This may be the proudest day of my life

I never really studied in high school. That is, until the AP BC Calc exam senior year. We got to the part about shells and discs, if anyone remembers what thats about, and I found it very difficult. Every problem, I would say "I can't find the length and the width." The teacher, Mr. Skouras, would calmly tell me how each time, but I just didn't get it. Finally, one of the other kids in my class said "oh my god, STILL? What's wrong with you?"

It was that moment I vowed I was going to kick his and every other kid's ass in that class on that exam.

I studied day and night. I would be in math class, working on whatever Mr. Skouras assigned, and at the same time, would be working from my Kaplan review book. Mr. Skouras walked over to my desk one day, to peer over at the mountain of papers I was furiously working on (probably thinking I was writing more notes to pass to my friends), to find that it was math. All math. He gave a somewhat surprised and pleased look and walked away.

I got a 5, the best possible score. It may have been the proudest day in my life.

Until today.

I went to Escola de danca, the most professional operation in Pelo, to take an afro-brasilian dance class. I took Ulrika, the Swedish girl I've been hanging with, and this Danish girl tagged along. The class next door was just finishing, and the music and dancing was so fast, we were totally intimidated. We told ourselves that maybe it was the progressive class for real dancers.

The class we took was what I would consider very basic level, but it was very physically demanding. We were sweating like crazy after just 10 minutes. The dance steps he chose were simple to follow, but the strength training portion was really painful. There were brazilians and foreigners in the class.

Many African-based dance styles have a posture that is completely opposite to much traditional dance. In ballet, for example, the hips are tucked under and the stomach is pulled in. In African dance, the butt is thrust out, the knees are slightly bent, and the shoulders are back.

I'm in the back of the class, the appropriate place to be in a dance class that's new to you, or if it's a level that's too difficult. Otherwise, the instructor will often MOVE YOU to the back, and that's very embarrassing. So I'm the last one to move across the floor, and the teacher looks at me with a sideways glance as I move to the back of the room again.

He calls me forward.

He tells me to do it again.

He says, in portuguese, "THIS! THIS is what your bunda (ass) is supposed to look like when you do it! Do it again!"

I'm an American in Brasil, and he uses MY ASS as as an exemplar.

This definitely beats the 5 on the AP calc exam.

I get back to the hostel, read my email. I got an email from the editor of the National Council of Teachers of Mathematics magazine that I subscribe to. My alternate solution to a problem I had submitted to the editor a while back is going to be published in the magazine.

Math and booty, coming full circle.