahem to some (Farah), go get a new one, ASAP. For anyone in Life Sci, who is taking MAT135, you'll most likely need it for Term Test 2, December 6th (yes, that would be a Thursday -- aren't you on the ball?).


Post-reminder post:
Maybe it's just me, maybe I'm being anal, but if you're going to save seats for your friends, please ensure that your friend is a real person and not a bag/inanimate being of some sort. It tends to irk people when you respond to their queries like this: "Yeah. That seats saved." (Insert anonymous-brand bag that's sitting all by its lonesome.) And dummies don't count, unless you're really funny. Then I'll let it slide. Otherwise, bags, when taking valuable seating space, are counted as vile villains. Off with their... zippers. And handles. Beware.

Tomorrow, or some day after, I'd like to discuss "Passion vs. Intelligence" and "Social Retardation vs. Interpersonal Finesse," which is the brainchild discussion of a random phone-call regarding Research Positions for first-and-further year undergrads. When you're eating fries, trying to read BIO150 articles (dry as bone, for a vast majority of the articles), and examining your prospects, you tend to elaborate.

I'll post that depthy, layered thought later.
When I've found time to rest. Yes. Time to rest.