My Blog Posts, in Reverse Chronological Order
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It is hard to believe that I am already in my eighth and final semester as a Williams College student. I have learned so much over the past few years, including what I want to do after Williams and possibly even after graduate school.
Speaking of graduate school, I’ve heard back from most of the institutions to which I applied. So far, five have offered me admission. Thus, I’ll definitely have some tough decision-making to do over the next two months, and final choices for graduate school have to be made on April 15. I’m going to be traveling to at least four of the “student visit-days” at those schools to assist me in making my final decision, and I’ll probably post some details about the events on this blog. My first trip will be to The University of Texas at Austin, as their computer science department is hosting visit days next weekend. By the way, schools will generally pay up to $500 for airfare and provide you with free lodging, either in a hotel or with graduate students, so it’s a great deal.
In the meantime, I’m also doing some more research and taking some classes. Here are the lecture courses I’m taking:
- Distributed Systems. This is a computer science course that teaches the design and implementation of systems that involve multiple, connected computers, hence the name “distributed.” I will also learn about networking and operating systems, which are two areas that I don’t know much about, so I am definitely going to learn a ton from this course. (Just now, I can finally discern the differences between a process and a thread.)
- Tiling Theory. This is a mathematics course dealing with the theory behind tilings, which are essentially patterns formed by some simply connected pieces that we can fit together to fill up a plane without gaps and without tiles overlapping. In my opinion, it has a lot of similarities to graph theory in that it’s a course that heavily depends on visualization, proof by pictures, and clever doodling.
That’s it! Just two courses. Of course, I do have a thesis. I’m badly behind on it, so I’ll have to focus super-hard on it during the rest of February, March, and the beginning of April. I’m also taking an independent study course in Operations Research, where I’ll be part of a team of roughly ten students who will review and utilize concepts relating to — in addition to operations research — advanced linear algebra, linear programming, sabermetrics, and so on.
This schedule seems easier than usual with the small number of lecture courses, but even after two weeks I can already tell that I’ll be overwhelmed as usual, especially when taking into account my heavy traveling this semester. (I expect to miss more classes this semester alone than I have during the past seven semesters combined!) Furthermore, I am going to be repeating as a Teaching Assistant for the Algorithm Design & Analysis course. In the second half of this semester, I am also thinking about signing up for a computer science course on Coursera.
Anyway, it’s time for me to stop blogging and get back to work.
The game itself ended up being a blowout. It was boring to someone like me who doesn’t actively support either the Denver Broncos or the Seattle Seahawks. I also don’t watch halftime shows, so that didn’t increase my excitement of the game.
The commercials were also a bit of a disappointment, at least compared to the ones in last year’s Super Bowl. But one of them did catch my eye. No, it was not a Tim Tebow commercial, even though he was arguably the more impressive Denver Broncos-affiliated quarterback last night.
It was the Duracell batteries commercial, featuring the deaf Seattle Seahawks player Derrick Coleman. In just a single minute, it chronicles his story from a young boy into a current NFL player. It also seems to have inspired two other deaf girls to write letters of support to Coleman. Imagine their surprise when Coleman met them and offered tickets to the Super Bowl!
Now, I know a lot of deaf people. I actually went on Facebook (!) last night, and saw deaf people supporting the Seattle Seahawks just because Coleman was on the team. So his story is inspiring, and clearly has an effect on other deaf people. It will be interesting to see how his career progresses — he’s only 23, by the way — and if other deaf players will join him in the NFL.
This discussion will be a continuation of my last post, What if 300 Deaf People were Isolated on an Island? I will focus on the usage of American Sign Language versus English in the hypothetical scenario that a group of deaf people migrate to an island and are allowed to form their own small country.
To be specific, here is what I have in mind.
- In January 2014, 300 deaf people from America decide to migrate to a island that has enough resources and infrastructure to maintain a small population of people. Therefore, the island’s inhabitants do not need to rely on trade with other communities or countries, so this remains a secluded area throughout the lifetimes of those 300 people.
- All these deaf people know ASL and some, but not all, have the ability to speak English reasonably well. They can all read English, but because most do not have excellent hearing ability, ASL is the dominant language for communication among the population. (Assume that only a few can afford quality hearing aids, not an unreasonable expectation nowadays.)
- Years pass by. People do not leave the island, nor do outsiders come in, as travel is heavily restricted. The deaf people marry among themselves, form generations of families, and eventually the island becomes quite populous, with millions of inhabitants.
The main question I want to consider pertains to the use of ASL versus English. In other words …
In the long run, which language will become the “official, spoken language” of this island?
There are two candidates: ASL or English. By “spoken language,” I’m referring to what people will use to communicate with each other. Yes, English will be the language used for writing, but I’m more interested in conversations. We could take the “easy way” out and say that both are official, but let’s assume that the United Nations or some futuristic, worldwide diplomacy venue mandates exactly one spoken language registered for each country. I suspect that, eventually, English will reign supreme in this regard.
Though the island originally starts with a population that consists exclusively of deaf people, the next generation will not share that characteristic. In fact, the majority of the children born to parents among the 300 starting inhabitants will probably be hearing. Deafness is very uncommon among newborn babies, and even if both parents are deaf, their children are still likely to have normal hearing.
This trend continues generation after generation, so in the long run, the island’s population will approach a proportion of deaf people similar to the one that exists in today’s world.
So what happens? The island becomes a “hearing world,” where the official language is spoken English. There are sure to be some people who know ASL, of course, because there will still be deaf people around. But English becomes the conventional, spoken language because hearing people will constitute the majority of the population, and they will be the ones taking up management positions, political offices, and so on.
But I still have a nagging suspicion that I’m missing something. I wonder …
Would there be any circumstance in which ASL could actually be the official spoken language in the long run?
There are obvious challenges. First, we’re talking about a language that the vast majority of the population won’t need to use. Hearing people may even view it as an inconvenience when communicating with each other; why put the effort in moving hands when you can expend less while talking and still achieve the same objectives? Second, is it possible to have an official spoken language that can’t really be used for written documents?
The island scenario does have one major aspect that doesn’t totally kill the idea of ASL being the spoken language: it starts with 300 deaf people. If ASL were to be the spoken language of this island or future country, then I suspect it will all rest on the influence of those 300 people. They will certainly teach their children ASL, regardless of them being hearing or deaf. Thus, the second generation will use ASL.
The question is whether the all-hearing families with parents from that second generation will stress the importance of ASL to their hearing children. Even if they do, I worry that the use of ASL would gradually weaken from generation to generation among hearing families. In order for such a concept to be passed down and not whither away, it would probably need to take on as much importance as a religion or a true, cultural activity.
