On Failure

The cat is me, and physics is the cheese.

As an atheist, I prefer the concrete facts of science to the theology of religion. Somewhat ironically, however, my overall understanding of most sciences (take your pick – biology, chemistry, and, most recently, physics) is embarrassingly bad, and I find it much easier to think that things like cellular mitosis and velocity happen because of some fantastical magic that nobody can comprehensibly explain. Essentially, instead of accepting a belief system that has been lent societal credibility by a few millennia of existence, I prefer to make up my own version of science and substitute that instead.

So I guess I could argue that the fact that I have to take four science classes in order to graduate is against my religion – if I were teaching my Physics 152 class, the syllabus would look something like this:

Physics 152 – The Physics Of Sound And Music

Physics is an unproven theory, the mysteries of which humanity’s greatest minds have yet to unravel, although the general consensus is that wizards are responsible for most of it. As it is fruitless to try to try and understand magic, the bulk of the class will be dedicated to the study and pursuit of the perfect Christopher Walken impression.

Attendance: Attendance and class participation is mandatory. Talking like Walken is not a spectator sport.

Homework: The Deer Hunter. Every day. Until you get it right.

Extra Credit: Only students willing to engage in no holds barred Deathfights in front of the class or during my office hours will be eligible for extra credit. Only the victors shall receive it.

*

Sadly, the actual syllabus for my Physics 152 class is far more sacrilegious, making outlandish demands such as the purchase of a scientific calculator and a working knowledge of high school algebra.

Many people have asked me why I took a physics class, as physics is apparently the mathiest of sciences. The fact is, I had not known just how mathy physics was, and even if I had, I would’ve assumed that as it was a 100 level class I probably would have been able to muddle through with my usual combination of charm, sexual favors, and crying.

Well, you heard it here first – physics is fucking hard, no matter what level the class is. Do you know what a Hemholtz Resonator is? I’m not sure I do, either – I know that you blow into it and then magic happens and a lower sounding note comes out, but that’s about it.

The thing about physics is that they want me to explain how the magic happens. If you’re a Christian, imagine somebody asking you, on the penalty of failing a class, to explain exactly how a virgin got pregnant. “God did it” is not an acceptable answer. You’d be a little bit fucked, wouldn’t you? That’s kind of where I’m living right now.

Hubris got me on the first midterm. I assumed that physics was no different than any other class I haven’t understood before, and that a night of studying right before the exam would be enough to get me a B. So I studied with a friend who was far more versed in the mythology of physics than I was, and the next day went in and took the midterm. I left confident that I’d pulled at least a C.

A few days later, when I found out that I had, in fact, received a D, I knew that shit had just gotten real.

I’m by no means a perfectionist. In most cases, I’m usually willing to settle for less if it can get me passable results with minimal effort,* and what I figured was that it was this reprehensible character failing that resulted in my poor grade. I’d been too lazy to put any serious effort into my studies, and as a result I got a D on a college midterm, which is not necessarily easy to recover from.

*Have you ever noticed how some updates on here aren’t very funny? Yeah, there you go.

Fortunately, the professor is a lenient guy, and he told me that if I could improve my performance for the second midterm that he’d base my grade more off of that than the first. So last week during the leadup to the second midterm, I studied like a motherfucker. I hit the book hard, I reviewed old homework, I did practice questions and studied with friends who had gotten As on the first test. I went into class on the day of the midterm confident that I would make the test my bitch and not the other way around like last time.

The good news is that I only got 48% of the questions on the second midterm wrong. The bad news is that scoring 52% on a midterm that comprises 20 percent of your grade is definitely not a good way to qualify for scholarships, and it’s usually a pretty bad sign if you were at all interested in not writing the past ten weeks off as a several hundred dollar goof.

52% is an F. Had I stayed at home that day and masturbated instead of taking the test, I still would have gotten an F, but probably would have been in a much better mood all afternoon.

I guess what confuses me is how 90 minutes of studying the night before the exam got me a grade that was eleven points higher than the one I got after some eight hours of studying over the course of the week leading up to the next one. Had I just gotten another D, I would have assumed that the course materials had progressed further than my study habits since the last exam, but the fact that hours of concentrated, thoughtful study got me a lower grade suggests that maybe studying is not the best way to prepare for tests.

Maybe I should get drunk before the final.

Truman Capps can’t wait to use his science skills to become the best journalist ever.