Arrrrmy

Fitness test went well yesterday. I just want to make a list of reminders for next year:

• bring a lock
  
• bring change of clothes
  
• bring an extra bra
  
• there are showers we can use
  
• wear blue
  
• bring a headband (or stop sweating so much)
  
• don't drink booze the night before
  
• sleep well the night before
  
• limit caffeine intake that morning
  
• sign in at the Armoury before heading to the Base

I passed, barely. First was the run / beep test. I needed a minimum of level four; made it up to four and a half, but that had me so beat. After a cool-down, during which I scared the staff because my pulse hadn't come down (my rest HR was 88 that morning!), but it turned out fine. ... I'm pretty sure I could have done better if my heart rate wasn't so high (ie: if I weren't still asleep but running on adrenaline and caffeine).

Next was a grip test, and I passed that, too. After that was a push-ups test, which was the biggest threat to my passing. I managed to meet the minimum, but only because the coach/examiner let me get away with push-ups that weren't quite up to standard (ie: I need to go lower). Finally, there was the sit-ups test, which I passed quite easily (no surprise).

My Results:

Resting Pulse (bpm)	088
Resting Pressure	Systolic: 112	Dyastolic: 062
20 MSR
	Last Stage Completed	4.5
	Minimum:	4
	Predicted VO2:	34.2
Muscular Strength
Right Hand	36	34
Left Hand	36	34
	Total:	72
	MPFS:	50
Muscular Endurance
Push-Ups	9	MPFS: 9
Sit-Ups	30	MPFS: 15

Statistics Canada

When I got home, I found that Statistics Canada had called and left a message, so I called them back. Turned out, they were having entrance exams again that night, so I went.

Unfortunately, I didn't realize I was still expected to go to work at the Reserves that night! And I had no idea the procedure for calling in to let them know I wouldn't come! So, of course, I got a (short, thankfully) lecture on that today--but I'm getting ahead of myself.

I wrote the StatsCan entrance exam and they called later to inform me I'd passed (wasn't worried for a moment). I have a job interview on Thursday at 13:00.


I got my army gear today!!!

That was all kinds of exciting! I'm worried, though; because there was no sign-in sheet for me... It's not so much that I care about getting paid, but I don't want to muddle up their paperwork/system/etc. ...I'm a little worried...

I got quite a scare when the phone rang at 08:05, and it turned out to be someone from the Armoury. She said she'd gotten the appointment wrong, and that it was actually at 09:00 instead of 10:00. I told her my bus was leaving in three minutes, and I'd arrive at the Armoury at 09:15. She said that wouldn't be sufficient; but she'd call the Clothing Store to double-check. I was so worried that I'd miss the bus; but she called back immediately and my appointment was actually 10:00.

We went out to the Base (the difference between a Base and Armoury is mostly this: A base is an area and many buildings, where an Armoury is one building for a few units) where the Clothing Store was.

I rode in a truck (of some kind) with my "boss", MCpl E--. She spoke very sternly to me, and explained, "When you join the army, you're a Private, and right now, you are the lowest of the low--yeah, you're actually the lowest one in the Armour right now. Everyone who is higher than you--that's everyone--you have to treat with respect. I'm not your friend, I'm not your buddy, I'm your boss. [The recruiter] isn't your friend either. She's friendly, because she recruited you; she's got to reel you in, you know what I'm saying?"

This, I find a little strange--not her personally, but the... "unfriendliness" aspect. I can only make friends with those in my rank--three other Untrained Privates--apparently.

Aside: I'm reminded of my first day, when there was mostly lounging around and no real work for me. I went with the rest of the Unit to the Junior Mess, and someone called one of the girls I was with "a bitch" in a sort of joking manner (why are soldiers so profane?); and I said back, in "a sort of joking manner", "Y'know, if she were a guy, you wouldn't have called her a bitch; you wouldn't even call her a bastard or anything else, because there's no male equivalent of bitch in that sense; and you only call her that because of the availability of the word. Like, I couldn't call you a bitch. 'You are a bitch!' See, it doesn't work!"

Of course, everyone laughed and some people even looked strangely at me, as though wondering where that all came from, or how dare I, or something like; but I'm wondering now if I was actually out of line. It was pretty casual, though... But I'll try to be more mindful of ranks from now on.

Of course I knew this in the back of my mind, but it's much more vivid when getting the talk in that tone of voice like you've done something wrong--which, I had, since I didn't inform anyone that I wouldn't show up to work yesterday. She said that I and the three other Untrained Privates would be getting "shit work" to do--and that, since she's in charge of us four, she'll make sure we get "shit work", because she has an Education degree, civi-side, and she knows what's she's doing, and this is how it works. ... Sobering.

