Sunday, June 14, 2015

Le Chatlier's Bat Mitzvah

Sarah Rubin
AP Literature
Final Paper Topic 1

“New Paltz, NY” triggers an immediate response of “oh yeah that’s the small town with Mohonk, bare feet, tie-dye, and People’s “Sexiest Man Alive” Jason West, right?” Although there is an undeniable amount of tie-dye, talk about Mayor West, and people who somehow manage to walk through a college town shoeless without getting a single shard of glass in their foot, this is not my experience of New Paltz; its essence is in the eye of the beholder. All I see is Le Châtelier's.

Le Châtelier's principle states that when equilibrium is subject to changes such as concentration, temperature, pressure, or volume, the system will readjust itself to establish equilibrium. An example of this is in reaction A + B --> C + D, if the concentration of reactant A is increased then the reaction will be driven in the forward direction as both the concentration of C and D will increase. If the concentration of A decreases then the reverse reaction will be favored and C and D will decrease. This principle is an invisible force in the community most apparent in my life in only select locations:
North Chestnut Street, the Jewish Community Center. New Paltz Reconstructionist Jews possess three qualities: volume, nit-pickiness, and constant hunger. As I am a legacy of both Sarah, mother of the holy land, and Reuben—the tribe, not the sandwich—it is my duty to fulfill all three of these attributes. As I am a towering 5’6”, quite tall for my congregation, and have a natural outdoor voice, being loud is not an issue. As for hunger, it became an issue when I could no longer eat challah due to my irregular celiac panel, nonetheless carrots and humus did the trick in serving the same purpose. Lastly, the whole nit-picky deal; I’d like to recant my prior statement and relabel it thoroughness and assertiveness. While I was training as a future bat-mitzvah“ite”, Rachel, my teacher, was a Hebrew highlighter guru: pink for upper octave accents, orange for lower, blue for words I needed to practice reading, green for when to pause, and yellow for nothing. Something about yellow highlighter and Torah text together was visually unappealing. Anyways, post bat mitzvah, when I began co-teaching with Rachel, I adopted the highlighter system---and the pen system, as well as the folder, expo marker, lollipop, construction paper, and yarmulke systems. Like I said, thorough; meticulousness is second nature. As for assertiveness, that was a difficult task to master. It was a dual of who was most persistent, me or a class of ten third and fourth graders. As I thankfully have both a longer attention span than the typical elementary student as well as the key to the dumdum bin—set in place by the lollipop system—I quickly earned their respect. I approached each lesson plan with excitement and creativity immersing myself in Jewish culture once again, and being able to have an outside perspective of the versatility and range of the youth’s understanding of it, one being tzedakah. Tzedakah is most commonly used as the Hebrew word for charity, yet its literal translation is justice. I believe that charity establishes equilibrium or not so eloquently “rights the wrongs” therefore justice is served through the act of giving tzedakah. (A is increased therefore C and D will increase.)
130 South Putt Corners Road, Home of the New Paltz Huguenots. Home of where I fell in love with chemistry. Many believe chemistry is so abstract—given Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle and the wave and particle nature of an electron both have much room for confusion—it just makes sense to me. There’s no other explanation other than me being a giant dork. There is something exhilarating about quantum mechanics. I think it’s the potential that if the orientation and energy of an electron could be harnessed and then controlled to match that of a surface that people could walk through walls; I mean it could be writing out full electron configurations using Aufbau ordering, but I’m fairly confident it’s the wall thing. Nonetheless, I was able to bring chemistry concepts such as the photoelectric effect to the drawing board in my other classes as I was to possibly create a windshield that was chemically manipulated in that only lights of certain frequencies could enter through a “webbed” windshield to avoid a glare when driving. Although this was not the topic my Engineering Development and Design group ran with, as we built a “geomorphous” treadmill instead, just like the windshield would have done for drivers, visibility increased; visibility accompanied chemistry and where it could be used to improve quality, never failing to keep Rachel’s meticulous nature in mind. Nonetheless, chemistry helped establish equilibrium in my life. (B increased so C and D increased.)
162 South Putt Corners, Copeland’s Funeral Home. Although redundancies and schedules can be a bit boring, there is comfort that comes with a routine. Teaching side by side with Rachel was a central part of that comfort. That’s why when the breast cancer took her so suddenly; I could not find my footing. At a loss of direction and words I was encompassed and lifted back up by a community that had shared that warmth that I missed so dearly. I kept using the highlighter system, the pen system, as well as the folder, expo marker, lollipop, construction paper, and even yarmulke system; eventually the room became less heavy and tears began to dry. A balance was reestablished.

