Today, I am going to blog about a subject that is near and dear to the hearts of every honors student at TCU and at most universities across the country. This is an issue that questions the equality and justice of the practices at this university. I, of course, am talking about the plus/minus grading system. It is an instance of discrimination against those with higher intellects. It is a system that is skewed towards people with a mentality of "Cs get degrees" who spend more time inebriated than not. I'm being extremely sardonic about this manner and that last sentence could quite possibly be an overstatement, then again it might not be. The qualm I have with the plus/minus system that is advised our professors use is that there is no reward for achieving an A+, while there is a penalty for receiving an A-. With every other grade on the scale there is an equal reward and penalty for each letter, except for the one that the highest achieving students strive for. This unfairly penalizes the people who are looking to be the most competitive in the most competitive fields. This is a move I don't understand. The way a university gets touted as one of the best in the world is if its students get hired. Period. If TCU wants to become an upper echelon school there should be an incentive for an A+, allowing top tier students a chance to boost their GPAs above their counterparts, or account for an A- that occurred in a subject they disliked in their first semester of college where the teacher didn't clearly outline the format of the test or the depth of information required for it, so the first test was a bit of a struggle for this obviously hypothetical student who then had trouble raising their grade because of the low overhead provided by trying to obtain an A. (By low overhead I mean the mathematical difficulty of raising a grade when there are so few points between their current grade and the maximum possible grade.) So there's the two cents of a sleep-deprived, mind-mushed, bitter, stressed out freshman.
I think it's time for a nap.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Saturday, December 7, 2013
The View From My Back Deck
I was going to write about the view from my bedroom window in Milton Daniel Hall, as it is a rather pretty view. I can see the sand volleyball courts and the recreation center, which are an especially enticing sight when the lights are on and the weather is warm. Alas, there is no sand-related frivolity occurring as it is currently below freezing for the third straight day. The snow blanketed campus and view from my bedroom window reminded me of home, of the view from my deck on a snow day reading the comics and drinking hot chocolate in my pajamas. It's a welcome escape as the stress of my first finals week of college is fast approaching and fell as if I am, in the words of the illustrious Mason Richards, "Woefully unprepared." If anyone feels like taking a mental vacation to a snowy Nebraska suburb here's your ticket:
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If someone actually reads this, prints this out, clips the ticket, and brings it to me I will hide you in my luggage and you can actually fly home with me to Nebraska. (I guarantee you don't want to, however.)
Anyway, if you were to come to the frigid wasteland that is Nebraska, and came with me to my house you would undoubtedly look out towards the clearing behind my house from my deck because you will have read this blog post and the upcoming description of said clearing.
When you look out from my back deck, just behind our fenced backyard is an almost rectangular patch of grass. It is almost the width of a football field going east to west. (viewing direction will be oriented towards the west) The patch is bounded on the west side by some native grass that leads to a small creek, or as my Iowan parents say, "crick." This native grass stretches the length of the patch and bottlenecks it at both ends, leaving a narrow path to walk between the insect-filled, sure-to-make-you-itchy native grass and the fences of our neighbors on either side. The clearing is dotted like a Seurat painting with saplings, which provide interesting obstacles for pickup football games. Beyond the native grass and creek there is a magnificent sprawl of hundreds of 50+ foot tall trees. On lazy summer afternoons our family will congregate on the deck to bask in the sun and read. When we force ourselves from our thrilling novels and intriguing exposés to eat we often attempt to find forms within the uppermost branches of a tree. We've seen motorcyclists, stars, hearts, and even a pair of ghosts. For me, however there are things I see in those trees that my family doesn't. I see the remnants of makeshift bridges and forts that my friends and I spent countless summer days laboring over and enjoying. I see the hard to find mulberry trees that provided us sustenance when we were too lazy to head back to our homes. I see games of hide and seek and miniature camping trips. I hear the ghost stories and fables of a forest hermit we would tell each other. I hear our mothers calling us home when it was time to go to bed and dream of the adventures of the next day.