So there is an outside chance that ASL could be the spoken language. Still, I suspect we would need additional strong assumptions for that situation to occur. The one that most easily supports ASL being the spoken language would be if the incidence of deafness among babies skyrockets.
Anyway, that is one scenario. What are other similar ones that come in mind? I encourage you to think about the various possibilities and their resulting, long-run equilibrium states. Try tweaking some of the assumptions and see what you get.
Side Note: 100 Blog Entires on Seita’s Place
Somehow, I made it to 100 posts on Seita’s Place. (This is post #100.) So in honor of this “special event,” let’s look at some additional statistics about my blog.
According to my WordPress Dashboard, I now get roughly 25 views a day (from about 15 to 20 visitors), which is up from the 0 to 5 views/visitors that I was getting when the blog first began. Excellent! Seita’s Place’s best day was on Monday, December 30, 2013, when it got 98 views from 19 visitors. All time, there are 9,052 views and 133 comments. There are currently 34 followers.
My blog entry that has the most comments is, by far, ASL Guidelines with 13 comments, though a lot of the comments on Seita’s Place consist of “pingbacks,” which occur when entries link to other entries, which can inflate the comment count. There are four entries that have five comments, and an additional four that have four comments.
How do the blog posts rate in terms of popularity? That’s pretty easy to gauge, as WordPress keeps track of views for each entry. Here’s an image showing the top of the chart:
And the bottom:
I can also tell that there are three primary ways that people manage to find Seita’s Place. (1) They search my name, (2) they find the link to it in my Facebook profile, and (3) they search about Theory of Computation or Python.
Finally, where are my viewers coming from? Since February 2012, it seems like the majority are (by far) from the United States. The next country on the list is India, followed by the United Kingdom.
John Lee Clark, a deaf writer and an active participant in the Deaf Academics mailing list, has a blog on his website. While Mr. Clark doesn’t appear to update it frequently, his blog entries are well-written. I particularly found his Cochlear Implants: A Thought Experiment blog post interesting.
Here is his “thought experiment:”
Let’s suppose three hundred deaf people, all wearing cochlear implants, are gathered and moved to an island. None of them knows ASL and all of them have excellent speech. There are no hearing people there. What will happen?
Mr. Clark’s main argument is that because there are no hearing people to provide feedback on the deaf population’s speech skills, the 300 people will experience erosion in their ability to talk. In response to that, they will develop a sign language.
There are some obvious logistical issues with this experiment. This would never happen in the first place, and even if it did, it is unclear how quickly speech erosion would occur, if it did at all.
As one reads more into Mr. Clark’s entry, it becomes apparent that he views cochlear implants with disdain:
Another thing that it reveals is that the cochlear implant is not FOR deaf people. If it is for deaf people, they would be able to, or even want to, use the implants on their own and for their own reasons. But the cochlear implant is for, and promotes the interests of, hearing people. It was invented by a hearing man and the risky experiments and sometimes fatal operations were legalized by hearing people. The demand for it is driven by hearing parents. It financially benefits hearing teachers, hearing doctors, hearing speech therapists, and hearing businesses in the industry. It is only at the bottom of the industry that we find the token deaf person.
It is known that cochlear implants are a controversial topic in the Deaf community, which is well-summarized by the Wikipedia entry on cochlear implants. There was even an entire documentary about this issue: Sound of Fury. Mr. Clark also brings up some of the common arguments against cochlear implants in the rest of his blog post.
I think I should write more about cochlear implants in my blog. This entry is apparently the first that uses the “cochlear implant” tag. Stay tuned for future posts….
Better Hearing Through Bluetooth is a recently published New York Times article that, unsurprisingly, I found interesting. The main idea is that people who have some slight hearing loss can use personal sound amplifier products (PSAPs) as an alternative to hearing aids. PSAPs are wearable electronic devices designed to amplify sound for people with “normal” hearing. Interestingly enough, they are not meant to substitute hearing aids for people with substantial hearing loss. The When Hearing Aids Won’t Do article makes that statement clear and uses an example of a hunter who might wear PSAPs to hear better in the forest. Personally, I doubt the benefit of that since amplification doesn’t necessarily correspond to increased clarity and may introduce unwanted side effects such as distracting static, but maybe some hunters can correct me.
Unlike hearing aids, PSAPs are not regulated by the Food and Drug Administration. This means customers don’t need to consult with a physician, audiologist, or a hearing aid manufacturer, a major benefit if you want to avoid those intermediaries for time, personal, or other reasons. (A quick look at the comments in the New York Times indicates that audiologists aren’t quite popular.) Consequently, PSAPs are substantially cheaper than hearing aids. A decent PSAP seems like it can be bought at $300, while a hearing aid might cost around $3,000.
Another aspect of PSAPs is that they are user-programmable. Customers can download an app to their phone or computer and fiddle around with the device to their heart’s content. In contrast, a hearing-aid wearer typically needs an audiologist to do the programming. The user-programmable feature can be a good thing or a bad thing, and the benefit largely rests on two factors: (1) how much the user knows about the PSAP and is comfortable with technology, and (2) the quality of the actual program. It should be no surprise that, due to the lack of regulation, PSAPs vary considerably. Patients should be aware of the pitfalls and be circumspect in purchasing them.
A second possible risk with PSAPs is that people who have serious hearing loss may make the unwise decision of buying them over of hearing aids. Given how hearing aids have a bad reputation for their price, PSAP manufacturers have probably marketed PSAPs as low-cost hearing aid alternatives.
Perhaps PSAPs will soon become the norm for older people who are losing their hearing. I will keep up-to-date on news relating to PSAPs, though I will never wear them.
This is fairly old news (about three years old), but I found it interesting to read through two ESPN articles about Michael Lizarraga here and here. Lizarraga is a deaf basketball player who, as a college student, made the dream of playing Division I basketball a reality by earning a spot on Cal State Northridge’s basketball team as a walk-on. He was the first deaf Division I basketball player in history.
I consider myself a basketball fan. I’ve actually written a few posts on basketball here and was considering starting an NBA-based blog for myself. (I decided not to pursue that idea since there are already too many excellent blogs that cover the NBA.) So as a deaf person myself, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that I’m interested in Lizarraga’s story.
It appears that Lizarraga and I were born and raised under similar circumstances. His family had no history of deafness, and his parents didn’t find out he was deaf until they brought him to a doctor as a toddler. Lizarraga’s parents, like mine, were willing to learn sign language, and they mainstreamed him in school and introduced him to sports.
