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  • Joseph Nebus 6:00 pm on Sunday, 19 February, 2017 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , , , , , Wandering Melon, fandom   

    Reading the Comics, February 15, 2017: SMBC Cuts In Line Edition 

    It’s another busy enough week for mathematically-themed comic strips that I’m dividing the harvest in two. There’s a natural cutting point since there weren’t any comics I could call relevant for the 15th. But I’m moving a Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal of course from the 16th into this pile. That’s because there’s another Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal of course from after the 16th that I might include. I’m still deciding if it’s close enough to on topic. We’ll see.

    John Graziano’s Ripley’s Believe It Or Not for the 12th mentions the “Futurama Theorem”. The trivia is true, in that writer Ken Keeler did create a theorem for a body-swap plot he had going. The premise was that any two bodies could swap minds at most one time. So, after a couple people had swapped bodies, was there any way to get everyone back to their correct original body? There is, if you bring two more people in to the body-swapping party. It’s clever.

    From reading comment threads about the episode I conclude people are really awestruck by the idea of creating a theorem for a TV show episode. The thing is that “a theorem” isn’t necessarily a mind-boggling piece of work. It’s just the name mathematicians give when we have a clearly-defined logical problem and its solution. A theorem and its proof can be a mind-wrenching bit of work, like Fermat’s Last Theorem or the Four-Color Map Theorem are. Or it can be on the verge of obvious. Keeler’s proof isn’t on the obvious side of things. But it is the reasoning one would have to do to solve the body-swap problem the episode posited without cheating. Logic and good story-telling are, as often, good partners.

    Teresa Burritt’s Frog Applause is a Dadaist nonsense strip. But for the 13th it hit across some legitimate words, about a 14 percent false-positive rate. This is something run across in hypothesis testing. The hypothesis is something like “is whatever we’re measuring so much above (or so far below) the average that it’s not plausibly just luck?” A false positive is what it sounds like: our analysis said yes, this can’t just be luck, and it turns out that it was. This turns up most notoriously in medical screenings, when we want to know if there’s reason to suspect a health risk, and in forensic analysis, when we want to know if a particular person can be shown to have been a particular place at a particular time. A 14 percent false positive rate doesn’t sound very good — except.

    Suppose we are looking for a rare condition. Say, something one person out of 500 will have. A test that’s 99 percent accurate will turn up positives for the one person who has got it and for five of the people who haven’t. It’s not that the test is bad; it’s just there are so many negatives to work through. If you can screen out a good number of the negatives, though, the people who haven’t got the condition, then the good test will turn up fewer false positives. So suppose you have a cheap or easy or quick test that doesn’t miss any true positives but does have a 14 percent false positive rate. That would screen out 430 of the people who haven’t got whatever we’re testing for, leaving only 71 people who need the 99-percent-accurate test. This can make for a more effective use of resources.

    Gary Wise and Lance Aldrich’s Real Life Adventures for the 13th is an algebra-in-real-life joke and I can’t make something deeper out of that.

    Mike Shiell’s The Wandering Melon for the 13th is a spot of wordplay built around statisticians. Good for taping to the mathematics teacher’s walls.

    Eric the Circle for the 14th, this one by “zapaway”, is another bit of wordplay. Tans and tangents.

    Zach Weinersmith’s Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal for the 16th identifies, aptly, a difference between scientists and science fans. Weinersmith is right that loving trivia is a hallmark of a fan. Expertise — in any field, not just science — is more about recognizing patterns of problems and concepts, ways to bring approaches from one field into another, this sort of thing. And the digits of π are great examples of trivia. There’s no need for anyone to know the 1,681st digit of π. There’s few calculations you could ever do when you needed more than three dozen digits. But if memorizing digits seems like fun then π is a great set to learn. e is the only other number at all compelling.

    The thing is, it’s very hard to become an expert in something without first being a fan of it. It’s possible, but if a field doesn’t delight you why would you put that much work into it? So even though the scientist might have long since gotten past caring how many digits of π, it’s awfully hard to get something memorized in the flush of fandom out of your head.

    I know you’re curious. I can only remember π out to 3.14158926535787962. I might have gotten farther if I’d tried, but I actually got a digit wrong, inserting a ‘3’ before that last ’62’, and the effort to get that mistake out of my head obliterated any desire to waste more time memorizing digits. For e I can only give you 2.718281828. But there’s almost no hope I’d know that far if it weren’t for how e happens to repeat that 1828 stanza right away.

  • Joseph Nebus 6:00 pm on Thursday, 16 February, 2017 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , Crock, , , Mr Lowe, , , ,   

    Reading the Comics, February 11, 2017: Trivia Edition 

    And now to wrap up last week’s mathematically-themed comic strips. It’s not a set that let me get into any really deep topics however hard I tried overthinking it. Maybe something will turn up for Sunday.

    Mason Mastroianni, Mick Mastroianni, and Perri Hart’s B.C. for the 7th tries setting arithmetic versus celebrity trivia. It’s for the old joke about what everyone should know versus what everyone does know. One might question whether Kardashian pet eating habits are actually things everyone knows. But the joke needs some hyperbole in it to have any vitality and that’s the only available spot for it. It’s easy also to rate stuff like arithmetic as trivia since, you know, calculators. But it is worth knowing that seven squared is pretty close to 50. It comes up when you do a lot of estimates of calculations in your head. The square root of 10 is pretty near 3. The square root of 50 is near 7. The cube root of 10 is a little more than 2. The cube root of 50 a little more than three and a half. The cube root of 100 is a little more than four and a half. When you see ways to rewrite a calculation in estimates like this, suddenly, a lot of amazing tricks become possible.