When the chill of winter comes and snow provides our little forest a blanket, the lush green forest is replaced by a hauntingly beautiful gray skeleton in a lovely white gown. The memories I see in my mind's eye change with the season. I see tennis-shoe speed skating contests on the frozen creek and I feel the sudden chill run up my leg from the time the ice was too thin and I was the first to tenderly step upon it.
When the sun sets behind the trees it sets them ablaze in thrilling hues of orange and purple, and when the lights of the day are put out the stars provide a beautiful backdrop to the cosmic dance of the swaying limbs.
The lucky person who comes home in my suitcase will undoubtedly see a quaintly picturesque natural area behind my house and that will be enough for them, but when I look out my back window or sit out on the deck gazing at the trees I see so much more. I see adventure, frivolity, and friendship. I see a part of my childhood, some of my fondest memories from growing up. There are countless things hiding in my little forest, can you find any more of them?
Anyway, if you were to come to the frigid wasteland that is Nebraska, and came with me to my house you would undoubtedly look out towards the clearing behind my house from my deck because you will have read this blog post and the upcoming description of said clearing.
When you look out from my back deck, just behind our fenced backyard is an almost rectangular patch of grass. It is almost the width of a football field going east to west. (viewing direction will be oriented towards the west) The patch is bounded on the west side by some native grass that leads to a small creek, or as my Iowan parents say, "crick." This native grass stretches the length of the patch and bottlenecks it at both ends, leaving a narrow path to walk between the insect-filled, sure-to-make-you-itchy native grass and the fences of our neighbors on either side. The clearing is dotted like a Seurat painting with saplings, which provide interesting obstacles for pickup football games. Beyond the native grass and creek there is a magnificent sprawl of hundreds of 50+ foot tall trees. On lazy summer afternoons our family will congregate on the deck to bask in the sun and read. When we force ourselves from our thrilling novels and intriguing exposés to eat we often attempt to find forms within the uppermost branches of a tree. We've seen motorcyclists, stars, hearts, and even a pair of ghosts. For me, however there are things I see in those trees that my family doesn't. I see the remnants of makeshift bridges and forts that my friends and I spent countless summer days laboring over and enjoying. I see the hard to find mulberry trees that provided us sustenance when we were too lazy to head back to our homes. I see games of hide and seek and miniature camping trips. I hear the ghost stories and fables of a forest hermit we would tell each other. I hear our mothers calling us home when it was time to go to bed and dream of the adventures of the next day.
When the chill of winter comes and snow provides our little forest a blanket, the lush green forest is replaced by a hauntingly beautiful gray skeleton in a lovely white gown. The memories I see in my mind's eye change with the season. I see tennis-shoe speed skating contests on the frozen creek and I feel the sudden chill run up my leg from the time the ice was too thin and I was the first to tenderly step upon it.
When the sun sets behind the trees it sets them ablaze in thrilling hues of orange and purple, and when the lights of the day are put out the stars provide a beautiful backdrop to the cosmic dance of the swaying limbs.
The lucky person who comes home in my suitcase will undoubtedly see a quaintly picturesque natural area behind my house and that will be enough for them, but when I look out my back window or sit out on the deck gazing at the trees I see so much more. I see adventure, frivolity, and friendship. I see a part of my childhood, some of my fondest memories from growing up. There are countless things hiding in my little forest, can you find any more of them?
Friday, December 6, 2013
"With a Marble."
In my earlier years, I basically had three parents: my mom, my dad, and television. This may seem concerning or improper, but I think I turned out OK so quit judging, OK? Anyway, I watched a lot of television, particularly Cartoon Network. I loved Looney Tunes, The Powerpuff Girls, Courage the Cowardly Dog, and Johnny Bravo. There was a time in my adolescent life where I could go a week watching Cartoon Network and not see a single episode I hadn't already seen. To sum this paragraph up: I watched a lot of TV.
Now that my love of television has been established we can bring in the actual television itself. (our protagonist if you will) 'Twas a smallish television with faux wood paneling that was becoming more and more in disrepair. Occasionally the things being displayed would glitch and roll to the top of the screen repeatedly like an eye looking upward over and over again which would force me to turn it off and wait for it to magically repair itself. (I still believed in magic and santa and the tooth fairy then...) So in summary: The TV was a pile of crap.
