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    For C.E. No Senior Year?

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    CoraOrmseth


    Posts : 39
    Join date : 2009-09-01

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    Post  CoraOrmseth Mon Mar 15, 2010 11:22 am

    No Senior Year? by Nuria Mathog

    Utah has a novel idea, and I want in on it. Faced with a substantial budget crisis, the state is brainstorming ways to close a $700 million deficit, even if the only feasible solutions are outside the box (or in this case, nowhere remotely near the box). And it seems that state senator Chris Buttars has reached the same monumental conclusion that seniors across America realized long ago: if senior year is such a phenomenal waste of time, why not just scrap it completely? Given that Utah was recently ranked the “Happiest State in America,” they're clearly doing something right over there. So why stop at Utah's borders? Why not extend that idea two states westward so us AHS kids can share in that intriguing state of senior year-less-ness?

    That said, I can already hear the counterarguments forming: the protests from indignant parents that their kids will be thrust into a cold and unforgiving world a year ahead of schedule, that no 17-year-old is emotionally prepared for a college environment—in short, that graduating a year early is equivalent to walking blindfolded off of a cliff. Supposedly us seniors need more time to develop, more time to find ourselves before embarking on the next great chapter of our lives. Well, we develop plenty of things, all right: laziness, apathy, and an utter inability to complete that literary analysis essay assigned three weeks ago. We find plenty of things as well: distractions, irritations, and the prompt for that literary analysis essay two days after it was due. Mostly unwanted things that aren't exactly conducive to personal epiphanies (unless you happen to find great philosophical meaning in late-night games of Halo).

    The very existence of the senior contradicts the law of natural selection; we certainly display no concept of “survival of the fittest.” In our present state, after all, we shouldn't survive. We have no motivation, no energy, no desire to do anything remotely resembling work. The peak of our evolutionary prime, in fact, actually arrives during junior year, with the threat of college rejection hovering over our heads and the sudden panic as our academic clock begins to wind down (this clock is comparable to our built-in biological clock, only instead of churning out kids, we're inspired to start churning out extracurriculars). As stressful and disconcerting as it may be, our junior year best prepares us for the rigorous schedule we'll need to adjust to in college, and, in a larger sense, for life in general.

    After all, the evolution of the senior is a bit of a non sequitur. As freshmen, we emerge from the fetid swamp of junior high, tentatively entering the vast jungle of AHS with wide, wary eyes, concerned that we'll be trampled by a herd of upperclassmen if we don't stay on guard. As sophomores, we learn to navigate crowded hallways, scout out potential dangers, and gradually gain those basic yet crucial survival techniques. As juniors, we compete for sparse resources (namely of the looks-good-on-paper variety) and start fending for ourselves. And then...senior year. Bam. Without warning, all manner of growth, whether personal or academic, abruptly grinds to a halt. Having reached the top of the social hierarchy, having established ourselves as the alpha dogs, we promptly abandon the skills we've spent the last three years acquiring in exchange for a more indifferent, whatever-esque perspective. We'd die out there in the real world, no question about it.

    Here's something to think about: in addition to being the Happiest State in America, Utah is also the Beehive State—not because of its apian industry, but because of its emphasis on hard work and perseverance. So maybe they're on to something after all. For as long as we remain seniors, we're walking contradictions, taking two steps backward for every time-propelled step forward.
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    reginaliu


    Posts : 189
    Join date : 2009-09-03

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    Post  reginaliu Mon Mar 15, 2010 7:50 pm

    Utah has a novel idea, and I want in on it. Faced with a substantial budget crisis, the state is brainstorming ways to close a $700 million deficit, even if the only feasible solutions are outside the box (or in this case, nowhere remotely near the box). And it seems that state senator Chris Buttars has reached the same monumental conclusion that seniors across America realized long ago: if senior year is such a phenomenal waste of time, why not just scrap it completely? Given that Utah was recently ranked the “Happiest State in America,” they're clearly doing something right over there. So why stop at Utah's borders? Why not extend that idea two states westward so us AHS kids can share in that intriguing state of senior year-less-ness?

