Designed Mankind:
Man is a product of his environment.
Think of life as a crude assembly line, jamming its machinery with the bravado of a pounding, rusty robot. Each product is designed from the same template- varying slightly in size. It's then soaked in dye, molded, melted, dipped in hot wax- then, with a final touch, it's fastened together. One beautiful piece of flesh, blood and bone.
Of course, there are imperfections. But who cares? The item will be worn through time. It evolves, grows, spits, walks. Each designer of its "manufactured" existence will give it a clean shove down the conveyor belt, and voila, a new life is born.
A prized possession? Try delusion.
When the world is a factory, man is produced in excess. Many become corrupted in their upbringing. They lose their self-centered goodness, their purification, their enlightenment. These creatures fail and fall like artificial snowflakes sculpted by artificial clouds. They become slaves, model citizens for a designated dystopian world.
Each model of the human collection strives to be different, and their creators and developers pride themselves on this attribute of success. Past presidents, philosophers, and Olympians are all heralded as the best of the best- the ideal manikins of the social groove.
It must be admitted, however, that there are some monstrosities that refuse to be controlled. The mishaps. The mistakes. The mechanical malfunctions. But this can be expected from such a large firm that strives for the configuration of a unique species. Nonetheless, Sir or Madame, these... abnormalities are taken care of. Deleted from the system. Or, as we like to say- erased.
As our slogan follows, you now understand that man, or woman, is a product of its environment. It is a stable, efficient being that will suit the needs, pleasures, and madness of any god, being, or entity. All you have to do is send us your order- with the proper values and development securely in place- and from modern marvels, your human will form.
Thank you for your support and contribution to the success of science.
Andrew Ryan
-Factories of Fate
What I'm Doing: Being amazed by the skills Neil Patrick Harris is displaying in Jeopardy.
Check this Article: Meet Mr. John Sloan
212:
On February 27th, 2010 I started this blog. In the post "Death by Snow," I explained the origin of my title, 212. Now, I have a link to that origin, thanks to my Aunt Susie. Thanks Susie for bringing back the memories. Here's the infamous link: 212.
It's Cinco de Mayo. The fifth of May. And you know what? It falls on a Wednesday. Now, let's comprehend what this means.
The rule of 5's. The fifth of the fifth month, on a day where the fifth letter is an "e", also known as the fifth letter of the alphabet. It's 5/5/10. Five plus five… equals ten. There are two fives… so ten divided by two. Equals five! Cinco (meaning five in Spanish), of "Cinco de Mayo" is five letters long. When I typed this, I used five fingers on each hand. I also twiddled the five fingers on each of my feet. I'm leaving for Arizona on the 25th, which is five squared. My only regret? That I didn't post this at 5:55. FIVES.
I share a birthday with Jerry Springer, Mike Krzyzewski, and Randy Moss. I'm Aquarius, born on February 13th. On February 13th, 173 famous "celebrities" were born and 77 have died (according to Wikipedia- birth ending at 1990, death ending at 2010). That means my birth date has a positive living differential of 96 people. I hope there isn't a day of the year with a negative difference- that day most likely breeds bad luck. What's your birthday's living differential? If you wondering why you didn't see me on Wikipedia's famous person list, it's because it ends at the year 1990. I'm young... officially born on February 13th, 1991 in Arizona. This date is the first stop on my path to the present, in my adventure through mathematics.
My emotional regard towards the subject of math oscillates from year to year. I'll love it, enjoying the vigorous spirit of a challenging calculus problem. Then the next year I'll find myself thinking thoughts of relentless hatred towards complex fractions.
Overall though, I've had a fantastic logical upbringing. My parents were on the ball- and they initiated the first steps toward my numerical education.
When I was really young, my Dad would print out multiplication tables, working with me and making me memorize the wonderful aspects of 1-12. He would quiz me, randomly. 4 x 8. 7 x 9. 12 x 12. This was on top of the regular addition and subtraction, the practice with large numbers, small numbers, division. My Mom would cut flash cards out, or I would sit on the computer playing corny, cartoon games that focused on arithmetic. Since I began walking, I began solving, typing, gaining a solid, concrete foundation. It wasn't much longer before I started to build pillars and supports.
