I am very proud to call the University of Edinburgh my home university. It is one of the oldest and best schools in the UK, a reputable research and teaching institution with nearly 30,000 students — a third of whom are international! The fact that the university is located in one of the most spectacular cities in Europe doesn’t hurt, either.

Scotland’s capital city, Edinburgh, is all about contrasts: You’re both disgusted and enthralled by its dark, bloody past which fostered inspirations for Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and Trainspotting, among others. Today’s Edinburgh, however, is a charming modern city, and it literally is the birthplace of Harry Potter! The coffee shop where J.K. Rowling wrote the first two books is very popular with students, while Hogwarts-like Old Town buildings are inspiring millions of visitors each year.

The city’s rich cultural life, mild climate, multicultural population and excellent study opportunities attract tons of students each year. But honestly I had no idea what I’m getting myself into when I started back in September ‘09. When I came to Davis it was all new and exciting if a bit frustrating but I knew that I would be just fine. Eighteen-year-old me wasn’t that confident. The change was so overwhelming that during my first semester I lost 10 lbs.!

The teaching style at Edinburgh is rather different from UCD. First of all, our works are anonymous, no names, only barcodes. The grader can’t tell whose work it is and often the student doesn’t know the identity of the grader, either. At school I was always a teacher’s pet, sometimes inevitably getting higher grades than deserved, so being judged entirely on the quality of my work without any preconceptions was a relatively new but extremely valuable learning experience.

This anonymity has its advantages — you’re confident that the grading is all fair (usually…). However, the American “get to know your professor” system seems more attractive as it provides some tools to influence the final grades! More importantly, though, by trying to be noticed you learn how to present yourself and be flexible; you’re encouraged to participate and to communicate your thoughts and ideas. I’m constantly impressed by the confidence and forwardness of my classmates and I definitely learn many things from them, too.

The Edinburgh system, on the other hand, teaches independence. No one’s holding your hand, making sure you’re doing well. Self-studying is expected. (I think the tons of assignments that we get here act as some kind of control — “keep them always busy and not causing trouble.”) At Edinburgh there are no office hours; if you need help, make an appointment. For my subject at least, internships are not required; again, it is your responsibility to get additional experience (if you want to, of course).

After two quarters at UCD, I feel that it is much harder to get an A at Edinburgh than here. Stricter grading comes from anonymity as well as the greater weight placed on any one assignment — more is simply expected from you. The final exam can be worth as much as 80 percent of your grade (we have no midterms), while the rest usually comes from one or two essays or reports, often nearly a third of the grade!

Davis is a completely different story. The workload here, oh boy … I’m pretty sure if I count the words I’ve written during two terms at UCD, my two years at Edi wouldn’t come anywhere close. When you’re producing one written assignment after another, though, quality suffers. But I’m always trying to do my best and more, and then I’m surprised to get comments such as, “You overachieved on this one …”

All the previous exchange students returning from UCs told me that the one thing they definitely learned here is work ethic. Last term I would find myself with four assignments and a midterm in one week, which is not for a faint-hearted Edinburgh-me, but now it’s somewhat normal and doable.

Obviously, neither of the universities is perfect but for me both come pretty close. Pros and cons add to each unique college experience, and the fact that I got to experience two such different systems makes it so much more worthwhile and rewarding.

If you’re thinking about going to Edinburgh for a semester abroad or would like to discuss other differences between American and European universities, you can contact KRISTINA SIMONAITYTE at ksimonaityte@ucdavis.edu.

I often wonder, what’s our Sgt. Pepper? What’s the album that defines our generation?

Not to compare anything to the actual album; I’m merely using it as a metric for how to define success and influence on a generation.

I don’t mean to speak for a whole generation, but, well, I’m the one with a column here so I’ll break down some potential candidates for the title. I’m looking at the years I have been in high school and college, what my rabbi refers to as my “formative years,” 2004-2012. I really want to include middle school (for the sake of Get Rich or Die Tryin’), but don’t want to alienate my younger readers or lose ad revenue.

Between 2004 and 2012, 45 albums were nominated for the Grammy for Best Album. Of those, only a handful are candidates for our title: American Idiot (Green Day), The College Dropout (Kanye West), Graduation (Kanye West), In Rainbows (Radiohead), Tha Carter III (Lil’ Wayne), The Suburbs (Arcade Fire), Futuresex/Lovesounds (Justin Timberlake) and 21 (Adele). My own additions to the list of candidates are as follows: For Emma, Forever Ago (Bon Iver), Vampire Weekend (Vampire Weekend), The Black Album (Jay-Z), Cross (Justice) Kala (M.I.A.) and Funeral (Arcade Fire).

As qualifications, the album must have captured the attention of people across genres, have multiple top-10 singles and be dynamic enough so that the it can be played in a multitude of situations. As in, it’s good to party to, good to chill to, good to contemplate life to. Also, I have to be kind of okay with labeling this album as generation-defining.

The first qualification is probably the hardest. Reaching audiences that don’t usually listen to your genre is very rare. We can rule out Bon Iver (you taught me about love, Justin), Jay-Z (that album in particular), Arcade Fire (both albums, I know it hurts), Justice (this album makes me want to be French), Lil’ Wayne (I can rap every lyric to eight of the songs on this album) and Green Day (if I don’t eliminate this now it might win).