    That said, I can already hear the counterarguments forming: the protests from indignant parents that their kids will be thrust into a cold and unforgiving world a year ahead of schedule, that no 17-year-old is emotionally prepared for a college environment—in short, that graduating a year early is equivalent to walking blindfolded off of a cliff. Supposedly us seniors need more time to develop, more time to find ourselves before embarking on the next great chapter of our lives. Well, we develop plenty of things, all right: laziness, apathy, and an utter inability to complete that literary analysis essay assigned three weeks ago. We find plenty of things as well: distractions, irritations, and the prompt for that literary analysis essay two days after it was due. Mostly unwanted things that aren't exactly conducive to personal epiphanies (unless you happen to find great philosophical meaning in late-night games of Halo).

    The very existence of the senior contradicts the law of natural selection; we certainly display no concept of “survival of the fittest.” In our present state, after all, we shouldn't survive. We have no motivation, no energy, no desire to do anything remotely resembling work. The peak of our evolutionary prime, in fact, actually arrives during junior year, with the threat of college rejection hovering over our heads and the sudden panic as our academic clock begins to wind down (this clock is comparable to our built-in biological clock, only instead of churning out kids, we're inspired to start churning out extracurriculars [extracurricular courses]). As stressful and disconcerting as it may be, our junior year best prepares us for the rigorous schedule we'll need to adjust to in college, and, in a larger sense, for life in general.

    After all, the evolution of the senior is a bit of a non sequitur. As freshmen, we emerge from the fetid swamp of junior high, tentatively entering the vast jungle of AHS with wide, wary eyes, concerned that we'll be trampled by a herd of upperclassmen if we don't stay on guard. As sophomores, we learn to navigate crowded hallways, scout out potential dangers, and gradually gain those basic yet crucial survival techniques. As juniors, we compete for sparse resources (namely of the looks-good-on-paper variety) and start fending for ourselves. And then...senior year. Bam. Without warning, all manner of growth, whether personal or academic, abruptly grinds to a halt. Having reached the top of the social hierarchy, having established ourselves as the alpha dogs, we promptly abandon the skills we've spent the last three years acquiring in exchange for a more indifferent, whatever-esque perspective. We'd die out there in the real world, no question about it.

    Here's something to think about: in addition to being the Happiest State in America, Utah is also the Beehive State—not because of its apian industry, but because of its emphasis on hard work and perseverance. So maybe they're on to something after all. For as long as we remain seniors, we're walking contradictions, taking two steps backward for every time-propelled step forward.
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    NuriaMathog


    Posts : 6
    Join date : 2009-09-02

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    Post  NuriaMathog Mon Mar 15, 2010 9:04 pm

    Revised.

    Utah has a novel idea, and I want in on it. Faced with a substantial budget crisis, the state is brainstorming ways to close a $700 million deficit, even if the only feasible solutions are outside the box (or in this case, nowhere remotely near the box). And it seems that state senator Chris Buttars has reached the same monumental conclusion that seniors across America realized long ago: if senior year is such a phenomenal waste of time, why not just scrap it completely? Given that Utah was recently ranked the “Happiest State in America,” they're clearly doing something right over there. So why stop at Utah's borders? Why not extend that idea two states westward so us AHS kids can share in that intriguing state of senior year-less-ness?

    That said, I can already hear the counterarguments forming: the protests from indignant parents that their kids will be thrust into a cold and unforgiving world a year ahead of schedule, that no 17-year-old is emotionally prepared for a college environment—in short, that graduating a year early is equivalent to walking blindfolded off of a cliff. Supposedly us seniors need more time to develop, more time to find ourselves before embarking on the next great chapter of our lives. Well, we develop plenty of things, all right: laziness, apathy, and an utter inability to complete that literary analysis essay assigned three weeks ago. We find plenty of things as well: distractions, irritations, and the prompt for that literary analysis essay two days after it was due. Mostly unwanted things that aren't exactly conducive to personal epiphanies (unless you happen to find great philosophical meaning in late-night games of Halo).

    The very existence of the senior contradicts the law of natural selection; we certainly display no concept of “survival of the fittest.” In our present state, after all, we shouldn't survive. We have no motivation, no energy, no desire to do anything remotely resembling work. The peak of our evolutionary prime, in fact, actually arrives during junior year, with the threat of college rejection hovering over our heads and the sudden panic as our academic clock begins to wind down (this clock is comparable to our built-in biological clock, only instead of churning out kids, we're inspired to start churning out extracurricular courses). As stressful and disconcerting as it may be, our junior year best prepares us for the rigorous schedule we'll need to adjust to in college, and, in a larger sense, for life in general.