    Leigh Rubin’s Rubes for the 7th is a “mathematics in the real world” joke. It could be done with any mythological animals, although I suppose unicorns have the advantage of being relatively easy to draw recognizably. Mermaids would do well too. Dragons would also read well, but they’re more complicated to draw.

    Mark Pett’s Mr Lowe rerun for the 8th has the kid resisting the mathematics book. Quentin’s grounds are that how can he know a dated book is still relevant. There’s truth to Quentin’s excuse. A mathematical truth may be universal. Whether we find it interesting is a matter of culture and even fashion. There are many ways to present any fact, and the question of why we want to know this fact has as many potential answers as it has people pondering the question.

    Zach Weinersmith’s Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal for the 8th is a paean to one of the joys of numbers. There is something wonderful in counting, in measuring, in tracking. I suspect it’s nearly universal. We see it reflected in people passing around, say, the number of rivets used in the Chrysler Building or how long a person’s nervous system would reach if stretched out into a line or ever-more-fanciful measures of stuff. Is it properly mathematics? It’s delightful, isn’t that enough?

    Scott Hilburn’s The Argyle Sweater for the 10th is a Fibonacci Sequence joke. That’s a good one for taping to the walls of a mathematics teacher’s office.

    'Did you ever take a date to a drive-in movie in high school?' 'Once, but she went to the concession stand and never came back.' 'Did you wonder why?' 'Yeah, but I kept on doing my math homework.'

    Bill Rechin’s Crock rerun for the 11th of February, 2017. They actually opened a brand-new drive-in theater something like forty minutes away from us a couple years back. We haven’t had the chance to get there. But we did get to one a fair bit farther away where yes, we saw Turbo, that movie about the snail that races in the Indianapolis 500. The movie was everything we hoped for and it’s just a shame Roger Ebert died too young to review it for us.

    Bill Rechin’s Crock rerun for the 11th is a name-drop of mathematics. Really anybody’s homework would be sufficiently boring for the joke. But I suppose mathematics adds the connotation that whatever you’re working on hasn’t got a human story behind it, the way English or History might, and that it hasn’t got the potential to eat, explode, or knock a steel ball into you the way Biology, Chemistry, or Physics have. Fair enough.

  • Joseph Nebus 6:00 pm on Wednesday, 15 February, 2017 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , nerfing, , , Superleague   

    How Much I Did Lose In Pinball 

    A follow-up for people curious how much I lost at the state pinball championships Saturday: I lost at the state pinball championships Saturday. As I expected I lost in the first round. I did beat my expectations, though. I’d figured I would win one, maybe two games in our best-of-seven contest. As it happened I won three games and I had a fighting chance in game seven.

    I’d mentioned in the previous essay about how much contingency there is especially in a short series like this one. My opponent picked the game I expected she would to start out. And she got an awful bounce on the first ball, while I got a very lucky bounce that started multiball on the last. So I won, but not because I was playing better. The seventh game was one that I had figured she might pick if she needed to crush me, and if I had gotten a better bounce on the first ball I’d still have had an uphill struggle. Just less of one.

    After the first round I got into a set of three “tie-breaking” rounds, used to sort out which of the sixteen players ranked as number 11 versus number 10. Each of those were a best-of-three series. I did win one series and lost two others, dropping me into 12th place. Over the three series I had four wins and four losses, so I can’t say that I mismatched there.

    Where I might have been mismatched is the side tournament. This was a two-hour marathon of playing a lot of games one after the other. I finished with three wins and 13 losses, enough to make me wonder whether I somehow went from competent to incompetent in the hour or so between the main and the side tournament. Of course not, based on a record like that, but — can I prove it?

    Meanwhile a friend pointed out The New York Times covering the New York State pinball championship:

    The article is (at least for now) at What my friend couldn’t have known, and what shows how networked people are, is that I know one of the people featured in the article, Sean “The Storm” Grant. Well, I knew him, back in college. He was an awesome pinball player even then. And he’s only got more awesome since.

    How awesome? Let me give you some background. The International Flipper Pinball Association (IFPA) gives players ranking points. These points are gathered by playing in leagues and tournaments. Each league or tournament has a certain point value. That point value is divided up among the players, in descending order from how they finish. How many points do the events have? That depends on how many people play and what their ranking is. So, yes, how much someone’s IFPA score increases depends on the events they go to, and the events they go to depend on their score. This might sound to you like there’s a differential equation describing all this. You’re close: it’s a difference equation, because these rankings change with the discrete number of events players go to. But there’s an interesting and iterative system at work there.

    (Points only expire with time. The system is designed to encourage people to play a lot of things and keep playing them. You can’t lose ranking points by playing, although it might hurt your player-versus-player rating. That’s calculated by a formula I don’t understand at all.)