When Lizarraga was in sixth grade, he started attending the California School for the Deaf, and stayed there until college. (For details on my educational history, see My Pre-College Education.) While encouraged to go to Gallaudet by friends and coaches, Lizarraga instead opted for Cal State Northridge, since he wanted to have the chance of playing Division I basketball (Gallaudet is Division III). Another plus for Cal State Northridge is that it houses the National Center on Deafness (NCOD), America’s first postsecondary program to offer full-time, paid interpreters for hearing-impaired students.
While at Cal State Northridge, the coaches reached out to him and encouraged him to try out. Somehow he not only made the team but ended up as a solid rotation player, which is quite rare for a walk-on.
Of course, there is the nontrivial matter of setting up accommodations. He was quite fortunate that an (apparently competent) sign language interpreter volunteered herself for the purpose, but I would be curious to know how involved Lizarraga or his parents were in this process. Also, it unfortunately does not appear that Cal State Northridge always provided accommodations. This section in the 2010 article caught my eye:
What started out as a way to goof off on the sidelines while they couldn’t play quickly turned into a second language for Galick, who even began dating a deaf girl he met through Lizarraga. Galick has become so good at sign language that he can fill in for Mathews [Lizarraga’s interpreter], who is unable to attend as many games and practices as she has in the past because of budget cuts.
Uh-oh … budget cuts leading to a lack of interpreting services? It reminds me a lot of the article I wrote about RIT’s accommodations. And this is happening at a school that has the NCOD! Hopefully this didn’t have any detrimental effects, but I wonder if Lizarraga knew that if he really wanted to and fought hard enough, he could probably obtain full interpreting services for all practices and games.
From what I can tell, Lizarraga is now playing professional basketball in Mexico and is seeing some playing time in the 2013-2014 season. There does not seem to be substantial media coverage on him, so I can’t really say much more. I hope things are going well for him.
Last month, Nelson Mandela passed away. Mr. Mandela, who led the emancipation of South Africa from white minority rule, was one of the most beloved people in his country. Thus, there was no doubt that his memorial would be well-attended by not only people from South Africa, but also some of the world’s most prominent leaders such as President Barack Obama.
Unfortunately, according to this article, a fraudulent sign language interpreter was hired to “interpret” for the deaf. This person, a 34 year old man named Thamsanqa Jantjie, apparently performed meaningless symbols and gestures on stage. And, as the image for this blog post indicates, he somehow had the privilege of being inches away from President Obama and other leaders who spoke at that podium. (Side notes: what’s up with how close he is to the podium? Whenever I’ve had a podium-interpreter situation, the interpreters have typically been a healthy distance away from the speaker. And also, usually for something like this, you would want two interpreters…)
I took a look at the video from the linked New York Times article. While I don’t know the South African sign language, the gestures Mr. Jantjie performed certainly didn’t seem like a sign language: too many rhythmic activities, lack of facial or lip movement, too many calculated pauses, and so on. I can certainly believe the experts’ judgement that this is a fake.
Bruno Druchen, the national director of DeafSA (a Johannesburg advocacy organization for the deaf), had this to say about the debacle:
This ‘fake interpreter’ has made a mockery of South African sign language and has disgraced the South African sign language-interpreting profession. […] The deaf community is in outrage.
Mr. Jantjie also failed to even perform the correct sign for Mr. Mandela. That doesn’t bode well … I mean, if there was any one sign to know, wouldn’t it be the one for Mr. Mandela?
But wait, there’s more! Check out this article, where Mr. Jantjie admits that he was hallucinating during the talks (“angels falling from the sky” kind of stuff). We also learn that he’s receiving treatment for schizophrenia. In addition, the company that supplied Mr. Jantjie — at a bargain rate — disappeared. Somehow, up until now, they had been getting away with providing substandard sign language interpreting services.
There is also news that Mr. Jantjie has a criminal history. This article mentioned that he was part of a group that murdered two men in 2003, yet somehow didn’t go trial because he was deemed mentally unfit. He also is accused of a plethora of other offenses dating back to 1994.
Murdering two men? Mentally unfit? A schizophrenic person?
That doesn’t sound like the kind of person I’d like to see up there. Hiring someone like him to be an interpreter for the memorial of possibly the most important person in South African history? I’m glad that I can trust my own interpreters here at Williams College.
Programming as part of a large project, such as building a new C++ compiler from scratch, is vastly different compared to a smaller task, like writing a script to answer a random Project Euler question. Large projects typically involve too many files interacting with each other to work on a single program in isolation (for instance, it can be confusing to know what methods to refer to from another program in a file), so using an advanced integrated development environment (IDE) like Eclipse is probably the norm. For smaller tasks, two of the most commonly used text editors by programmers are emacs and vim.
One of the biggest problems that people new to these editors face is having to memorize a bunch of obscure commands. Emacs commands often involve holding the control or escape/meta key while pressing some other letter on the keyboard. With vim, users have to press escape repeatedly to go into “insert” (i.e., one can type things in) versus “normal” (i.e., one can move the cursor around, perform fancy deletions, etc.) mode.
Once one becomes used to the commands, though, emacs and vim allow very fast typesetting. If you watch an emacs or vim master type in their preferred text editor, you will be amazed at how quickly he or she can perform fancy alignment of text, advanced finding/replacing involving regular expressions, and other tasks that would otherwise have taken excruciatingly long using “traditional methods.” (Unfortunately, these people are hard to find….)
So what’s the quickest way to get started with these editors to the point where someone can write a small program? In my opinion, the best way is to go through their tutorials. Open up your command line interface (e.g., the Terminal on Macs) or your method of opening these editors.
- For emacs, type in “emacs” and then perform control-h (hold the control key while pressing “h”) and press “t.” In emacs terminology, C-h t.
- For vim, type in “vimtutor” from the command line.
This method of learning is excellent since you get a copy of the tutorial and can go through steps and exercises to test out the commands while navigating or modifying the file. I think the vim tutorial is better because it’s more structured but again, both of them do the job. They emphasize, for instance, that once a programmer gets used to the commands to move the cursors, using them will be faster than resorting to the arrow keys since one doesn’t have to move hands off of the keyboard:
- From emacs: There are several ways you can do this. You can use the arrow keys, but it’s more efficient to keep your hands in the standard position and use the commands C-p, C-b, C-f, and C-n.
- From vim: The cursor keys should also work. But using hjkl you will be able to move around much faster, once you get used to it. Really!
