Past Papers is a powerful meme in student circles. The drive to lay one's hands on past examination papers has been around for decades, as I remember. Having them was, so it was presumed, a legitimate way to reduce the vagaries of chance in the examination room; a way to read the examiner's mind ahead of time and to 'prosper'. That is, a way to level the playing field, and thus to optimize the probable score. Did it ever work? It did, I think, for many, over the years. But it required a certain capacity for predictive deduction, a method of dealing with fuzzy or 'big' data and seeing the future that we used without knowing the term that stood for it. Let me restate that, just to stay on the point a moment longer: we practised predictive deduction long, long before we were to know that we had been engaged in it. I suppose that there are many such moments, such abductions, in all our pasts. The room for error and anxiety was always considerable, for just as many -- despite the method.
You will find more discussion of predictive deduction applications in this text.
Lecturers at the UoN make available to their students past papers and/or other material related to their courses via one or more of the following ways: (1) selectively giving out excess originals, (2) making photocopies at their own expense for use by class (usually small classes), (3) temporarily placing scarce 'originals' in on-campus photocopy kiosks, (4) lending copies directly to class reps to enable class members to make and pay for their own copies at places of their choice, (5) distributing copies as email attachments.
The university library system is supposed to be depository of past papers from all faculties, but the service is far from satisfactory because the system simply isn't working. It won't until all the material is properly gathered at the end of each examination period, meticulously collated and classified, serialized and -- above all -- posted online. Until then, I am happy to make my past papers available on my blog, having installed my own scanning equipment at home. There is none at the office.
Still, the pressure to update sets of papers in a timely manner remains a 'clerical' challenge, what with all the other stuff that one must simultaneously do. I still send by email a good number of sets, more particularly the most recent papers.
Showing posts with label Library. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Library. Show all posts
Thursday, April 10, 2014
Monday, December 15, 2008
Saga of the Lame Duck Who Could Duck Shoes and Stuff
Click here to start the saga of Bush's improbably moral virtual unbungled unfinal parallel journey>> Saga starts
Noooo! I didn't see that! Did you see that? Is he that quick?
X-ray vision?
Tell me this wasn't real, but too real. It was all a concoction to make Bush thrilled, a sort of farewell party.
How could the journalist have plotted all that when he didn't know Bush was coming in the first place -- to that place? If he didn't know, how would he have known he would be invited? Allright, there had been a rumour. They're all invited? How dumb! All of them? Then this was coming all along! Then why didn't Bush just stay home? After all, it'll be all over on January 20.
That's the whole point?
And shoes? Allright, heavy duty disposable good for nothing dime a dozen made in america maybe ready to go sandals. OK, he didn't know the guy was coming and that's why he didn't have stones in his pocket.
It was all an act, and that wasn't really Bush. Couldn't you tell? It was all hollywood, like the moon-landing! Bush wasn't really in I-Raq. It was all Laura's prank, really. Or Jena's. Something to laugh about at Christmas, now that Thanksgiving's over. The joke's on us!
The real Bush was in Dallas, not Baghdad (too much Saddam there right now), clearing up some stuff about his new pad. So, what would he say?
Was the man's aim as bad as that or is Bush, the impersonator, that good? Were the man's venom-weighted words as off-target as his shoes, or did they get the impersonated, untranslated, Bush more than we know? I mean, all that stuff about orphans and widows -- from a man too small for his shoes! Mr. President, only you can tell us.
That wasn't a duck, in that water. That wasn't even water.
And, yes, that was a hawk! Hawkeye Bush. Bushie Hawkeye. I swear I could see the adrenalin pump, as only cowboys can pump. Did you see Bush's thrill at the first miss? Did you see the boxer in him -- the subtle left-right bob? Like, bring it on, buddy. Like, float like a butterfly. Hold that sting!
I swear I saw a touch of Ali. Like, is that all you got?
And to see that, after all Bush has done, Al Maliki couldn't wouldn't didn't take a hit for him -- not even one miserable hit! Just stood there dumbfounded, with a half-stretched hand. A case of Maliki see, Maliki Doolittle, if you ask me. And yet: damned if he does, and damned if he don't.
