Math Comics 1 - Who is My Value

Note - this blog is automatically imported into facebook, but unfortunately it loses some formatting in the process. Click here to visit the real thing.

This week is exam week at school, and being the last exam week of the year, we won't be learning any new material. So in class today, I had my students make Math Comics. I scanned them because they're totally awesome. Here's the first, along with transcript.

I should note that my example comic on the board involved the number 3 looking for love, so of course all the kids copied my idea and made their comic about numbers (or symbols) as sentient beings.

Transcript:

Title: Who Is My Value??

Panel 1: X (sad): "I want to find a value"

Panel 2: X: "Hi two! are you my value"

2: "No, Im' not. I can help you find one"

Panel 3: (numbers are scattered everywhere) X: "The aren't may value"

2: "let's go to other place"

Panel 4: ONE YEAR LATER

X: "I am tired"

2: "me too"

Panel 5: X: "Nobody's my value"

2: "let's take he last look"

Panel 6: (equation appears: x/4=1/2)

X: "I found were to be"

2: "oh yes it is in the operation"

Panel 7: (equation is solved: 2x=4, x=2)

Panel 8: X: "Solving that equation you will be my value"

2: "what?!? every time looking and I was your value!"

Commentary: we start with one of the best. A great story that is funny and clever and touching and has a well-defined arc. Also, this may come as a surprise, but the level of English is pretty high here. It's all about context - just wait for some of the others.

The Brother Playlist

Note - this blog is automatically imported into facebook, but unfortunately it loses some formatting in the process. Click here to visit the real thing.


There are so many things I want to blog about, but it just isn't happening right now what with exams starting tomorrow - meaning I have to catch up on all the marking before spending all next week marking my own exams and finalizing everything. But here's a quick entry to tide y'all over.

Sometimes I want to listen to a certain song from my iTunes playlist, and the fastest way to access it is to enter the name of the song, or part of the name, into the search function. In some cases, the name of the song is unique enough that it immediately becomes the only result in the open window. Other times, it's the opposite; so common that I'm left with a multitude of results, often including entire albums, necessitating a further paring-down.

But on rare occasions, whatever word I've entered has just the right balance such that it creates a playlist that I never would have created on my own, and I end up listening to the whole playlist, rather than the specific song I was searching for.

There have been times when I've been aware of this phenomenon and specifically tried certain words, but in most cases it's completely accidental, and I really love it. It's one of those little joys in life.

Anyway, tonight I searched for a song with the word "brother" in the title, and was given this playlist:

The Allman Brothers - Jessica
Animal Collective - Brothersport
The Chemical Brothers - Block Rockin' Beats
Grizzly Bear - Little Brother
Marvin Gaye - What's Happening Brother
The Statler Brothers - Flowers on the Wall (from Pulp Fiction soundtrack)
Stevie Wonder - Big Brother
Trans-Siberian Orchestra - For the Sake of Our Brother

Clearly I only have one song in my library by each of the three groups that include "brother" in their name, otherwise this playlist would have been much less fun.

I'll try to post these whenever I come across a good one.

My Googleability

Note - this blog is automatically imported into facebook, but unfortunately it loses some formatting in the process. Click here to visit the real thing.

Last Wednesday, I arrived at school to find a student bursting with a piece of juicy information. "Mr. Dave!" she cried, "I saw you on Youtube!" I suppose this wasn't terribly surprising, since the first nine results on Youtube for a search of my name are in fact performances that I was a part of. I guess I'm surprised it took my students this long - several of them found me on Facebook months ago.

What I wasn't prepared for was every. single. one. of my students to say the same thing that day or over the course of the next couple days. Apparently whoever found me had done so in computer class, so of course it spread within seconds to the other students in the class, and it wasn't long before this information found its way to my other three classes.