I have to confess that I didn’t learn emacs by using their tutorial. I just went by a list of common commands given to me by my professor and picked things up by experience and intense Googling. As a result, I experienced a lot of pain early on in my computer science career that could have been avoided by just reading the tutorial. (The control-g command to quit something was a HUGE help to me once I read about it in the emacs tutorial.) And judging by the emacs questions that other Williams College computer science students have asked me, I can tell that not everyone reads the tutorial.
So read the tutorials before seriously using these text editors.
Of course, one should decide at an early step of his or her programming career: emacs or vim? This is certainly a non-trivial task. They both do basically the same thing, and with the variety of extensions and customizations possible, I’m not sure there’s anything they can’t do that any other text editor can do, to be honest. If I had to give a general rule, I’d just go with choosing the one that felt best to you in the tutorials, or the one that’s most common among your colleagues, professors, or other peers.
And besides, it’s difficult to say which one of these editors is better than the other. It really depends on who you ask. I don’t have a good answer to this so I’ll opt-out and provide a lame one: the one that’s better is the one that you can use best.
Personally, I started my programming career using the emacs text editor because that was the preference of my Computer Organization professor, so I didn’t see the need to deviate. Within the past year, I substantially increased my emacs usage to the point where I was using it almost everyday for most typing tasks, including LaTeX, and my pinky finger didn’t like the constant reliance of the control key. So I’m giving vim a shot.
It’s still useful to know the emacs commands, because they often work in other places. For instance, when I type in blog entries here, I can use a subset of emacs commands while typing in my entry in the built-in editor for WordPress, which was surprising to me when I first found out. Instead of deleting a line by using the mouse or Mac trackpad, I can use the ctrl-k emacs command to do that. And many IDEs will have support for emacs or vim commands, so one can get the best of both worlds. I know that Eclipse has this, but I was personally disappointed that certain emacs commands didn’t work.
To wrap up this post, I suggest that knowing one of emacs or vim well is important for (computer science) graduate school since programming is a huge part of research today, so the faster things get done, the better. Moreover, university professors tend to take on more of a “leader” role rather than someone who “gets things done” (I’m not trying to disparage professors here). In other words, they tell the graduate students what to do in research projects and the students will write the necessary programs.
As 2014 nears, I face the realization that I will have a free summer. If all goes well, it will be the summer after college and before graduate school. I do not think I will be doing an internship so that gives me the freedom to explore some topic in further detail. Given my interests and the realities of my future career options, I thought it would be prudent to pursue a programming project of my choosing.
I have some ideas which I’ll list below, but nothing’s set in stone. (Other ideas are listed here and here.) I’ll probably do a few of them to start and narrow down on one. I’ll do my best to describe the project once it gets started, probably by posting it on Seita’s Place. And if readers have suggestions, feel free to email me (see About).
Making a Game
I might as well discuss this one first, since many programming projects fall into this category. I was thinking of some minor online text-based game, possibly in a role-playing genre. For now, I’ll abstain from getting too involved in graphics and other parts necessary for a game, since I feel like that will detract from the pure programming parts. I’m a little worried that there will be a lot of work in getting simple stuff like saving the game or logging in/out, but perhaps that’s important for me to know.
Making an App
I am interested in creating an app that assists with education, such as an app that describes course notes in a subject I’m comfortable with (e.g., Artificial Intelligence) or one that is like a “mini-textbook.” The downside is that most users will probably just use their laptops if they want to access notes.
Making Basic but Useful Software
What I mean with this is that I’ll attempt to make something that I might actually use in the future. For instance, I could theoretically make my own text editor, and I would use it in the rest of my career. (This is pure fantasy, though, because emacs and vim are perfectly fine for what I do and there’s no way I could build something that complicated.) The difficult part with this idea is coming up with something that could be useful to me or others and hasn’t already been built in a better way.
Do Something Based Off of a Class
The advantage with this idea is that it’s less likely I’ll get lost, since substantial programming assignments as part of a class tend to have specific instructions and starter code. I don’t want to follow a project like this exactly, since that will stifle creativity, but at least things will be more structured. I feel like this is a lame objective to pursue, though….
Join an Open-Source Project
This could be interesting … the questions is, which ones interest me and would be open to a programmer helping this out for a summer?
About a month ago, Google Chrome released voice search and voice action. The main idea is that we can literally just talk to the computer while browsing Google, and it will respond with (ideally) what you wanted. This feature isn’t limited to just browsing Google, though. It’s also possible to tell Google to start an email, or to find information about people in your contacts list.
To use it, open Google, click on the microphone and wait until Google prompts you to say something. But if one has to click on a microphone, it wouldn’t make sense to use voice recognition because we can type almost as fast as we can talk. (It seems like this feature is built for mobile users, where typing is typically a lot slower.) So there is now a Google Voice Search Hotword extension, so one can avoid typing at all by saying “OK Google.” For details, refer to their article about the extension. As one can see, it’s still in beta (at the time of this blog post), so this is all recent technology. In fact, Google suggested that they released this feature so that people cooking for Thanksgiving didn’t have to wash their hands in order to use Google.
The voice extension sounds nice at first, but there’s always the unfortunate caveat in voice recognition: it’s not good enough due to a variety of reasons, such as multiple words sounding the same, uncommon words, inconsistent or unclear speech, and so on. In fact, for users of Gmail, I sure hope that this voice recognition won’t immediately send emails created out of voice recognition without user confirmation, since there’s too much that could go wrong with that feature.
But maybe I’m just naturally pessimistic about the success of voice recognition, especially after trying to search my own name on Google and getting “Daniel C Town.” I know that no voice recognition software has any chance of recognizing my last name. What I wonder is if this Google feature will be able to remember my browsing history after I say my name and, in the future, use that data to correctly identify it via voice recognition?
Still, voice recognition is certainly an important aspect of applied artificial intelligence and machine learning, so I look forward to seeing this subfield progress.
- Can be useful under limited circumstances (dirty hands, quick browsing, etc.)
- Will probably be far more popular on mobile devices
- Hindered by the natural limitations of voice recognition
- Potentially a privacy concern
- Definitely opens up additional areas for future work/research
It seems like every prospective graduate student is using the Thanksgiving break to catch up on applications. That’s definitely been my situation; I’ve delayed things far too long (which is quite unlike me), but hopefully I have made up for it these past few days by submitting several fellowships/scholarships and creating final drafts of my statement of purpose essays. With ten schools and a variety of fellowships/scholarships to apply to, I can’t afford to leave everything to the last week before the schools’ deadlines, especially when that also happens to correspond to my final exam week!
To budget my time, I first submitted all the fellowships and scholarships that had deadlines earlier than that of any of my ten graduate schools. Then, I went to work on creating draft after draft of one school’s statement of purpose essay. Fortunately, most universities have similar essay questions, so I can just modify a paragraph at the end that is school-specific.
