This morning I read that today kicks off in Pamplona English Mathematical Olympiad, a competition in which I pledge my absence. I always hated math, not because it gave me bad -There were things that choked me, as everyone-but for other reasons more weight and depth. The first and primary was because since I was small and mathematics seemed absurd. In times when I was in junior high school, is studying what the empty set, disjoint set, and these soplapolleces equivalent element that even then I wondered where they were out there in real life, because I do not see anywhere. And it's funny because I did not see that my brothers studied and less my children. Will our generation, the 70's, they experimented with that.
Not to forget those mythical problem statements of booklets Rubio. If John has 25 candies, 12 red and 13 green, and should be shared among five partners, two boys and three girls, how many candies of each flavor ...? Or those so exciting if a train leaves Seville at 14.30 and another from Badajoz to the 14.30.01 and will be a constant speed of 134.45 mph, at what exact point of 635,803 miles of track will be found ? Things that brought you the extremely loose on that made you think and waste your time. What mattered to me if I was John Anselmo and spread its candy? Why have two trains to cross, and if they intersect at a point, what happens?
But who really caused my outright rejection of mathematics was a professor named Henry and surnamed The Malo. This man, who was missing half his right arm was crippled, was a literal example of the English saying: the rod and spoil. Substitute letter for math / numbers and santaspascuas. The guy was a mathematical genius (I think his son worked for NASA), but which was a phenomenon was a left-handed hitting prodigious Claymore. This guy was in Villafranca, had a tough, surly, was an urban legend that said the college played like a demon blade. I never saw him in the pediment, but judging how the class muñequeaba soplamocos release time, should be a terrible lefty gay pictures,
Enrique The Malo was responsible for that I bow to the pure letters, Latin and Greek. The Gallic Wars, the story of Scipio, alpha, beta ... were my escape from torment. I think I got tired more math time in both sports. Were tense, his stomach like a washing machine, and tight ass, because you did not know where milk might come. The calculation of probabilities, the number e, the natural logarithm and all these things I looked and I still look the silliest thing in the world were unbearable punishment, so in 2 of Bup, pure lyrics I felt free.
And for the record that I am not the only one who suffered the The (certainly in those years just got a kick in the ass). If they know the name of Enrique Villarreal, the Drug of Barricada, playing a snippet of an interview.
"- What are your memories of her school?
" Just remember that the school had a fucking lame .... they fed us as every day. "
That was fucking lame and was named The Henry. Viva lyrics pure friends.
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