All of baz's Comments + Replies

This is a great blog post. Reading it was actually fun as I anticipated what would happen next as I do for regular fiction. I liked how the story reiterated messages you've talked about before but in a way that seems more clear(combined with the previous formal essays) - this is probably because storytelling has an appeal that is more accessible to most people.

At first I thought he paused after saying "one" because nothing has a probability of one or zero but that was cause I didn't read carefully. I think something like this really would be a go... (read more)

Funny. I found the story severely distressing to read. Got to "1/6", halted, went, but wait, no, that can't be right." Actually did the calculation. Got even more confused, because I got the result the protagonist first proposed. Wondered why the fuck I can't do math, how I am fucking up something this simple. Was painfully reminded of being terrified of being the girl who fucks up math. Still couldn't see it. Hated my brain. Got up, got a piece of paper, wrote the calculation out on paper, stared at it. Couldn't figure out how it could be anything but 2/11. Despaired, and decided to return to the story and ask in the comments where my mistake was, despite this being an ancient story and hence silly to ask and exposing me being unable to do math, which frightens me, because I couldn't figure it out, but it felt like failing a ritual I'd be upset to fail for real. Was immensely relieved at the reveal. But I'm not sure whether I would pass this test at all. And I do think it is testing for something I want, but that it goes beyond being able to do basic math, and resist authority. I think I would have caved to self doubt. Because I remember being in a lecture, watching the prof give a proof, and thinking wait, what, this doesn't follow, that should follow instead. Getting stuck at the line. Thinking this for 20 min of increasing distress as the prof added on more and more, trying to understand my mistake, and failing, and not noticing that the prof had meanwhile stopped writing in confusion many lines down. At which point somebody in that room of hundreds spotted it, raised his hand, and said, wait, isn't there an error am the way up there, and pointed out the mistake I was stuck on. It was a mistake. The prof was wrong. I'd been correct. But I never even came close to raising my hand and asking about it, let alone tell him he was wrong. Not as the one girl. I couldn't be the one girl who didn't get this thing everyone else apparently got, I had to understand it mysel