Once I had done sufficient work for one essay, I put that aside and then did all the “administrative” tasks by filling in the easy stuff of the online applications. This includes writing information about recommenders, writing your address and contact information, and so on.
Some thoughts as I was doing these:
- I did them in bulk fashion (i.e., one right after another) and did everything except upload the statement of purpose essays. I felt like that was the most efficient way to do things. Now, when I head back to school, I only have to worry about the essays.
- Most applications were part of a university-wide graduate school application form, so I frequently read information that was not relevant to computer scientists but would be relevant to other subject areas. This makes it a little harder on the applicant (since we have to fill in more information than is probably necessary) but it’s easier on the school (only one application website/form needed for the entire graduate school) so I can understand why schools like that.
- Some places want me to paste my essay into a “text box,” while others want uploaded PDF documents. I vastly prefer the latter, since there is some LaTeX stuff that I’ve included in my statement of purpose to make it look better, but maybe schools don’t want faculty to be influenced by the aesthetics of the text.
- Some schools weren’t specific about whether they wanted me to upload an unofficial transcript or a scanned official transcript. (One school even had contradictory information in two places of their application.) In fact, for two schools, I didn’t realize this until I had actually reached the point in the application where they asked me to upload scans. Fortunately, the registrar emailed me a PDF scan of my official transcript and that solved everything. The lesson is that it’s best to just get an official scan to not leave anything to chance.
I like the concept of seminar courses. These are typically small classes that feature active discussion and debate each session. At Williams, these courses — where enrollment is limited to 19 students to comply with U.S. News & World Report standards for “small class sizes” — make up a substantial portion of the humanities curriculum. While there are certainly many wonderful things I can say about seminars, one of my personal gripes is that they pose additional burdens to deaf students.
Here’s the problem: if students are interested and motivated by the course material, they’ll be active participants. That means class discussion will be moving at a quick pace from one person to another as people raise their hands immediately after others finish talking.
But as a deaf person who cannot really understand what my classmates say until I get the feedback from a sign language interpreter, there’s an added delay until I can get the same information. Inevitably, once I can understand what my classmates have said, another one immediately jumps into the discussion by saying something similar to: “building off of [his/her] previous point, I think that […]”.
The end result is that I’ve often felt lost in some of these discussions. Many times, I’ve wanted to say something, only to see someone else claim credit for that concept by being quicker than me at raising his or her hand. It’s not a problem that’s easily solved. There’s always going to be some sort of delay with sign language, CART, and other accommodations, but it can pose difficulty to deaf students. Since seminars tend to incorporate class participation as a large fraction of students’ grades, that factor can be a deterrent to deaf people for taking these courses.
As I think about seminar courses, I’m reminded of a particularly painful high school AP US History class. The class was divided into groups of three, and we had to debate over a topic that I’ve long since forgotten. (Each group had to defend a unique perspective.) But the main thing that I remember was that the teacher required each student to make three substantial comments in the debate in order for him or her to receive full credit.
The debate ended up being chaotic, with students shouting out their comments all over the place, often interrupting each other without restrain. (My teacher actually had to stop the class once, so we could relax and start fresh.) Predictably, I was completely lost among the commotion and didn’t see any way I could participate without sounding awkward. Eventually, towards the end of the debate, I finally made my sole comment of the day. And that was only because one of my group members (out of sympathy?) actually told me what to say! He mentioned his thoughts to me, raised his hand and then let me talk once the focus was on our group. In other words, I was just echoing his idea.
Fortunately, my teacher recognized the challenges I faced and didn’t penalize me for failing to participate in that embarrassing debate.
So how should a deaf person approach seminars? I’m not interested in asking professors to lower their grading standards (I’d be offended otherwise), though it might be wise to mention to them the delay in reception due to ASL or other accommodations, just so they’re aware. Another thing one could ask is that the professor slow down the pace of discussion. That is, if one student finishes talking, ask the professor to wait a few extra seconds before picking the next person to talk.
With respect to how class discussion proceeds, my best advice is that one should aim to be the first to comment on a class topic. That means when the professor reviews something based on homework readings and then says: “Any thoughts on this?” to the class, that’s the best time for someone like me to participate.
This situation typically happens at the start of class, so there isn’t a need to make your contribution to the class debate relate to previous comments (a huge plus!). Furthermore, professors often articulate better than students, making it easier for me to rely more on my own hearing. Finally, while this might be entirely anecdotal evidence, I’ve observed that professors are often more willing to wait a longer time when they open up a discussion than when they’re in the middle of one.
As someone who is currently working on a computer science thesis this year, one of the things that’s really hit home lately is how the undergraduate thesis serves as a healthy “medium” between the undergraduate student and the beginning graduate student mentalities.
For one’s first few years as an undergraduate, it is expected that he or she focus primarily on courses. Research is an excellent “extracurricular” activity and should be taken seriously, but unless one does an extraordinary job — by that, I mean first-rate conference or journal publications — it is likely that students still need to perform well in courses in order to get accepted into a Ph.D. program.
Meanwhile, the beginning graduate student at a Ph.D. program suddenly needs to break away from the undergraduate mentality in order to succeed.
I’m at the point where my grades are still important, but my research is starting to become a bigger part of my studies. Consequently, I have to find sufficient time away from my “normal” classes to focus on research. It’s tempting to let thesis work slide in favor of another hour or two spent on perfecting a problem set to get that “A” grade, but it can add up. As a time-management technique, I suggest having a schedule for one’s thesis work outlined in a “problem set” format so that it mirrors what a typical science class would be like.
PS: Yes, I know I haven’t been blogging too much lately. I’m sorry.
Back in July, I published a post proclaiming the start of my fall 2013 graduate school applications process.
Now that it’s the start of October, I can safely say that I’m at a new stage: the point where I need to provide information to all my reference writers about my applications. Don’t neglect this non-trivial step! Letters of recommendations are probably the third most important aspect of one’s application after one’s research experience and grades (in that order), and they become extremely useful in picking out the best of the best.
Here’s what I included in my “packet” of information to my recommenders:
A copy of my updated curriculum vitae. This should be something everyone does.
A document that clearly outlines all of the programs to which I’m applying, as well as any other fellowships and/or scholarships. For me, this is ten Ph.D. programs, four fellowships, and three outside scholarships, and my document ended up being six pages. This includes a LaTeX-generated table of contents and a separate page devoted to an Introduction. For each application, I also included a web link, just in case my reference writers wanted some extra information. Finally, for each school, I also indicated the labs and professors that caught my interest.