Getting my gear took about an hour and 45 minutes, and it was all kinds of exciting! MCpl. E-- spoke in a completely different tone to the Supply Clerk we met up with at the Clothing Store, and I got a taste of this inter-rank thingummy; though the Clerk was friendly and professional with me (I wonder how much of that was in her job, too).

I filled a large bin with gear (the SC said to try to keep track of what she gave me, because I'd have to sign for everything, and if for some reason, she forgot to give me something, and I'd signed for it, the onus was on me); tried on different sizes of uniforms and equipment (OMG I am so excited about the boots, you have no idea!); and when that was all done, I was given three garbage bags to carry it all.

Naturally, there were some items that would've been stupid to put into the garbage bag--namely, this large bag (hockey bag size) into which we'd already stuffed a lot of gear; the box containing my boots; the sleeping bag; etc.

I hope I--well, not "impressed", but--showed MCpl E-- that I wasn't inefficient or stupid or unfit; and I hope-hope that she saw I'd be a good soldier. While putting my gear into the bags, I was thinking what should go where; how heavy it would be; where the bag it should go to minimize protrusions and rips... I may have goofed it in the end, though; because at the bottom of the bin (which was about four and a half feet tall) were some smaller items that I could not reach with my arm; so I first tried standing/leaning on one leg, and when I saw that wouldn't work, I gave a sort of goofy and embarrassed smile to anyone who might be looking. And then I tilted the bin and got my stuff in the smart way.


I'm sort of that way, now. I smile a lot, I'm...friendly, not an intimidating soldier--ARRR! I smile a lot. When someone is speaking--about anything, almost!--I smile to acknowledge my understanding. I think I should try to nod instead; or blink decidedly; or, I dunno, something. Maybe smiling is unprofessional?


And then, I waited for Mark and Evan to pick me and my gear up. After all the packing, I had: three full garbage bags, a large green carry-bag, a small/medium green carry-bag, my backpack and my jacket. I definitely would not have been allowed to take these on a bus!


And now, I'm tired and my hands are cold and I'm still sore from the fitness test yesterday. I should buy some bananas and find a work-out buddy.

In the meanwhile, I'm going to have Mom's beef soup and play Grim Fandango.
--Charissa!

Checklist and Dream

I want to make a checklist of things never to do as a teacher. The first item on it will be: "End a sentence with 'Right?'" I wonder how obvious is my inspiration.

Never:

• End a sentence with, "Right?"
  
• Ignore advice or suggestions.
  
• Think I know everything.
  
• Think I don't need help doing anything ever.
  
• Touch a whiteboard with my skin.
  
• Lie.
  
• Be half-assed.
  
• Not have a lesson-plan.
  
• Use someone else's lesson plan without going over it beforehand.
  
• Ask if material is either too easy or too hard.
  
• Talk loudly when frustrated.
  

Avoid:

• Talking about teaching when students are nearby and still.
  
• Silencing students--especially when it's not affecting the entire class.
  
• Treating everything as though within my power.
  
• Treating everything as though out of my power.
  
• Talking just outside the classroom door as though it were private.
  

Endeavour to:

• Be available.
  
• Be responsive; quick to respond.
  
• Be helpful.
  
• Be enthused (no problem there!)
  
• Use many methods.
  

I had a dream this morning

I had a dream this morning, about someone from "long-ago". I've blogged about him all over the place, always trying not to use his real name, so I guess I'll do that again. Let's call him Lexus, because he's luxurious in a sort of way.

Backstory:

When highschool started for us, Lexus came to our school for Grade Nine Math although he was in grade eight; and for the rest of my highschool career, it was that way. In grade nine, though, everyone called him smelly and a grade-eight-er and a show-off; and it was mostly true.

From what I've gathered: he played chess competitively until about two years ago; was a lifeguard; was very athletic, being on volleyball and curling teams; played baseball in the summer; had terrible communication skills; liked to be well-read; had an amazing imagination / ability of imaging; and, of course, was fantastic at Math.

Around grade eleven, he joined the school choir, and this is probably when I first noticed him.

I mean, during the annual Jazz festival, I had taken a photo of him sleeping on the bus; and I had already noticed that he played trumpet in a very precise manner and as though there were something very funny--a sarcastic "inside-joke"--to his precision. But I had never paid much attention to him until he joined the choir.

Being one of the few male voices, his seat was near the back, and it happened that he stood almost directly behind me. His voice had the same sarcastic timbre as his trumpet-playing, and Chris once had to point out to Lexus that it isn't by forcing that you sing lower and better tones!