Though I'm Gonna Fight Chu (the band I was in for a few months last year in Ottawa and the source of most of my Youtube videos) has nine videos up, the vast majority of students who "found" me mentioned this Single Ladies video, presumably because it's by far the most popular song in our repertoire to their (my students') generation. Chateau Laurier and Circle of Life, both performed on Parliament Hill in Ottawa, were also brought up, and I think one of my students even found this low-quality video of the Skule Stage Band, though it took me a while to figure out what he was talking about because he had no idea how to say "Skule".

The other Google result that was frequently brought up in this period of Rapid Mr. Dave Discovery was a picture of "a girl kissing (me) on the cheek". I had no idea what my students were talking about until they started to describe it a little more - when they told me I was wearing a suit, I realized they were talking about an awards ceremony where the resident photographer had my mom and I take this terrible photo. Since my students don't know my age, there's a legitimate chance they thought the "girl" was my girlfriend or wife, and were amused to find out it's my mom.

Okay, I'm mostly joking, but while most students are able to identify me as a 20-something, I've had a few serious guesses in the 40s.

The videos and photo have made the rounds now, meaning my Googleability has been exhausted, and the flood of "Mr. Mr. I saw you on Youtube!" has slowed to a crawl, but it was fun while it lasted. Oh, and my favourite part: one student, upon seeing me in the aforementioned photo, asked me: "Mr. Dave, are you a millionaire?"

Me Being An Idiot #5: Soccer Heartburn

Note - this blog is automatically imported into facebook, but unfortunately it loses some formatting in the process. Click here to visit the real thing.

It's been over a year since we had a new entry in the ever-popular Me Being An Idiot series. Enjoy!

On Friday, the janitors and the gym teacher and I got together to play soccer after school, as we do most Fridays. It was fun and light-hearted like usual, but not everything about our game was usual; namely, near the end of the game, I inflicted a somewhat strange injury upon myself.

Allow me to paint a picture: I had situated myself in front of the opposition's goal, hoping for a ball to come my way so I could attempt to re-direct it into the back of the net. Some sort of collision flung the ball up high in the air behind me, and realizing that I was the closest player to its projected landing spot, I turned around (now facing away from the net) and awaited the ball's descent.

In the seconds I had to think up my next course of action, I started wondering what a star soccer player would do in this situation. The opponents were nearby, and as soon as the ball landed I would be swarmed by defenders, likely not giving me enough time to find a clear space to take a shot, or even to pass to a teammate. Therefore, it looked like the only viable possibility was to perform a Crazy Flying Upside-Down Bicycle Kick, in an attempt to blast the ball into the back of the net before it even touched the ground.

Well, "viable" may have been the wrong choice of words, given the party it is being applied to. I have never successfully pulled off a Crazy Flying Upside-Down Bicycle Kick, in a game or even just for fun.

The good news is that I timed this maneuver reasonably well-enough so as to make contact with the ball, saving myself from total embarrassment. The bad news is that it (the ball) went completely the wrong way. And then I landed with a thud square on my back.

Of course, it must have looked hilarious. Everyone burst out laughing, and I would have too if I wasn't too busy coughing (I wasn't completely winded - more like half-winded I guess).

I shook it off after a couple minutes and got back into the game, and didn't feel any ill-effects for the rest of the day. But the next morning, as so often happens, I woke up in a much worse state. This time, though, was different from the majority of sports-caused injuries. It didn't feel like a physical injury, more of a physiological injury. It was a tightness in my chest, back and even neck, which was magnified when I breathed. It kind of felt like the exercise-induced asthma I sometimes suffer from.

Additionally, every couple minutes I would get a pang of chest-pain which I would describe as, without being totally clear on what heartburn is or if I've ever had it, something like what I imagine heartburn is. This prompted me to joke to Kären last night that I'm suffering from "Soccer Heartburn".

Gary _____

Note - this blog is automatically imported into facebook, but unfortunately it loses some formatting in the process. Click here to visit the real thing.

A couple weeks ago, I took a few days off school to meet my friends Fed, Meg and Ben in Bogota for a mini-vacation. We all arrived on Tuesday night, and got some food and drinks before heading to bed to prepare ourselves for a busy five days.

