my entire math life
This is basically the problem with the entire modern educational system.
Time to do unpopular opinion? Time to do unpopular opinion.
Balancing a checkbook is applied addition and subtraction, stuff of the third grade. Okay, yeah, it is a failure of the modern educational system if he hasn’t learned it by now.
Imaginary numbers interact with real numbers (1, 2, π, 1.5, etc) for complex numbers, and are useful if you want to get into engineering or science — you know, high paying jobs.
Remember Tomb Raider? How they make her turn? Quaternions, which use THREE sets of imaginary numbers.
Like how your cell phone gets reception? That requires resonance, the understanding of which can be aided by complex numbers.
And don’t even get me started in the more exotic physics like fluid dynamics or quantum mechanics. That is, the forefront of how planes fly and how computer chips work.
There’s this term, innumeracy, that is to math what illiteracy is to english. One thing that bugs me is when ignorance is paraded about, when one acts as if math is an optional knowledge. Doubly so when it’s the very thing holding them back.
The failure is not in teaching these things, but the lack of teaching about why we should care about these things.
Thank you maths side of tumblr
The failure is not in teaching these things, but the lack of teaching about why we should care about these things.
Come to think of it, that’s applicable to how a lot of subjects are taught.
But I’m afraid maths gets the worst of it, really. I mean, how often have you heard people complaining about history? Social sciences? Even chemistry, which is more specialised than maths? No, maths gets the worst of it by far, and everyone demonises it because no one ever tells them that maths is a language, and a quite difficult one at that, because it’s the language of the Universe (of god, if you will).
Not only that, but it’s also the only language that’s truly universal (we’re certain aliens will arrive at the same maths we have) and that can truly explain everything that’s in principle conceivable. Human language can describe the stuff we see, and some extrapolations we imagine; maths can describe everything that is, was, will be, has never been, and could ever be.
Everything is maths.
ALL OF THIS!!!!!!
I like a lot of this, though some of it is not so great. But this:“No, maths gets the worst of it by far, and everyone demonises it because no one ever tells them that maths is a language, and a quite difficult one at that,”
Yup. I am pretty sure that if one single fucking person had listened to me and understood that math was really goddamn hard for me even in first grade I would not have been so fucking negative and hateful about it the entire time I was in school and for years after. It was something I had to do, nobody told me why, and when I couldn’t do it, nobody slowed down and helped me figure out how. It was sink or swim. I sank, and that was my fault, according to them.
And then they made like I was being stupid going into art and writing because I was “so smart” I should be able to do anything. And yet, years later, anything beyond basic arithmetic was and is mostly irrelevant to what I do, I have made no effort to retain what I learned that I do not use, and that’s fine.
I don’t think people should be proud of innumeracy, I think that’s pretty stupid, and I think a lot of people probably do it because they’re douchebags, but I do think that some (not all but some) of those people act like buttholes about it because they got dragged through the same shit I did, and the fact that in most cases they have not once been called upon to use anything beyond basic math comes as a vindication after years of being basically poked with sharp math sticks and told they are bad, bad dogs for not being able to understand it the way it is taught. They were treated like shit, and they are lashing out.
See, I’m pretty goddamn sure that dyscalculia is a very real thing, because I am pretty sure I have it. I have a mini panic surge every time I have to recite my social security number because I constantly transpose the numbers. I can only remember my phone number because it has a rhythm to it. I can’t reliably remember birthdays if they’re past the 12th of the month unless they fall on a multiple of 5, or in January, March, April, or any month between but not including June and October. If I were faking, I would not be faking something that stupid and specific. And I’m not proud of it. (Nor am I ashamed.)
I am pretty sure that a shit-ton of kids would be much happier and doing much better in math if dyscalculia was a thing that teachers would admit exists and isn’t just the result of being a lazy little shit.
I LIKED math when I was able to understand it, because it was like magic. It was putting all these tiny things into place and making them work and turning them into bigger things, or it was breaking big things down into tiny things, it was bringing order from something nonsensical, like flattening out the kinks in the universe WITH MY MIIIIIND. What algebra I could learn was a beautiful balancing act, back and forth. Not an art, which is subjective and personal, but something precise and measurable and consistent, and the same for every person.
I understood and still do understand the appeal of math. I just required about four times longer to learn it than other kids, and there was no time and no room for that, because education (in the USA, at least) is basically a Play-Doh Fun Factory with a pit full of lies about there being jobs on the other side. So I failed algebra twice. Instead of helping me, they just made me do it again the same way, and I failed again. I only passed because my teacher had mercy on me and gave me a D- on my final, instead of an F.
And, parting shot, math can describe things, it is a concrete and unchanging language with literally limitless capacity for expression without ambiguity or the possibility of being misunderstood. And that is … it cannot even be miraculous, because it is so common. It’s fundamental. And it can be amazing. When I learned about fractals, when I learned about the Fibonacci sequence, that shit blew my fucking mind.