    Anyway, Sean Grant plays in the New York Superleague, a crime-fighting band of pinball players who figured out how to game the IFPA rankings system. They figured out how to turn the large number of people who might visit a Manhattan bar and casually play one or two games into a source of ranking points for the serious players. The IFPA, combatting this scheme, just this week recalculated the Superleague values and the rankings of everyone involved in it. It’s fascinating stuff, in that way a heated debate over an issue you aren’t emotionally invested in can be.

    Anyway. Grant is such a skilled player that he lost more points in this nerfing than I have gathered in my whole competitive-pinball-playing career.

    So while I knew I’d be knocked out in the first round of the Michigan State Championships I’ll admit I had fantasies of having an impossibly lucky run. In that case, I’d have gone to the nationals and been turned into a pale, silverball-covered paste by people like Grant.

    Thanks again for all your good wishes, kind readers. Now we start the long road to the 2017 State Championships, to be held in February of next year. I’m already in 63rd place in the state for the year! (There haven’t been many events for the year yet, and the championship and side tournament haven’t posted their ranking scores yet.)

  • Joseph Nebus 6:00 pm on Sunday, 12 February, 2017 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: Agnes, , , , , Lay Lines, , Pooch Cafe, Rabbits Against Magic,   

    Reading the Comics, February 6, 2017: Another Pictureless Half-Week Edition 

    Got another little flood of mathematically-themed comic strips last week and so once again I’ll split them along something that looks kind of middle-ish. Also this is another bunch of posts. Since those seem to be accessible to anyone whether or not they’re subscribers indefinitely far into the future I don’t feel like I can put the comics directly up and will trust you all to click on the links that you find interesting. Which is fine; the new design makes it annoyingly hard to download a comic strip. I don’t think that was their intention. But that’s one of the two nagging problems I have with their new design. So you know.

    Tony Cochran’s Agnes for the 5th sees a brand-new mathematics. Always dangerous stuff. But mathematicians do invent, or discover, new things in mathematics all the time. Part of the task is naming the things in it. That’s something which takes talent. Some people, such as Leonhard Euler, had the knack a great novelist has for putting names to things. The rest of us muddle along. Often if there’s any real-world inspiration, or resemblance to anything, we’ll rely on that. And we look for terminology that evokes similar ideas in other fields. … And, Agnes would like to know, there is mathematics that’s about approximate answers, being “right around” the desired answer. Unfortunately, that’s hard. (It’s all hard, if you’re going to take it seriously, much like everything else people do.)

    Scott Hilburn’s The Argyle Sweater for the 5th is the anthropomorphic numerals joke for this essay.

    Carol Lay’s Lay Lines for the 6th depicts the hazards of thinking deeply and hard about the infinitely large and the infinitesimally small. They’re hard. Our intuition seems well-suited to handing a modest bunch of household-sized things. Logic guides us when thinking about the infinitely large or small, but it takes a long time to get truly conversant and comfortable with it all.

    Paul Gilligan’s Pooch Cafe for the 6th sees Poncho try to argue there’s thermodynamical reasons for not being kind. Reasoning about why one should be kind (or not) is the business of philosophers and I won’t overstep my expertise. Poncho’s mathematics, that’s something I can write about. He argues “if you give something of yourself, you inherently have less”. That seems to be arguing for a global conservation of self-ness, that the thing can’t be created or lost, merely transferred around. That’s fair enough as a description of what the first law of thermodynamics tells us about energy. The equation he reads off reads, “the change in the internal energy (Δ U) equals the heat added to the system (U) minus the work done by the system (W)”. Conservation laws aren’t unique to thermodynamics. But Poncho may be aware of just how universal and powerful thermodynamics is. I’m open to an argument that it’s the most important field of physics.

    Jonathan Lemon’s Rabbits Against Magic for the 6th is another strip Intro to Calculus instructors can use for their presentation on instantaneous versus average velocities. There’s been a bunch of them recently. I wonder if someone at Comic Strip Master Command got a speeding ticket.

    Zach Weinersmith’s Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal for the 6th is about numeric bases. They’re fun to learn about. There’s an arbitrariness in the way we represent concepts. I think we can understand better what kinds of problems seem easy and what kinds seem harder if we write them out different ways. But base eleven is only good for jokes.

    • davekingsbury 10:01 pm on Monday, 13 February, 2017 Permalink | Reply

      He argues “if you give something of yourself, you inherently have less”. That seems to be arguing for a global conservation of self-ness, that the thing can’t be created or lost, merely transferred around.

      How, I wonder, to marry that with Juliet’s declaration of love for Juliet?

      “My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
      My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
      The more I have, for both are infinite.”


      • Joseph Nebus 11:08 pm on Thursday, 16 February, 2017 Permalink | Reply

        Oh, well, infinities are just trouble no matter what. Anything can happen with them.

        I suppose there’s also the question of how the Banach-Tarski Paradox affects love.

        Liked by 1 person

    • Downpuppy (@Downpuppy) 12:30 am on Tuesday, 14 February, 2017 Permalink | Reply

      Agnes is the first Fuzzy Math reference I’ve seen in about 10 years.

      Squirrel Girl counted to 31 on one hand to defeat Count Nefario, but SMBC is more an ASL snub


      • Joseph Nebus 11:12 pm on Thursday, 16 February, 2017 Permalink | Reply

        I’m a little surprised fuzzy mathematics doesn’t get used for more comic strips, but I don’t suppose it lends itself to too many different jokes. On the other hand, neither does Pi Day and we’ll see a bunch of those over the coming month.