In summary of the next paragraph which I am too lazy to write: I had this cool set of plastic parts that could be put together to create custom instruments.
One day I took my custom instrument set and created a short series of round tubes. I used this creation to launch a small marble at various objects around the house. I would make small targets out of paper and place them in different places and shoot at them. Being a child not older than 6 I quickly grew bored of this and, of course, began watching television. I still had my marble launching instrument near me and was idly playing with it when suddenly I blew a little too hard and launched the marble at our decrepit, vinyl paneled television set.
There was now a small hole in the glass of the TV. I was in BIG trouble.
I quickly disassembled my weapon and hid the pieces as well as the marble. When my mother returned home she immediately noticed the hole and immediately accused me. Looking back this was the proper accusation because if my father or sister had done it they would've just told my mother about it, but my adolescent brain didn't realize this so I attempted to lawyer myself out of it because my mother had no proof. She kept prodding me for days and I kept my act up pretty darn well, until one day instead of asking, "Did you put a hole in the TV?" She asked, "So, Mark. How did you put a hole in the TV?" I slipped, I was trained to regurgitate information. My mother still tells the story of when I was about this age and I would learn a new word, I would repeat the word, the definition, a simplified definition, and use it in an original sentence. I replied, "With a marble."
Now that my love of television has been established we can bring in the actual television itself. (our protagonist if you will) 'Twas a smallish television with faux wood paneling that was becoming more and more in disrepair. Occasionally the things being displayed would glitch and roll to the top of the screen repeatedly like an eye looking upward over and over again which would force me to turn it off and wait for it to magically repair itself. (I still believed in magic and santa and the tooth fairy then...) So in summary: The TV was a pile of crap.
In summary of the next paragraph which I am too lazy to write: I had this cool set of plastic parts that could be put together to create custom instruments.
One day I took my custom instrument set and created a short series of round tubes. I used this creation to launch a small marble at various objects around the house. I would make small targets out of paper and place them in different places and shoot at them. Being a child not older than 6 I quickly grew bored of this and, of course, began watching television. I still had my marble launching instrument near me and was idly playing with it when suddenly I blew a little too hard and launched the marble at our decrepit, vinyl paneled television set.
There was now a small hole in the glass of the TV. I was in BIG trouble.
I quickly disassembled my weapon and hid the pieces as well as the marble. When my mother returned home she immediately noticed the hole and immediately accused me. Looking back this was the proper accusation because if my father or sister had done it they would've just told my mother about it, but my adolescent brain didn't realize this so I attempted to lawyer myself out of it because my mother had no proof. She kept prodding me for days and I kept my act up pretty darn well, until one day instead of asking, "Did you put a hole in the TV?" She asked, "So, Mark. How did you put a hole in the TV?" I slipped, I was trained to regurgitate information. My mother still tells the story of when I was about this age and I would learn a new word, I would repeat the word, the definition, a simplified definition, and use it in an original sentence. I replied, "With a marble."
Thursday, December 5, 2013
The time I failed to yield to a pedestrian.
It was 7:00 AM on a dreary gray day in La Vista, Nebraska. As I stepped through the front door the sky was plastered with 50 shades of gray (this was before that book was published and/or popular) and it reminded me of an inside joke a friend and I had about everything turning a shade of "dingy gray" in Nebraska. This was an especially poignant point of humor for us after her eyes changed color to a shade that could very easily be described as dingy gray. I chuckled as I observed the cloudy sky and took a deep breath of the moist air. Today was going to be a good day. I was wearing my favorite blue under armour hoodie, a nice pair of jeans, and my prized silver, orange, and teal puma shoes. I hadn't overslept for my 7:30 National Honor Society meeting and there was no pressing homework that had yet to be completed for the day, which was an unusual occurrence for a stressful junior year of high school. I hopped in my decrepit 1998 Oldsmobile Intrigue that was a shade somewhere between red and maroon, although it was getting hard to tell because the paint was beginning to peel in various elliptical spots on the body. As I backed out of the driveway my then favorite song, Panic Station by Muse, began playing through the half of my speakers that weren't blown out and my day seemed like it was just going to be that much better.