In the 2nd grade, I qualified (through probation) for A.L.P. at my elementary school. It stood for "Accelerated Learning Program." I remember being scared to be kicked out of the program because I was probationary (I scored one point off a clear score on the placement test). But at the same time, I was excited and honored to have the chance to prove myself. The class took up several hours of each day, and was loaded with math and vocabulary tests that stretched grades ahead of mine, and my fellow students, current year. Monday through Thursday secured strict, timed lessons and difficult reading- but Friday was always a breeze- for if we behaved (and my class always behaved), it was game day. We would bust out chess boards, circular chess boards, dominoes, Stratego. We'd endlessly play each other and devise strategies to win, make up new rules and construct new games from the boards and pieces of others. Fridays proposed opportunity for creativity- and I, along with my classmates, leaped for it.
Grade school stretched along easily. Everything was cake- and I made close friends in my A.L.P. class. The closest of them was a kid named Nick. He was sly, sneaky, conniving and ruthless- consistency was his written on his forehead and the word smart stretched through his tall, skinny frame. I strived to beat Nick in everything- but found myself always slipping up on a test- missing one or two problems due to stupid errors- where he would make none. In 3rd grade, we both joined our elementary school's chess team, and lived for the competitive intelligence of moving knights, rooks, and queens (I played my Dad when I was a kid, and for the longest time could never beat him).
Chess club was fantastic. Nick and I quickly became the best players in the school, and we rampaged with our mad skills on weekend tournaments. We learned crazy openings and crafty tricks, and although we never practiced from a book or studied games, we still grew and improved through experience. We played with logic, and level, calculating heads. We won a few tournaments (one of our favorites was
held at Eduprize), and even made it to a State match (which was a distance away from home in a nerve streaked hotel). We hated losing, but loved the one-on-one brain battle that chess offered. However, we stopped playing after 6th grade. For whatever reason (blame movies, media, fellow students), it was common knowledge that only nerds played on the chess team in middle school. And I, for sure wasn't a
nerd.
Junior high school was simple and easy. Math wasn't a challenge- the only thing new was homework, and I blasted through most, if not all of that in class. Although it was my introduction to Honors classes, 7th and 8th grade resembled a blur of accelerated A's. That was, until I shook hands with Mrs. Chapman.
At the start of my freshman year of high school, I was stunned by large class sizes and excited for a new level of work. My math course that year was Honors Geometry 3/4, taught by a woman named Mrs. Chapman. She was furious, spunky, and dictated lessons with a menace- and gave out tests that resembled the likeness of Death with his black cloak and sharp scythe. Chapman was also my first sight in the morning. 1st period class.. And I wasn't (and I'm still not) exactly a morning person. My class consisted of roughly 30, maybe 32 students. There were a couple 11th graders repeating the class because they performed terribly their initial year, and there were a few 8th graders in a special accelerated, accelerated (like, Honors squared or something) program. Within a couple weeks, my fellow students began to drop like flies. The first test was a fiery dragon, and it
definitely disintegrated 14 year olds. Chapman would give us ridiculous amounts of homework (40+ problems a night), then grade our homework as if we were perfectionists. The slightest slip up in form or work, and she would unleash her red pen from its scabbard and force our poor
slivers of trees to bleed out on her desk. Tragedy, then the great plague, then World War III struck, and my grade plummeted to an 80%. The class average hung at an 82%, and everyone (except the 11th
graders) had two feet in hot lava. Many kids had dropped, and I was left with a small remainder of my peers- as we went in to re-do what seemed like every test, attempted to create sparkles on our homework, and strive for consistency and an absence of mistakes. Before the last final of that year, my grade had dropped to a C. I needed to stab the vampire of a final in its heart with a stake to pull off a B. Panic had set in, and I felt like Tom Cruise in The Last Samurai. For the first time in my life I studied and practiced problems. At the end of school, I went to her door and checked my grade. HUGE SIGH OF RELIEF. I managed to pull of an A on the final- raising my overall grade to an 80% flat. Phew.