Okay, so multiple top-10 singles isn’t an opinion per se. This is hard to qualify for, though, because, as our founding fathers knew, the population is pretty fucking dumb. What’s popular isn’t always what’s good, although sometimes it is (see: Knowles, Beyonce). The albums without multiple top-10 songs are In Rainbows (I know), Vampire Weekend (a lot of popular songs, but not chart toppers) and Kala (because fuck it, I want to listen to “Paper Planes” again).

I’m left with two Kanyes, Adele and JT.

While 21 went like eight times platinum and made Instagram-money, I just don’t know enough males who know much about this album besides the three singles, and this is coming from the guy who sings “Someone Like You” when he’s drunk.

I don’t really have a good argument against Justin, other than I don’t find “Futuresex/Lovesounds” as “important” enough of an album in our cultural canon as many of the already eliminated albums. It’s also oddly forgettable, as I find myself having a fonder memory of Justified. But, hey, I’m a straight male so I might not be the target audience.

Kanye, would you like your crown made from the fur of endangered Siberian tiger cubs or from King Louis XIV’s silk bed sheets at Versaille?  Yes, both College Dropout and Graduation are good candidates, but Graduation takes the throne. It’s a much more dynamic album in terms of song genre and there is really a song for every moment. The first single “Stronger” may just mark the beginning of the next generation of music, as Kanye pioneered the dance-rap sample with Daft Punk into something we all could vibe to. Other collaborations on the album include Chris Martin, John Mayer, T-Pain and Dwele.   Everyone I know had this album and when we weren’t getting yelled at for wearing the shutter-shade glasses while driving, we were watching movies, commercials and sporting events that featured this album prominently.

Obviously it’s hard to say an album defines an entire generation, especially while that generation is still around to argue about it. With such distinct music genres, the ability to capture an entire generation is harder than ever. Ultimately, only time will tell whether the soundtrack to your formative years is Graduation or the upcoming Hologram Tupac album.

ANDY VERDEROSA is so incredibly down to continue talking about this and can be reached at asverderosa@ucdavis.edu.

I am not a pick-up artist. Let’s get that out of the way. I’ve subscribed to the “stranger danger” philosophy for nearly two decades, and it’s a tough habit to kick. This strategy saves me from the shady crowd, but makes it tough to meet the lady crowd. Be it bars or parties, crowds of strangers are to me what fourth quarters are to LeBron: They make my game disappear.

But this past weekend I met up with my Dwyane Wade and Chris Bosh. I needed help if I was ever going to do what had eluded me thus far in my career: successfully exchange phone numbers with a female stranger in a bar. My goal was not one, not two, not three … OK, my goal really was just one. I guess this is where the similarities between LeBron and me end. Good thing, it was getting hard to pick a pun and roll with it; not all of them are slam dunks (see what I did there?). Anyways, this is my story.

My unaware wingmen for Thursday night were actually wingwomen. I figured I should observe how guys try to talk to these beautiful girls before I try anything myself. Awful logic. As it turns out, most guys don’t find it prudent to hit on girls that are already with a guy. Who knew I’d be disappointed in morals? But I did catch a couple guys executing the first strokes of their own pick-up artistry.

Between making fun of a guy that looked like Michael McDonald and making small talk, I noticed guys stealing glances at the girls I was with. It’s like locking eyes would be their signal to come over. But it’s not like locking eyes with a friend, when there ain’t no mountain high enough to keep you from getting to each other. This was between two strangers.

I understand it’s a way to measure mutual attraction, but I think it makes more sense to try spontaneous conversation. The across-the-room staredown reminds me of a predator trying to stalk its prey; it can come across on the creepy side very easily. Those were my last observational thoughts that night. Shortly after, I became shipwrecked off Long Islands and my conscious brain sank into oblivion.

I spent my Friday indoors. I was on the spin cycle of the shame spiral I began that morning for the entire day. After a night like that, I wake up to a fine mist of hangover and regret that covers me like Axe body spray. It’s a devilish cocktail that renders me incapable of facing the outside world. Not surprisingly, I did not go out that night. I put all my eggs in Saturday’s basket.

Alas, fate is as cruel as she is calculating. That night, I found myself at a friend’s house, which isn’t a bar. I’m not complaining — it’s just that strangers are hard to come by in that setting. I postponed my test to the following weekend. Does that sound like an excuse? Yes. Were there girls there I didn’t know? Sure. Did I talk to them? No. Why? I couldn’t tell you.

On the walk to Jack in the Box with my roommate, I tried to make sense of it all. I laid out the parameters myself for what would pass the test, and I still ended up with two Fs and an ENWS (Enrolled No Work Submitted). But fate wasn’t finished with me yet. By the time we got there, Jack in the Box had closed its doors. As my roommate tried to walk through the drive-thru, I found a cab and unknowingly made my weekend a success.

There she was, leaning against the hood smoking a cigarette, the cloud of smoke making our chance connection an ‘80s music video. The years of inhaling packs a day made her sound like Miley Cyrus, so when she called out asking if I needed a ride, I could barely muster a yes. She took one last hit and the glowing embers intensified, mirroring the blood rushing to my face. Here was my chance — I had made conversation. By the end of the ride, I had her number.

Sure, the card had a man’s name on it and an AOL e-mail address and smelled like it soaked in perfume for hours, but by golly it had 10 digits on it. I don’t care if I threw it away because it stunk up my room — doesn’t change a thing. I gave myself a test, and I passed.

If you think his grading criteria is flawed, NOLAN SHELDON can be reached at nosheldon@ucdavis.edu.