Monday, January 17, 2005
Motte mocked me much about my previous post, and demanded that I post an entire series of embarrassing stories about my ineptitude with women. So I thought I'd write about how I became very good at multivariate calculus.
My high school in suburbia Ohio didn't have much of a math program: a geometry class, an assortment of algebra classes, and the most introductory class in calculus. When I completed the offered classes at the end of my junior year, I was given the option of taking math classes at the local state university, paid for by my high school. This was a good deal, since I could spend the entire afternoon taking just one college math class, instead of staying for three high school classes.
However, instead of enjoying my afternoon after my math class at Ohio State was over, I would scurry over to the study room in my neighborhood public library. Every day, I sat in the same spot studying multivariable calculus, waiting for Clare, who worked in the library, to walk by. Clare had been one of the few friends I'd been able to eke out in the insular, all-white high school I'd transferred into sophomore year, and by senior year I was attracted enough that it was worth sitting in that library, going over my class notes and homework, for a chance to say hi to her as she got off of work, and perhaps have a short conversation. As a result, I didn't get to talk to Clare very much, but I did get a lot of studying done.
In retrospect, I can see that I was too hopelessly shy to have ever expressed my feelings, and even if I could, it's not clear what I would have been able to do with those feelings. Isolated beyond belief in my racially homogeneous suburbian high school, I was woefully inadequate in building any sort of human relationship with my schoolmates, and Clare was no exception, despite all the one-sided attraction. I do still hear from Clare once every few months, and sometimes we lurk each other's blogs. So I suppose I should thank her, for she is the reason I am so good at multivariable calculus.
My high school in suburbia Ohio didn't have much of a math program: a geometry class, an assortment of algebra classes, and the most introductory class in calculus. When I completed the offered classes at the end of my junior year, I was given the option of taking math classes at the local state university, paid for by my high school. This was a good deal, since I could spend the entire afternoon taking just one college math class, instead of staying for three high school classes.
However, instead of enjoying my afternoon after my math class at Ohio State was over, I would scurry over to the study room in my neighborhood public library. Every day, I sat in the same spot studying multivariable calculus, waiting for Clare, who worked in the library, to walk by. Clare had been one of the few friends I'd been able to eke out in the insular, all-white high school I'd transferred into sophomore year, and by senior year I was attracted enough that it was worth sitting in that library, going over my class notes and homework, for a chance to say hi to her as she got off of work, and perhaps have a short conversation. As a result, I didn't get to talk to Clare very much, but I did get a lot of studying done.
In retrospect, I can see that I was too hopelessly shy to have ever expressed my feelings, and even if I could, it's not clear what I would have been able to do with those feelings. Isolated beyond belief in my racially homogeneous suburbian high school, I was woefully inadequate in building any sort of human relationship with my schoolmates, and Clare was no exception, despite all the one-sided attraction. I do still hear from Clare once every few months, and sometimes we lurk each other's blogs. So I suppose I should thank her, for she is the reason I am so good at multivariable calculus.