I think the last point is something that — sadly — often gets glossed over when sending information to recommenders. It’s not just enough to say that one wants to study at a school; one also should have a general idea of the different research groups at an institution and which ones suit himself or herself the best.
One thing that I had hoped to include in the packet was an updated statement of purpose. Unfortunately, I haven’t found the time to get a sensible essay ready, so that’s the next thing on my agenda to send to my recommenders.
It was a relief to finally send information to my three recommenders, so now I can focus on getting my actual essays and applications. No, I’m not as far as I hoped to be in the plan I posted in July, but I’m getting there. I still have a couple of weeks before the first deadlines arrive…
In my last blog entry, I talked about giving a math colloquium talk. In this one, I’ll talk about attending a talk. This academic year, I have sat in three computer science talks and four other math talks.
And so far, I’ve been somewhat disappointed.
My accommodation for these talks is to use the SmartLink+ FM system owned by Williams College. During each talk, I arrive about five to ten minutes early to meet the speaker and hand over the device so that he or she can wear it. (It’s designed like a lanyard.) However, even with this as an aid, I feel like I don’t get much benefit out of these talks. I think I run into two problems: (1) getting distracted by the speaker wearing the FM system, and (2) getting distracted by the static.
Problem (1) is a mental issue. Sometimes I feel like a burden to the speaker when asking him or her to wear a device that, while not clunky or huge, is still noticeable, can swing around as he or she is moving, and isn’t designed for pure comfort. I also wonder what the other audience members think of the device. Is it distracting to them as well? Do they know that the FM is for me? When I have these thoughts, I also ponder alternative scenarios for accommodations.
Problem (2) is a technical issue. It’s well known that FM systems are great at amplifying sound, and I’m happy to benefit from that. The amplification, though, seems to result in a lot of static as an unfortunate side effect. When a speaker wears the FM system, it can rub against a shirt as he or she moves, and I hear a lot of rustling and static when that happens. In fact, at one point last spring in a machine learning tutorial meeting, I had to completely turn off my right hearing aid since the static had become unbearable. Complicating matters here is that the hearing aids I use that have the FM receivers (i.e. what I need to connect to the system) are not the same as my best pair of hearing aids, which are better at discriminating sound. Do I want to lose out on intensity to retain clarity and precision?
So these two things together seem to hinder my ability to benefit from colloquium talks. In fact, my lackluster experience during today’s computer science colloquium talk inspired me to write this entry. As I allude in the title, I’m thinking about how to accommodate a technical talk for a deaf person.
Here are some hypothetical scenarios I have in mind:
- Use the Smartlink+ FM System (i.e. maintain what I’m doing). Advantages: continuity, don’t have to make petitions or write more letters. Disadvantages: covered earlier in this entry.
- Use an alternative FM System (e.g., the Contego R900). Advantages: possibly experience less static but retain amplification. Disadvantages: would have to get used to an entirely new system.
- Use ASL interpreting services (as I do in my courses). Advantages: familiarity/continuity. Disadvantages: difficult to interpret technical talks.
- Use a captioning service (e.g., CART). Advantages: can read word-for-word on a screen. Disadvantages: would take several weeks to get set up, and would probably run into technical difficulties.
- Use a combination of the above accommodations. Advantages: can combine the benefits together. Disadvantages: costly, would experience diminishing returns for each addition.
- Use no accommodations. Advantages: easiest for me, allowing me to show up at the same time as other students. Disadvantages: will have the least amount of hearing assistance.
As one can see, there’s no substitute to having normal hearing. Different forms of accommodations have their pluses and minuses, and it’s up to the individual and his or her institution to come up with a reasonable plan. I’m still not entirely sure what’s best for me, but hopefully I can come up with some firm decision soon.
Williams College requires that all senior math majors give an acceptable 30-minute colloquium talk on the topic of their choice. Virtually all seniors who give their talk “pass” as long as their topic is relatively new, interesting, and isn’t nontrivial. The senior majors have to attend 20 of these student talks, not including their own, so the typical audience consists of other students as well as most of the faculty.
Back in May, I volunteered to give my colloquium talk early, and I was fortunate that the colloquium chair assigned me to be in the first student slot. (It’s always nice to set the trend!) For my colloquium, which I just delivered today, I chose to talk about probabilistic graphical models (PGMs). It wasn’t a difficult decision for me to pick this topic. This past summer, as part of my “moral duty” as a machine learning student, I skimmed a wide variety of recent articles published by the highly prestigious International Conference in Machine Learning. Many of the articles I read incorporated PGMs, and there was one article in particular that struck my eye: using PGMs in crowd-sourcing to grade a test without knowing the answers.
That got me a little interested in PGMs, so I read a little more and learned that these are often considered part of the intersection between computer science and statistics. Effectively, these are graphs that describe their own probability distributions (incorporating statistics) by representing nodes as random variables. By exploiting graph theoretic algorithms (incorporating computer science), it’s possible to efficiently model a scenario that might otherwise be too intractable to analyze directly, e.g. in medical analysis when we’re dealing with thousands of random variables. Needless to say, I figured I should explore PGMs in depth, both for my computer science senior thesis and for my colloquium.
Thus, my colloquium talk first gave an introduction to PGMs, and then described the application in crowd-sourcing as described in the paper I linked to earlier. If you’re interested in learning more about these, feel free to check out the slides I used for my talk. You can view them here. (Side note: for something as important as this, always have at least one backup of your slides … try using Dropbox.) Have fun with PGMs!
Professor Mor Harchol-Balter (hereafter, Professor H-B), a faculty member in the School of Computer Science at Carnegie Mellon University, has written a well-cited report about applying to Ph.D. programs. While I agree with almost everything she writes, I figure it’s worth clarifying or modifying a few portions of the report; I’ve listed seven of my suggested clarifications/modifications in this post.
As a disclaimer, I obviously have never been part of a graduate admissions committee before, while Professor H-B presumably takes part in this every winter. What I write in this post is simply my own opinion based on my countless hours of reading about graduate school.
Clarification/Modification #1: Funding the Ph.D.
Professor H-B writes:
Important note 2: There are many companies and government organizations which offer Graduate Fellowships for Ph.D. students. If you are lucky enough to get one of these, they will cover your full way through graduate school, and you will never have to worry about whether your advisor has funding or not. Details about graduate fellowships will be discussed in Section 4.
