What Mediocrity Means To Me
*A reflection paper on an advertising group project about “mediocrity.” The class is going to paint a Mona Lisa altogether, making a unique piece. I’ll post the pics later.
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“What Mediocrity Means To Me” by Crystal Superal
When my classmates chose this as a topic for our group project, I winced. First of all, mediocrity is an argument. They say there are two sides to everything, but even more so in this area. Mediocrity, to me, means a “state of being afraid to stand out.” I know because I do it too - those times when I get lazy on a paper and start citing rather than coming up with my own theories; when I use models in animation; when I derive ideas from other artworks, instead of cultivating the creative genius in me. There are instances, too, that I do not choose to be mediocre but I still end up being one. In golf, I work hard mentally and physically, but that’s not enough to put any golfer on top. He must dedicate his life to this career, say twenty years— but even so, that does not guarantee success.
The problem with mediocrity is that it prohibits moving forward. Average is not only boring, but also bad. I recall those “average” kids in high school. I wonder what will happen to them. Will they give out an “average” resume, “average” work, and “average” contribution to society? Why not aim to be the cream-of-the-crop? When a person is afraid, it hampers her motivation. People can be afraid of standing out for many reasons: to avoid attention, laziness, insecurities, ignorance, psychological and cultural conditions, etc. In a communist setting, standing out is illegal. If a kid is brought up to follow all rules, her background does not set her up for groundbreaking work. And sadly, some people become mediocre by choice.
On the other hand, mediocrity is as old and as natural as breathing. I’m yet to meet an individual who hasn’t done it in his life. The modern American culture is said to be the most overworked in the entire world. So if you’re tired, how bad can it be to take the easy route? Moreover, a lot of people consciously choose to simply exist - to follow the norms of the community to live comfortably. We learn from history that radical thinkers are condemned by society like Galileo, Copernicus, etc. Being average, simply put, is a way to staying safe.
With mediocrity, the arguments on both sides are valid. My personal convictions are against it, but society deems it acceptable. So yes, mediocrity has its time and place. Take for instance our collective work, the painting of Mona Lisa. Choosing her as the subject is a totally mediocre option. But it works because not only it satisfies our homework assignment, but it also represents the complexity of mediocrity in itself. When mediocrity is done collectively, it becomes a staple, ingrained and inevitable driving force. When you closely observe every brushstroke, texture, and subtlety of the painting, only then you’ll see its beauty. I warned you – mediocrity is an irony.
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These are just teasers, but hopefully they put this up as a poster promoting the 2012 Golf Spring season. (We shall see).
Yey, I’m kilig.
Photos by Meg Williams
AAU Women’s Golf Stats Project
Okay, now time for the nerdiest thing I’ve ever done in my life. I had to do this for this class. Ready?
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December 7, 2011
LA_256_02: Edward Pertcheck
Title: AAU Women’s Golf Team Statistics
Proposal:
What I want to do is a statistics golf-based project that will calculate the exact number of strokes we take when we hit a driver off the tee, versus using a higher-lofted club. The goal is to give a specific number - an exact score - that will tell us how we could save strokes simply by being less aggressive on the tee box. Lastly, I will refer to Golfstat to figure out how that number is affecting our ranking as a team.
I. Complete Data:
Scores of 3 rounds with driver off the tee/GIR:
Sierra- 7/3: 3/3 = 5 / 6
Crystal- 7/7: 4/7 = 5.5 / 14
Andrea- 4/9: 5/9 = 4.5 / 18
Lyra- 4/8: 4/11 = 4 / 19
Melissa- 5/2: 4/7 = 4.5 / 9
Mariana- 5/6: 4/6 = 4.5 / 12
Score of 2 rounds with fairway wood off the tee/GIR:
(Names listed in the same order)
6/3: 6/6
5 /6: 5/12
5/7: 5/14
4/7: 4/14
4/7: 4/14
5/11: 5/22
(a.) If shots were hit from the fairway, how many GIR? What’s the average score? (focusing only on hole #5 of Presidio:
DRIVER:
FAIRWAY WOOD:
If shots were hit from the fairway (with a driver), the GIR=4, average score=5.
