If friends ask us how we did on an exam, how would most of us answer? Would we say that we realized that we understood certain concepts but needed to study others more?

When we cram by purely memorizing, thinking only of the grade, we miss the point of education: not only to know facts, but to be able to use them to solve new problems. As we cannot apply facts we do not know, education requires some memorization as a means to reach that goal.

However, we should not forget that memorization is not the goal itself. If we can use the material we know, we will do well in not only that class but also in later courses that draw on the same concepts.

We may tell ourselves that we do not have time to understand the material in one 10-week quarter, but how long do we spend memorizing lecture slides and old exams?

While only memorizing might earn us a passing grade in many classes, we could instead spend those countless hours understanding the material. If we do, the knowledge will not leak out within a week or two after the test, which commonly occurs when we solely memorize.

However, pure memorization does have an appeal: it is a mindless, mechanical exercise when done without attempting to understand. If we lack interest in a class, we often turn to brute-force memorization as it seems easier.

Unfortunately, many of us do not connect this approach and our resulting mood. After a night of cramming, how do you feel?

Do you feel relaxed and happy after a good night’s sleep? Or do you feel stressed and irritable after a sleepless night? While we may pass the exam after a night of cramming, do we want to live like this?

How many of us have answered a question incorrectly despite knowing the answer because we were panicking at the time and could not think clearly? When we stress and lack sleep, we lose focus and mental clarity.

Even so, sometimes we feel that we must memorize due to the exam style: some professors ask for minor details and definitions that we will likely get wrong if we have not memorized them.

While we may not do as well on these tests if we do not memorize everything, is our happiness and peace of mind an acceptable price? We do not need a perfect score to get an A.

Unfortunately, many of us primarily memorize because we were trained to do so in grade school, and the habit followed us to the university. To break the habit, we must change our way of thinking about studying.

A good approach, which may be helpful, is to mentally organize what you know and then try to fill in the conceptual space between the facts.

For example, plants need nitrogen, but cannot use nitrogen gas, and bacteria can fix gaseous nitrogen into forms plants can use. But how does the nitrogen get from the bacteria into the plants? Never ignore blank spaces by saying that it just happens, try to figure it out!

We already know the information that fills these blank spaces a great deal of the time; we only need to put the pieces together. If we realize that we really do not know, we should ask the professor.

When we assemble separate facts into a coherent whole, we have a greater understanding of those facts. If we synthesize the material this way, even if we forget a detail the test asks for, we have a good chance of figuring it out from related concepts we do remember.

To see if we know the material, we should take practice tests. However, we should not take practice tests to learn the material by looking at the answers.

Think of the material as filling a circle and the practice test questions as randomly distributed points within that circle. If we can answer all of the questions without looking at our notes, we probably understand the entire circle or close to it.

However, if we cannot answer many questions and thus look up the answers, we are learning only a few tiny points in the circle, which may not be the same small points on the test.

Instead of looking up specific answers to questions we do not know, we should realize that we do not yet understand and need to study more. If we notice that we cannot answer many nearby points, we likely do not know anything about that area and should focus on it.

To share your study habits, contact WILLIAM CONNER at wrconner@ucdavis.edu.

A drop of sweat rolled down my forehead and collected in my eyebrow. “And next up we have…” the announcer rumbled. Deep breath.

There are many reasons to form a band, one of them being to compete in Battle of the Bands at your school. Maybe you will decide to form this band months in advance to give a good amount of time to properly prepare. Maybe you will throw something together three weeks before the first performance.

To be fair it started out as a joke. In the tenth grade, my friend Betty and I played music almost every day and had been joking about making a two-person band for weeks. By the time we got serious about the idea we had recruited our friend Marisa to be a drummer and Brittany to be a violinist. Then a few more of our friends thought it would be fun to join. I know now what I didn’t know then: how to say no. It’s not that I regret forming such a large band, but for practical purposes seven people — seven teenagers — is a little more than the average high schooler can handle.

Band practice was 40 percent talking, 60 percent hauling Marisa’s drum set in and out of the house. Of the three weeks we practiced, about a week and a half was spent deciding what to name the band. We called ourselves Greek Fire — inspired by a Greek war tactic we learned about in our AP World History class. The name had no relevance to our music or our image whatsoever, but it sounded cool as hell at the time, so it stuck.

The last two weeks consisted of hellishly chaotic practice sessions attended by at least four band members at a time, and me calling in every favor I was owed to provide sound equipment for our performance.

Betty: Ukulele/Voice, Brittany: Violin/Flute, Marisa: Drums, Benjy: Voice/bass, Kyla: Piano/Tambourine, me: voice/guitar/banjo. In case you’re having trouble with the numbers that’s about a million and five mics.

Our first performance went surprisingly well. We made it into finals though I have my suspicions that we made it on the grounds that turning down seven kids is a lot harder than turning down three or four.