        I had expected, really, Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal to go with 1,024 as a natural base if you use your hands in a particularly digit-efficient way.


  • Joseph Nebus 6:00 pm on Friday, 10 February, 2017 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , , , The Simpsons   

    How Much Can I Expect To Lose In Pinball? 

    This weekend, all going well, I’ll be going to the Michigan state pinball championship contest. There, I will lose in the first round.

    I’m not trying to run myself down. But I know who I’m scheduled to play in the first round, and she’s quite a good player. She’s the state’s highest-ranked woman playing competitive pinball. So she starts off being better than me. And then the venue is one she gets to play in more than I do. Pinball, a physical thing, is idiosyncratic. The reflexes you build practicing on one table can betray you on a strange machine. She’s had more chance to practice on the games we have and that pretty well settles the question. I’m still showing up, of course, and doing my best. Stranger things have happened than my winning a game. But I’m going in with I hope realistic expectations.

    That bit about having realistic expectations, though, makes me ask what are realistic expectations. The first round is a best-of-seven match. How many games should I expect to win? And that becomes a probability question. It’s a great question to learn on, too. Our match is straightforward to model: we play up to seven times. Each time we play one or the other wins.

    So we can start calculating. There’s some probability I have of winning any particular game. Call that number ‘p’. It’s at least zero (I’m not sure to lose) but it’s less than one (I’m not sure to win). Let’s suppose the probability of my winning never changes over the course of seven games. I will come back to the card I palmed there. If we’re playing 7 games, and I have a chance ‘p’ of winning any one of them, then the number of games I can expect to win is 7 times ‘p’. This is the number of wins you might expect if you were called on in class and had no idea and bluffed the first thing that came to mind. Sometimes that works.

    7 times p isn’t very enlightening. What number is ‘p’, after all? And I don’t know exactly. The International Flipper Pinball Association tracks how many times I’ve finished a tournament or league above her and vice-versa. We’ve played in 54 recorded events together, and I’ve won 23 and lost 29 of them. (We’ve tied twice.) But that isn’t all head-to-head play. It counts matches where I’m beaten by someone she goes on to beat as her beating me, and vice-versa. And it includes a lot of playing not at the venue. I lack statistics and must go with my feelings. I’d estimate my chance of beating her at about one in three. Let’s say ‘p’ is 1/3 until we get evidence to the contrary. It is “Flipper Pinball” because the earliest pinball machines had no flippers. You plunged the ball into play and nudged the machine a little to keep it going somewhere you wanted. (The game Simpsons Pinball Party has a moment where Grampa Simpson says, “back in my day we didn’t have flippers”. It’s the best kind of joke, the one that is factually correct.)

    Seven times one-third is not a difficult problem. It comes out to two and a third, raising the question of how one wins one-third of a pinball game. Most games involve playing three rounds, called balls, is the obvious observation. But this one-third of a game is an average. Imagine the two of us playing three thousand seven-game matches, without either of us getting the least bit better or worse or collapsing of exhaustion. I would expect to win seven thousand of the games, or two and a third games per seven-game match.

    Ah, but … that’s too high. I would expect to win two and a third games out of seven. But we probably won’t play seven. We’ll stop when she or I gets to four wins. This makes the problem hard. Hard is the wrong word. It makes the problem tedious. At least it threatens to. Things will get easy enough, but we have to go through some difficult parts first.

    There are eight different ways that our best-of-seven match can end. She can win in four games. I can win in four games. She can win in five games. I can win in five games. She can win in six games. I can win in six games. She can win in seven games. I can win in seven games. There is some chance of each of those eight outcomes happening. And exactly one of those will happen; it’s not possible that she’ll win in four games and in five games, unless we lose track of how many games we’d played. They give us index cards to write results down. We won’t lose track.

    It’s easy to calculate the probability that I win in four games, if the chance of my winning a game is the number ‘p’. The probability is p4. Similarly it’s easy to calculate the probability that she wins in four games. If I have the chance ‘p’ of winning, then she has the chance ‘1 – p’ of winning. So her probability of winning in four games is (1 – p)4.

    The probability of my winning in five games is more tedious to work out. It’s going to be p4 times (1 – p) times 4. The 4 here is the number of different ways that she can win one of the first four games. Turns out there’s four ways to do that. She could win the first game, or the second, or the third, or the fourth. And in the same way the probability she wins in five games is p times (1 – p)4 times 4.

    The probability of my winning in six games is going to be p4 times (1 – p)2 times 10. There are ten ways to scatter four wins by her among the first five games. The probability of her winning in six games is the strikingly parallel p2 times (1 – p)4 times 10.

    The probability of my winning in seven games is going to be p4 times (1 – p)3 times 20, because there are 20 ways to scatter three wins among the first six games. And the probability of her winning in seven games is p3 times (1 – p)4 times 20.

    Add all those probabilities up, no matter what ‘p’ is, and you should get 1. Exactly one of those four outcomes has to happen. And we can work out the probability that the series will end after four games: it’s the chance she wins in four games plus the chance I win in four games. The probability that the series goes to five games is the probability that she wins in five games plus the probability that I win in five games. And so on for six and for seven games.