    After all, the evolution of the senior is a bit of a non sequitur. As freshmen, we emerge from the fetid swamp of junior high, tentatively entering the vast jungle of AHS with wide, wary eyes, concerned that we'll be trampled by a herd of upperclassmen if we don't stay on guard. As sophomores, we learn to navigate crowded hallways, scout out potential dangers, and gradually gain those basic yet crucial survival techniques. As juniors, we compete for sparse resources (namely of the looks-good-on-paper variety) and start fending for ourselves. And then...senior year. Bam. Without warning, all manner of growth, whether personal or academic, abruptly grinds to a halt. Having reached the top of the social hierarchy, having established ourselves as the alpha dogs, we promptly abandon the skills we've spent the last three years acquiring in exchange for a more indifferent, whatever-esque perspective. We'd die out there in the real world, no question about it.

    Here's something to think about: in addition to being the Happiest State in America, Utah is also the Beehive State—not because of its apian industry, but because of its emphasis on hard work and perseverance. So maybe they're on to something after all. For as long as we remain seniors, we're walking contradictions, taking two steps backward for every time-propelled step forward.
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    reginaliu


    Posts : 189
    Join date : 2009-09-03

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    Post  reginaliu Tue Mar 16, 2010 7:28 pm

    Utah has a novel idea, and I want in on it. Faced with a substantial budget crisis, the state is brainstorming ways to close a $700 million deficit, even if the only feasible solutions are outside the box (or in this case, nowhere remotely near the box). And it seems that state senator [State Senator] Chris Buttars has reached the same monumental conclusion that seniors across America realized long ago: if senior year is such a phenomenal waste of time, why not just scrap it completely? Given that Utah was recently ranked the “Happiest State in America,” they're clearly doing something right over there. So why stop at Utah's borders? Why not extend that idea two states westward so us AHS kids can share in that intriguing state of senior year-less-ness?

    That said, I can already hear the counterarguments forming: the protests from indignant parents that their kids will be thrust into a cold and unforgiving world a year ahead of schedule, that no 17-year-old is emotionally prepared for a college environment—in short, that graduating a year early is equivalent to walking blindfolded off of a cliff. Supposedly us seniors need more time to develop, more time to find ourselves before embarking on the next great chapter of our lives. Well, we develop plenty of things, all right: laziness, apathy, and an utter inability to complete that literary analysis essay assigned three weeks ago. We find plenty of things as well: distractions, irritations, and the prompt for that literary analysis essay two days after it was due. Mostly unwanted things that aren't exactly conducive to personal epiphanies (unless you happen to find great philosophical meaning in late-night games of Halo).

    The very existence of the senior contradicts the law of natural selection; we certainly display no concept of “survival of the fittest.” In our present state, after all, we shouldn't survive. We have no motivation, no energy, no desire to do anything remotely resembling work. The peak of our evolutionary prime, in fact, actually arrives during junior year, with the threat of college rejection hovering over our heads and the sudden panic as our academic clock begins to wind down (this clock is comparable to our built-in biological clock, only instead of churning out kids, we're inspired to start churning out extracurricular courses). As stressful and disconcerting as it may be, our junior year best prepares us for the rigorous schedule we'll need to adjust to in college, and, in a larger sense, for life in general.

    After all, the evolution of the senior is a bit of a non sequitur. As freshmen, we emerge from the fetid swamp of junior high, tentatively entering the vast jungle of AHS with wide, wary eyes, concerned that we'll be trampled by a herd of upperclassmen if we don't stay on guard. As sophomores, we learn to navigate crowded hallways, scout out potential dangers, and gradually gain those basic yet crucial survival techniques. As juniors, we compete for sparse resources (namely of the looks-good-on-paper variety) and start fending for ourselves. And then...senior year. Bam. Without warning, all manner of growth, whether personal or academic, abruptly grinds to a halt. Having reached the top of the social hierarchy, having established ourselves as the alpha dogs, we promptly abandon the skills we've spent the last three years acquiring in exchange for a more indifferent, whatever-esque perspective. We'd die out there in the real world, no question about it.

    Here's something to think about: in addition to being the Happiest State in America, Utah is also the Beehive State—not because of its apian industry, but because of its emphasis on hard work and perseverance. So maybe they're on to something after all. For as long as we remain seniors, we're walking contradictions, taking two steps backward for every time-propelled step forward.

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