Upon arising the next morning, I took a few minutes in the outdoor atrium adjacent to our room to wake myself up and stretch out the pillow-caused soreness. It was during this time that I met (or, more accurately, was met by) Gary _____, who would quickly become one of the oft-repeated in-jokes that inevitably develop when a group of people spend days at a time together.

It was apparent from the start that Gary _____ was no ordinary Gary. The first words out of his mouth were "Hi, I don't think we've met, I'm Gary _____, from New York and California." New York and California? Who does this guy think he is, the Dodgers?

Gary _____ proceeded to tell me some of the stuff that he had done and gave some recommendations about Bogota. To be honest, at first I wasn't too put off by him - it did seem like he'd spent a few days there and had some worthwhile suggestions. The conversation wrapped up shortly and I headed off to the bathroom to shower.

While sitting in my room with the door open after the shower, Gary wandered by (his room was just down the hall from ours), and poked his head in to ask me a question - having informed him that I am teaching in Barranquilla, he thought he'd ask whether any of my students' parents are computer programmers. I thought it was a weird question, but I barely know what any of my kids' parents do, so the conversation ended there. I thought maybe he knew a programmer in Barranquilla.

A little while later, I had moved into the hostel's main common area where coffee was available. I grabbed a cup and started browsing some tourist pamphlets, the likes of which are always strewn about hostel common areas. Gary _____ showed up and started talking to me, and by this point he was starting to get on my nerves, but I didn't want to let it show, so I asked him what he was up to in Bogota. It turns out he runs an internet start-up that runs couples counseling for couples who can't afford it (meaning, according to him, the vast majority of couples who need it), and he was in Bogota to recruit programmers. Fair enough, I guess. I didn't get around to asking him Why Bogota, but presumably labour is cheaper? I dunno. Anyway, it was then that it dawned on me why he had asked me about my students' parents, and after being talked at by Gary _____ three times now, including a question to which a positive response could have resulted in a fair amount of work on my part, I decided that the thing that rubbed me the wrong way about Gary _____ was that he was nosy.

Ben soon joined me, and in a moment of Gary _____ reprieve, I elicited this newly-formed opinion to him. Ben had only had passing contact with Gary _____, having been present when the parent-programmer query had been posed, but was now aware of what to watch for.

He did not have to wait long. After a brief conversation with an Italian guy who turned out to be a barber (PERFECT) in which Gary _____ of course introduced himself once again as "Gary _____ from New York and California" to this guy who could barely speak English, we were joined by Meg and Fed, and having been given this audience of four young adults, Gary _____ decided to drop some of his best information.

First, after re-hashing his internet start-up and current search for programmers, Gary _____ told us that "you can look me up. I'm Googleable." Haha. Googleable. What a jerk. Obviously we Googled him later. (And since I don't want to cause any ill will or have this traced back to me, now you know why I'm blanking out his last name. But I'm leaving the blank in there because his last name was such an important part of his identity, and we could really never talk about him without saying both names. I'm sure you've encountered similar situations. Oh, one more thing: if we're being totally accurate, it's not "Gary _____" but "Gary _____ with a _".)

Shortly thereafter, upon mentioning that we would be leaving soon for our first day of fun and excitement, Gary _____ asked if we were going to the tienda (corner store), and if so could we pick up a loaf of bread for him. Ben and I shared a knowing glance - nosiness at its finest. I totally called it.

And finally, Gary _____'s coup de grace came when we let it slip that we would be moving to a different hotel down the street. Gary asked us if we could check out the hotel for him and let him know if it met his standards, because he wouldn't mind switching also. He gave us his phone number. Jeez, dude. We JUST met. The programmers, the bread, and now this? By this point we were all really starting to despise Gary _____.

Oh yeah, and his "standards"? He wanted a hotel with an older crowd (Gary _____ was about 55 himself), because he was sick of talking with "people who don't know what they're doing with their lives". Bear in mind, he had just said this sentence to a bunch of 20-somethings. What had started as a light "haha, this guy, what a jerk" situation had turned into a full-on "this guy is a jerk". Of course, after ridding ourselves of Gary _____ and thankfully not seeing him again for the remainder of our trip, we probably got more entertainment out of making him the butt of all our jokes than the annoyance we felt on that first morning.