So, I heard his voice more. And I also saw him more (though I'd seen him in Grade Ten Pre-Calculus), and through this, came to be infatuated.

Then, in my graduating year, there was a slight problem in my schedule. Because of the courses I wanted, I was forced to take Pre-Calc before Calculus. Of course, my previous grades and having a father who teaches Math (badly) once a week quickly convinced Admin that this would not be a problem. It so happened that Lexus had the same happen to him.

We took Calculus together, then; and somehow, the three of us with this scheduling conflict sat mostly alone on the same side of the class (it was a small class, about fifteen).

Obviously, he began to mean something to me; I noticed and fell in love with details of him--the way his hair made his eyes sharper; the curve of his nose; the way his facial hair started simply as fuzz on his chin.

I also started a graphic journal, because I wanted to capture details. Fridays were our treat-days, where we all took turns bringing treats. One day, we had chocolate pudding--or maybe Lexus just brought his own, I forget--and he spilled some on his bright yellow shirt. I heard a slight commotion, and turned to see; he and lifted his shirt to his mouth to clean it off; and, lest I be obvious, I had to turn back, when I saw his abs.

I eventually wrote a journal entry, which turned out to be a poem:

Math and Symbols

I'll be sitting in class, and you'll
be behind me, where I can't
mentally undress you.

Not
that it stops me from trying, but
it would be so much more satisfying,
I think,
if I could stare at your body. Or
at your face while you
puzzle over a new problem.

I love that expression on your face:

It's not quite "relaxed",
it's not quite "intense",
but it's almost
pouty,
as though all the
muscles in your face just went dead
and limp like
your entire being
is focused on the problem
and you can't spare the energy to look
awake.

You make me want to shout and sing and
write bad poetry,
but I don't feel words can actually
articulate all that I want
to express.

I want
to write it out in large and esoteric
math and symbols:

"YOU ARE THE LIGHT OF MY MIND, YOU INSPIRE
AND CHALLENGE ME, YOU KEEP ME BURNING, AND
ALSO, YOU ARE GOOD-LOOKING."

But I wonder
what you would think of that,
and, if I gave you that
paper with my heart translated
into math and symbols,
would you find me odd,
and then not
be the same person you
were
in my head?

Eventually, I realized someone was going to notice the way I couldn't even look his direction with a straight face.

I wrote him a letter to a similar effect as the journal entry, mostly pointing out that I found him attractive (mentioning a few to show I was serious); that I just had to tell him because I didn't want rumours; that if he had a significant other, I didn't mean to interfere; that if I was being too bold, he should let me know, because, "since when are you afraid of girls?"

This was pretty disastrous, but not at first.

It was entirely my fault, because he didn't send any sort of reply, and I ruined the whole thing a few days later by first giving him a "secret" note telling him I'd phone tonight, and then phoning.

When I'd been put through to him, he said slowly that he was going to tell me that tonight wouldn't be a good night to call. It was then that I learned he had a girlfriend; and my lack of response betrayed my expectations. I think I managed to say, "Oh," and, after a pause, "Have fun with that". I forget what happened immediately after, but we eventually hung up and nothing was much changed, save that I couldn't look his direction for embarrassment instead of infatuation.

I'm not sure what happened after I graduated. In University, I heard short second-hand stories about how he had a girlfriend, and such-and-such happened to them, so now such-and-such took place. I visited the highschool once--a class he took, too. He made a point of announcing something about his girlfriend--but, at this time, I was dating James anyway.

I've heard from someone he used to play chess against, that perhaps he's now in the University of Waterloo, and wouldn't doubt it, with his brain.

The Dream

The dream was confusing, and I remember only to parts. The first part, there was Lexus, James, some others, and me; and we were at some sort of social gathering; and, for some reason, I had to keep it unknown to James that I had a thing for Lexus; and Lexus was making that very difficult, because he flaunted all the things I'd adored. Somehow, the topic turned to hair and sideburns--not quite sideburns, but the hair that grows over top your ears--and I'd called Lexus a hypocrite because he had that, too; and I'd grabbed him by that hair and I think I kissed him.

The other part was after the party, when Lexus and I were alone for some reason. And I remember thinking to myself, "You're not real, and if you kiss me, it won't feel real--I won't be able to feel your lips, your heat, your movement--and I must really stop imagining you." And hen he kissed me, and it felt entirely real--texture, heat, motion and all. And then he asked me if I wanted him to stop being real, and I don't remember what happened next.

Eventually I awoke, very confused because my mind, body, heart and spirit were all pulling in opposing directions so that even inaction fell into one of them.

I'm not sure what to make of the dream. This is the second dream I've had where someone I either love or am in love with has asked me whether it would be okay to be romantic. If anything, this should be a symbol or warning of my own indecision; but it doesn't help that I know not where to go.