If shots were hit from the fairway (with a fairway wood), the GIR=2, average score=4.66
Throughout my study, an interesting phenomenon happened - my teammates hit all the fairways, 100%! So obviously I can no longer do my initial plan of making statistics of fairways hits versus fairways missed. Instead, I proceeded to do it on fairways hit with a driver versus fairways hit with a fairway wood off the tee.
II. Correlation Coefficient
To do this graph, first I entered all my data in the upper-left hand column. Then, I took the correlation coefficient, which is -0.6802886.
The y-axis states the scores, highest of which is 6.5 and lowest at 3.5. (Hole number 5 of Presidio is a par 4.) The x-axis is the Green in Regulation (GIR) average, which I got from the data I collected stated in Part I. It ends at 80 because 18 holes x 4 rounds = 72 holes.
Next, I had to get percentages of GIR in fairways hit with driver and fairway wood:
4 rounds x 18 holes = 72 holes
72 holes x 6 players = 432 holes total
Sum of Driver GIR averages (from correlation graph) = 125 greens
125 is 28.9% of 432
Sum of Fairway Wood GIR averages (from correlation graph) = 156 greens
156 is 36.1% of 432
Referencing the correlation graph, we see that 28.9% = 4.4 strokes and 36.1% = 4.3 strokes
4.6 - 4.3 = 0.3 (multiplied by 12 par 4’s in a round)
0.3 x 12 = 3.6 strokes per round
III. Conclusion
The AAU women’s team, when hitting a fairway wood off the tee, improved their average team score by 3.6 strokes per round. That’s huge!
(Note: Regular tournament play requires only five players, but I studied six players in this project. Nevertheless, the numbers still give a good estimation.)
These are possible reasons:
- Perhaps hitting fairway wood increased chances of hitting fairways, therefore translating to confidence in playing the hole.
- The second shots are hugely impacted by the tee-shots — calm and well-placed shots from the fairway translates to lower average scores in that hole.
What does this mean to AAU women’s team?
I looked at Golfstat, the official scoreboard of collegiate golf in the United States.
As of September 25, 2011, the Academy of Art University Women’s Team is ranked 42th in the nation, with an adjusted scoring average of 80.58.
*AAU is highlighted in red
If we can subtract 3.6 strokes to our adjusted scoring average:
80.58 strokes - 3.6 strokes = 76. 98 strokes
To sum it up, 3.6 strokes per round for AAU Women’s golf means the difference of being ranked 42nd and 24th.
That’s eliminating 18 teams or almost half of where we’re ranked now! (Western Washington University is ranked 24th with an average score of 76.72.) The biggest lesson for me in doing this project is that a more conservative approach off the tee can easily translate to lower scores. This is insightful information and something that I will share with my team.
Borderline
My first attempt to write fiction. It is an incredibly difficult task, one that almost got me disheartened, but nonetheless raised my bar of respect to novelists. To earn a living that way is unimaginable to the non-creative type. Anyway, here we go.
Narrative Storytelling Class
July 2011
Title: Borderline
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Here in Baik Manor, the ephemeral fragrance of the rose garden increased during the evening, invading my nose and making me swoon. That night, I smelled the sweet scent sweeping my room. It urged me to go out, but just as I decided to walk, I heard footsteps heading toward the back door of my wooden cabin. Dan.
“Hi, my love,” Dan announced, smelling of liquor. He had always greeted me with ardor, if it can be described in one word. Sometimes he was sober, most of the time, he’s not.
“Hi, Dan. It’s so nice outside? What about a walk?” I said in an attempt to defer the ambiance, which is beginning to be what I’ve been avoiding for years now.
Dan inched and swayed closer, turning his face toward the floor as if struggling for balance. Even in such helpless form, he still, I confessed, looked sharp. His crisp, green shirt showcased his sculpted physique from years of professional golfing. I didn’t have to ask, but I know he was a shade above six feet tall, with matching almond-shaped eyes ready to sweep any girl off her feet. But the fact that this stately gentleman was currently kneeling in front me, didn’t faze me. I was confused if I should be happy or sad about it, actually. Perhaps because I know exactly what he wanted.
