I Hate Math blog - Sticky

I truly honestly hate math.

There are some people who like math. Good for you! You're the same people that launch shuttles into deep space, make plasma TVs, invent things, and generally make life better. However, what I dislike is the fact that it's a required course in college, which I will be attending by this time next year. Isn't college about following your dreams or whatnot and "finding yourself?" I'd like to roll on through college with a cool 3.7 GPA, but knowing that math is on there my first two years (required courses) it'll probably be closer to a 2 or 2.5, which has an impact on overall graduation, which also has an impact on the difference between graduating cum laude and magna cum laude. The more latin words you graduated with is more you can dump on a resume to seem like more of an important person than the other poor schlubs you're applying alongside with.

Don't we get enough of this crammed down our throats in high-school? Granted, I chose to take Functions, Stats, and Trig, but that's to forestall getting rusty at my already shaky math skills, which tutoring (for a hefty fee) is helping, but how well? I don't remember math skills. I just don't. I can remember quotes from Hamlet, or The Raven from Poe. I'm geared toward English and computers. I don't need to know the quadratic formula to determine if a bad stick of RAM is causing a slowdown on a system, or know pi to install drivers to a new NIC card. I'm adept at providing enough humorous filler to get a decent grade on an essay while retaining the page number requirements, and I can damn sure remember video game cheats. Even cheats for games I don't play anymore, which I wish I could forget to make room for other things, but seem to not be able to.

So my final conclusion is this: If college really was about finding yourself, you could take what courses you needed, get your diploma, and get the hell out of there with a minimum of fuss. Of course it doesn't happen that way, and we're all taught the same things to form an endless pool of replacement cubicle-dwellers who decided that their soul is worth selling for 16.75 an hour.

Reality is a bitch.