(November 26, 2003) — I recently took my SAT II’s, and less recently the original SAT I’s, over at Glendale Community College, the very place I fear that I might be doomed to attend if my results are as bad as I think they are. Unlike some of my less lazy peers, I did not force myself to attend fun-sucking cram schools several weeks or even months prior to my test date, nor did I purchase one complementary SAT book that lines the shelves of the “education” sector in the bookstore, as every diligent, hopeful college student should. Not that I have anything against those of us who choose to take advantage of the opportunities available; it is unwise to rebel against an institutional board of money succubae that probably won’t change their bungled ways until a small army of enlightened aliens come to liberate their brains. Or better yet, until students nationwide awaken to the unjust standardizations they are being subjected to and participate in a mass boycott; viva la revolución!. Back to our blunt reality: the smart ones milk this educational system for all it’s worth. But, if the SAT’s are really meant to measure our prowess in the areas required, it seems as if attendees of SAT prep courses focus more on memorization and test-taking skills, rather than actual reading comprehension and writing. Let’s not call it laziness, among other things, towards the staggering array of testing of this variety; I prefer to refer to it as sadness. On behalf of the concurring, this attitude is attributed to defeat, that our years of education – of both the traditional and self-led varieties – is all sieved down to about five hours of standardized nonsense that supposedly measures our aptitude in those respective subjects. These overpriced Scantrons upon which we bibbity bobbity bubble are major determinants of our futures: who will go to a dusty Harvardian school, and who will mop that dusty Harvardian school’s floors. T oo much of the little time allotted was spent on the ridiculously meticulous instruction on how to fill in the corresponding bubble to the letters of my name. And there are always extra minutes for my peers who aren’t bestowed with short little monikers that don’t exceed one syllable. Because of this, 20-minute essays suffered nationwide. In addition to the time constraints, one’s competencies for that day are vulnerable to any and all distractions that assault the senses: the guy in front who smells like death; the eye-twich that developed from a sleepless night bathed in sweaty stress; the size of your scant desk in your dingy test center that matches the perimeter of a modest shoebox. Perimeter…What is a the perimeter of a polygon whose sides are twice the cubed root of a prime number whose integers are the polar coordinates of point X?