I urged Dan to stand up, only making him get a hold of my weary shoulders. “Dan, I thought we already talked about this.”
He answered with a kiss. In just a few moments I felt his hand at small of my back, his other hand on my chin, all while kissing me tenderly. It tasted of bittersweet ginger beer and something else that somewhat burned my lips. As I half-closed my eyes, I gathered myself. I pushed him away.
Dan, with disappointed eyes, mumbled. “Elle, please?”
In a few moments he was already on the way out of the door. Meanwhile, I reached for the small, old leather notebook which was almost falling off my bed. Five years in the Baik manor and I never allowed to lose myself. I used that notebook to keep me sane, to keep track of time, to write, and to draw the perimeters of the large complex. With what I know I can attempt to escape, but why don’t I? Dan’s love and comfort sustained me the good life I could never have. But whenever he tried to implicitly bring about his only one request, I refuse. He has robbed me of my freedom, and I just as much rob him his one desire. I cringed.
It all started when I had to move to Cebu. I had left my job as an art history teacher for a change of scenery. It took me months to finally decide in living in the second major city of the Philippines. Perfection - not as crowded or expensive as the capital, yet modern enough to fit my taste. I had fallen in love with the way the sun shone here - a tint between yellow and gold, sparkling, vivid - just like gold-leaf from illuminated manuscripts.
With Dan, everything moved so fast - it intensified when he had invited me over to Christmas eve dinner at his family’s lavish manor after just a few weeks of knowing each other. It fizzled out later that summer, when because of his family’s interruptions and Dan’s bizarre tendencies, I had decided to break up with him. It was too late when I found out about his family’s reputation and clout in the island. Although I cannot deny our good moments: “My love,” Dan would endearingly call me in private twinkles. Through my ears, his deep voice reverberated like an enchanting spell, especially just after lovemaking, when Dan would hug my waist from behind. Our last decent conversation ended with “I’ll take care of you” from him, without me knowing those four words will take on a whole new different meaning.
I woke up the next afternoon, ready. I wiped the faint dirt over my tanned cheeks, swept my thick, black hair in a loose bun, and forced myself to smile. No need for any makeup; I hated those. I inched my way to the main manor, and surrendered myself to Dan. I had decided to give in to his request of having me, all of me, in this lonely, secluded villa where he have kept me, literally, a captive of love. For which reason I am unaware, just as much as I cannot fathom my refusal to break away.
As we lay spent in bed, I felt both our souls racing with thoughts.
“You know why I kept you here,” Dan said, obviously groping for words. “Here, because..”
“Because we are friends,” I retorted with my numb self.
“You won’t ever leave, would you?” Dan said, emphasizing the word you. He sat up on the bed, eyes fixed on me. I saw some beads of sweat glistening on his satisfied face.
“I don’t know, Dan,” I said, turning away and covering my nakedness with the plush, velvety bed sheet.
It’s not that I have never decided to leave - I have - many times, except that it just never came to be. I am sure Dan loved me. In spite of his tantrums and drinking, we do have nice moments. One day, I found out I was pregnant. Instantly, the gut feeling of having to stay got stronger than ever. Likewise, like magic, Dan transformed into a very able father. He came visiting me and my boy, Madden, everyday, showering us with affection and materialistic things. If I left, would I be able to provide my child everything Dan has? Though in my life, good things have a way of ending very, incredibly quickly.
In spite of my seemingly perpetual house arrest, I never let myself get idle. I enjoyed taking care of the cabin, painting, anything to get me up and working. Meanwhile, my two year old boy, Madden, loved the outdoors. One peaceful afternoon, like it always was in Baik Manor, I left him alone by the rose garden. He played with his dad’s golf balls while I decided to grab my palette. As soon as I got inside my room, Swoooosh! Outside, I saw those golf balls floated across the water, the ivory tiles sprinkled with diluted blood from Madden’s tiny head - my lifeless son drowned in the only second I had left him in the two full years I took care of him.