Sophomore year followed without a hitch, but due to my inconsistency on tests, I managed an 89.5% both semesters- rounding out to a pair of B's. As an 11th grader I destroyed Honors Pre-Calculus, and entered Calculus 1 & 2 as a senior. It posed a challenge, but I loved the novel theories and ideas it proposed. Some days I would understand new concepts in the snap of a finger. Others... I found myself staying 30-45 minutes into my lunch period, smashing my head against my desk because I didn't understand a problem on a test. I didn't study like I should have- but nevertheless; I enjoyed the class through its ups and downs.
This past year has been a little different. I haven't been a student; I'm not in the next level of mathematics. I'm not drowning in the depths of a Calculus 3 or 4 textbook, and my brain hasn't released a single drop of sweat during a timed test. Instead I've gone (at least in coursework and material) back to the elementary. I'm now teaching, mentoring, and tutoring students in Algebra 1, and forgetting my calculus and pre-calculus more and more each day. At times I feel like an Algebra 1 professional, slamming freshly thought-up problems on paper and dictating a lesson to a number of students. The kids I work with love me, and I really enjoy instructing and helping them. But, the fact is, they aren't even close to the caliber I was at in 9th grade.
Currently I'm visiting a wide variety of websites on a daily basis, brushing up on my math skills so that I can handle the ALEKS placement test for the University of Arizona. Hopefully, I can qualify for calculus 1 (a class I've already taken…). I probably will, but nerves strike me because I don't feel prepared. As I study for a placement exam, I worry about the kids I work with. I worry, and worry, and worry.
The reason I discussed the time-line of my life in mathematics was to provide a background on my life. In math, I believe I was privileged. My parents had the proper mindset earlier on, and they prepared me to excel in the subject. But I know that this wasn't the case with my students. Many of them struggle with basic addition and subtraction, and the last thing they memorized when they were kids was their multiplication tables. Negative numbers are a consistent source of mad confusion, and we haven't even touched on the subject and concepts of algebra yet- which is the class they're in. The only way that I've resembled an asset to them has been through my one-on-one tutoring and my small group instruction. There I am able to give them proper attention so they're not lost in the dust, and force them to work through problems and develop their logical skills. I also challenge and play many students in chess after school- bringing back a sense of nostalgia and my wicked skills as I teach kids how to attack and defend on an 8x8 square. Improvement is a snail stuck between fast forward and reverse. It's very difficult to make a lasting impact, but all I can do is try to propose new ideas and stick like glue to my students, arguing the importance of mathematics and education.
Like any fan of many sports, I've had to choose my favorite teams. The NBA playoffs are on, and the wonderful Phoenix Suns are back in the Playoffs. They just finished off Portland in their first series, and are now against… you guessed it… the evil empire of the Spurs. Luckily, Steve Nash led the team with 33 points to a game one victory, but who knows what this series could bring. The Suns have lost the past four series against the Spurs- let's hope that… oh, this is priceless, NUMBER FIVE is going to break the streak (FIVES!!! What did I tell you!?). Now, I could go on and on about how the San Antonio Spurs represent pure wickedness. Their coach has what looks like scars all over his face, pitch black eyes, gray hair and an angry snarl. They always wear black. They imply hack-a-Shaq methods of playing style. They constructed a Death Star above the Phoenix area. But I won't. Instead, I'm going to bring up something politically fascinating about the Suns. They're taking a stand. Many of you may have heard of the new law passed in Arizona. The Suns, in direct response to this new immigration law have decided to wear a different style of jersey. The "Los Suns" jersey. It is pretty sweet, if I do say so myself. Check it out here: "Los Suns."
To quote Muhammad Ali, "I figured if I said it enough, I would convince the world I was really the greatest."
Many people these days say that they aren't good. It's become habit to say to other people that you suck at this, or you suck at that. Well, Muhammad Ali told everyone he was and planned to be the greatest. And you know what? He became the greatest. It's all ego body building, confidence power cleans and determination bench press. Succumb to the power of (as my teammate Victoria says) All-American optimism, and shatter that silly sense of pessimism. I make it a point to compliment my students on their intellectual vitality. I want to make the populations new habit to say, "I'm awesome, and I know it."
-TWO-12
LOS SUNSSSSSSSS
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