But it cannot bring meaning to everyone’s life (some people, maybe, not not all). That’s where art, writing, dance, etc. comes in for many people. We need both. Science to explain why things are, art to give things human meaning. For me, science is why I am alive. Art is what gives me a reason to live. Those things are inextricably entwined, and equally important, and there literally cannot be one without the other. You describe it with numbers, I describe it with words. Neither one is wrong.
Disrespecting and dismissing either one as useless or stupid is kind of a dick move.
Disrespecting people who crap on what you do by saying it’s stupid and doesn’t matter (math or art), or people who call you stupid because things are hard for you and why can’t you just, that is completely understandable. I support all y’all math nerds in that, 100%.
Queueing this so I can se it again when I have more brain
Reblogging for the difference between dyscalculia and innumeracy.
(Source: dermit)
He is the fucking best
Best part about this is that for once it’s WDW Peter and not DL Peter!
Sigh… Done :) Well… kinda. Have no idea what is she saying or singing. Any ideas? ;3
Ok, my blog definitely needs some black robins today.
Uhhh, so black robins have basically the best conservation story ever. In 1980 there were only five of these birds left, with only one fertile female. That’s the little lady in the bottom picture, Old Blue. …Who I have a tattoo of… because of reasons. The following reasons, as a matter of fact.
Anyway, so this guy named Don Merton who is basically my hero stepped in when everyone else threw in the towel, and he was like, “Well let’s try something.” And they tried something, and it worked. Now there’s a population of a couple of hundred of them, and since they live exclusively on these tiny islands off New Zealand, that’s a fairly decent population.
When every environmental story I see is bad, I try to think of black robins, because maybe we can’t save everything, but we can at least try.
I really want this post to get up to 9,000 notes. 9,000 people who know about black robins.
Do it, Tumblr.
9011 as of reblogging this. Black robins are wonderful birds, and I’m so glad we still have them.
Today in gym we were going to play a game which was basically a giant bouncy ball (seriously, its got like a 4 foot diameter) that you push, roll, bounce, kick, hit, etc. from side to side. When you hit the other team’s wall you get a point. A majority of the class played kickball in the other room, but about twenty of us played this game (big ball battle pushing)
When we walked into the activity room my gym teacher split us up girls and boys. It was a team or eight boys, and then 15 or so of us girls. The boys were playing four on four. But, we would have to share the court, so there would be a five minutes of play and then we would switch from girls to boys and vice versa.
This was complete bullshit. So I let him know that. I asked him why. Why. Why can’t we play with guys? He goes to tell me that it is because guys are aggressive and we could get hurt. So I yelled about how girls can be aggressive, and guys can be not aggressive. He said letting us play with boys could get him fired and that it was a liability. I can’t bite my tongue so I yelled “BULLSHIT. Is it not a liability for guys to get hurt? Do you not care about them? Why are we so fragile? Just tell me!” He says he is only doing it “for our safety”, and I should thank him.
That was when I completely lost my shit. I yelled about how he is not protecting us from anything. He is contributing to a culture where girls are seen as weak and fragile, and should be scared of guys who are strong and aggressive. A culture where we shouldn’t even be playing sports in gym but since we have to lets make it easy for them because they are girls. A culture where guys feel this need to be insanely manly, and if they aren’t they’re weak and gay- which is also an insult in this culture. He is contributing to a culture where women are subservient and weak to men, and we should thank him. I should thank him. I was screaming and yelling.
My gym teacher then said If i don’t want to play with just girls I can leave and play kickball in the other room. I said no, I’m going to stay and play. I knew if I left, probably some of the girls would leave with me and even some the guys (everyone was looking at me and hearing this conversation- I mean I was fucking screaming), but that would prove his point when I could prove mine.
While my teacher was in the other room getting the balls, I gathered up all the girls and got us all to decide we would play as hard and aggressive as we possibly could. So that is what we did.
We ended up all punching, pushing, yelling. kicking, body-slamming, shoving, insulting, and running as much and as hard as we could. It was great. We all, on both teams got sweaty and red. Whenever someone fell we would help them up or they would get up themselves.
Two girls had to go to the nurse, but they were smiling as they walked out. I got slammed on the floor twice and bruised my hip. One girl had to sit out because she got hit on the head. Another girl scraped her knee, and kept playing. The best part is not once did anyone complain, we all sucked up the pain and high fived each other and yelled “FUCK YEAH OVARIES!!”.
We all, especially me, would make really sassy and sarcastic remarks to the teacher. He would stop the game because we were being rough and not playing “ladylike” and we would say something along the lines of “oh how else will i attract someone get married and pop out babies, i must be ladylike or else I can’t fulfill my purpose on earth” “you’re right! i’m so weak, this hurts” and “wait, are we being too aggressive for you? I’m sorry” (my personal favorite was “oh my gosh, this hurts my uterus to act like a guy, I’m I’m I’m melting” in a wicked witch of the west voice).
A couple of the guys even jumped in to play with us and he stopped them but the guys would jump in and get beat up by these girls and just high five the girl who hit them. They would also accidentally hit the ball into the teacher while he reffed, and we all would try to *accidentally* get the teacher in the middle of the action so he could see the “aggression” head first.
