Mr. Yorkshire accent who teaches nutrition is a cute old guy with messy white hair who not only uses the overhead projector, he doesn't know how to turn the computer projector off (so the computer's log-in screen isn't in the way) and has to have a student do it for him. He also calls the overhead transparents "acetates." I thought that was an acid with two carbons, but ok.
He has three, and only three, stances that he assumes during lecture.
Stance 1: This professor's most common state is with his hands level at his face. I think this is to emphasize his point. All his points, really. He looks into the middle distance, hands up to the sky, palms towards him, as if he's pleading with heaven, for pretty much most of the lecture.
Stance 2: This is interesting because his posture when he uses a pointer to point at the overhead is exactly the same every single time. He always turns to face the screen, puts his left hand on his hip, has the laser pointer in his right arm, and bends his right elbow keeping it level with his hip. He assumes this stance whenever he points to tables and graphs on his "acetates."
Stance 3: Whenever he needs to list something, such as benefits of a certain thing, his hands do drop below face level to a more normal position. He holds out fingers with his left hand and taps them with his right, just like anyone would do when counting out a list. Strangely, no matter how many points there are, he seems to get stuck on the third finger. If there are four points, he will just tap his third finger twice. It is important to note that these are fairly large, exaggerated list-counting-tapping movements.
A common cycle seen in his lectures is to begin with Stance 1 describing a topic, and switching to Stance 2 to point at a table that has data concerning this topic, then move to Stance 3 to list out key points. He will then return to Stance 1 to bring his point home, and the cycle restarts.
Thursday, 4 August 2011
Monday, 1 August 2011
It's Good Not Being First Year
Today the first years had their initiation.
Last week, there was actually a "fake" initiation, where the third years did storm the classroom, shouting and blowing whistles and getting everyone to take their shoes off, rattling their cages but nothing happening after that. I heard it went poorly.
Having been warned by our third year friends, we all gathered near the vet tower and grabbed as many water balloons, eggs, bags of flour, and cartons of milk as we could. In front of the vet tower is the bridge that crosses the vet pond, and there was a tarp tunnel filled with what appeared to be mud, but one whiff of it revealed it was actually cow poo. A bit more potent than horse poo, which is what we got thrown at our class. A number of third years were putting water balloons in the vet pond. Three of them had a big slingshot, one of them holding each end, and the other practicing launching water balloons. He hit the third years that were setting up the poop tunnel.
Waiting and snickering, our first indication of the incoming victims was several third years running from the direction of the lecture hall. You could tell they had just stormed the first years, taken their shoes, and sent them out back. Shortly after this, screeches and screams and whistles and shouts could be heard from the route between the lecture hall and the vet tower. This is them running through the gauntlet of third years armed with their assortment of projectiles, no doubt.
Then they appeared! In ones and twos they struggled through the poop tunnel, emerging to clouds of flour and fish oil and milk, and most importantly, me and my friends armed with water balloons. I was actually on this awesome streak and hit like 4-5 of them out of the 10 or so that I threw (which is pretty good considering they were running and ducking).
Then the poor sods got ushered out to the concourse, where there was loud music and they were forced to dance this ridiculous dance everyone learns at VLE (the professor that instigated this apparently makes people do it at the beginning of all her lectures, too). Standing around dancing made them way better targets than when they were running and ducking.
After that they got the lovely news that their shoes were locked away and the key was in a balloon in the vet pond.
Last week, there was actually a "fake" initiation, where the third years did storm the classroom, shouting and blowing whistles and getting everyone to take their shoes off, rattling their cages but nothing happening after that. I heard it went poorly.
Having been warned by our third year friends, we all gathered near the vet tower and grabbed as many water balloons, eggs, bags of flour, and cartons of milk as we could. In front of the vet tower is the bridge that crosses the vet pond, and there was a tarp tunnel filled with what appeared to be mud, but one whiff of it revealed it was actually cow poo. A bit more potent than horse poo, which is what we got thrown at our class. A number of third years were putting water balloons in the vet pond. Three of them had a big slingshot, one of them holding each end, and the other practicing launching water balloons. He hit the third years that were setting up the poop tunnel.
