Ass Magma and The Vapid Flail

Oh, let's get real, shall we?

I am failing Stats. It's been slowly but surely swirling around the toilet rim and today finally flushed with a 48% equivalent for the midterm. My overall grade so far is around 65%, so even with a full letter grade curve I have a nice, fat D.

The problem? I have no f*cking idea what is going on.

The prof really is a travesty, at least for us non-math folks. But my grades are in the bottom middle of the group, and there are several people with A's, so he's getting through to some people. (Oh, yeah, that would be the Epidemiology and Biostatistics crew for whom higher math is like a cranial vibrator. They make math jokes, and then they laugh uproariously, and we mouth breathers long for Ron White .) I go to every class, but it's like the prof is beaming in from Pleiades. But I don't dare ask a question as his favorite past time is making us all look like idiots for not understanding it.

Want to hear what he said a couple of weeks ago? You know you do . . .

He said in response to a guy making a comment about the difficulty of the section we were on: you know, I remember a time last semester when I told a student that if you make an aluminum foil helmet, and put it on your head, and then go stand out in the middle of a field during a thunderstorm, the chances of you getting hit by lightning are greater than you getting this stuff, because you either get it or you don't, and you, do not.

Lovely, no?

I am so not in Kansas anymore.

I have several lovely women that I do study groups with. Me and the pod meet on Tuesdays after class for two hours, and on Thursdays after class for three to five hours. They struggle, too, but eventually get it. They stick with me, try and try and try, make pass after pass at different ways of explaining it. They make up little dances with their arms. Big hoops to describe unions, one hoop of either arm to show independence, flapping arms for degrees of freedom. They drag me across the gravel of math, kicking and screaming. Leave me behind, I say. Save yourselves. They snort at the mere thought of abandonment. And they haul me by the heels as I sob into my trail mix a la chocolate incentives. Cracks of light appear in my brain, and it all begins to make a little bit of sense. But no matter what I do, it is gone the next time we pick it up.

The textbook? A perversion of all that is good and decent in this world. Not only is it written for math-turbators, as in it assumes that you already Thoroughly Know stats and are simply looking to apply it as Biostats, it is riddled with mistakes. Not a class goes by that the prof doesn't make a joke about how this part is sketchy and presents the info in a way that makes it look like something it isn't, that particular study problem is impossible to do because not enough info was given, this section uses the wrong word, which happens to be something that we already learned about and so therefore Is Seriously Screwed.

My pod and I used to spend hours trying to make sense of it. I finally gave up. They keep at it.

The stats midterm? I spent six hours the Sunday before studying with my pod. Two hours the day before. Another hour the morning of. And I failed it so hard my ass went flying through the earth's magma, going splish as it hit the gooey liquid core. Or maybe that was my ego.

Oh, shall we discuss my ego? Yes, let's . . .

I cannot wrap my brain around the fact that I am failing this class. There are only six weeks of school left and I spend every week in various stages of overwhelm. The workload is just too much. I look around and the women I admire most, the smart, passionate ones, all have dark circles under their eyes, talk about how burnt they are. I run around whining about how smart I am with my 3.94 grade point average and how hard I work and these lovely women are kind but must be thinking: will she please just close her piehole and just get the sh*t taken care of?

I see my advisor in the hall. How are you doing in stats, she asks. Really, really rough, I say. Tough time, she says. Really, really bad, I say. Well, you'd better find a way to get a C don't you think, she says, her emotionless arctic blue eyes blazing a trail of I-don't-give-a-f*ck into my own as she walks off. She is six months pregnant and so I try to find a way to forgive her. She isn't always this cold. Sometimes she even smiles at me. She is very, very pregnant, I tell myself, and so I don't give her the finger. (Or as we say in my stats pod: the non-random digit.)

I have a meeting set up with my stats prof tomorrow morning at 9. I dread it because I know he is just going to give me the same incredulous look he always gives, say the same things of well, why don't you get it? You're not doing the work, are you? Are you even bothering to read the material? It’s not that hard, you know.