When I arrived at the intersection of Giles and 101st (Giles is the nearest major road to my house which is on 101st) and stopped at the stop sign there was heavy early morning traffic and I sat for what felt like 10 minutes just waiting for a gap in the traffic so I could turn left and get to my donuts, I mean meeting...
Finally it appeared that a gap just large enough appeared so I began to apply pressure on the accelerator, but just as I reached 8 miles per hour I heard a faint voice say "Look out!" Confused I let off the accelerator and coasted for a split second until I realized it was too late to do anything.
I then heard, no, felt a loud crunch somewhere to my left and saw a body flip over the hood of my car. The first thing that went through my head: "Oh dear God, I've killed someone, I'm going to jail forever, what will my parents think? What will they say? I'm going to jail. He's dead. Oh God I didn't even see him, where did he come from? I'm going to jail. Oh my God." That's a lot of things to go through someone's head all at once, but all I managed to say for the first few minutes was "Oh God."
After sitting in shock for a few seconds I pried my now mildly crumpled door open and stepped out in the hopes that the man was all right. I saw a bicycle on the ground and suddenly the entire scene replayed in my head. He had been riding a bicycle, that would explain why I was still alive-- for now. Despite years of being told "The first thing you do in an emergency is call 911." It had completely escaped my mind. It took a kind middle-aged woman who had apparently been in the car behind me telling me I should probably do that to remember.
The rest of the day is a blur from that point. I walked over to the man who was regaining consciousness. He had just had a chipped tooth and a totaled $2000 dollar bike. (I didn't know bikes could cost that much, but apparently they do according to our insurance company) The officer who wrote me my ticket was nice enough to call it failure to yield to a pedestrian and allowed me to take one of those awful eight hour driving safety classes to erase this incident from my record. (although somehow my insurance company still knew after we switched...) I went to school about 45 minutes late and my favorite teacher who had an off period saw that something was wrong and gave me a hug, which is still one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me.
So, what have I learned from this?
1. Bicyclists do not belong on the road. Especially when they dress in all dark colors on a day where the sky and the road are the same color and are going faster than the cars around them.
2. Bicyclists do not belong on the road. A bicycle doesn't come close even to the safety requirements of a motorcycle.
3. If you hit a bicyclist, don't tell your friends. They will make fun of you forever. FOREVER.
When I arrived at the intersection of Giles and 101st (Giles is the nearest major road to my house which is on 101st) and stopped at the stop sign there was heavy early morning traffic and I sat for what felt like 10 minutes just waiting for a gap in the traffic so I could turn left and get to my donuts, I mean meeting...
Finally it appeared that a gap just large enough appeared so I began to apply pressure on the accelerator, but just as I reached 8 miles per hour I heard a faint voice say "Look out!" Confused I let off the accelerator and coasted for a split second until I realized it was too late to do anything.
I then heard, no, felt a loud crunch somewhere to my left and saw a body flip over the hood of my car. The first thing that went through my head: "Oh dear God, I've killed someone, I'm going to jail forever, what will my parents think? What will they say? I'm going to jail. He's dead. Oh God I didn't even see him, where did he come from? I'm going to jail. Oh my God." That's a lot of things to go through someone's head all at once, but all I managed to say for the first few minutes was "Oh God."
After sitting in shock for a few seconds I pried my now mildly crumpled door open and stepped out in the hopes that the man was all right. I saw a bicycle on the ground and suddenly the entire scene replayed in my head. He had been riding a bicycle, that would explain why I was still alive-- for now. Despite years of being told "The first thing you do in an emergency is call 911." It had completely escaped my mind. It took a kind middle-aged woman who had apparently been in the car behind me telling me I should probably do that to remember.