Waiting and snickering, our first indication of the incoming victims was several third years running from the direction of the lecture hall. You could tell they had just stormed the first years, taken their shoes, and sent them out back. Shortly after this, screeches and screams and whistles and shouts could be heard from the route between the lecture hall and the vet tower. This is them running through the gauntlet of third years armed with their assortment of projectiles, no doubt.
Then they appeared! In ones and twos they struggled through the poop tunnel, emerging to clouds of flour and fish oil and milk, and most importantly, me and my friends armed with water balloons. I was actually on this awesome streak and hit like 4-5 of them out of the 10 or so that I threw (which is pretty good considering they were running and ducking).
Then the poor sods got ushered out to the concourse, where there was loud music and they were forced to dance this ridiculous dance everyone learns at VLE (the professor that instigated this apparently makes people do it at the beginning of all her lectures, too). Standing around dancing made them way better targets than when they were running and ducking.
After that they got the lovely news that their shoes were locked away and the key was in a balloon in the vet pond.
Sunday, 31 July 2011
First Year Second Year Party
There's a traditional party thrown by the second year vets for the new first years every winter. At this point the first years only just escaped their Veterinary Leadership Experience, made it to the Mentor Mentee party the same night, and are very soon to be facing Initiation, but I guess that's just not enough. (As a side note several of us second years went to the Mentor Mentee party and thoroughly confused the first years, since it's supposed to be first and third).
The first year-second year party is fun when you're a second year. I'm uh... glad I didn't go to it when I was first year. It started off as a Rubik's Cube party, where everyone wore bright colors and traded with people to end up all with one color by the end of the night. The truth is, if you're a first year, things aren't really going to go in your favour at this party. Apparently for the one last year, the night got off to a great start when the entrance requirement was chugging an entire beer. Then, through the rest of the night, there were drench guns and syringes full of vodka and god knows what else, and at some point mud entered into the picture. I'm pretty sure every first year that went got tackled or hurled into the mud, chucked mud, and generally splattered with mud. Mind that it's winter. I'm not sure what else happened really, but I'm just glad I wasn't there.
We were a lot nicer to the incoming class than that. It didn't help that no one had drench guns (the things you use to give oral medication to farm animals), but there were still syringes, and the first years weren't getting in without a mouthful. There was only a very teeny tiny bit of mud, and the muddy parts of the lawn had been fenced off for the night.
I also learned of a curious tradition. Since this party takes place the day before halfway day (when the third years are halfway through their degree), the fourth years search around town for any third years they can find, then kidnap them. They bring them to our party to get smashed, presumably so they'll be hungover on their halfway day.
The theme for our party was that we dressed up as something starting with P and the first years dressed up as something starting with B. I went as a picketer, my sign said "End Cruelty to Vet Students" on one side and "Say No to Exams" on the other. Three of my friends went as planes, and they had epic cardboard and string costumes that took them four hours to make. Other Ps included: pregnant people and a pregnant nun, several pandas, a pea, a peacock, pajamas, Poliwhirl the Pokemon, a number of prisoners, a few pirates, a penis, a pyromaniac, Phantom of the Opera, Padman (who was wearing a superhero costume and had stuck pads all over it), a prostitute, a paw, a proctologist, and a pine tree. Some of the Bs were: broccoli, Batman, birthday partiers, a barefooted bathtowel, black swans, a badger, and a box. And many more!
I met a lot of the first years, but mostly they just wanted to talk to each other rather than the second years. They're kind of adorable.
