When I came to college, I imagined my GPA would be based on a few familiar methods of grading. I'd be taking exams that assessed my strengths and weaknesses in the subject, in addition to the occasional lengthy, rambling essay in which I would use a thesaurus to sound like either the guy sitting in the front row or an 18th century philosopher, whichever seemed more appropriate. After all, for the preceding decade that was precisely my academic experience.
Then, I took a blue book exam.
I soon discovered those three little words spelled doom for any illusions I had of receiving an objective grade. At first I was a little confused. I could understand how professors would shy away from matching. With the possible exception of my daily wardrobe, matching is a piece of cake. You even get a freebie at the end if you don't know one.
My real surprise came with the sudden extinction of the multiple choice exam. For most of my life, multiple choice was the tried-and-true method for high school teachers and lazy 100 level college professors. Even college entrance exams like the ACT are multiple choice.
I learned all the wording tricks. I scoffed at the obviousness of ""all of the above."" I was the king of finding the answers to questions somewhere else in the exam. And if all else failed, I knew ultimately the right one was sitting in front of me, so even a sheer guess might yield a correct answer.
The blue book exam confounded all of this.
Now all I had were a few awkwardly sized pieces of notebook paper and a couple of vague questions. Not only that, but professors seem to think it's possible to write at super-human hyper speed. So you're saying we have 50 minutes to write 10 identifications and four essays? That seems reasonable.
I inevitably spend my time frantically scribbling a stream of consciousness that may or may not contain references to Greek mythology, Super Mario Brothers or ""The Big Lebowski."" Perhaps all three—I honestly couldn't tell you. It's completely absurd to assume that you'd be able to come up with a thoughtful answer when you don't have time for a thought in the first place.
All this wouldn't be such a problem if it wasn't for the grading process. The fact that TAs are often reading dozens of these caffeine-fueled rants in a single sitting means the only things I get in return for a hand cramp are a few red check marks and a circled letter.
There simply isn't enough time to give any of these essays meaningful feedback, and I'm pretty sure most TAs just throw darts at a wall to see who gets A's. I can't say I blame them.
So we end up with a system in which no one is happy, no one gets an objective grade and I have to spend the next hour stretching my hand, lest it curl up into a fist. I'm now willing to suggest a useful alternative: Use the crippled fist to sock the professor on the way out, and you'll be taking true-false tests in no time.
When I came to college, I imagined my GPA would be based on a few familiar methods of grading. I'd be taking exams that assessed my strengths and weaknesses in the subject, in addition to the occasional lengthy, rambling essay in which I would use a thesaurus to sound like either the guy sitting in the front row or an 18th century philosopher, whichever seemed more appropriate. After all, for the preceding decade that was precisely my academic experience.
Then, I took a blue book exam.
I soon discovered those three little words spelled doom for any illusions I had of receiving an objective grade. At first I was a little confused. I could understand how professors would shy away from matching. With the possible exception of my daily wardrobe, matching is a piece of cake. You even get a freebie at the end if you don't know one.
My real surprise came with the sudden extinction of the multiple choice exam. For most of my life, multiple choice was the tried-and-true method for high school teachers and lazy 100 level college professors. Even college entrance exams like the ACT are multiple choice.
I learned all the wording tricks. I scoffed at the obviousness of ""all of the above."" I was the king of finding the answers to questions somewhere else in the exam. And if all else failed, I knew ultimately the right one was sitting in front of me, so even a sheer guess might yield a correct answer.
The blue book exam confounded all of this.
Now all I had were a few awkwardly sized pieces of notebook paper and a couple of vague questions. Not only that, but professors seem to think it's possible to write at super-human hyper speed. So you're saying we have 50 minutes to write 10 identifications and four essays? That seems reasonable.
I inevitably spend my time frantically scribbling a stream of consciousness that may or may not contain references to Greek mythology, Super Mario Brothers or ""The Big Lebowski."" Perhaps all three—I honestly couldn't tell you. It's completely absurd to assume that you'd be able to come up with a thoughtful answer when you don't have time for a thought in the first place.
All this wouldn't be such a problem if it wasn't for the grading process. The fact that TAs are often reading dozens of these caffeine-fueled rants in a single sitting means the only things I get in return for a hand cramp are a few red check marks and a circled letter.
There simply isn't enough time to give any of these essays meaningful feedback, and I'm pretty sure most TAs just throw darts at a wall to see who gets A's. I can't say I blame them.
So we end up with a system in which no one is happy, no one gets an objective grade and I have to spend the next hour stretching my hand, lest it curl up into a fist. I'm now willing to suggest a useful alternative: Use the crippled fist to sock the professor on the way out, and you'll be taking true-false tests in no time.
To replace the pen Ryan used up in his last blue book, e-mail him at gallentine@wisc.edu.