I ran and jumped to the water, hopeful I wasn’t too late or maybe he’s still breathing, or maybe something else hit, not his head. When I turned him over, a surge of blood ran up to my crown and I felt a spasm shot up my spine. My head pinched, my throat gagged, my chest heavy - with my weak arms I cradled my son, blood pulsating from a large wound on the left corner of his skull, face pale - a corpse.
“You killed him, didn’t you?!” Dan shouted at me that night. I was sure it could be heard by the guards from almost a mile down the front gate. “How dare you.. sacrifice our child for your own!”
“Believe me! It was an accident! I loved Madden!” I screamed back at him. For years, Dan has only seen my numb side. I only showed emotion that night, as I presented a dead child. Was that believable?
Dan and I (again, of course privately) went through the entire course of mourning for Madden. We had him cremated and built a proper burial site, a walking distance away from my isolated cabin. In all those months, Dan gave me the silent treatment. He stopped the greetings of ardor. He even stopped competing anymore. And he started drinking again. He once tried at hinting for another child, but I felt like Madden wanted me to do something else. A choice, I have to make.
I sat, scared and used like a tattered old leaf, on this brand-new airplane back to Manila. I had escaped Baik manor with the use of my decade-old blueprint doodled on my leather notebook. Just five hours ago, I was sweating nervously as I had tricked Dan into perhaps, permanent sleep. Unbeknownst to him, I had made a trip to the pitcher plant, a hidden, carnivorous plant that secretes poisonous enzymes and acids. I wasn’t sure it would work, but there were legends in the art world that the famous painter, Pacheco, died of it. I knew I wouldn’t be able to run away with Dan conscious.
There was a trail in Baik Manor that would take exactly three hours of moderate running, and would lead to the back of a tiny village. I covered myself in mud for harder visibility; I knew these villagers knew me. After climbing a rough, cemented wall, I ran some more toward the borderline, the shore. Lugging some cash from the hidden compartment in my notebook, I paid a young girl for her clothes, and a shower. I explained to her that I lost my mountain-hiking party.
Five hours later, I am here now in PR501. I am no longer young nor idealistic, as the first time I rode this flight to Cebu. The shower was futile. I smelled of lamenting and reeked with accusations of murdering my own child and lover. I am ignorant of this newness - the outside, the noise, the strangers. Suddenly the thought of how to survive, paralyzed me.
“Hi miss,” the man sitting beside me said, interrupting my thoughts. “I’ve been noticing that you look so happy. Anything exciting in Manila?”
How ironic. He was holding a bouquet of roses, and instantly, I was reminded of the rose garden in my cabin, the sole witness of my incarceration, of Dan’s possessiveness, of Madden’s death, the pitcher plant poison, the years toiling me, and my innocence.
His question didn’t need an answer.
Gargoyles vs. Greek Masks
Time to share some of the papers I’ve written in the past.
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LA_120: 15th century Art History
Kim Schafer
April 21, 2011
Title: Exploring Gargoyles and Greek Masks
As a practicing Catholic, my curiosity was piqued by this class’ stories of early Christianity as it pertains to art. Gothic architecture is a part of this rich time period, and so are gargoyles – which, I believe, is the most peculiar and mysterious piece of this type of architecture. I grew up believing in heaven, that saints and angels are ethereal and beautiful – if so, why are these scary gargoyles built in the church, my home of worship? To give a satisfactory answer, I will compare the gargoyle found on the exterior of St. George’s chapel to another symbol of mystery and worship, the Greek mask of Dionysus. “Dionysus was the God of wine and inspired madness, and a major figure in Greek mythology. He invites you to play a role that is in constant metamorphosis. During the festivals in worship of him, myths were danced and sung.” (“Birth of Masks”) As a Catholic, we do the same to honor Jesus Christ – we sing Him thanks and praise as well. Although the gargoyle in St. George and the Dionysus Greek mask share no similar physicality, their worship symbolism and effect to the society is strongly reflected in our everyday lives - even if we don’t notice it.
I am going to discuss the gargoyle first. The four aspects I’m going to cover are: definition, description of each artwork, purpose, and place in history. What is a gargoyle? “Gargoyles are an elaborate waterspouts. Usually taking form of an elongated fantastic animal, these decorated gutters are architectural necessities turned into ornament.” (Benton 6) This gargoyle found in St. George’s chapel in Windsor castle in England, United Kingdom is an example.