The first year-second year party is fun when you're a second year. I'm uh... glad I didn't go to it when I was first year. It started off as a Rubik's Cube party, where everyone wore bright colors and traded with people to end up all with one color by the end of the night. The truth is, if you're a first year, things aren't really going to go in your favour at this party. Apparently for the one last year, the night got off to a great start when the entrance requirement was chugging an entire beer. Then, through the rest of the night, there were drench guns and syringes full of vodka and god knows what else, and at some point mud entered into the picture. I'm pretty sure every first year that went got tackled or hurled into the mud, chucked mud, and generally splattered with mud. Mind that it's winter. I'm not sure what else happened really, but I'm just glad I wasn't there.
We were a lot nicer to the incoming class than that. It didn't help that no one had drench guns (the things you use to give oral medication to farm animals), but there were still syringes, and the first years weren't getting in without a mouthful. There was only a very teeny tiny bit of mud, and the muddy parts of the lawn had been fenced off for the night.
I also learned of a curious tradition. Since this party takes place the day before halfway day (when the third years are halfway through their degree), the fourth years search around town for any third years they can find, then kidnap them. They bring them to our party to get smashed, presumably so they'll be hungover on their halfway day.
The theme for our party was that we dressed up as something starting with P and the first years dressed up as something starting with B. I went as a picketer, my sign said "End Cruelty to Vet Students" on one side and "Say No to Exams" on the other. Three of my friends went as planes, and they had epic cardboard and string costumes that took them four hours to make. Other Ps included: pregnant people and a pregnant nun, several pandas, a pea, a peacock, pajamas, Poliwhirl the Pokemon, a number of prisoners, a few pirates, a penis, a pyromaniac, Phantom of the Opera, Padman (who was wearing a superhero costume and had stuck pads all over it), a prostitute, a paw, a proctologist, and a pine tree. Some of the Bs were: broccoli, Batman, birthday partiers, a barefooted bathtowel, black swans, a badger, and a box. And many more!
I met a lot of the first years, but mostly they just wanted to talk to each other rather than the second years. They're kind of adorable.
Monday, 6 June 2011
Beef Bull Expo
For our genetics class, they took us on a bus trip to see a beef bull expo. The general idea was to look at the genetic values of the bulls and compare it to how much they actually sold for. It was about a half hour ride out of town, though the buses left from some mysterious place on campus that no one had heard of before. The professor neglected to tell us where it was, so my plan was to just follow other vet students.
We eventually made it, disembarking pretty much in the way of everything, swarming across the street and effectively blocking traffic for a few minutes. The expo took place in an indoor arena, the farmers and breeders found themselves augmented by 100 vet students tramping around in a massive herd. There were three main areas in the place.
1. There were a bunch of pens set up, one bull each, with narrow walkways between. It was kind of hard to navigate, since all you could see was a maze of metal bars--the walkways weren't easily distinguished at a distance. That is, until they became clogged with vet students. You could definitely see them then.
2. There were, of course, some food stands (including the obligatory hot chips stand) and a bunch of tables. Around the edge of the food area were a bunch of tables and displays with posters, flyers, and booklets about cow stuff.
3. The actual auction took place on bleachers with a pen in the centre for the bull, and the auctioneers behind that.
So the plan was to look at all the bulls, look at their listed genetic values, talk to supposedly knowledgeable people that planned on buying a bull, and then vote on which one we thought would win. We were supposed to pick one beforehand using information off the bull expo website, and then cast a second vote after we'd had a look around. This was slightly pointless because, experts at bulls that we are, they were just vague guesses anyway and pretty much nobody had a good reason to change their mind.
This was the first year they brought the vet class here, and their timing was, to put it nicely, poor. We managed to arrive a good hour before the auction actually started, but we only had about an hour and half there. Walking around looking at the bulls took about 10 minutes, maybe 20 if you really stretched it out and looked at every single bull. After that, it was a combination of sitting on the empty bleachers, and buying food for entertainment. We had at least 40 minutes of spare time.