New Paltz is so unique with not just its idiosyncratic barefooted residents, but its constant community outstretch. It is this reason I want to pursue chemical engineering with a possible joint sociology major.  Chemistry provides the everlasting possibilities while engineering provides communication, the group oriented work. Sociology is interesting in its application of scientific knowledge on the world; the two would complement my interests very well. For now I will use Rachel's system as a basis, a foundation for warmth and comfort, and I will find on my own spiritual balance, tzedakah, and chemical equilibrium.



Wednesday, June 10, 2015

C++ (actually java) == F

public class AP_Computer_Science(){
I'd like to believe life is an experiment divided into independent and dependent variables. The independent variables are activities, and people that I associate with and the dependent variables are typically my subsequent emotions. Independent variable: day at the beach. Dependent variable: cool, calm, and collected. Independent variable: washing my dog. Dependent variable: soaked, slimy, and smelly.  School had always generated positive dependent variables of appreciation and accomplishment--yes I'm a nerd I know, get over it. Besides waking up to the rooster's crow school was something to look forward too in a very non-pitiful way. I've always appreciated the enthusiasm brought to the classroom by the teachers who were probably grading papers until 2:00 am and changing their child's diapers around  4. Anyways, I'm not sure if it was just the staff in the science department or my grandfather's chemical engineering genes(yes, that's a real thing) that triggered  a love for all things math and science, but it was truly invigorating to learn quantum mechanics in chemistry, differential equations in calculus, and most of all bread boarding and  soldering in Digital Electronics. This passion prompted me to take AP Computer Science my junior year having skipped Computer Science I and II. I felt on top of the world after completing my CompTIA A+ training as an information technology intern the summer prior to junior year. I knew the ins and outs of hardware, as well as learned desktop cleaning tricks, and most importantly client etiquette when replacing PCs.
I walked into the first day of class, saw familiar faces around the room. The introductory topics were conversions from binary to hexadecmial and  octadecimal, as well as logic (AND && and OR ||). As I spent my entire sophomore year refining those skills in Digital Electronics, I took the quiz and got a 100 with ease. That also happened to be not only one of the only hundreds I received that quarter, but also one of the few passing grades for the weeks to come. I am the type of person that does corrections on anything that is a 95 or lower, so this downturn came as a shock. The more hours I would put in, face glued to the Blue Pelican online textbook teaching me how to write java in blue jay and in codingbats the more my scores plummeted.

70, 65, 60, 78.
Although I did quite literally fail a few of the quizzes, it was more than that. I failed at adaptation. I relied too heavily primarily on my seemingly not so innate knack for software, and also failed to study any other way. Computer Science was my first hands on practical application, therefore my typical quick flip of the textbook would not suffice. I needed practice and direction, both of which I also failed to have any knowledge of finding.
75, 58, 65.
So many questions were colliding with my skull that my skull pressure sky rocketed:why was my studying bringing me nowhere? why were all of these programs and books named after winged animals? why were they blue? were bats mammals?


50.

How could a number have so much power over me?
Suffocated. I felt unqualified, and out of place as my peers were receiving 80's and 90's without any studying. Meanwhile, I would spend hours rereading what we learned in class, and my grades were decreasing by an increasingly negative rate. I learned how to solder in 10 minutes, and wire in 5. Lost in a sea of tormenting curly brackets and ruthless semicolons, java syntax, I asked my teacher if  he could set me up with a tutor so that I could gain some sort of footing before the next quiz. He said he no.


50.

I was to come in early for the next few weeks and understand syntactically what was wrong with my code, and how I could improve it. First couple of sessions I managed to bring my 50's up to 65's. Passing. How wonderful.

65.

That is when I started writing code for the new and improved Facebook, after Zucherberg hired me. Okay, maybe I'm being a little too sarcastic, but still increasing my grades by 15 points did not deserve extol nor provide me with any sense of relief.I kept chipping away, showing up to school at 7:00 am everyday.

I realized it was not the grades I was unhappy with--although I wasn't exactly ecstatic about them either--it was the fact that I understood they were an accurate reflection of my mastery of the material. I was frustrated. I enjoy being in control of what I do, and believe hard work should translate into success. My weeks of 3am study sessions had no evident results. The class was centered towards creating your own programs, but the truth was that the programs owned me. I continued to chug along focusing on practicing skill alone and disregarding the new quiz materials.

75, 85, 95.

Soon a 15 point increase turned into a 25 point increase, then 35, and 45.The daunting semi-colons transmuted into writing programs incorporating abstract classes, implementing interfaces, utilizing inheritance, and writing some truly impressive programs including a program that serves the same function as photoshop.

Idiosyncratic as the course was, it gave insight into this idea of "practical application" that was skills based, not straight memorization. This was unlike the typical drone mentality of other courses.