The rest of the day is a blur from that point. I walked over to the man who was regaining consciousness. He had just had a chipped tooth and a totaled $2000 dollar bike. (I didn't know bikes could cost that much, but apparently they do according to our insurance company) The officer who wrote me my ticket was nice enough to call it failure to yield to a pedestrian and allowed me to take one of those awful eight hour driving safety classes to erase this incident from my record. (although somehow my insurance company still knew after we switched...) I went to school about 45 minutes late and my favorite teacher who had an off period saw that something was wrong and gave me a hug, which is still one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me.
So, what have I learned from this?
1. Bicyclists do not belong on the road. Especially when they dress in all dark colors on a day where the sky and the road are the same color and are going faster than the cars around them.
2. Bicyclists do not belong on the road. A bicycle doesn't come close even to the safety requirements of a motorcycle.
3. If you hit a bicyclist, don't tell your friends. They will make fun of you forever. FOREVER.
My Favorite Book
With the recent release of the movie Ender's Game based on the first two books of the epic series written by master science fiction author Orson Scott Card, one of my childhood dreams came true. I was finally able to see the battle school and the battle room I had always pictured in my head, had dreamed about, had wanted to go to. For those who don't know Ender's Game is a book set some 100-200 years into the future. There has been an invasion by the formics, or "buggers," an insect-like alien race, that has united the world under a Hegemony and Strategos. A large school that recruits and develops the most brilliant and militarily promising children of earth has been constructed and the protagonist, Ender, has been selected to go to this prestigious school. Unbeknownst to Ender, he is to be the messiah of the world, as a retaliation force has been sent to the formic home worlds, and Ender is to lead them.
Ender, as has been mentioned is an extremely gifted child, and experiences severe isolation because of this. He is separated from his peers in his mind, and the gap is widened by his teachers and overseers who believe that he will be able to best serve if he is isolated. When I first read this book at the age of eight or nine I enjoyed it because of the fast-paced action and the vivid pictures of spacecraft and massive interplanetary military forces that stimulated my growing mind. A year later, when I reread the book I understood more of what was going on (though not nearly as much as I do now) and I began to connect with Ender because of my struggles. I had recently moved schools and lost all of my elementary friends. I was alone in a new school and I felt it. There had also always been a lingering intelligence gap between me and my peers, but at this new school it was greater as even the Higher Ability Learners coordinator struggled to find enough to keep me preoccupied with. So I kept to myself unless someone asked me for help with spelling or algebra or if we were playing sports, the universal uniting force of elementary aged children. Sports for me were much like the battle room games, the competitions held in the battle school were students were divided into armies and would basically play a zero-gravity game of laser tag to see whose commander was most promising and whose soldiers were most able for promotion.
As I aged and have read and reread and reread and reread this book I continue to gain different insights and information from this book, and that's the beautiful thing about this marvelous piece of literature; no matter how old someone is, they can read this book and find something pertinent and enlightening within its pages. Some of the deeper themes deal with the complexities of the human psyche, comment on the nature of human politics, and explore what love really means. Also, might I add this book predicted the internet, blogs, tablets, 2-in-1 computers, and was the first book to be entirely published on the internet.
Ender's Game has always been a solace, a guide, and a teacher to me, and its impact on my life can not be overstated. It even helped develop my relation with Mason Richards (my BYX big) who took me to see the movie the night it came out. I have learned more from this one book than I have in entire classes, and I expect it to keep revealing new treasures to me as I age and mature.
Ender, as has been mentioned is an extremely gifted child, and experiences severe isolation because of this. He is separated from his peers in his mind, and the gap is widened by his teachers and overseers who believe that he will be able to best serve if he is isolated. When I first read this book at the age of eight or nine I enjoyed it because of the fast-paced action and the vivid pictures of spacecraft and massive interplanetary military forces that stimulated my growing mind. A year later, when I reread the book I understood more of what was going on (though not nearly as much as I do now) and I began to connect with Ender because of my struggles. I had recently moved schools and lost all of my elementary friends. I was alone in a new school and I felt it. There had also always been a lingering intelligence gap between me and my peers, but at this new school it was greater as even the Higher Ability Learners coordinator struggled to find enough to keep me preoccupied with. So I kept to myself unless someone asked me for help with spelling or algebra or if we were playing sports, the universal uniting force of elementary aged children. Sports for me were much like the battle room games, the competitions held in the battle school were students were divided into armies and would basically play a zero-gravity game of laser tag to see whose commander was most promising and whose soldiers were most able for promotion.