    So that’s neat. We can figure out the probability of the match ending after four games, after five, after six, or after seven. And from that we can figure out the expected length of the match. This is the expectation value. Take the product of ‘4’ and the chance the match ends at four games. Take the product of ‘5’ and the chance the match ends at five games. Take the product of ‘6’ and the chance the match ends at six games. Take the product of ‘7’ and the chance the match ends at seven games. Add all those up. That’ll be, wonder of wonders, the number of games a match like this can be expected to run.

    Now it’s a matter of adding together all these combinations of all these different outcomes and you know what? I’m not doing that. I don’t know what the chance is I’d do all this arithmetic correctly is, but I know there’s no chance I’d do all this arithmetic correctly. This is the stuff we pirate Mathematica to do. (Mathematica is supernaturally good at working out mathematical expressions. A personal license costs all the money you will ever have in your life plus ten percent, which it will calculate for you.)

    Happily I won’t have to work it out. A person appearing to be a high school teacher named B Kiggins has worked it out already. Kiggins put it and a bunch of other interesting worksheets on the web. (Look for the Voronoi Diagramas!)

    There’s a lot of arithmetic involved. But it all simplifies out, somehow. Per Kiggins’ work, the expected number of games in a best-of-seven match, if one of the competitors has the chance ‘p’ of winning any given game, is:

    E(p) = 4 + 4\cdot p + 4\cdot p^2 + 4\cdot p^3 - 52\cdot p^4 + 60\cdot p^5 - 20\cdot p^6

    Whatever you want to say about that, it’s a polynomial. And it’s easy enough to evaluate it, especially if you let the computer evaluate it. Oh, I would say it seems like a shame all those coefficients of ‘4’ drop off and we get weird numbers like ’52’ after that. But there’s something beautiful in there being four 4’s, isn’t there? Good enough.

    So. If the chance of my winning a game, ‘p’, is one-third, then we’d expect the series to go 5.5 games. This accords well with my intuition. I thought I would be likely to win one game. Winning two would be a moral victory akin to championship.

    Let me go back to my palmed card. This whole analysis is based on the idea that I have some fixed probability of winning and that it isn’t going to change from one game to the next. If the probability of winning is entirely based on my and my opponents’ abilities this is fair enough. Neither of us is likely to get significantly more or less skilled over the course of even seven matches. We won’t even play long enough to get fatigued. But ability isn’t everything.

    But our abilities aren’t everything. We’re going to be playing up to seven different tables. How each table reacts to our play is going to vary. Some tables may treat me better, some tables my opponent. Luck of the draw. And there’s an important psychological component. It’s easy to get thrown and to let a bad ball wreck the rest of one’s game. It’s hard to resist feeling nervous if you go into the last ball from way behind your opponent. And it seems as if a pinball knows you’re nervous and races out of play to help you calm down. (The best pinball players tend to have outstanding last balls, though. They don’t get rattled. And they spend the first several balls building up to high-value shots they can collect later on.) And there will be freak events. Last weekend I was saved from elimination in a tournament by the pinball machine spontaneously resetting. We had to replay the game. I did well in the tournament, but it was the freak event that kept me from being knocked out in the first round.

    That’s some complicated stuff to fit together. I suppose with enough data we could possibly model how much the differences between pinball machines affects the outcome. That’s what sabermetrics is all about. Representing how severely I’ll build a little bad luck into a lot of bad luck? Oh, that’s hard.

    Too hard to deal with, at least not without much more sports psychology and modelling of pinball players than we have data to do. The supposition that my chance of winning is fixed for the duration of the match may not be true. But we won’t be playing enough games to be able to tell the difference. The assumption that my chance of winning doesn’t change over the course of the match may be false. But it’s near enough, and it gets us some useful information. We have to know not to demand too much precision from our model.

    And seven games isn’t statistically significant. Not when players are as closely matched as we are. I could be worse and still get a couple wins in when they count; I could play better than my average and still get creamed four games straight. I’ll be trying my best, of course. But I expect my best is one or two wins, then getting to the snack room and waiting for the side tournament to start. Shall let you know if something interesting happens.

    • ksbeth 6:03 pm on Friday, 10 February, 2017 Permalink | Reply

      Woo hoo! Good luck )

      Liked by 1 person

    • vagabondurges 7:33 pm on Friday, 10 February, 2017 Permalink | Reply

      Best of luck! I am loving these pinball posts! And there’s a pinball place in Alameda, CA that you’ve just inspired me to visit again.

      Liked by 1 person

      • Joseph Nebus 4:45 am on Saturday, 11 February, 2017 Permalink | Reply

        Thank you! I’m sorry I don’t find more excuses to write about pinball, since there’s so much about it I do like. And I’m glad you’re feeling inspired; I hope it’s a good visit.

        The secrets are: plunge the ball softly, let the ball bounce back and forth on the flippers until it’s moving slowly, and hold the flipper up until the ball comes to a rest so you can aim. So much of pinball is about letting things calm down so you can understand what’s going on and what you want to do next.

        Liked by 1 person

    • mathtuition88 12:32 am on Saturday, 11 February, 2017 Permalink | Reply

      Good luck and all the best!


