Fall 2016 was a term of incredible events, and even more incredible

physics students.

That’s right, after a

long wait, Physclub

has gotten some

sweet sweet shirts.

Now we can all rep

our program, so

everyone on campus

can know why we look

so sleep deprived. Co-hosted with Femphys,

The Physics Declassified First

Year Survival Guide featured

panelists Laura, Fiorella,

Sam, Orion, Silas, and

Heather representing

Applied Math, MNS,

astrophys, honours phys,

math phys, and geophys

respectively.

First year, first semester. I’d entered into my undergrad degree in physics four months ago; wide-

eyed and smiling, I’d been eagerly awaiting the new kind of universe to be opened before me as I

learned from the brightest minds humanity had to offer.

But that was four months ago.

Now, the four months flashed before my eyes like I was facing my own death as I sat in the exam

room, the title on that godforsaken packet of paper staring back at me: PHYS 121 FINAL EXAM. With

shaking hands, I wrote my name, praying to all the deities in all the Heavens, Hells, and Earths in

every parallel universe, that I’d at least spelled that right. If there was a God, I reasoned, They’d at

least allow that, right? I found myself returning to that thought over and over again throughout the

next two and a half hours of what can only be described as the destruction of my heart and soul on

the most fundamental of levels.

Because, really, that’s the point of one’s first physics final, right? They’d already spent the entire first

semester breaking down all that you were before, and your physics final was just the final, definitive

blast at the foundations of the person you were B.P.—Before Physics. It was the ripping apart of the

atoms that made up the hopes and dreams within your soul. It was knocking the electrons within

you off their spins. It was the cataclysmic nuclear fission of the fundamentals of who you were

happening in your mind, in the pit of your stomach, in your heart and happiness and emotions.

That’s the point of making you sit the PHYS 121 final when you’d already been dragged by the scruff

through Mastering Physics Hell and kicked in the teeth by your first Saturday midterm, isn’t it?

At least, it certainly felt that way as I turned the page and tried in vain to understand the first

question. Rotational motion, I thought to myself. I know that. I swear to God I know that. I have to

take a surface integral here, or maybe switch to polar coordinates.

The cold claws of dread sunk themselves into the pit of my stomach as I realized I didn’t know how

to do that—why would I? I’d only finished one semester of university calculus, and that was mainly

spent trying to get everyone on the same page, trying to fast track all the things Ontario curriculum

was supposed to teach us, but didn’t. I made a mental note as I wrote down the equation for the

conservation of energy, instead, to send the Ministry of Education a strongly worded letter

afterwards. This is so stupid, I thought. This is so fucking stupid. This is so many different levels of

stupid that I’d need all the calculus they didn’t teach me in high school just to keep track of them all.

Amended the mental note to just send the Ministry a copy of this final exam instead, my failing

grade highlighted, with a note written on the cover, kindly inviting them to go fuck themselves. Who

the fuck decided we didn’t need to learn integrals in high school? Who was that fucking dumbass and

where can I find them?

Question after question, and the numbers began to blur together into one. They swam off the page

and curled into the air which buzzed with the fear of sixty children—God, mere children—all facing

their own mortality, going on their own spiritual journeys, finding their own concept of morality and

the meaning of life, throughout this final. They danced around me like the shadow of Peter Pan. My

pencil snapped two pages ago from the ferocity with which I’d been drawing these goddamn

free-body diagrams. I’d been writing in my tears since then.

I registered dimly that I began to slip into a trance—that my unconscious self was being raised into

another dimension where apparently solving algebraic systems of equations was a viable alternative

to multivariable calculus. I forgot all that I held near and dear. The entire universe ceased to exist

outside of that exam room. The sun had cooled to a cold, dense rock in the sky. The moon was an

egg in the sky and clouds were made of math. God was a partial derivative.

“Ten minutes left,” the proctor said.

I blinked, suddenly thrown back into my body. I remembered where I was, what I was doing, the

death threats I’d been crafting in my mind as I found the mass of a bullet shot into a block of wood

that behaved as a pendulum. I still had two questions half answered. I swallowed the rage building

within me. Murder isn’t the answer here, I reminded myself.

Isn’t it…?

No.

Are you sure?

That’s irrelevant.

I scribbled down some bullshit kind of answer for each of the questions and closed the exam like

closing the last chapter on the wide-eyed little girl I used to be. Let the TA collect my paper without

making direct eye contact. To this day, I still wonder what it must have been like for that TA grading

my final—how many shots did they have to take before getting to the end of it? How much did they

question my sanity; fear for the future of science, or just wonder what the fuck the physics

department had become that they’d let this idiot into their program? If you’re reading this, you

poor, unfortunate soul who had to attempt to figure out that piping hot mess of a 121 final, truly, I

apologize. I’m so sorry for everything I put you through. You deserve the world for not failing me the

moment you noticed my numbers and letters were starting to be turned backwards.

I stumbled blindly out of the exam room, gripping the wall to stay upright. Which way was up? I

couldn’t be sure. I was still thinking in numbers. English was still being filtered through a screen of

calculus so that “Have a good Christmas” sounded like a demand to take the derivative with respect

to time. I nodded and nearly fell down the four flights of stairs, out the door and into the outside

world.

I let myself pause for a moment, though, taking a deep breath of the cool, crisp winter air. I’d

survived. I’d at least done that. It was over, but God, at what cost?

Well, I know the cost now, 1 year A.P.—After Physics. The cost was the person I was before writing

that exam. Before truly entering physics. That was my induction into what it really meant to be a

part of Phys Club. I walked on home to drink myself stupid have a nice long nap alcohol is never the

answer, children. I wondered if any of my other classmates had the kind of existential crisis I did

during that exam. I wondered if they could tell I was having an existential crisis.