100.
 

Currently, I am learning two other languages simultaneously: python and C++. Java was like learning Spanish, a foreign language but once learned it was, it was easier to learn other languages such as French (Python), and Italian(C++) as they utilize similar stems.
Although I may not go directly into programming, this course did influence my choice as I hope to pursue an engineering field. I consider myself to be a efficient and savy programmer now. There is nothing more rewarding than compiling with out any errors, and having a project run. I am grateful that I learned this skill and will continue to use it over the summer and for years to come. The moral of the story is that bats are mammals; in fact the only mammals that fly. Second moral is that flying squirrels don't fly they just glide. Unlike the flying squirrel, I can't just glide through schools but have to actively flap my wings like a bat. 

I would like to not only fly but rocket my way through chemical engineering.  
Codingbats.
Click here to practice java AP codingbats}

Sunday, May 31, 2015

Most Likely a King Cobra

Yesterday, I grabbed the tail of a venomous snake. It was most definitely unintentional, as it was the product of me carrying a 20 pound bag across algae blanketed rocks across a spring wearing flip flops I bought from old navy for three dollars during a black Friday sale. The three towels, wallet, headphones, and couple cans of seltzer in the long run, would've most likely not been worth the fatality from the snake bite. Since, the outcome was a fortunate one I got over the slimy residue left on my hand and enjoyed the refreshing gulp of a cold seltzer on a hot afternoon.
                                                    This experience was not an anomaly.
I push myself, and my own limits continuously whether it's something as petty as carrying too heavy of a load across a river bank or carrying a heavy load trying to balance professional and social life. Regardless, just like my bag from yesterday I make sure everything fits. Sleep usually doesn't get in the way as insomnia runs in my family but getting home around 10, falling asleep at 2:30, 3 every night and waking up at 6:00 seven days a week began to take a toll on my energy, and sometimes my immunity. Monday through Friday would entail school, the sport of the season, mock trial, then either crossfit or practices an hour from home. Saturday and Sunday were reserved for softball tournaments at the dome, cleats filled with the uncomfortable little astroturf tire bits, and popped ears from the change in pressure walking into the dome. Some days the only thing keeping me sharp was the flat syrupy coca cola purchased at dawn hours before.
Rereading the above paragraph, it sounds like the same message would have been delivered if I stated I spent Monday through Sunday in a cement square building that had iron bars over all windows and was encompassed by barbed wire fences and conspicuous video cameras, but to be honest I loved it. I would be lying if I said I woke up every morning with a spring in my step ready to take on the world, run a marathon, save the rain forests, and stop global warming,--or whatever Oprah does. In fact during winter most mornings were a battle between me and my alarm clock, and who was most persistent. My alarm having superior stamina buzzing every 2.5 minutes won--typically--but I would dreadfully get out of  my bed with a box of tissues in one hand and a bag of cough drops in the other.
Looking back in this past year is what I'm going to remember: mock trial winning counties, the success of varsity softball team, placing in science Olympiad, and earning front page article on an issue of the school newspaper. I will remember working hard, and doing everything in my power to achieve what my mind has been set to whether its  meeting deadlines, or  being able to deadlift over 80kg.
In my opinion, moderation is not only relative, but a load of crap. If you crave something you don't shrug and say "Oh well I've already put 75%  of my effort forward so if it doesn't work out it wasn't meant to be." People are incredible and should take control of everything in their power. Seventh grade I was diagnosed with mononucleosis and tried to continue to play sports and ended up missing two months of school. Fall of sophomore year I was told my Celiac panel came back irregular and that I must stop eating gluten permanently. As soon as I heard that news I ate a bagel; let's just say that did not go well for me nor the person whose house I was staying at. Those were foolish limits to push as they were for the most part not in my control, and for the portion that was I made the completely wrong decision. As for staying awake the extra few hours, studying the next few pages, or running the next few miles, not doing so is inexcusable.
I was lucky that the outcome of me grabbing the snake's tail wasn't the same as the gluten and mono scenarios. I would be perfectly content if I never have to get snake venom sucked out of me for the entirety of my life;yet just like I was determined to make it over the waterway and enjoy my already sizzling seltzer, I don't let an 8 feet long, 2 feet wide snake scare me from enjoying other aspects of my life.
 


Tuesday, May 26, 2015

Cream Soda and Peppercinis Don't Mix

Warning: If you get easily nauseous or grossed out, scroll down and start reading the next blog as the entirety of this story is based solely upon projectile vomiting.

It began as a typical family vacation just this one happened to be in Lake George. The day consisted of a game of Pirate's Cove mini golf--in which one of my brother's almost whacked me in the head with the club-- followed by a dip in the water--in which I was almost drowned by my other brother-- and some ice cream. Overall, the vacation I must say was going very well.