And then hardly a week later, finals were upon us. Greek Fire was competing with four other bands: one death metal, two rock and one reggae. We were the only underclassmen competing. We were also the only girls. I felt out of place and awkward as I asked where we should set up.

“And next up we have…Greek Fire!”

The equipment had been set up, though the sound system could barely accommodate for the amount of people on stage. But we had been good enough to make it to finals, and grasping onto that hopeful thought, I stepped into the spotlight with my banjo gripped tightly.

We began. My voice shook. The trumpet came in a measure late. The drummer couldn’t hear us. The harmonies stayed stubbornly flat. I’m sure it must have been slightly comical from the audience’s perspective, either that or horribly grating. We plowed through that song, the trumpet wandering in and out of any discernible melody, Benjy’s theater voice booming over the rest of the band and the drums futilely trying to keep rhythm to the disjointed clash of sounds.

The worst part was finishing the song and only being a third of the way through the performance. The second song however, went well. Strangely everything went according to plan, and next to the first song, the performance was nothing short of perfection. One more to go.

Feeling empowered, we began to play. And then suddenly the sound cut out. But we didn’t. We just sang louder. Weirdly, in the midst of the cacophony, I realized that it could hardly be worse, that all my fears had been confirmed and yet here I was still playing, half laughing, and then I was bowing, waving unabashedly to the audience as we walked off the stage. We placed last.

Out of that band, me, Betty, Marisa and Brittany eventually formed a smaller band called Decibella. We played gigs around town and performed in Battle of the Bands the two following years, placing third and then second.

Greek Fire was the spark that led to a high school experience full of music. Sometimes you have to think big in order to create anything worthwhile. We might have been the worst band that night, but we were undoubtedly the biggest.

Hey we should totally start a band or something! Contact ELLY OLTERSDORF at eroltersdorf@ucdavis.edu.

As a fourth-year student expecting to graduate this spring, I’m searching for a job.  And like everybody else trying to get hired, I play the game. Each time I build a résumé or write a cover letter, I present my best hirable self. I put my past on a piece of paper, and provide all my proven proficiencies. With each potential position, I construct a different history of my education, employment and skillset — a history of myself.

After so many applications, I begin to contemplate the ways I frame my personal narrative. For all these companies, I am only really saying, “HIRE ME!,” and I’d prefer to identify myself beyond an eager job-seeker. So how would I answer the simple question, “what’s your story?”

Well it turns out we’ve all had to answer this question to get into college. The University of California application includes the personal statement — an opportunity in two essays to share how the applicant’s past has shaped their present, a soul beyond a transcript and test scores.

The first prompt asks the applicant to “describe the world you come from,” and “how your world has shaped your dreams and aspirations.” The second asks for “a personal quality, talent, accomplishment, contribution or experience that is important to you,” and “what about this quality or accomplishment makes you proud and how does it relate to the person you are.”

Aside from assessing writing and persuasion capabilities, admissions officers encourage applicants to be honest and personal; they look to see if applicants can reflect, interpret and learn from their life experiences. To be successful, one needs to prove that they are a thoughtful individual. That’s why I get the impression that this ability, to think critically about one’s past, is vital for academic and career success.

So I frame myself positively for others, professionally and socially. But how do I frame myself? I’ve lived only one life, yet I’ve created these different timelines for work and school. We could say it’s connected to a type of cognitive bias, known in psychology as the framing effect — where different conclusions can be drawn from the same information.

This principle states that we will react positively to a piece of information if it promises gain. But if that same proposition is framed negatively, expecting a loss, we decline. This phenomenon suggests that we inherently hold preference for potential gain and our perspective shifts to positive framing.

Using this technique, creating a personal narrative for oneself can be cathartic. Our lives are defined through selection, and over time, we pick and choose what feels important. We identify the cards we were dealt, and recount the plays we’ve made.

Yet, what if you, the protagonist, is caught in a tragedy? At times, it seems like a curse that certain circumstances can overshadow an infinite sea of details. I offer the wisdom of musician Victor Wooten, who says, “Life is not only about getting the responses we want, but about continuing to do what is right regardless of the responses we get.”

So if we ever feel lost, this storytelling can act as a reminder, an inventory of guiding experiences. We can remember the mistakes we’ve made, and the lessons we’ve learned. We can conjure role models, and those who gave support. Sometimes it’s easy to lose the big picture. It can be useful to see how our past has led to our present, and how our present is going to get us into the future.

Thus, our decisions on how to view the past gives us some agency on how we approach the future. No matter what experiences we have had, we want to know that we are on track.

And what track should that be? Does all this reflection point to anything? For an answer, I turn to a quote from The Teachings of Don Juan: A Yaqui Way of Knowledge. The Indian sorcerer Don Juan says to the young anthropologist, “For me there is only the traveling on paths that have heart, on any path that may have heart. There I travel, and the only worthwhile challenge is to traverse its full length. And there I travel, looking, looking, breathlessly.”