As I aged and have read and reread and reread and reread this book I continue to gain different insights and information from this book, and that's the beautiful thing about this marvelous piece of literature; no matter how old someone is, they can read this book and find something pertinent and enlightening within its pages. Some of the deeper themes deal with the complexities of the human psyche, comment on the nature of human politics, and explore what love really means. Also, might I add this book predicted the internet, blogs, tablets, 2-in-1 computers, and was the first book to be entirely published on the internet.
Ender's Game has always been a solace, a guide, and a teacher to me, and its impact on my life can not be overstated. It even helped develop my relation with Mason Richards (my BYX big) who took me to see the movie the night it came out. I have learned more from this one book than I have in entire classes, and I expect it to keep revealing new treasures to me as I age and mature.
Saturday, November 23, 2013
Humor
It seems as if I'm finally going to talk about what I've learned in this class thus far in the semester (which is basically over). It would seem that way, but it isn't. In this class we often discuss what causes humor: what we and others find humorous and why. We discuss the social stigmas carried with some forms of humor, but we often don't discuss the effects humor has on us in personal fashion.
Of late, I've been stressing myself out over tests after tests after projects after quizzes after tests. Headaches and a sense of mental fuzziness have become commonplace. I've been trying to find means of escaping academic pressure and the expectations held by myself and others for my performance. Simple study breaks and talking to friends doesn't seem to remedy the matter as much as it used to because our discussions often center about the stress that we are afflicted with. Physical activities like ultimate frisbee, pickup football, and table tennis help, but are difficult to design time for. Food is a time-tested remedy, but one can only eat so many gummy bears. However, I've found that listening to some of my favorite comedians on Pandora or watching their specials on Netflix almost always relaxes me and helps me to rationally approach my problems without freaking out.
The laughter is certainly a release of the stress, but it isn't just engaging in lightheartedness. Often comedy shows the folly in taking things so seriously It also makes me aware of other things in the world, obviously comedic things, but my point is that listening and watching comedy reminds me that there is more to life than just school, there's more going on in this world than my upcoming Calculus II exam or Engineering design project.
Thursday, November 21, 2013
I had a dream...
Martin Luther King Jr. is arguably one of the greatest (and most quotable) people of all time. And being like this great man I too had a dream...
I dreamed that I was finally meeting with my conversation partner Maritza for a second time.
We would converse about how long it had been since we had last seen each other and comment how that had been too long. She would apologize for not responding to my e-mails and texts and I would assure her that it was no fault of her own, we're both busy people. We would discuss computers and all that we've learned about them this semester. We would talk for minutes about the logic of coding and the beauty and simplicity interweaved in its complexity. I would regale my anecdote about discussing arduino circuits with a fellow engineering student in front of some business majors and the bewildered looks on their faces as we both proceeded unnecessarily into the discussion just to confound and amaze them more. We would laugh and the conversation would drift to humor: a subject in which I am extremely well learned now. She would tell a funny anecdote and we would debate why it was humorous and on and on the exchange would go and it would be a joyous time and we would be sad to part.
But, alas. 'Twas only a dream...
I dreamed that I was finally meeting with my conversation partner Maritza for a second time.
We would converse about how long it had been since we had last seen each other and comment how that had been too long. She would apologize for not responding to my e-mails and texts and I would assure her that it was no fault of her own, we're both busy people. We would discuss computers and all that we've learned about them this semester. We would talk for minutes about the logic of coding and the beauty and simplicity interweaved in its complexity. I would regale my anecdote about discussing arduino circuits with a fellow engineering student in front of some business majors and the bewildered looks on their faces as we both proceeded unnecessarily into the discussion just to confound and amaze them more. We would laugh and the conversation would drift to humor: a subject in which I am extremely well learned now. She would tell a funny anecdote and we would debate why it was humorous and on and on the exchange would go and it would be a joyous time and we would be sad to part.
But, alas. 'Twas only a dream...
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