    • davekingsbury 3:52 pm on Saturday, 11 February, 2017 Permalink | Reply

      All this work and you’ll tell me you’re not a betting man …


      • Joseph Nebus 11:05 pm on Thursday, 16 February, 2017 Permalink | Reply

        I honestly am not. The occasional lottery ticket is my limit. But probability questions are so hard to resist. They usually involve very little calculation but demand thoughtful analysis. It’s great.

        Liked by 1 person

  • Joseph Nebus 6:00 pm on Thursday, 9 February, 2017 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , Dogs of C Kennel, , , , Nest Heads, One Big Happy   

    Reading the Comics, February 3, 2017: Counting Edition 

    And now I can close out last week’s mathematically-themed comic strips. Two of them are even about counting, which is enough for me to make that the name of this set.

    John Allen’s Nest Heads for the 2nd mentions a probability and statistics class and something it’s supposed to be good for. I would agree that probability and statistics are probably (I can’t find a better way to write this) the most practically useful mathematics one can learn. At least once you’re past arithmetic. They’re practical by birth; humans began studying them because they offer guidance in uncertain situations. And one can use many of their tools without needing more than arithmetic.

    I’m not so staunchly anti-lottery as many mathematics people are. I’ll admit I play it myself, when the jackpot is large enough. When the expectation value of the prize gets to be positive, it’s harder to rationalize not playing. This happens only once or twice a year, but it’s fun to watch and see when it happens. I grant it’s a foolish way to use two dollars (two tickets are my limit), but you know? My budget is not so tight I can’t spend four dollars foolishly a year. Besides, I don’t insist on winning one of those half-billion-dollar prizes. I imagine I’d be satisfied if I brought in a mere $10,000.

    'Hey, Ruthie's Granny, how old are you?' 'You can't count that high, James.' 'I can too!' 'Fine! Start at one and I'll tell you when you get to my age.' '1, 2, 3, 4, 11, 22, 88, 99, 200, a gazillion!' 'Very good! It's somewhere between 22 and a gazillion!' 'Gazowie!'

    Rick Detorie’s One Big Happy for the 3rd of February, 2017. A ‘gazillion’ is actually a surprisingly low number, hovering as it does somewhere around 212. Fun fact!

    Rick Detorie’s One Big Happy for the 3rd continues my previous essay’s bit of incompetence at basic mathematics, here, counting. But working out that her age is between 22 an a gazillion may be worth doing. It’s a common mathematical challenge to find a correct number starting from little information about it. Usually we find it by locating bounds: the number must be larger than this and smaller than that. And then get the bounds closer together. Stop when they’re close enough for our needs, if we’re numerical mathematicians. Stop when the bounds are equal to each other, if we’re analytic mathematicians. That can take a lot of work. Many problems in number theory amount to “improve our estimate of the lowest (or highest) number for which this is true”. We have to start somewhere.

    Samson’s Dark Side of the Horse for the 3rd is a counting-sheep joke and I was amused that the counting went so awry here. On looking over the strip again for this essay, though, I realize I read it wrong. It’s the fences that are getting counted, not the sheep. Well, it’s a cute little sheep having the same problems counting that Horace has. We don’t tend to do well counting more than around seven things at a glance. We can get a bit farther if we can group things together and spot that, say, we have four groups of four fences each. That works and it’s legitimate; we’re counting and we get the right count out of it. But it does feel like we’re doing something different from how we count, say, three things at a glance.

    Mick Mastroianni and Mason MastroianniDogs of C Kennel for the 3rd is about the world’s favorite piece of statistical mechanics, entropy. There’s room for quibbling about what exactly we mean by thermodynamics saying all matter is slowly breaking down. But the gist is fair enough. It’s still mysterious, though. To say that the disorder of things is always increasing forces us to think about what we mean by disorder. It’s easy to think we have an idea what we mean by it. It’s hard to make that a completely satisfying definition. In this way it’s much like randomness, which is another idea often treated as the same as disorder.

    Bill Amend’s FoxTrot Classics for the 3rd reprinted the comic from the 10th of February, 2006. Mathematics teachers always want to see how you get your answers. Why? … Well, there are different categories of mistakes someone can make. One can set out trying to solve the wrong problem. One can set out trying to solve the right problem in a wrong way. One can set out solving the right problem in the right way and get lost somewhere in the process. Or one can be doing just fine and somewhere along the line change an addition to a subtraction and get what looks like the wrong answer. Each of these is a different kind of mistake. Knowing what kinds of mistakes people make is key to helping them not make these mistakes. They can get on to making more exciting mistakes.

  • Joseph Nebus 6:00 pm on Sunday, 5 February, 2017 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , , , , Pajama Diaries, ,   

    Reading the Comics, February 2, 2017: I Haven’t Got A Jumble Replacement Source Yet 

    If there was one major theme for this week it was my confidence that there must be another source of Jumble strips out there. I haven’t found it, but I admit not making it a priority either. The official Jumble site says I can play if I activate Flash, but I don’t have enough days in the year to keep up with Flash updates. And that doesn’t help me posting mathematics-relevant puzzles here anyway.