After the games he complained about the violence and I asked “sorry, were we aggressive?” and he said the reason we got hurt was because we are girls.
No. We did not get hurt because we are girls. We got hurt because we were ferocious. Not because it just happens to be easier to hurt a girl. He would not accept the fact that we were aggressive. That girls are equal to guys in that aspect.
During the final goal, i realized I got what I wanted. All the guys were playing with us, despite him pushing them to the sidelines-they would just hop back in. When we won, we all cheered and celebrated; guys and girls, from both teams. In my gym class people never talk to each other outside of one or two of their friends and we were all united for the first time.
After the game, I helped this guy put the big bouncy ball back. And whoops I let it slip and hit the teacher with it. And whoops I kinda did that twice. and said:
“im sorry
oops im sorry
you’re right
this is dangerous i shouldnt sport
i should go back to cooking and cleaning
like a true modern woman should”
Anyways, There is no one message to end this massive story with I just wanted to share. I’m also going to share with my principal Tuesday when I am back at school, I’ll update you guys on that later.
I also want to say to all the girls (and guys) out here. If you see shit going down that is ignorant, oppressive, or just flat out rude and against what you stand for- be it feminism or anything else- you have to stand up to make a change. It is little random acts of defiance from the bullshit standards we live under that change them.
Keep Fighting, Guys!!
Prove people wrong.
(Source: hallowsandbowties)
I made this blog because a photo of my husband and I has gone viral on the internet. I wanted to share the story behind the photo for the hundreds of thousands of people who found inspiration through this sweet moment we had.
The Story Behind the Photo
Moments before I was to walk down the aisle my soon to be mother in law came in the dressing room where my bridesmaids and I were all gushing with giggles and fluttering about finishing last minute details.
“Sweetheart, your groom has called for you!”.
In a nervous tizzy I said, “What?! I’m not ready! I have to get my shoes and…” She had already taken my hand and led me to a corner, where my groom was waiting. I barely sat down; I was filled with so much anticipation! So much excitement! So many nerves!
“Is he going to like my dress? Does my hair look pretty? Can he see me?!”
Right around the corner sat my soon to be husband, I so was nervous he might see me yet secretly hoping to catch a glimpse of him. In my excited state I was the first to speak,
“Hi sweetie! We’re getting married today!”
“I know baby and I want to pray with you before we do.”
There we sat around the corner hand in hand, and together we bowed our heads. People were rushing about; the wedding coordinator directing people here and there, the photographers snapping photos and the bridal party enjoying each others company. Yet in that moment, in the quietness of our hearts and minds, my husband and I were alone in the presence of our Savior, Jesus Christ.
My husband prayed that God would bless our marriage, that through thick or thin together we would never lose hope in one another. That instead of focusing on each others imperfections we would always rely on Christ’s perfection. That we would wake up every day and chose to love one another not through our own strength but by the power of Christ’s perfect love.
With our hands clenched tightly to one another together we said “Amen”, both with shaky voice and just like that I was whisked away to blot the tears off my face and put on my veil.
After my bridesmaids, mother, mother-in-law and every other girl in the room had finished zipping, curling, tucking and blushing me up I looked in the mirror. There I stood wearing my pure white wedding dress, ready to walk down the aisle to my Prince Charming.
See, he is not only my Prince Charming because of his incredibly handsome looks, or wonderful humor, or the fact that we have so much in common. He is my Prince Charming because he helped me protect the most precious gift that I owned, my purity.
Soon after we had started dating I nervously told my Prince that I was a virgin and planned to be until the night of my wedding; to which he replied he would have it no other way.
Throughout our dating relationship and engagement we constantly fought, what at times felt like a losing battle. We fought temptation with prayer, scripture and accountability. I had friends checking up on me if they knew we were together late at night and he regularly met with other Godly men to pray for strength. At times, especially as the wedding grew closer, we thought we were attempting to do the impossible.
“Why are we doing this?” I would ask in my weakness, and he would remind me, that it’s because God had told us too.
“I can’t do it, I can’t… this is too hard!” he would confess to me and I would pray for his strength.
When I walked down the aisle in my white dress, I looked straight into the eyes of the man that had laid himself down to protect and honor the wife that God had given him.
When his eyes first caught mine he looked into the face of the woman that had waited for him, the woman that would support him and love him for the rest of His life, through good times and bad.
I share all of this because in that prayer we prayed, which was captured here on camera we asked the Lord to use our wedding to bring Him all of the glory that He rightfully deserved. We had not gotten where we were by our own strength, but by His hand of protection on our relationship.
God has used this photo to inspire hundreds of thousands of people already and for that we are humbled and honored! I wanted to take it a step further and give God praise and thanks for how we arrived at that quiet corner, holding hands and ready to begin our lives together.
(photo by the incredible Kim Burke, www.kdburkephotography.com)
I seriously cried when I read this for the first time at work, and I am welling up with tears now. This is too beautiful to not reblog, and it reflects so much of what I hope for on my wedding day <3 <3 <3
no one is allowed to be sad today.
OHMYGOOOOOOOOOOOD
jfc it’s like an army of adorable squeaker toys. o___o