I'm not going to let it worry me too much yet. More urgent is:

Tuesday 09:00 - Fitness test

Wednesday 10:00 - get Army gear!

Friday 18:00 - my "birthday party"!

Adieu!
--Charissa

Gnomes!

There exists love!

I'm not sure why, but I felt inspired to do this again. "There exists love" was my gnome last year, and it suddenly felt appropriate all over again! As I waited in a bus shack tonight, I wrote that in the dust on the panes. And then I wrote "there exists truth", "there exists beauty", "there does not exist silence in bus".


Also--Chinese people are hilarious--there's a Chinese saying that goes something like this:

"I can't poo, the ground is too hard."

Translation: People can think up the strangest excuses to avoid work. Also: Chinese people are hilarious!

And if you are Chinese, you should try this at least once with your White friends:

Hover around an intensely shallow conversation, and when the chatter allows, step in wisely and speak thus, slowly and with a heavy Chinese accent, and maybe punctuating with deliberate gesticulation:

"Ancient Chinese wisdom: Man with one chopstick goes hungry."

And then leave.

Ironic Phrases I've collected over the years

- I hear he's a real gossip!

- None of us like to generalize.

- I hate intolerance!

- You're not very suggestible, are you?

- You're making assumptions!

- Everyone's a pessimist!

- It's good to have standards!

- I bet you're prejudiced!

- You need to be more open-minded!

Reading/sleeping time!
--Charissa

Numerals and Teachery Things

I took out the book The Abacus: a pocket computer from the library (because my brother had gotten me an abacus for my 18th birthday, or Christmas, I forget). In the chapter "The Ancients", it discusses ancient number systems, most of which I'd already heard about in "Mathematical Sorcery".


There was an explanation of Babylonian numerals and Egyptian numerals, as well as others; but what I didn't know was the meaning behind the Egyptian numerals, and this book explained some.

After some quick Googling, I've found three slightly different interpretations of the symbols:

1. http://members.tripod.com/kangwei1a14/egyptian.htm
2. http://www.recoveredscience.com/const102egynumerals1.htm
3. this book.

Picture	Explanation 1	Explanation 2	Explanation 3
	A rod.	Upright.	"just a vertical stroke, not much different from [our 'one']."
	Cattle hobble.	Vault.	Heel bone.
	Coiled Rope.	Rope coil.	Scroll.
	Lotus flower.	Lotus.	Lotus flower, "a plant the Egyptians loved."
	Finger.	Finger.	(None)
	Tadpole.	Tadpole.	(None)
	God with raised arms.	Heh-god.	"a man holding up his arms in amazement. To the Egyptians, one million was a tremendous sum."

Awkward sidenote

My good friend Mark told me about this assignment he had (a long time ago), to convert Babylonian numerals into Greek or Roman or something. When converted, the numbers spelled out the words "clitoris", "penis" and "airplane", which confused the heck out of him!

Aren't numerals fun?



I watched the movie Proof last night.

It sucked. It was almost good, and maybe if it hadn't been so "Hollywood", it would have been better; but it truly, truly sucked. Also, movies in which getting it on is part of the actual plot tend to suck.

Plot summary:

• Girl thinks she's crazy, because her dad was a crazy mathematician, now deceased.
  
• Boy is going through the deceased dad's work.
  
• Boy and girl have sex.
  
• Girl has a proof she wrote, but nobody believes she wrote it, not even the boy.
  
• Drama!
  
• Turns out, she wrote it; and maybe she's not crazy after all!
  
• Reconciliation with boy!

Did I mention the movie sucked?



Teaching

As usual, Saturday was another day of TA-ing for the Maths school. We've started on Trigonometric Identities, and I don't think the teacher adequately taught what an identity is; nor what a proof is. He later asked if this was too easy or too hard, and nobody responded.

Sometimes, I want to just jump in front of the class and tell him to shut up, and start teaching. But, the principal must have hired him as a teacher (instead of me) for a reason... At least, I hope there was a reason other than "he's older, so he'll be the teacher."

I think we should walk the kids through what an identity is; walk them through a few proofs. I'm marking their papers, and I can tell that a few just have no idea what's going on. Someone wrote "1 / 0.5" as a final answer, which is wrong on so many levels!


The format I'd like my students' work to follow

Question number. Question

Work Work Work

/ Side computations / Side computations

Answer

That would be just amazing and so much easier to mark. Maybe I'll have to make photocopies from now on, just so it's easier to explain this to them. Yeah, I'll do that--I'm going to do that RIGHT NOW!

--Charissa!