    Mark Anderson’s Andertoons for January 29th satisfies my Andertoons need for this week. And it name-drops the one bit of geometry everyone remembers. To be dour and humorless about it, though, I don’t think one could likely apply the Pythagorean Theorem. Typically the horizontal axis and the vertical axis in a graph like this measure different things. Squaring the different kinds of quantities and adding them together wouldn’t mean anything intelligible. What would even be the square root of (say) a squared-dollars-plus-squared-weeks? This is something one learns from dimensional analysis, a corner of mathematics I’ve thought about writing about some. I admit this particular insight isn’t deep, but everything starts somewhere.

    Norm Feuti’s Gil rerun for the 30th is a geometry name-drop, listing it as the sort of category Jeopardy! features. Gil shouldn’t quit so soon. The responses for the category are “What is the Pythagorean Theorem?”, “What is acute?”, “What is parallel?”, “What is 180 degrees?” (or, possibly, 360 or 90 degrees), and “What is a pentagon?”.

    Parents' Glossary Of Terms: 'Mortifraction': That utter shame when you realize you can no longer do math in your head. Parent having trouble making change at a volunteer event.

    Terri Libenson’s Pajama Diaries for the 1st of February, 2017. You know even for a fundraising event $17.50 seems a bit much for a hot dog and bottled water. Maybe the friend’s 8-year-old child is way off too.

    Terri Libenson’s Pajama Diaries for the 1st of February shows off the other major theme of this past week, which was busy enough that I have to again split the comics post into two pieces. That theme is people getting basic mathematics wrong. Mostly counting. (You’ll see.) I know there’s no controlling what people feel embarrassed about. But I think it’s unfair to conclude you “can no longer” do mathematics in your head because you’re not able to make change right away. It’s normal to be slow or unreliable about something you don’t do often. Inexperience and inability are not the same thing, and it’s unfair to people to conflate them.

    Gordon Bess’s Redeye for the 21st of September, 1970, got rerun the 1st of February. And it’s another in the theme of people getting basic mathematics wrong. And even more basic mathematics this time. There’s more problems-with-counting comics coming when I finish the comics from the past week.

    'That was his sixth shot!' 'Good! OK, Paleface! You've had it now!' (BLAM) 'I could never get that straight, does six come after four or after five?'

    Gordon Bess’s Redeye for the 21st of September, 1970. Rerun the 1st of February, 2017. I don’t see why they’re so worried about counting bullets if being shot just leaves you a little discombobulated.

    Dave Whamond’s Reality Check for the 1st hopes that you won’t notice the label on the door is painted backwards. Just saying. It’s an easy joke to make about algebra, also, that it should put letters in to perfectly good mathematics. Letters are used for good reasons, though. We’ve always wanted to work out the value of numbers we only know descriptions of. But it’s way too wordy to use the whole description of the number every time we might speak of it. Before we started using letters we could use placeholder names like “re”, meaning “thing” (as in “thing we want to calculate”). That works fine, although it crashes horribly when we want to track two or three things at once. It’s hard to find words that are decently noncommittal about their values but that we aren’t going to confuse with each other.

    So the alphabet works great for this. An individual letter doesn’t suggest any particular number, as long as we pretend ‘O’ and ‘I’ and ‘l’ don’t look like they do. But we also haven’t got any problem telling ‘x’ from ‘y’ unless our handwriting is bad. They’re quick to write and to say aloud, and they don’t require learning to write any new symbols.

    Later, yes, letters do start picking up connotations. And sometimes we need more letters than the Roman alphabet allows. So we import from the Greek alphabet the letters that look different from their Roman analogues. That’s a bit exotic. But at least in a Western-European-based culture they aren’t completely novel. Mathematicians aren’t really trying to make this hard because, after all, they’re the ones who have to deal with the hard parts.

    Bu Fisher’s Mutt and Jeff rerun for the 2nd is another of the basic-mathematics-wrong jokes. But it does get there by throwing out a baffling set of story-problem-starter points. Particularly interesting to me is Jeff’s protest in the first panel that they couldn’t have been doing 60 miles an hour as they hadn’t been out an hour. It’s the sort of protest easy to use as introduction to the ideas of average speed and instantaneous speed and, from that, derivatives.

  • Joseph Nebus 6:00 pm on Friday, 3 February, 2017 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: 2017, January, , ,   

    How January 2017 Treated My Mathematics Blog 

    My mathematics blog finally broke the psychologically important barrier of 1,000 page views in January! It’s an important barrier to me. WordPress’s statistics say I drew 1,031 page views in January, the largest number since July. In December 2016 I’d puttered around 956, and November 923. This came from only 586 distinct readers, about the same as in December (589) and November (575), but that just implies more archive-binging going on.

    What’s baffling and a tiny bit disheartening about this is it came on one of my least-written months. I posted only 11 articles in January, compared to 21 in December and November. This was my laziest month since September. I have no idea what’s the most economical balance between time spent writing and instances of being read. But given two of the top-five articles this past month I suspect I got identified as an authority on a couple of questions.

    Part of why I suspect that’s so: there were only 97 pages liked around here in January. That’s the lowest count I’ve seen in the past twelve months, and it’s down a fair bit from December’s 136 and November’s 157. Maybe I need a couple more posts per month to encourage reader engagement. Or maybe not. There were 33 comments in January, not that different to December’s 29 and November’s 35. I think that a lot of January’s comments were examinations of December’s readership review. That counts, of course, although it suggests people have more fun talking about blogging than they do about mathematics. I can’t fault them; there’s a natural limit to how much there is to say about a comic strip filling a blackboard full of mathematics symbols.