Finally, it was time for the auction. Or at least, I thought it was. Turns out that before the auction they had a bunch of awards to give out to the prize bulls, which is cool except that there were like thirty awards. The poor lady called out name after name, as people sent up their bored-looking children to pretend to be proud as half the audience clapped apathetically. Bull names are also really weird, and the categories were mostly cow jargon, so I pretty much had no idea what was going on.
Once the auction got going, it didn't disappoint. Beforehand, the faculty felt they should remind us not to try and buy a bull. The auctioneer was classic--in fact he spoke so quickly that it was complete garble. It was just a stream of words shouted as loud as possible. He was so enthusiastic about it that he broke the mic just before we left. The few bulls that we had time to see auctioned sold for about $7,000. The professor mentioned the most expensive bull he'd ever seen was $180,000.
In class the next day, the professor had made a graph of the genetic value versus auction price, and the most expensive bull sold for $28,000. The one I voted for, lot 126, only sold for $11,000, even though its genetics were through the roof. Looking at the graph, she pointed out that the farmers are pretty much in their own little world, because the most expensive ones weren't really the best ones.
The best moment of the trip may have been when it was time to leave. We waited for bidding to end, so we would be between bull sales and not disrupt people trying to buy one. So all at once, a good third of the audience gets up, and as there was only one exit and most of us were sitting on the opposite side, there was a very unsubtle mass exodus across the ring.
We eventually made it, disembarking pretty much in the way of everything, swarming across the street and effectively blocking traffic for a few minutes. The expo took place in an indoor arena, the farmers and breeders found themselves augmented by 100 vet students tramping around in a massive herd. There were three main areas in the place.
1. There were a bunch of pens set up, one bull each, with narrow walkways between. It was kind of hard to navigate, since all you could see was a maze of metal bars--the walkways weren't easily distinguished at a distance. That is, until they became clogged with vet students. You could definitely see them then.
2. There were, of course, some food stands (including the obligatory hot chips stand) and a bunch of tables. Around the edge of the food area were a bunch of tables and displays with posters, flyers, and booklets about cow stuff.
3. The actual auction took place on bleachers with a pen in the centre for the bull, and the auctioneers behind that.
So the plan was to look at all the bulls, look at their listed genetic values, talk to supposedly knowledgeable people that planned on buying a bull, and then vote on which one we thought would win. We were supposed to pick one beforehand using information off the bull expo website, and then cast a second vote after we'd had a look around. This was slightly pointless because, experts at bulls that we are, they were just vague guesses anyway and pretty much nobody had a good reason to change their mind.
This was the first year they brought the vet class here, and their timing was, to put it nicely, poor. We managed to arrive a good hour before the auction actually started, but we only had about an hour and half there. Walking around looking at the bulls took about 10 minutes, maybe 20 if you really stretched it out and looked at every single bull. After that, it was a combination of sitting on the empty bleachers, and buying food for entertainment. We had at least 40 minutes of spare time.
Finally, it was time for the auction. Or at least, I thought it was. Turns out that before the auction they had a bunch of awards to give out to the prize bulls, which is cool except that there were like thirty awards. The poor lady called out name after name, as people sent up their bored-looking children to pretend to be proud as half the audience clapped apathetically. Bull names are also really weird, and the categories were mostly cow jargon, so I pretty much had no idea what was going on.
Once the auction got going, it didn't disappoint. Beforehand, the faculty felt they should remind us not to try and buy a bull. The auctioneer was classic--in fact he spoke so quickly that it was complete garble. It was just a stream of words shouted as loud as possible. He was so enthusiastic about it that he broke the mic just before we left. The few bulls that we had time to see auctioned sold for about $7,000. The professor mentioned the most expensive bull he'd ever seen was $180,000.
In class the next day, the professor had made a graph of the genetic value versus auction price, and the most expensive bull sold for $28,000. The one I voted for, lot 126, only sold for $11,000, even though its genetics were through the roof. Looking at the graph, she pointed out that the farmers are pretty much in their own little world, because the most expensive ones weren't really the best ones.
