Like my colleague John Phifer, I find myself embarking on a journey into the mysterious this summer. Having returned from the far-flung United Kingdom, I’ve decided to continue my globe trotting ways by going where only the bravest explorers have gone before: Smiley Hall.
You might think that it’s absolutely bizarre for someone to sit down and take the time out of their summer to write an article for The Minaret, but I can do you one better: I’m spending my summer at the University of Tampa. Not only that, but my main reason for being here is to take a math class. The odds are definitely against me succeeding at said class, or, at least, I assume they would be, if I knew how to calculate them. I can only hope that calculators are allowed. If this is not the case, I’ll have to compute all my answers using nature’s abacus – my hand.
The last time I was in a math class was in 19-naught-5. This was, of course, before the number zero had even been invented, which is the only thing that kept me from getting one in the class. As I recall, the teacher was so dumbfounded by my ability to introduce letters, early Egyptian pictograms and pithy Esperanto phrases into work where there should only be numbers that I was eventually given more extra credit assignments than actual assignments.
There must have been some part of me that realized that were it not for a 40 point report on the art of M.C. Escher (which I am currently trying to get credit for toward my Art History minor here at UT) I would actually still be in high school. Since that day, whenever I am confronted by anything more complex than basic arithmetic, I make use of nature’s automobile: My feet.
I actually spent about an hour in a math class sometime during junior year. I forget what the title was, but it was something along the lines of “Math Made as Simple As We Can Possibly Make It.” I dropped out immediately after missing every question on the pre-test.
I think I might have accidentally included an 8 in my own name.
Needless to say, taking an “accelerated” six week math class is among the most ridiculous things I’ve ever done. This is made more obvious by the fact that this class is held every day, whereas most summer classes I’ve encountered are conducted twice a week. I’m imagining nine tests a week. To be fair, I’m also imagining thumbscrews and boiling hot oil, which have never, to the best of my knowledge, been used as pedagogical tools outside of the Spanish Inquisition.
Though I tend to be fairly grade conscious, as one has to be when you have 16 majors and 48 minors, I’ve decided that I’ll be satisfied with the results of this particular class as long as my score remains somewhere above pi. In the relatively likely event that I fail, you can expect to see me as The Minaret’s editor-in-chief 2009-2014, while I lobby for the introduction of a new class based on the respected textbook “Everyday Math for Dummies.”
I’m not sure what that book could actually entail, though, as if I had to use any kind of math “every day” I would last be seen with an expression of solemn purpose as I walked, without hesitation, into the Atlantic Ocean. At least in that case, I would be spending part of my summer at a beach.
I have about three weeks before this class begins, so, of course, I’ve already started preparing for the final. I would like to enlist the aid of my roommate, Steve Knauss, who is a skilled ACE tutor specializing in the subject. However, as he has recently been named The Minaret’s editor-in-chief for 07-08, his sole mode of communication is laughing diabolically and uttering one-word commands from the shadows.
Stay tuned for further updates in our July edition, already in progress.