I'm Printing This Out And Putting It Next To Who Goes Nazi In My Bag. My Friends Are Going To Get A New

I'm printing this out and putting it next to Who Goes Nazi in my bag. My friends are going to get a new print out. Thanks.

Watching the “you will excel at what you measure” trap devour basic moral practice in real time is fascinating in a terrible kind of way

the idea that you can buy milk at the grocery store seems just so self evident. it's hard to imagine the time before pasteurization and refrigeration were common, when the milkman would come by your house every morning and lactate into a bottle for you.

This is lovely. Thank you

Kevin vs. Quantum Mechanics

This is an autobiographical piece. Names have been changed for anonymity, but it's otherwise left be. ---

The class's first suspicion of Kevin was that he had, somehow, cheated his way up to this course. He just seemed perpetually confused, and strangely antagonistic of the professor. The weirdest example of this was when he asked what an ion was (in a third year EE class?), and was informed that it referred to any positively or negatively charged particle. It would have been strange enough to ask, but his reply of "Either? That doesn't sound right" sealed him in as a well known character in the class of 19 people.

The real tipping point in our perception of him during a lecture where the professor mentioned practical uses for a neutron beam, and Kevin asked if a beam could be made out of some other neutral material. When asked "Like what?", he replied "An atom with all of its electrons removed." When we pointed out that the protons would make that abomination extremely positively charged, he just replied with "So what if we removed those too?" and then was baffled when we informed him that would just be neutrons.

That's high school level chemistry. Not knowing it was so incredibly strange that I felt like something was off, so I asked him if he'd like to grab lunch. He accepted, we chatted, and I finally began to get a sense of his origin story.

See, Kevin wasn't a junior/senior electrical engineer like the rest of us. Kevin was, in fact, three notable things: A business major, a sophomore, and a hardcore Catholic. All three of those are essential to understanding his scenario.

What had begun all of this was actually a conflict with Kevin and his roommate. Kevin frequently had his fundamental belief in Absolute Good, Absolute Bad, and Absolute Anything pushed back on by his roommate, who was in STEM. Said roommate kept invoking quantum mechanics as his proof against Absolute Knowledge. Kevin was tired of having something that he didn't understand thrown at his convictions, so he decided to take a quantum course to settle things once and for all.

Despite not having any of the pre-reqs.

He'd actually tried to take quantum for physicists first, but the school's physics department wouldn't let him. It's actually pretty strictly regulated, because it is a mandatory class for physics majors. However, because quantum is not mandatory for electrical engineers, there aren't really any built in requirements for the class. It's just assumed that nobody would actually try to take it until their third year because doing so would the be the mental equivalent to slamming your nuts in the car door. Just, pure suffering for no good reason.

Apparently, the counselors had tried to talk him out of it, but if Kevin was one thing, it was stubborn. He'd actually had to sign some papers basically saying "I was warned that this is incredibly stupid, but I refused to listen" in order to take the class.

He was actually pretty nice, if currently unaware of how bad he'd just fucked up. I paid for the lunch, wished him the best, and reported back to the class discord. We'd all been curious about this guy's story, but now that I had the truth, I could share it with the world.

Feelings were mixed. Some people thought he was going to drop out any minute now. Others thought that he wouldn't, be also that convincing him to drop now, while he still could, was the only ethical thing. Others figured that a policy of non-interference was best: The counselors couldn't dissuade him, and if we tried to do the same, he'd probably just think it was STEM elitism trying to guard its little clubhouse. He'd figure out how hard things were, or he'd fail. Either way, it would help him learn more about the world.

We wound up taking the approach of non-interference. If nothing else, understanding his origins gave us more patience when he asked bizarre questions. He wasn't trying to waste our time, he was just trying to cram three years of pre-reqs into a one semester course. He did get a little bit combative sometimes, and we could tell that he was really wracking his brain to try and find some sort of contradiction or error that he could use to bring the whole thing down, but he never could.

