Just got my life back. The final was last night and I managed to hang on to the 'A' but just by the scruff. It isn't that I'm bitter. After all an 'A' is an 'A.' But the truth be told summer semester's 'A' tasted better. I owned that one.
It was four hours, three nights a week for five weeks. We tested out every week and every week we lost one student. And toward the end more. So we went from 30 to 12 with 11 taking the final.
It wasn't that the class was so hard or that I am so smart, it was just commitment. Actually, it was more a submission than anything else. I let it be what I was doing. I got dressed for it, planned my meals around it. I crunched the homework; had an issue with less than a 100% on any of it. Beit a quiz, a test, the homework, class work. I wanted it. I wanted to understand completely or to do something else. So I gave into it.
By the time finals came round for summer, it was like any of the homework or a test, or a quiz to me.
Something odd was the instructor --he started making these weird remarks about how he didn't believe it when a student was making 100% on every test. He said out loud to me that it was highly unusual. I would have laughed in his face, but he followed it up with that should it continue, he would change that student's grade, manually. (All assignments/tests were done on computer)
I called the department head.
I have no idea why, but I had all my scratch paper from tests, homework, et al. It turned out I didn't need it. The department head's secretary was blunt and what might be considered rude and because of it, I found myself reassured in an off-hand sort of way. What it got down to in our conversation was that my grades were consistent, and that Anatol ( the buddy version of the instructor's first name) was probably just kidding and probably I was a little too sensitive and serious.
Since she was blunt and nearly rude, so was I. I stated flatly, that "Anatol" wasn't the least bit funny and that I wondered if she held frivilous insensitivity in high regard.
Sounds dire I know, but something in me appreciated the just stark way she spoke, and that I didn't back down; and that neigther of us for one reason or another became heated in the exchange. In the end she said I should come by the office and meet her. That she would like that. I never found the time.
The night of finals old "Anatol" decided I was a serious student and said he would have me in his class again and that I should take him for Math 112 ( yeah, all this over pre-Alg.) I told him good night. But I smiled when I said it.
That night I "missed" one problem. That made me smile too. I felt perfect.
But this time it wasn't like that. We met four hours, once a week for just too damn long. We had three exams.
In hind sight I see the organization of 112 as flabby. Our prof was handsome, high-strung and subtley entertaining. I was dreamy. I I floated in. I scrateched away on paper, chirped responses, and wandered out to break. ("Anatol" didn't allow breaks. He said we did not have the time for breaks. That we needed to just "Go!")
Next thing I knew finals were a week away. We hadn't even tested on the last three chapters N. S. had crammed us through. He kept everyone coming the last two weeks of actual class by saying we were going to have one more test before the final.
We had started with 42 students in a math "lab," It looked like maybe 17 of us were there for the final at the outside.
We were supposed to have two hours in which to test. Somehow I ended up with 01:35 minutes. I won't even go into the distractions.
The final itself was not so bad as trying to study for it. WIth the class having been so loose and wiggly, I didn't have the same depth of understanding for 112 that I had for 105. Even the one thing I didn't get in 105 I had memorized the process by process of rote, so it didn't make any difference. But that last weekend of trying to get my arms around 112. Trying to pull it together as a whole math experience. I never did.
Now, I have one month before 115 to handle my business with 112. And what's so weird is I'm going have to do it the way "Anatol" would have had us do it. Monkey sense. See the problem. See the example of the problem. Work the problem. Now work a page of the same kind of problem. Now you can do that kind of problem anytime because all that will ever change will be the numbers. Even if it is masquerading as another sort of problem you will be able to see through whatever fancy sign or strange vocabulary and do what needs to be done. Your mind set will be changed. You will think, and you will solve.
Hmmm...maybe I got a little more out of this 92.83 pt. 'A' than I thought.
Looking forward to getting back into the swing. Already scoped out the Ash Wood drawings to scan and send to Drake. It is so cool that she sold so well at the school art sale that she got enough money to go to comicon. But it only makes sense too. She is that good. I should scrape together some cash and have her send me a print. Something cool like that...yeah. cool.