Called St. George’s gargoyle, this 14th century piece of gothic artwork is grotesquely (meaning, odd or unnatural in shape) carved out of stone, the main purpose of which is to be a waterspout. Its abstract form symbolized an attempt to represent and ward off evil, like a guardian of the building. This kind of function isn’t totally new – in fact, the Greeks used lion-head waterspouts too. St. George’s gargoyle posed as if holding onto the building by its claws. Janetta Benton, in her book Holy Terrors, describes this pose as “establishing a logical and clever relationship between the animal and the architecture – a witty use of the context that treats the animal as if they were real.” One characteristic of a gargoyle is that not one is alike. The purpose of these fanciful and varied sculptures is historically hard to pin down, except that we know that during the medieval times, icons are more effective than literature. One theory is that the members of the medieval church used gargoyles to attract attention and increase attendance. Benton continues, “It is likely that the frightening nature of gargoyles was partly due to the medieval artists’ responsibility to help mold public behavior through intimidating images.” We recall early Christianity’s persistent use of symbolism (dove, cross, sheep, etc.) to hasten the development of the religion. Today, gargoyles are still carved. A lot more comic and less demonic than those of the Middle Ages, most of these modern works are interpretations of the medieval gargoyles and are altered for a contemporary meaning and style.
I am going to discuss the mask of Dionysus second. As earlier mentioned, the four aspects I’m going to cover are: definition, description of each artwork, purpose, and place in history. The mask of Dionysus was made of organic material (linen rags and glue) and was not meant to be permanent (the photograph, I assume, is a replica.) It’s described as helmet-like, which is supposed to cover the face and the head, with holes for the eyes and mouth, and even perhaps includes a wig.
Masks are used in theatrical performances that were being dedicated to the altar of Dionysus – the patron of agriculture and theater. In Greek society, theatrical performances and wearing a mask is a source of pride and public celebration. They believed that when you put on a mask, you create a new form of life, as evidenced by replica masks found in graveyards (supposedly representing the life that a dead person wished to retain.) Historically, we might have found the origin of comedy in Dionysus’ festivals – according to Aristotle, the “dithyramb” [a wild and ecstatic ancient Greek hymn sung to Dionysus] was the origin of Ancient Greek theater. The phallic procession (a.k.a Penis Parade) to a cult center, followed by a sacrifice, was a common feature of the Dionysian celebrations in the Greek countryside. Another reason masks were worn in is for visibility. “Traditionally the Greek theatre was a huge bowl built into the side of a mountain valley and many would seat more than 10,000 people. Because of this, the actor’s expressions would only be visible to the first few rows, which created the need for drama masks.” (“My masks”) Today, theatrical masks have become the symbol of theater itself, and have become part of history and roots of drama and opera.
Both the gargoyle and the mask of Dionysus make use of strong symbolism - one is of inducing fear to strengthen faith, the other is to promote a way of worship by creating a second identity. By these means, both artworks were used as a way of devotion and offering. The gargoyle supposedly represented demons and evil spirits, whereas the mask concealed the actor’s individuality. Today, second identities and masks are omnipresent in our lives. People fake their real looks and personality in social media sites like facebook, etc. Some even go as far as creating a second identity. The Catholic Church is the world’s largest Christian church and in spite of being one of the oldest institutions in the world, still remains relevant and very powerful. “Catholic doctrine maintains that the Church is infallible when it dogmatically teaches a doctrine of faith or morals,” as stated by Wikipedia. Later on, the Christians would adopt the use of masks in traditional events that celebrate the last day before Lent in Venice, Italy. When we look at gargoyles from the Gothic era and at a Dionysus Greek mask - although sharing no physical similarity at all - we now understand that these two works are more similar than they are different. And even if these were all within distant 15th century, we can still see the effects pounded on us by their symbolism in our everyday lives. In spite of conspiracy stories, books like Dan Brown’s “Da Vinci Code”, news about Catholic sexual abuse and so forth, the Christian faith remains strong.