And as I left campus that day, I wondered when the existential crisis would end.

That was a year ago, though. God is still a partial derivative.

-Taken from Phys Study Room

Wait, this dude got a letter from Einstein?

Phys 10 seminars. To me, this was an hour every Tuesday spent sitting in the ill designed, tiny

desked, small chaired, dear lord how does anyone over five foot in length find this amount of leg

room comfortable lecture hall that is Arts Lecture. So why did I chose to endure this hour of

discomfort. Well, it started out as a form of procrastination. But soon enough, the lectures actually

became very interesting and enjoyable, and this term featured my favorite lecture yet, “ John

Moffat: When Einstein Wrote Back”. I didn’t know what to expect going into this seminar but I was

not disappointed.

First of all, arriving as I usually arrive to everything: tired, half-conscious, coffee in one hand, food in

the other, and (unsurprisingly for those who know me) about 5-10 minutes late, I noticed the

lecture hall to be VERY full of people. So I begin, clumsily traversing the narrow pathways, losing my

balance (consequently cursing), and finally reaching my friends, their faces showing mild

embarrassment at the resultant association with me. I sit down and notice,…”hey these aren’t just

undergrads”. From classmates, to grad students, TA’s I recognize, and a row full of professors,

everyone is sitting at the edge of their chairs eager to hear the stories to come.

And so he begins, recounting the story of how he became a physicist. It’s the normal story everyone

can relate to (<- sarcasm). Working as an artist in Paris and deciding “hey, y’know what’s pretty

cool, that math and physics stuff”, John Moffat decided to casually hit up the library and TEACH

HIMSELF calculus. Then he starts reading papers. Then he starts writing papers, because that’s just

what you do. Then he sends one of these to f**ckng Bohr, who’s like “yooo this isn’t horrible, let’s

talk”. Moffat then talked about the path that these opportunities took him on, his career in physics

and the associated stories. One of the staple stories Moffat talked about was his time as a student

at the university where Paul Dirac taught. The university would offer seminars, in which Dirac would

sleep through the entirety of the seminar, and at the end ask one question “How does the electron

fit into this model?”. I’m not gonna write about everything he said because he talks about it in his

book “When Einstein Wrote Back”, (<- plug!! Available at the UW bookstore) but the entire seminar

was just captivating, and allowed you to see some of the great minds we learn about through a

whole new lens. One that just humanizes and immerses you into a story-like adventure through late

1900’s physics.

(cont. on next page)

At the end of it all, it didn’t even seem like an hour had gone by, but it had and the next lectures

students were soon to come rushing in (inconveniently blocking the doors for everyone trying to

leave, but that’s just AL for ya). Moffat finished the seminar with a few slides illustrating his current

research and models, and questions were opened up to the floor. And in classic UW physics style

the last question to end off the seminar was the ever so sassy Prof. James Taylor, who promptly

pointed at the slide projected onto the screen of the lecture hall and asked “How does the electron

fit into this model?”

-Sheen The Bean

-CW

- contributed

by Nathan

via xkcd

-Vice President Anya

posing with her very

first hate tweet

following her speech at

the United Nations He

for She event in New

York.

Andrew Beltaos:

“That’s… kinda messed up.”

“Now let's find the time- and it's hard, because who can ever find the time?”

"I can't imagine anybody not liking this- it's just neat!"

"Take this with a grain of.. acceptance. "

"Just speak now, or.. hold your peace for a little while- "

"I would write a sad face, but I don't feel like writing it cuz I'm sad."

“Do people still say "cool"? Is it still hip?"

“You think I have messy writing? Not when it really matters " - on LaPlace transforms notation

"Every time I write the LaPlace transform, I want ice cream."

James Taylor:

“Just to be clear, none of these laws actually make sense.”

“Proof that iron discipline and good mental hygiene is the key to successful assignment pick up.”

"You all know vector calculus and are happy with it."

"There are one or two flies in the ointment."

Eduardo Martin-Martinez:

"You're still going to kill the guy but the physics is wrong."

“Love is important.”

“Life is hard.”

"Some weird people- ah, I don't want to say that... But I said it, I guess. Most of them are dead

anyway."

James Taylor vs Eduardo:

“Please drop the course.” –James

“Never give up, I’ll be sad.” –Eduardo

-Food goes bad so fast, sometimes you don’t even have time to bring your groceries home

before you have to throw them out.

-Loose change means everything. Whether it’s for laundry, taking a subway, or getting a

gumball from Mel’s diner, ALWAYS have change.

-Never assume that the course name and course description describes what you’ll actually

learn in that class. You think you’re taking Geometrical Optics, but really you’re taking

complex calculus.

-Some profs really do want you to succeed. Don’t be afraid to reach out with questions.

-Staplers are IMPORTANT. Always carry one around.

-No one will judge you if you eat Kraft Dinner every day for a week during midterms or ex-

ams (or any other time, really. You do you.)

-Everyone feels completely powerless at one point or another. Last night, someone in my

building set their alarm clock for 4AM and it didn’t wake them up. I couldn’t figure out

whose alarm clock it was. It kept beeping for over an hour, and there was absolutely

nothing I could do to stop it.

-Make sure you have a support system, whether it’s friends, family, or roommates. They’ll

help you through a lot.

-You can have faith that no matter how terrible the weather is, Waterloo will not close and

your exam will not be cancelled.

wise words from Madam Vice President

Donated by Tycho’s

missing nose

On behalf of Physclub, I thank all

the students that came out to our

events and allowed this term to be

as successful as it was. Another

huge shoutout goes to the execs:

William, Anya, JT, Kaleb, Sam,

Kelsie, and Atmn for all their hard

work. Thank you for a great term

and good luck in the Winter term