It was four hours, three nights a week for five weeks. We tested out every week and every week we lost one student. And toward the end more. So we went from 30 to 12 with 11 taking the final.
It wasn't that the class was so hard or that I am so smart, it was just commitment. Actually, it was more a submission than anything else. I let it be what I was doing. I got dressed for it, planned my meals around it. I crunched the homework; had an issue with less than a 100% on any of it. Beit a quiz, a test, the homework, class work. I wanted it. I wanted to understand completely or to do something else. So I gave into it.
By the time finals came round for summer, it was like any of the homework or a test, or a quiz to me.
Something odd was the instructor --he started making these weird remarks about how he didn't believe it when a student was making 100% on every test. He said out loud to me that it was highly unusual. I would have laughed in his face, but he followed it up with that should it continue, he would change that student's grade, manually. (All assignments/tests were done on computer)
I called the department head.
I have no idea why, but I had all my scratch paper from tests, homework, et al. It turned out I didn't need it. The department head's secretary was blunt and what might be considered rude and because of it, I found myself reassured in an off-hand sort of way. What it got down to in our conversation was that my grades were consistent, and that Anatol ( the buddy version of the instructor's first name) was probably just kidding and probably I was a little too sensitive and serious.
Since she was blunt and nearly rude, so was I. I stated flatly, that "Anatol" wasn't the least bit funny and that I wondered if she held frivilous insensitivity in high regard.
Sounds dire I know, but something in me appreciated the just stark way she spoke, and that I didn't back down; and that neigther of us for one reason or another became heated in the exchange. In the end she said I should come by the office and meet her. That she would like that. I never found the time.
The night of finals old "Anatol" decided I was a serious student and said he would have me in his class again and that I should take him for Math 112 ( yeah, all this over pre-Alg.) I told him good night. But I smiled when I said it.
That night I "missed" one problem. That made me smile too. I felt perfect.
But this time it wasn't like that. We met four hours, once a week for just too damn long. We had three exams.
In hind sight I see the organization of 112 as flabby. Our prof was handsome, high-strung and subtley entertaining. I was dreamy. I I floated in. I scrateched away on paper, chirped responses, and wandered out to break. ("Anatol" didn't allow breaks. He said we did not have the time for breaks. That we needed to just "Go!")
Next thing I knew finals were a week away. We hadn't even tested on the last three chapters N. S. had crammed us through. He kept everyone coming the last two weeks of actual class by saying we were going to have one more test before the final.
We had started with 42 students in a math "lab," It looked like maybe 17 of us were there for the final at the outside.
We were supposed to have two hours in which to test. Somehow I ended up with 01:35 minutes. I won't even go into the distractions.
The final itself was not so bad as trying to study for it. WIth the class having been so loose and wiggly, I didn't have the same depth of understanding for 112 that I had for 105. Even the one thing I didn't get in 105 I had memorized the process by process of rote, so it didn't make any difference. But that last weekend of trying to get my arms around 112. Trying to pull it together as a whole math experience. I never did.
Now, I have one month before 115 to handle my business with 112. And what's so weird is I'm going have to do it the way "Anatol" would have had us do it. Monkey sense. See the problem. See the example of the problem. Work the problem. Now work a page of the same kind of problem. Now you can do that kind of problem anytime because all that will ever change will be the numbers. Even if it is masquerading as another sort of problem you will be able to see through whatever fancy sign or strange vocabulary and do what needs to be done. Your mind set will be changed. You will think, and you will solve.
Hmmm...maybe I got a little more out of this 92.83 pt. 'A' than I thought.
Looking forward to getting back into the swing. Already scoped out the Ash Wood drawings to scan and send to Drake. It is so cool that she sold so well at the school art sale that she got enough money to go to comicon. But it only makes sense too. She is that good. I should scrape together some cash and have her send me a print. Something cool like that...yeah. cool.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
drake:
And while I don't condone the practice of marrying your 13-year-old cousin, I do think Jerry Lee should have been forgiven by the public a long time ago, as it's a cultural thing and totally common in his world.
brooklyn:
Thank you so much for the super sweet comment on my set!