Bibliography:
“St. George’s Gargoyle | Museum Store Company Gifts, Jewelry and More.” Museum Store | Museum Jewelry, Gifts, Art Artifacts Company Shop. Museum Store Company. Web. 20 Apr. 2011. <http://www.museumstorecompany.com/St-George-s-Gargoyle-14th-Century-p6511.html>.
Harold, B.W. “Mythology of the Gargoyle - by B.W. Harold - Helium.” Helium - Where Knowledge Rules. 26 June 2010. Web. 20 Apr. 2011. <http://www.helium.com/items/1873191-gargoyleswalt-disneymythologyrouenla-gargouillesaint-romanisgrotesquechimerasmedieval>.
“Gargoyles.” Medieval Life and Times. Web. 20 Apr. 2011. <http://www.medieval-life-and-times.info/medieval-art/gargoyles.htm>.
B, Janet. “Venetian Carnival Masks History | EHow.com.” EHow | How to Videos, Articles & More - Trusted Advice for the Curious Life | EHow.com. 29 Aug. 2010. Web. 20 Apr. 2011. <http://www.ehow.com/facts_7159776_venetian-carnival-masks-history.html>.
“Greek Masks.” My Masks. 30 Mar. 2008. Web. 20 Apr. 2011. <http://my-masks.blogspot.com/2008/04/greek-masks.html>.
“Birth of the Masks of Comedy and Tragedy.” Carnaval.com Entry Page. Web. 20 Apr. 2011. <http://www.carnaval.com/mask/birthofmasks.htm>.
“St. George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle.” Wikipedia, the Free Encyclopedia. Web. 20 Apr. 2011. <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._George’s_Chapel,_Windsor_Castle>.
“Greek Theater.” DAVIDS BLOG. David Sasson, 30 Jan. 2008. Web. 20 Apr. 2011. <http://davidsasson.blogspot.com/2008/01/greek-theater.html>.
“Writing Comparison and Contrast Essays.” Advanced Composition for Non-Native Speakers of English. Erlyn Baack. Web. 20 Apr. 2011. <http://www.eslbee.com/compcont.htm>.
Benton, Janetta Rebold. Holy Terrors: Gargoyles on Medieval Buildings. New York: Abbeville, 1997. Print.
Dawkins, R.M. The Modern Carnival in Thrace and the Cult of Dionysus. Vol. 26, 1906. Society for the Promotion of Hellenic Studies. Print.
One of the best treats for a golfer like me, who’s been doing this for over a decade, is playing beautiful, challenging courses. Matched with great company and good course conditions, it really makes my heart swing. ;)
Pics today at Wente Vineyard Course (Livermore, CA).
P.S. The first pic shows the hill going up to Hole 10. Craziest I’ve ever seen.
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Having a fabulous time here in Cebu.
Today we played the Christmas Cup, Jovi’s special tournament for his past jungolfers. Then, he hosted the lunch at his home with, of course, the famous Cebu lechon. The kids stayed for a while - talking, hanging out, playing basketball, eating some more. As soon as they left, Jovi and I had dinner at a Japanese place called Kanyoen. Very expensive but I just had the best salad in my life there! When we got home, he serenaded me with the piano. We might have some more wine before we call it a night.
Fabulous. I thank my good boyfriend. And this picture makes me kilig.
Good night.
-C.
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How awesome is a day spent at the sea? Got to drive an amphibious vehicle today in a Ride-the-Ducks tour. Also, I hung out and got to know better my cousin, Cara. Even if we got lost for an hour, missed our tour and had to rebook, all’s well that end’s well. Fun five hours discussing topics from credit cards to art.
San Francisco is so freakin’ beautiful. And most especially during Christmas time!
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Really. You’re Thankful?
I see a lot of people post, “I’m thankful.”
What does that even mean?
Does it mean:”I’m in a good mood, not stressed right now. Oh, since I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, I realized own lots of materialistic things, so I’m happy with that. I have friends and my family are always there for me. Everyone’s happy and healthy. Awesome, right?” So I’m thankful. Click, post.
Why don’t we just stop posting and start doing?
Are you going to get up, call/hug/kiss that special person, tell them personally why you are thankful for them?