From what I’ve read, most fellowships (e.g. the NSF) last for at most three years. Thus, it seems like the typical scenario for a fellowship recipient is that he or she uses the money for some number of years, then after it expires, he or she must find some other source of funding. It is extremely rare for students to complete Ph.D.s within three years; the few examples of fast Ph.D.s that I know of (e.g. Frank Morgan) were in the field of mathematics, where it can be enough to discover a convoluted proof to a question.
Clarification/Modification #2: “Top” Ph.D. Programs
Professor H-B writes:
Since my view is that of the top-ranked CS programs, my description below will follow the perspective of those schools. By a top-ranked program, I’m typically talking about a Ph.D. program ranked in the top 10 or so.
As I’ve said earlier, to get into a top graduate school you need prior research experience. This is not necessarily true for schools below the top 10, or maybe even the top 5.
Her article is written and directed at students who aspire to study at the top programs. I personally would extend the "top" part (in both blockquotes above) to be perhaps "top 25-ish" or so, because I’m pretty sure the schools ranked ~10 to ~25 value research experience to a comparable extent as do the very top schools. Also, there are some subfields of computer science that lower ranked schools might specialize in, which may not be reflected in their overall ranking. One example might be The University of Pennsylvania (currently ranked #17 overall) and their stellar programming languages group.
Clarification/Modification #3: Computer Science GRE
Professor H-B writes:
The subject exam – If applying to a CS Ph.D. program, you should probably take your subject exam in CS, Math, or Engineering. Check with the school you’re applying to.
As I mentioned earlier, there is no such thing as a computer science GRE subject test now. Her article was written in 2011, while the CS exam was terminated in 2013, so she’ll almost certainly remove this part during her next update.
Clarification/Modification #4: Getting Research Experience
Professor H-B writes:
As an undergraduate, you can apply for a summer internship at a research lab or another school. I did this. Type “summer internships for undergraduates” into Google and you’ll be amazed how many opportunities there are.
I personally would be more specific and provide the link to this page, which has a listing of most (if not all) current NSF-sponsored computer science REUs. Alternatively, you can try searching within your school if you’re at a research university.
Clarification/Modification #5: Asking for Recommendations
Professor H-B writes:
Asking for a letter of recommendation won’t be a problem if you have been doing research with this person, but that won’t be possible in every case. Here’s a guideline which will maximize the contents of your letter. This works on the theory that professors have very little time and little memory (both of which are good assumptions):
She then recommends preparing a packet of materials for the professor, including materials such as a statement of purpose, a photo of you, etc. Most of the advice is straightforward and is what one should definitely do (e.g. the statement of purpose). If, however, a recommender needs a photo of a student to write an effective recommendation, then it’s likely that he or she doesn’t know the student well enough to write a solid letter anyway.
Clarification/Modification #6: Why to Apply for Fellowships
Professor H-B writes:
Even before you decide which schools you want to apply to, you should pick out which outside fellowships you are eligible for and apply to all of these. I myself applied to 5 outside fellowships. Many outside fellowships require a U.S. citizenship, so not everyone is eligible. There are at least 4 reasons to apply for a fellowship:
Her four reasons are (1) prestige, (2) funds graduate school, (3) makes a more appealing applicant, and (4) to avoid being a fool. Her argument for (3) is based on schools accepting you after you receive a fellowship. By that time, however, it’s usually April or May, and this doesn’t give you enough time to visit (or even think about) the school. My point here is that Ph.D. programs typically tell students if they are accepted in February, and students have an April 15 deadline to select their school. Suppose a student applied to school X and doesn’t hear back, which typically means a rejection. But on April 10, he receives a prestigious fellowship, and school X accepts him on April 11 upon figuring out the news. But that leaves just a handful of days for the student to consider the offer, and doesn’t allow a visit, etc. Quickly accepting an offer from them could be a risky decision.
It’s worth mentioning that Professor Philip Guo also has written advice on why to apply to fellowships. His additional reasons include (1) practicing writing, and (2) your research advisor will make you apply anyway.
Clarification/Modification #7: Ranking of the Department
Professor H-B writes:
Consider the overall ranking of department. This is important only because it determines the average quality of your peers (the other graduate students). Your peers are the people who will teach you the most in graduate school.
While I definitely agree with this (and others do, see e.g. Jeff Erickson’s post), and am also pretty sure that Professor H-B wasn’t being too serious in this writing, I can’t believe that the ranking of a department is only important due to the quality of the students. For instance, the average professor at a top school will have more grant money and productive research projects than the average professor at a mid-tier school. For instance, I remember reading a blog post by a former Ph.D. student at Berkeley who recalled that his advisor had a “seemingly endless supply of money.”
As I was just getting the urge to start writing more about machine learning and theory of computation, I had this nagging thought:
Is there a useful compendium of advice for deaf students that discusses how to navigate through their undergraduate, and potentially graduate, experiences?
Here’s why I’m curious. I read advice aimed at computer science Ph.D. students all the time. One only has to browse websites of computer science professors and Ph.D. students who have blogs to find short advice articles such as how to manage your advisor. Also, guidance obviously isn’t limited to blogs. Computer science professors Michael Ernst (Washington) and Tao Xie (Illinois) have compiled quite a bunch of writings by themselves or others that may be of interest to computer science Ph.D. students.
So is there something similar for deaf students? By that, I’m referring mostly to American college and graduate students. Wouldn’t that be a great resource for younger students, so that they might read and understand how older students have survived (or failed) the journey?
Unfortunately, I don’t think there’s much advice out there, but there’s a chance I’m wrong. One of the problems when trying to search this is that if you type in “Advice for Deaf Students” in a search engine, most of the pages that show up are actually aimed at teachers, and provide tips and suggestions for working with and accommodating such students.
Keep in mind that I’m trying to look for sources similar to the ones that Professor Ernst or Professor Xie have on their homepages. Short essays by the random deaf person here and there are fine, but has anyone actually done a search for this and compiled a list together? If not, then I would be interested in starting one. I know I can’t do it all myself, since I start too many projects each year that I fail to finish, and general-purpose advice should rarely be written by just one person. It would be interesting to see if this idea could become a reality.
Since I’m going to build a complete compiler for a subset of the Java programming language this fall in my Compiler Design course1, I thought it would be prudent to at least look through an introductory Java book over the summer. I want to make sure I didn’t forget much in the one-year period from last summer to this one, where I didn’t touch Java at all. Upon some thinking and exploration, I decided to do a speed read of the 337-page book Programming with Java, Swing, and Squint. (You can find the entire book online, in the link that lists all the chapters.) Having just finished the book, I can offer some of my comments.