First test came by, and he bombed it. Completely unprepared. He'd taken Calc I, but he didn't know how to do integrals yet (that was Calc II). Worse, he was far past the drop date. I imagine most people in his shoes would've stopped struggling. They'd realize they were fucked and just let themselves fail, at least salvaging their other classes grades in the process. Why waste resources on an unwinnable battle?

Kevin never asked questions like that. If he was stupid enough to try it, he was stupid enough to finish it. God bless him.

He invited me to lunch after the test and said that the class was more fascinating than he'd ever imagined, but he didn't know if he'd be able to pass it. He asked if I could help, and I said...maybe. I brought the request to the discord, and from the eight people there I got three volunteers who admired this dork's tenacity. He was in over his head, miles beneath the surface, but his fighting spirit was fucking glorious. If he was willing to go down swinging, we were willing to bust our asses trying to get him caught up.

Some of the stuff was just extra homework we gave to the guy. We told him he needed to learn integrals, stat. We sent him some copies of basic software that can be used to teach the basics of linear circuit equations, and he practiced that game like it was HALO. Just, hours sunk into it. Absolutely godlike.

He was still scrabbling for air at just the surface level of the class, but he'd gone from abysmal failure to lingering on the boundary between life and death. Other people in the class started to learn about Kevin's origin story, and our little circle of four volunteer tutors grew to six. Every day, he had someone trying to help him either catch up in some way, or finish that week's homework. He'd gone from being seen as a nuisance that wasted class time to the underdog mascot.

He was getting twelve hours of personal tutoring a week, on top of three hours of classes, on top of six hours of office hours, on top of the coursework. I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that this kid was doing 40 hours a week just trying to pass this one single class.

Second test comes around and he gets a 60. He's ecstatic. We're ecstatic. Kid's too young to take out drinking so we just order a pizza and cheer like he just won gold at the Olympics.

After that second test, things hit another tipping point. With so much catch-up under his belt, he was able to focus a lot more on the actual material for the class. A borderline cinematic moment happened when I was trying to get ahead on the homework so that I could put more hours in on my senior project. Nobody else had finished it yet because it wasn't due for another week, so the specifics of the problem I was working on were still a mystery. I went to the professor's office hours and get some pointers, but he wasn't willing to give good hints when the HW wasn't due for another week or so. He said I still had time to think about it, which was true, but I wanted to be able to think about other things. Kevin had watched the whole conversation, waiting for his turn to ask the professor more simple questions, but when I left I got a text from him telling me to hop on zoom.

Kevin had finished it earlier, because Kevin started all of his homework the moment it was assigned. He needed to, in order to make sure that he could get it done on time. He'd finished it the day before, and was able to walk me through it.

From student, to teacher. I'm not exaggerating when I say that he probably saved me eight hours on that assignment. I could've kissed him.

A month or two later, we took the final. As soon as we were done, we six asked Kevin how he did. He was nervous, there was so much new material for him in this class that his retention hadn't been great. Us six were also a little stressed: We were going to pass the class, but the final was hard.

We waited for the results.

And waited. And waited.

Finally, the scores were posted as a table, curve included. From our class of 19 people, 4 withdrew within the deadline, 4 failed, 1 got a C, 8 got B's, and 2 got A's. We could see that the curve for a C was set at 59.2% overall.

We called Kevin. He was crying. End score, 59.2%. Teacher curved the C exactly to his score.

It was a week into winter break so we couldn't gather the forces around for a party like last time, but we were all losing our shit. Kevin was losing his shit. He couldn't believe how stupid he was to try this course, he couldn't believe that six people busted their ass just to make sure he didn't die, and he couldn't believe that the professor basically just passed him out of sheer effort alone.