If you would like to become the official biographer of DANIEL HERMAN, he can be reached at dsherman@ucdavis.edu.

UC Davis’ Social Sciences and Humanities Building (SOCSCI), more commonly referred to as the “Death Star,” continually lives up to its reputation of being the most confusing place on campus. This labyrinthine building, designed by Antoine Predock, pulls newcomers in and whirls them around its concrete walls.

Nicknamed after the Death Star in Star Wars, a space station that carried an instrument that was capable of destroying an entire planet, our version can also cause dismay and ruin.

All who dare to enter, whether aware of the building’s maze-like architecture or not, are treated to a complimentary excursion. For some it’s exciting, but for those who don’t cushion their schedule with approximately twenty extra minutes, it’s distressing.

It’s easy to tell who’s lost because their eyes grow frightful as they’re forced to meander down hallways and up flights of stairs, only hoping not to be late to class or get lost forever in the concrete and shiny metallic abyss.

Having only been in the Death Star once, I decided to conduct an experiment and engage in the design chaos of the building. I was blindfolded and led deep into the building at night, dropped off, and had to find my way to a specific department.

Two friends deposited me in room 2203 in the history department (2nd floor), and my destination was the Library for Agricultural and Resource Economics (4th floor). They had a two minute head start and my mission was to find them as fast as possible at the entrance of the library.

A timer was set, so the pressure was on.

I navigated my way through hallways and up and down countless flights of stairs, passing the same people and offices in what seemed like every two minutes.

Unfamiliar with the layout of the Death Star and not relying on maps, I followed my rather lacking sense of direction. In an effort to conduct this experiment as accurately as possible, I didn’t take people up on their offers to lead me in the right direction. Instead, I flew solo — looking like a chicken with its head cut off as I ran around and narrated what I was doing into a voice recorder on my phone.

So, not only did I look lost and confused, but I appeared to be crazy as I talked to myself.

After roaming around in the barren and desolate maze of concrete walls, I started referring to my phone as Wilson in the hope he would morph into a volleyball. Devoid of human interaction, I dashed around in the dark, only hoping to set my eyes upon the library doors before the time on the stopwatch reached a pathetic number.

My goal was to be able to bask in an endless amount of glory when I beat the wrath of the Death Star by finding my friends in an impressive amount of time. Sadly, that was not my reality. I was forced to surrender what little bits of ego I had left once the timer reached above 10 minutes.

It took me precisely 25 minutes to arrive at my destination. Locked doors and staircases that led to nowhere didn’t assist me throughout my journey.

Predock purposely designed this building in a confusing manner to encourage social interaction. Doors are randomly locked in order to force people to take a different route, and the amount of floors differ in each building structure. Ingenious.

The Death Star perplexes most people, but it’s something that makes UC Davis more interesting and unique. This unusually stimulating building houses an array of activities and serves a great communal purpose.

Many clubs gather here to play all sorts of games, e.g. Nerf wars, Sardines and hide-and-seek, and others just come to explore, hang out on the rooftops or overlook campus. If you’ve never entered SOCSCI, then go do it today. Don’t wait until you have a class there and it takes you half an hour to find it.

Although the building itself may seem grim, once you get past the odd design patterns and colorless facade, you’ll realize that it’s a cool place that adds to the ambiance of Davis.

SAVANNAH HOLMES can be found blindfolded in SOCSCI 2203 or can be reached at skholmes@ucdavis.edu.

With the recent 24-hour strike held by the American Federation of State, County and Municipal Employees (AFSCME) 3299, the largest union in the University of California (UC), the tension between the UC system and some of its employees has come to a head. AFSCME 3299, which includes custodians, cooks, licensed vocational nurses and many other workers who make up the backbone of the UC system, is arguing for more competitive wages to account for the increase in cost of living.

Both sides had been bargaining to no real avail for quite a while. With neither side willing to budge, the strike on Nov. 20 was an expression of frustration by the union regarding the lack of progress.

The UC responded by making public statements regarding the negative effects of the strike including putting patients at risk due to a labor dispute.

Despite this blistering indictment of the AFSCME 3299 strike, an important question must be asked. What could the UC system have done to have avoided this strike?

For one, the UC system could have worked closer with AFSCME 3299 to meet its demands. Instead, the UC has shown a disinterest regarding the negotiation of wage increases for the workers in AFSCME 3299, believing that the wages currently offered are “competitive” with the market.

But what is “competitive” about wages that are on average 25 percent less than those wages offered to workers in California community colleges or other hospitals?

The answer: nothing.

Instead of simply blaming the union for doing what it was created to do — protecting its workers — the UC leaders should actively look to help solve this problem. The strike and all of the problems associated with it could have been easily avoided had the UC system simply sat down and bargained fairly with the workers.

As a public institution whose primary purpose is to provide students with the education needed to pursue future endeavors, the UC system should also seek to provide its workers with fair pay and the capability of providing a decent living for their families.