I would rather spend the night facedown in the litter box than go meet with him, but I know that if I don't, I will definitely fail this class. And be forced to repeat it. With him. Again. Sitting and listening to this man gibber and fill the whiteboard with strange, evil symbols. For a whole nuther semester. Kill me now.

And so I will meet with him. Because if I do, I stand a chance at only six more weeks of fiery flagellating hell instead of an eternity spent having two tailed t tests and chi squares shoved lovelessly into orifices that should never, ever know math.

At least my man is happy with me. He seems fine now that I've stopped breaking up with him and have learned how to bake cookies in a moving vehicle. At least I can say with relative confidence that I've gotten really good at something this semester . . . talk about public health . . . or is that health in public?

Sigh.

Comments

[Kelly]

Oh, my goodness. Chris and I just had to pick each others jaws up off of the floor, and he wants to know why I won't bake cookies in the car on the highway!

Thanks. Thanks so much.

; )

Soo sorry about Stats, my friend. That really blows. I hope the meeting goes better and you're six weeks from the finish of this nightmare. I don't know how you do it.

[Tina]

Hi Katie,

FYI - I all but failed my math class but my professor passed me because I attended every class, though I failed every test. He knew I wasn't a math major - but a Philosophy and English major. As a Continuing Ed student trying to graduate, he just passed me - knowing I wasn't going to do anything with math! The class was just to pass the math requirement and not do cartwheels. Nice guy - I should'a took set theory. That I would pass!

As to stats - my worst nightmare. Actually, the entire class was - I just kept showing up, stupid girl that I am. Then again, sometimes it's okay to just pass the course without all the hoopla.

In five years, you will remember the class and how hard it was, but no one will care and it will only give you character - nothing else. If you had a choice at this point - cash or character. Don't think - just answer!

:)

[michelle]

My dear, my sympathies on the statistics problems. If you are looking for something a little lighter (but still good!) to give you a different window into statistics try these two books:

The Cartoon Guide to Statistics
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0062731025/sr=8-1/qid=1143637373/ref=pd_bbs_1/103-5894705-7239057?%5Fencoding=UTF8

How to Lie With Statistics
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0393310728/sr=8-2/qid=1143637373/ref=pd_bbs_2/103-5894705-7239057?%5Fencoding=UTF8

Both of these books have silly titles but have a really good approach to statistics -- real knowledge in packaging that's easy to approach. Please check out at least the Cartoon Guide ... let me know if it helps.

Cheers! and good luck.

[gg]

Not much to offer but *hugs*.

This is most of the reason why library school is so appealing.

[susan]

Katherine,
I recommend "Statistics for the Terrified". I'm not kidding...you can actually read it.
I also recommend baking brownies only in stopped vehicles. A friend of mine is a state trooper and can attest to the frequency of highway carnage due to this apparently not-that-uncommon pastime. He says the worst part having to extricate partially clothed people who are awake and everyone knows what they were doing...!
Live to face another stats test!!!

[cdog]

this is so damn funny; really had me laughing - (math-tubators; rather spend the night face down in a litter box than meet with him; she is very very pregnant, I tell myself, and so I don't give her the finger.)

Good stuff. thank you. and Good Luck.

[Kirsten]

It never ceases to amaze me how these writings of yours put me right back into grad-school and the major suckitude of the first semester, where I kept looking over my shoulder to see if the admissions person was coming to tell me they'd made a major mistake letting me in.....

I have only one suggestion for your meeting with the prof: ask him if he can hook you up with a stats tutor. When I failed my accounting midterm they basically forced a tutor on me (the school actually paid the cost) as it's really not in their interest to have people fail. Good luck!

[jamy]

I agree with Kirsten--get a tutor. The study pod is great, but you need some one-on-one attention. I almost failed one of my stats classes too--I bombed the midterm, but the prof agreed to give me a "P" (the passing grade) as long as I did well on the final. I did well and I passed the class.

You will get this stuff eventually, I'm sure of it. It just needs to knock around in your head a little longer. Don't give up.

[CJ]

Statistics isn't about math (I suck at math). It's about relationships between the numbers. An entirely different thing. Let go of the columns of numbers and figure out how they relate to each other.

Also, your teacher is an ass. Hope he's not heading toward tenure.