He said it was the stupidest thing he'd ever done, and while I doubt that, it was outrageously stupid. And yet, I've never been so invested in a fellow student before. I'm prouder of Kevin's C than I am of my own B. I was walking on sunshine for weeks after that. In theory, my senior project was building a functioning washing machine, but in practice, in my heart, it was helping Kevin pass Intro to Quantum for Electrical Engineers.

(And as an epilogue: No, he did not renounce Catholicism and become an atheist like his roommate had hoped. He did walk out changed. I think that being that wrong about something, and realizing it, was a pivotal moment for him. It's hard to be dogmatic once you realize that a lifetime of being wrong feels exactly like a lifetime of being right, right up until the last two seconds of it.)

A song from my childhood.

Brave Combo - In Heaven, There Is No Beer

My father loved accordions. He loved edgy drinking music, and nerd stuff. My dad didn't really do drugs, he mainly read webcomics LONG BEFORE IT WAS MORE NORMAL, niche scifi, listened to bold beautiful women have good opinions via song, and perused science literature. This song evokes some of my dad related childhood.

The band also has some off-meta Christmas Music if you are interested in that sort of thing (Coal and Switches by Brave Combo - warning this song has some lines... "You blew up a toilet with an m80" - "You better watch out I'm telling you why" "What are you getting? You should ask your dad!" "kid says owwww." - there is some familial violence in this song, I grew up with the song and w/out beatings so. uh. I might have some blindspots.)

Uhh.

Music?

I once described voting in an argument as "taking a shit." I just do it. I generally don't brag about it. Don't always like the smell. Sometimes the stall is stinky. But I do need to shit. Sometimes I feel half decent about it too. I FREQUENTLY TELL PEOPLE ABOUT MY SHIT, AND THE PROBLEMS I HAVE WITH MY SHIT. AND THE THINGS THAT MY SHIT SHOULD BE DOING. AND SOME WAYS TO HAVE A MORE MANAGEABLE SHIT IN THE FUTURE. But taking a shit isn't a deep moral statement, it's taking a shit. I think taking a shit is healthy, so I do it.

all of the USamerican people going "bbut if i vote in the election, im culpable for the unjustifiable evils of the american imperial machine!" just love to paint people who realize that you still need to vote as like, too naïve to understand their oh-so-principled moral stand, when the reality is that if you live in america and you're of voting age and you're realizing for the first time just now that you live in an evil country that runs on the blood of millions and always has, and if you somehow think that you can live here and work here and earn & spend money here and somehow none of that makes you culpable for the horrors that are done on your behalf, but voting does, or would, then you are so stunningly naïve that you need to shut the whole fuck up.

like. yes, the united states is a machine that turns colonial vampirism and for-profit genocides into capital, thanks for noticing, and welcome to the conversation. the rest of us have already figured out that 1. this centuries-old machine that kills people is not gonna just go away, or collapse spectacularly all at once, it is gonna need to be dismantled, and 2. it is not gonna be dismantled by november, and 3. i don't fucking know who told you that if enough people don't vote, nobody becomes president, but that isn't fucking true.

somebody is gonna be the president, and the president is gonna keep doing war crimes like the president always has because that's the president's job, and it will remain that way until we break the whole machine down. now who would you rather be in charge of it while we're trying to break it down: a senile old man who thinks he still needs to behave in ways that are decorous and won't cause bad press, or an angry old man who thinks cops should be able to shoot protesters with live ammo?

you are being offered the chance to pick your opponent in the biggest hardest fight of all time, and you're bitching that you don't wanna because it would make you feel icky to act in a way that is strategic instead of emotional & performative. if you actually cared about the vulnerable people you claim you're doing this for, you'd be willing to suffer a moral injury to keep the evil destructive monster you live inside of from going extra-berserk mode, but no, you want to posture about how you can't taint yourself by "participating" in a process that you are already part of every single day. let us know when you're ready to join us at the grown-ups' table, shitheads. do not @ me idfc

I like to think of my art and general existence as a collage of beautiful mistakes.