This book was written by a Williams College computer science professor and is intended to be supplementary reading material for our introductory programming class. Since I never took the first (or second!) courses in the typical sequence for the CS major, this might help me fill in some holes in my knowledge as compared to other Williams College students. According to what I’ve read and heard, our first CS class is a straightforward intro-to-Java course, with a special emphasis on the understanding of networks and digital communication.
Programming with Java, Swing and Squint therefore does not assume any prior Java knowledge and
is relatively easy to read. For those who are wondering, Swing is a widely-used application
programming interface that one can import into Java code (put the line
at the top of your code) to provide graphical user interfaces (GUIs) for user programs,
and Squint is a library specifically designed for the Williams intro CS course.
The book doesn’t waste any time in introducing the reader to small programs that construct simple GUI interfaces. At first, the author makes the necessary claim that one has to accept certain incantations of Java as “magic words” that must be included in code in order for it to run, e.g. the “public class XXX” text, but he explains this stuff in the appropriate (and humorly-named) subsequent chapters. Even the other examples in the book — email interfaces, building a calculator, etc. — are simple enough yet comprehensively presented and introduce the programmer to a variety of concepts, including (but not limited to) primitives, objects, classes, methods, control structures, loops, recursion, and arrays. While there is at least one substantial program for each chapter, the book doesn’t include any programming exercises or exercises/solutions. Thus, readers may find that they need to search elsewhere for additional programming tasks.
My final opinion: this can be useful as a first book for someone who has no programming experience but is interested in writing Java scripts immediately. Even a more advanced programmer can probably use this book for the purpose of figuring out how to explain a programming concept to a complete newbie. There were many facts about programming and Java that I subconsciously knew but couldn’t explain clearly to a layman before today. Thus, I’m happy to have read this book even though I already knew almost all of the material.
Side note: I only have three classes this semester: Compiler Design, Artificial Intelligence, and Complex Analysis. My fourth “class” is actually my senior thesis, and my fifth “extra class” consists of the graduate school applications. ↩
I probably have an unusual pre-college education compared to most Williams College students, so I thought it would be interesting to share my experience.
Pre-School and Elementary School
I know I participated in some sort of pre-school education, but obviously my memory is quite fuzzy here. I was in a program where I’d attend a few sessions a week with other deaf and hard-of-hearing (DHH) students and had teachers who knew sign language. I’m not sure how much “learning” went on, since it’s pre-school.
Then came elementary school. But before I discuss that, I just want to briefly point out the concept of mainstreamed education. As I was a mainstreamed student, I can provide my own definition in the context of deaf and hard of hearing education: this means we take part in regular education with most of the other (hearing) students in our grade, but will occasionally sit in “special education” sessions that specifically cater to our needs. Typically, we’ll have some sort of accommodation in the regular classes, such as a microphone/FM system, while the special education classes have no need for them since the teachers are trained to teach such students.
Anyway, while in elementary school, It was here that I believe I first experienced the distinction of having the two styles of classes. I was assigned to be in regular courses for all my “core” classes (English, Math, Science, and Social Studies) along with a few other DHH students my grade, but I also took part in sessions designed specifically for DHH students. For instance, I took speech and social work sections, which teach skills that are harder (on average) for deaf students to acquire as compared to hearing students. A quick note: some DHH students take their core courses in the special education classes, so they essentially receive all their education there. It all depends on the student’s education plan.
My elementary school was unique in that it actually had these kind of special education classes. Most schools don’t, which means many DHH students are forced to take long bus rides to an appropriate school. I was one of them during elementary school, but as far as I can tell I was better off than some of the students, especially those who had to undergo two hour rides each day to and from school (four hours of being on the bus a day!).
My split between taking part in regular and special education classes continued in middle school, but with a more skewed focus to the regular classes. This is necessary, after all; while special education classes are useful, they almost always can’t provide as much material as a regular class.
At the time I was a student, my middle school had nine forty-minute periods in a day. One of these was a daily “tutorial” period where students don’t have a class and can focus on their work (or play games). My tutorial room was located in the same room where most of the other DHH students took classes. Unfortunately, the tutorial period wasn’t standardized for students; in other words, my school essentially divided the students into nine groups, each with their own specific tutorial period. This limited the time I could interact with other DHH students, since it was rare that we would have the chance to meet in the tutorial room at the same period. They could also be in the middle of a class even if they were there, further restricting socialization.
There were a few DHH students in my grade, and in an effort to make efficient use of interpreters (and other resources), my school auto-assigned us to be in the same classes, so at least I wasn’t completely alone in those classes.
I continued to take speech and social work sessions throughout middle school, in the same classroom as the tutorial room for all DHH students, but I never took any academic classes there. As I mentioned earlier, I did have about two or three other DHH students in my core courses as well as a few secondary ones, such as Health, Music, and Physical Education.
The process of taking important examinations was also unique for me. If there was a normal test made by a teacher, I would take it in class with the other students. But for state-administered exams, I would take it in a separate, private room with an interpreter by my side in case I needed to listen to instructions. Obviously, they weren’t allowed to actually take the exam for me. It was pretty convenient for me, since I didn’t have to worry about the distraction of other students.
At the time I was a student, my high school was designed so that there were four kinds of days (A, B, C, and D), and we would cycle through them during the academic year. On “B” and “D” days, during the second of four designated, 85-minute “blocks” of the day, there would be an “advisory” period, which is basically like study hall — students are assigned to a class, but there’s not going to be a lecture, so we can work on whatever we want.
Naturally, being a DHH student, I was assigned to be in the same advisory classroom as the other DHH students. This was much better than the situation in middle school, where my tutorial period wouldn’t coincide with the tutorial periods of other DHH students. While my advisories were often filled with work — I was regularly juggling several Advanced Placement classes at a time — I occasionally found time to play several rounds of chess and other games with other DHH students. The advisory period was also useful for organizing activities among the DHH students, since we were all together in one period. We would sometimes have special days that included an annual picnic, a trip to an amusement park (e.g., this one), and food provided during holiday seasons.
I still took some speech and social work classes and most of my midterms, final exams, and state-administered exams in a separate room. But after an agreement with my teachers, I no longer had to take speech and social work classes. I had about ten years of those classes, and we all agreed that further improvement due to these sessions would be negligible.
Finally, in high school, we had more freedom to pick their own schedule. Thus, I was no longer guaranteed to have other DHH students in my classes. In fact, I think the only true high school class I had that included other DHH students was physical education.
I was fortunate to live near a school district that was able to effectively provide me with what I needed in order to perform well in school. I’m now a student at Williams College, where there are no other deaf students, so at this point, I’m basically “on my own.” The transition from a mainstreamed pre-college education to a mainstreamed/hearing college is now complete.