The best moment of the trip may have been when it was time to leave. We waited for bidding to end, so we would be between bull sales and not disrupt people trying to buy one. So all at once, a good third of the audience gets up, and as there was only one exit and most of us were sitting on the opposite side, there was a very unsubtle mass exodus across the ring.
Saturday, 4 June 2011
Professors: Raktajino
For the physiology of lactation, I rather liked the professor. He was this tall, skinny, middle-aged fellow, and he seemed pretty gay if you ask me. He definitely had some of the mannerisms and gestures. Anyway, his section was pretty challenging, but I liked him.
During his last lecture, he told us about the "tap reflex," which is where the calf bunts its mother's udder, which causes a reflex contraction and milk let-down. He mentioned that if you google tap reflex, there's a very different one that involves human males and erections, so he warned us that we would have a hard time finding information about the milk one on the internet. Now, I googled tap reflex and all I got were results for the knee-jerk reflex, so I don't know what he's talking about, but that's not important.
He was about to continue on with the lecture, when one of the outgoing members of our class says, "What do you tap?" This elicits a round of laughter, and she adds, "Just curious you know, since you brought it up..."
The professor smiles and is obviously not about to go into it, so he kind of waves off the question. Then one of the Americans (male) in the back pipes up with, "I'll show you later."
End that story, start new story.
We were given a practice test and access to the old exams, and one section was a matching question, where you match the words to the best description. He wanted to use all the letters of the alphabet I guess, because down at the bottom there were some made up answers. One of them sounded like an old god or some relation to C'thulu. The other was Raktajino.
Now, at this point I was just getting into Deep Space Nine (I am now a fan). I saw that, and I thought, "Hmmm... that's suspicious." I looked it up, and I'm pretty sure Raktajino is not a real thing, the only possible definition is a Klingon coffee. He's a Trekkie! Unfortunately, he didn't put it on our exam, so I didn't get the chance to make a comment.
One question he did put on, was "What percent lactose does human milk contain?"
During his last lecture, he told us about the "tap reflex," which is where the calf bunts its mother's udder, which causes a reflex contraction and milk let-down. He mentioned that if you google tap reflex, there's a very different one that involves human males and erections, so he warned us that we would have a hard time finding information about the milk one on the internet. Now, I googled tap reflex and all I got were results for the knee-jerk reflex, so I don't know what he's talking about, but that's not important.
He was about to continue on with the lecture, when one of the outgoing members of our class says, "What do you tap?" This elicits a round of laughter, and she adds, "Just curious you know, since you brought it up..."
The professor smiles and is obviously not about to go into it, so he kind of waves off the question. Then one of the Americans (male) in the back pipes up with, "I'll show you later."
End that story, start new story.
We were given a practice test and access to the old exams, and one section was a matching question, where you match the words to the best description. He wanted to use all the letters of the alphabet I guess, because down at the bottom there were some made up answers. One of them sounded like an old god or some relation to C'thulu. The other was Raktajino.
Now, at this point I was just getting into Deep Space Nine (I am now a fan). I saw that, and I thought, "Hmmm... that's suspicious." I looked it up, and I'm pretty sure Raktajino is not a real thing, the only possible definition is a Klingon coffee. He's a Trekkie! Unfortunately, he didn't put it on our exam, so I didn't get the chance to make a comment.
One question he did put on, was "What percent lactose does human milk contain?"
- 5%
- 7%
- 9%
- 11%
Um. What? Ok, there was a table in the study guide, but it had like 30 species on it, and had values for a good handful of milk components (like percent protein or percent fat). I'd learned that human milk has a higher than average lactose concentration, but not the exact percent, jeez! How will that knowledge ever help me? Even if it were asking about sheep milk, I don't see how that's useful, but no, he's asking vet students about human milk composition. He lost all his cool points for that one.
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