Famished from a long day of cooperating with one another we were seduced by the script neon green letters that whispered coaxingly to us, Olive Garden. The aroma of fresh oregano and parmesan of the never ending salad engulfed my thoughts, enigmatically drugging me, wafting through the pebble driveway that reminded me of my youth living in Sicily, eventually leading me to the wardrobe to take me to Italian Narnia.


We were all waiting for a seat and drank a disgustingly sweet cream soda drink. Jack drank two. That was the first strike of the night. Next, we were seated and the endless salad route became. Jack, my younger brother, took advantage of this rare opportunity and had bowl after bowl. Strike two. The third strike was jack asking us if anyone would pay him to eat a peppercini, and although everyone said no he did it anyways. Why, I don't know however he paid the price moments later fanning his mouth, and tears running down his face he  chugged a giant glass of chocolate milk. Meanwhile, my brother Alex, my Dad, and I are hysterical ourselves tears running down our face chugging our giant glasses of chocolate milk. A real family bonding moment.


The moment he started to tilt towards the other table and opened his mouth the silence in the restaurant was deafening as he vomited on the other table, then on my mother's skirt, then once again on the other table.



This time there was no stopping the three of us unaffected. Not since then nor prior have I ever been in so much agony from laughing so hard. I'm not a sadist but something about the rapid escalation from cream sodas and the 99 cent umbrella straws to jack throwing up on the family next to us who probably will never go to Olive Garden again.
My mother and jack go  to the bathroom to clean up, and unmarred by Jack's puke fest the two boys and I eat our breadsticks.

No this is not considered my most comfortable place as that would probably be the vineyard--Martha's that is--but I cannot think of this day without laughing about it. In a twisted way it did bring my family together, and at the end of the night we were in complete bliss unfortunately at the expense of one of our own. Povero Jack!


Tuesday, May 19, 2015

Pythagorean Theorem

I've cried seven times in my life. Whether it was being trapped in the doctor's 90 degree office during a sweat test to check to see if I had cystic fibrosis, or tripping over a brand new lamp located smack in the middle of the tight hallway--how convenient--and splitting my chin wide open, or needing to have endoscopies on end I never shed a single tear. I don't think it's because I'm numb, nor naïve and unaware of the significance of these events and the worry that should have accompanied each. I considered each a minor inconvenience; going to the doctors was a simply chore, a tedious stop before I could ride on my merry way. I had an understanding of what was happening, and to what extent.

My lack of emotional outpour was a result of the in depth comprehension I have had as well as a knack for minute details and comparing such to the "big picture." The "big picture" is built upon a magic triangle each surface symbolic of three main ideas: love, success, and happiness. The way the triangle works is that if you obtain two then the third will follow.


Love: My grandfather was a dentist so naturally, every visit he would give me a full tooth examination and consequently a lesson on flossing 101. Most people would find this invasive if not just a pain, but it was out of love. The idea that my grandfather loved me so much that he would ensure my health inspecting tooth and nail (ha) was reassuring therefore his appraisal served as an impetus to clean teeth, and consequently cleanliness in all aspects of my life. This sense of pleasing others through success became a motif in my life. My mantra was that if it made others happy my happiness would be a given. This carried into my life on the softball field with my father, and in the classroom for myself.


Success: Aside from getting my first cavity this year, I got my grandfather's approval. There is nothing like learning work ethic from the people you love. My father was all-star all-state athlete who went on to play baseball in college; sharing his DNA, I was doomed to have a knack and unquenchable thirst for the sport as well. From my fifth birthday on I began training for the USSA world series, PONY nationals, and of course sections for varsity softball. Seven buckets of ground balls. Sprints. Seven buckets of batting practice. Sprints. Seven buckets of pop flies. Sprints. Number seven plastered with sweat against my back. Sprints.  Practice was habitual, and the sport a majority of my life. Eighth grade I played high school softball, and as a freshman started Varsity in sections, hitting a three run home run to win the game. This is cached away in my portfolio titled with a glitter gold pen "SUCCESS". Love for my father transmuted into love for the sport following in success. 2/3 of the magic triangle in the works.




Happiness: Success breeds satisfaction. Love breeds satisfaction. Happiness breeds success. Happiness breeds love. A life concentrated with love and prosperity is inevitably happy. Whether it was family walks along the Lantana shore, outings to the best Italian restaurants in the north east, speedies (love), rounds on the merry-go-rounds until we were on the verge of vomiting I always felt happy. Though I felt stupid while we watched jeopardy and a genius during the following wheel of fortune, I was happy regardless.


Pythagorean Theorem.