It's 5 p.m. on a Friday. After spending the week fervently working on a thesis and pursuing fruitless attempts to crystallize post-graduation plans, you're lazily lounging around at happy hour. That's right, you're a college senior.
Like our schizophrenic schedules, college seniors are prone to some serious mood swings. We're either cheerfully celebrating our status as the oldest undergraduates on campus or are depressed and bemoaning the fact that the University will kick us out in a few months.
And if you ask us about senior year, most of us will warn you that time at Penn passes too quickly. I recently tried to justify my fantasy plans for a fifth year by complaining that I'm not mature enough for the real world. I'm still the same kid who loves late-night cartoons and immature jokes. The only difference three years of higher education has made is a slight upgrade in my vocabulary. Now, I deliver punch lines that incorporate the word "scatological."
But while I may conceive of myself as unchanged, Penn's campus has transformed significantly in the past few years. And I'm not just referencing the eruption of Huntsman Hall. New students haven't even heard of Thriftway, underclassmen see Stouffer Dining as a deserted building and Cupid has long since disappeared.
For you young'uns, Cupid was an activities fair where students also picked e-mail addresses. It was generally regarded, however, as a place to collect and hoard free stuff. I think I must have signed up for 60 clubs because they all offered plastic cups. I have no idea why I needed all those key chains and stress relief toys, but I frantically collected them like they were a new line of Beanie Babies.
As I quickly learned, the plastic paraphernalia was not actually free. The next week, my e-mail inbox filled with meeting times and signup sheets. Having disposed of most of my toys and kitchenware, I couldn't remember why any of this was happening. The messages rolled in faster than I could hit the delete button.
While I unsubscribed to almost all of the lists, one club continued with the always-successful ploy of free stuff. The Penn Course Review promised copies to anyone willing to write for the publication. Feeling the undeniable drive to get something for nothing -- you can't equate my freshman year writing with anything better -- I signed on.
The Course Review, now free at www.penncoursereview.com, is made up of data collected from student review sheets. It covers information like course quality and difficulty. If you're looking for that one cake class, this is the place to look.
But the Course Review probably is most widely known for the "notable quotables." Compiling insightful comments like "I think Dr. Shatte is a total babe," the Review is half data compilation and half gossip column. And while these student remarks are perfectly entertaining within the confines of the course Review publication, they do end up in other destinations.
Collected by the Student Committee on Undergraduate Education, the information in the Course Review comes from surveys distributed at the conclusion of each class. SCUE distributes scantron sheets -- often causing SAT flashbacks -- that ask students various questions, as well as offering space for additional comments.
But before the Course Review selects its always-witty commentary, SCUE sends copies of the forms to department heads. There, they are used to evaluate professors for various positions and pay decisions. Eventually, they also make it back to the professors themselves.
Yes. When you write that your professor reminds you of Yoda -- a real comment in the 2000 Review -- it ends up in front of tenure committees. It's OK, I'm sure they give promotions based on that type of thing.
So while readers may appreciate your wish that "Professor Parente" be your "parent-e," remember that your classmates aren't your only audience.
Compliments that border on a public display of affection make professors look like they pander to students, while criticisms claiming that the professor "blows" give little explanation.
So try to give some applicable feedback. Or at least have the decency to write something that's actually funny.
Julia Gottlieb is a senior English and Music major from Lancaster, Pa.
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