I bet the shoes are destined for the I-Raqi MOMA (Art, Antiquity, whatever) now. There'll be occasional borrowings by the Bush Presidential Library, you betcha. Worth a million now. A million more tomorrow.
Who says the duck's lame when the duck's so nimble? But all's well that ends well.
They must be cheering all over Texas, right now. In all the gyms. All the talk shows.
Allovamerika. As Bush loves America.
They had forgotten that he is that kind of man, and that he had it in him. Those eye-crossing chads, which he collected more of in 2000 than Al, they were not all a fluke.
Shame on all the presidents and premiers who cannot float -- who cannot duck a vituperative, leave alone a missile. Shame on on all their houses! Take a leaf from Dubya.
Noooo! I don't believe any of that. None of that American fiction!
Moral of the Story: All I know now, from all this, is that, as long as you're alive (and the longer you're alive the more so), you'll never see enough! Abridged Story of the Moral: You aint seen what you aint seen!
Noooo! I didn't see that! Did you see that? Is he that quick?
X-ray vision?
Tell me this wasn't real, but too real. It was all a concoction to make Bush thrilled, a sort of farewell party.
How could the journalist have plotted all that when he didn't know Bush was coming in the first place -- to that place? If he didn't know, how would he have known he would be invited? Allright, there had been a rumour. They're all invited? How dumb! All of them? Then this was coming all along! Then why didn't Bush just stay home? After all, it'll be all over on January 20.
That's the whole point?
And shoes? Allright, heavy duty disposable good for nothing dime a dozen made in america maybe ready to go sandals. OK, he didn't know the guy was coming and that's why he didn't have stones in his pocket.
It was all an act, and that wasn't really Bush. Couldn't you tell? It was all hollywood, like the moon-landing! Bush wasn't really in I-Raq. It was all Laura's prank, really. Or Jena's. Something to laugh about at Christmas, now that Thanksgiving's over. The joke's on us!
The real Bush was in Dallas, not Baghdad (too much Saddam there right now), clearing up some stuff about his new pad. So, what would he say?
Was the man's aim as bad as that or is Bush, the impersonator, that good? Were the man's venom-weighted words as off-target as his shoes, or did they get the impersonated, untranslated, Bush more than we know? I mean, all that stuff about orphans and widows -- from a man too small for his shoes! Mr. President, only you can tell us.
That wasn't a duck, in that water. That wasn't even water.
And, yes, that was a hawk! Hawkeye Bush. Bushie Hawkeye. I swear I could see the adrenalin pump, as only cowboys can pump. Did you see Bush's thrill at the first miss? Did you see the boxer in him -- the subtle left-right bob? Like, bring it on, buddy. Like, float like a butterfly. Hold that sting!
I swear I saw a touch of Ali. Like, is that all you got?
And to see that, after all Bush has done, Al Maliki couldn't wouldn't didn't take a hit for him -- not even one miserable hit! Just stood there dumbfounded, with a half-stretched hand. A case of Maliki see, Maliki Doolittle, if you ask me. And yet: damned if he does, and damned if he don't.
I bet the shoes are destined for the I-Raqi MOMA (Art, Antiquity, whatever) now. There'll be occasional borrowings by the Bush Presidential Library, you betcha. Worth a million now. A million more tomorrow.
Who says the duck's lame when the duck's so nimble? But all's well that ends well.
They must be cheering all over Texas, right now. In all the gyms. All the talk shows.
Allovamerika. As Bush loves America.
They had forgotten that he is that kind of man, and that he had it in him. Those eye-crossing chads, which he collected more of in 2000 than Al, they were not all a fluke.
Shame on all the presidents and premiers who cannot float -- who cannot duck a vituperative, leave alone a missile. Shame on on all their houses! Take a leaf from Dubya.
Noooo! I don't believe any of that. None of that American fiction!
Moral of the Story: All I know now, from all this, is that, as long as you're alive (and the longer you're alive the more so), you'll never see enough! Abridged Story of the Moral: You aint seen what you aint seen!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)