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I just made five Christmas cards for people who have touched my life in the past year/s. These are people who cross my mind every once in a while, but all the thoughts they leave me are the warmth and sincerity of the love they shared with me - regardless of the platform. The concept couldn’t be any simpler: It’s just a card with a bunch of printed mini-photographs and handwritten notes. But it felt amazing to me to know that maybe when they get these, they’d smile. I just want for these people to know that I remember them. That, although I can’t be all cuddly and overexcited in person, the gratefulness for them being around, is abundant in my heart.
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Good night, everyone.
Cheers,
C.
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Contemporary Math
Fine, I’ll come clean: I am math-phobic. It’s the only thing in the world that gets me hyper-conscious, with matching sweaty palms and abnormally fast heartbeat. When someone comes up with a question, “So what is 86 minus 54?” - I just stop and stare for a while (via OneRepublic).
Ridiculous? Then, this semester came.
I had to take a class called, “Topics in Contemporary Math” because it’s the only one that will work with my golf schedule. The title was catchy so I thought it would be alright. Besides, the class description stated: “how math is applicable to artists.” Haha. Turns out, the class was entry-level mathematics required for architecture majors.
(Teacher’s an architect, for real.)
On our very first day, my teacher handed us five plastic cups. Then, he said, “I want you to make an equation that will give me the exact height of the cups regardless what number you plug in.” WTF. For real? Again, I stopped and stared for a while.
After the class, I went home and cried on my study table. I really shouldn’t have taken a subject that overwhelmed me so much it took me several hours of lamenting, hypnosis sessions, and three more weeks of crying just to get over the fact that I was so afraid I’d fail (each class in my school costs $2,000 - MUST.NOT.FAIL!) When I looked at my homework, I cried some more.
(An example of our homework. Took me 12 pages and seven hours to finish.)
After the fourth week, for which I had already submitted about 40 intense pages of equations as homework, I found a solution:
“I will dedicate an hour everyday to studying, and I will put my best foot forward. I’m not an idiot; I will not fail.”
Fast forward to the the 13th week: I’ve learned to estimate a real building’s height using trigonometry and baseline, to calculate the distance of the horizon from altitude to the ground - heck - I can probably make an equation from the exact time a Ferris wheel reaches whatever distance it is off the ground using a sinusoidal graph. I had submitted over 140 pages of equations (each page divided into two-columns) to my teacher already. I had conducted a statistical project that took one month, six players, and 36 scorecards - and found that AAU women’s golf added 3.6 strokes more when they hit driver versus wood off the tee.* So what had happened? Have I become a nerd?
(That’s the stack of 140 pages of equations I’ve solved, buddy. From Algebra to Geometry, Physics, Trigonometry to Calculus. He likes to throw in logic problems, too. Thank goodness to google.)
No, of course, I haven’t. I’m still really a noob when it comes to math. Listen, my architecture classmates will move on to Physics, then Structures (engineering) class, but I end my journey here. I was afraid - blank stares and the shaking during tests - and to me, those were very real. I honestly don’t know what happened how I became - Wait, if you do something every week for 10-15 hours, you’d probably be good at it after four months, right? So that must be it. Just hard work.
This class has taught me humility - that being a “C” student is okay, if that’s really all you’ve got. That I am indeed not an idiot and actually pretty smart (half of the class is failing at the moment.) To say that the experience was “incredible” was a disservice to my teacher. A lot of people asked me why I’m even there in the first place, since those architecture kids are required to take it and I’m not. Do you know the best thing I learned? That doing something everyday that scares you, is one of the best things you can ever do in your life. It’s not even about the copious quantity of math! Even so, I proved that the class title “Topics in Contemporary Mathematics” was still a wee bit deceiving. It’s more like: Don’t-take-this-unless-you-can-solve-for-eight-hours-every-week class.
P.S. I have a new-found appreciation for architecture - not based on my spatial recognition disability - but on the terms that architects are dreamers AND builders. I have so many quotes from my teacher, like when he made a 4-inch column that can carry 2,000 pounds. Ahhh, the geekiness really never ends.
Cheers,
Crystal
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