I'm glad we met Gary _____.

The Belt Situation

Note - this blog is automatically imported into facebook, but unfortunately it loses some formatting in the process. Click here to visit the real thing.

On the weekend, my friend Ben was visiting from Canada, so I took him to a Junior game (Junior is Barranquilla's team in Colombia's premier soccer league). Kären came along too, and snapped some photos, so I'll link to those if she puts them up. It was a great time, and I look forward to the next couple of weeks as Junior plays its two remaining games, currently battling for a playoff spot (they're in 4th, with the top 4 teams making it).

But I'm not here to write about the game; instead, I'll be talking about a quirk of large-scale events in Colombia which I've actually written about before (edit: actually, I haven't written about it, but it also happened at the event in that link); namely, the requirement that you check your belt before entering the stadium. Now, the dudes who keep your belt for the duration are just that: dudes. They're not in any sort of Official Belt Check Room in the stadium, nor do they even have a make-shift stand outside, or even a sign. You just give the dude your belt, he scrawls a number on a tiny square of paper, and you hope that you can find him after the game.

So when the time came, we started searching. After starting to worry when we couldn't find the dudes (Ben and I had stupidly checked our belts with different dudes), we realized that we had exited via a different gate than we had entered, and after hiking back to the entrance point Ben's dude was quickly found. The same could not be said for mine. So I asked Ben's dude if he knew where to look, and I was pointed in the direction of a park across the street. So I headed over, looking for a dude in a yellow shirt (that was all I remembered about him), and quickly began to lose hope when I couldn't find him.

However, within about a minute, Ben's dude, having returned his last belt to its owner (Ben), joined me in the search and led me quickly through the park and beyond. We walked pretty far, all the way across the park to a major street and bus route where I finally decided the search was fruitless. I thanked Ben's dude and started to head back.

Just then, Ben's dude spotted my dude hurrying in our direction and yelled to him, catching his attention. I first recognized his yellow shirt, then kinda recognized his face too. But I noticed something else. Something else yellow. He was peeing, as he was walking toward us. Luckily, he stopped moving for the majority of his session, but he didn't turn away, and he didn't stop talking to us.

When he finished, he told me something which I didn't understand, asked me to pay the 1000 peso (50 cent) holding fee, and pointed me back (with his hand, luckily) toward the stadium. Being clueless and not wanting to deal with a guy who had just been peeing while walking, I just went with it as he hurried off in the other direction. When I returned to where Ben's dude was waiting, he yelled at me to run and catch the guy because obviously.

So I ran after him, to the confusion of a group of young guys who had just come from the game. They asked me what was going on and I yelled "my belt but in Spanish!" and continued running. When I caught up with yellow shirt guy just before he escaped across the busy street, I realized the young guys had followed me and were now yelling at the dude for being a jerk (at least I think so, maybe they were yelling at him for peeing while walking, because WHO DOES THAT?!).

So we headed back to where my belt was now being held, with an escort of about 7 strapping young lads berating yellow shirt (and pants?) dude the whole way. We eventually found another dude sitting by the side of the road with, yep, you guessed it, my belt, wrapped around his neck. So the dude was probably telling the truth the whole time. He was just in a hurry cause he had to pee.

Anyway, for the second time using the Colombian Belt System, I eventually got my belt back, against all odds. When the belt was safely in my hands the dude offered up his hand for a shake as token of apology, or something, and I really didn't want to touch it, because you know, but I also didn't want to not shake his hand, so I just went for it.

Before I headed back to Ben and Kären, who were probably really getting nervous by this point, the strapping young lads told me to come with them so I wouldn't get mugged or peed on, until I told them I had friends waiting, so they just settled for lecturing me not to be a dumb Gringo. And to avoid dudes in yellow shirts, because, well, who knows how it got that colour in the first place.