    According to Insights my most popular day for page views here was Thursday, which throws me. It’s usually Sundays, when there’s always a Reading the Comics post. But for January it was Thursdays, with 16 percent of page views. That’s not very much above 1/7th of the days, though, so I suspect there’s not much link between what day it is and whether anybody reads me. The most popular hour, with 10 percent of page views, was yet again 6:00 pm, which I’m assuming is 6 pm Universal Time. I set most posts to appear at 6:00 pm Universal Time.

    So here’s what was popular around here in January:

    Here’s always-liked list of countries and number of page views from each. And for another month running India’s a top-five country; I don’t know why that should satisfy me so. Singapore comes in pretty high too, but I can explain why that satisfies me. I used to work there.

    Country Views
    United States 598
    United Kingdom 94
    Hong Kong SAR China 33
    India 33
    Philippines 30
    Germany 24
    Singapore 22
    Canada 19
    Austria 16
    Slovenia 13
    Spain 12
    France 11
    Taiwan 10
    Australia 7
    Puerto Rico 7
    Japan 6
    Israel 5
    Russia 5
    Pakistan 4
    South Africa 4
    Bosnia & Herzegovina 3
    Egypt 3
    Greece 3
    New Zealand 3
    Norway 3
    Poland 3
    Portugal 3
    Sweden 3
    Ukraine 3
    Brazil 2
    Croatia 2
    Denmark 2
    Indonesia 2
    Ireland 2
    Nepal 2
    Nigeria 2
    Northern Mariana Islands 2
    Saudi Arabia 2
    Switzerland 2
    Thailand 2
    Bangladesh 1 (*)
    Belgium 1 (*)
    Estonia 1
    Finland 1
    Italy 1
    Kuwait 1 (*)
    Lithuania 1
    Malaysia 1
    Mexico 1
    Netherlands 1
    Paraguay 1
    South Korea 1
    Trinidad and Tobago 1

    Bangladesh, Belgium, and Kuwait were single-reader countries last month. No country’s on a three-month single-reader streak. There were 53 countries altogether sending me readers, up from December’s 50 and November’s 46. I make that out as 13 single-view countries, technically down from December and November’s 15. The mysterious “European Union” reader is gone again.

    Search terms were the usual meager set of things, including:

    • comics strip of production function
    • little iodine comics
    • 5 color map theory (way easier than the four-color map theorem, plus it let me rag on New England so I’m glad someone was looking)
    • how to do pinball league and how does pinball league work (get some players and some pinball machines, and have them play each other. It’s easy and fun! Try to get it in a bar somewhere, as that’s good for giving the place a pleasant casual air; but there’s interesting probability stuff going on in the topic)
    • origin is the gateway to your entire gaming universe (with and without a period on the end)
    • what engineering taught in school dy/dx what society expect him to do mason image (um … I don’t know?)
    • urban legend venn diagram (I know of no urban legends about Venn diagrams and would be delighted if someone shared one. I also don’t know any Venn diagrams showing elements in common among various urban legends, but that would probably be a neat way of organizing at least some tales and I’d be glad at least for seeing those).

    February starts with my blog having 45,135 page views from 19,475 admitted distinct viewers. (My first year or so WordPress didn’t record unique visitors in any way they’ve told us about.) I seem to start February with 646 followers and I don’t know how that compares to the start of January. I failed to keep track of that. I do wonder how many of those are active yet.

    If you’d like to follow my blog here please click the buttons on the upper-right corner of the page. You can have new posts e-mailed to you, or you can follow in the WordPress reader, which gives me the chance to fix my stupid typoes. And I’m on Twitter as @Nebus, with usually just a couple posts a day. I don’t understand those folks who have 86 things to tweet about every hour day and night either. Thank you, won’t you please?

  • Joseph Nebus 6:00 pm on Wednesday, 1 February, 2017 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: cables, , , podcasts   

    Mathematics Stuff To Read Or Listen To 

    I concede January was a month around here that could be characterized as “lazy”. Not that I particularly skimped on the Reading the Comics posts. But they’re relatively easy to do: the comics tell me what to write about, and I could do a couple paragraphs on most anything, apparently.

    While I get a couple things planned out for the coming month, though, here’s some reading for other people.

    The above links to a paper in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences. It’s about something I’ve mentioned when talking about knot before. And it’s about something everyone with computer cables or, like the tweet suggests, holiday lights finds. The things coil up. Spontaneous knotting of an agitated string by Dorian M Raymer and Douglas E Smith examines when these knots are likely to form, and how likely they are. It’s not a paper for the lay audience, but there are a bunch of fine pictures. The paper doesn’t talk about Christmas lights, no matter what the tweet does, but the mathematics carries over to this.

    MathsByAGirl, meanwhile, had a post midmonth listing a couple of mathematics podcasts. I’m familiar with one of them, BBC Radio 4’s A Brief History of Mathematics, which was a set of ten-to-twenty-minute sketches of historically important mathematics figures. I’ll trust MathsByAGirl’s taste on other podcasts. I’d spent most of this month finishing off a couple of audio books (David Hackett Fischer’s Washington’s Crossing which I started listening to while I was in Trenton for a week, because that’s the sort of thing I think is funny, and Robert Louis Stevenson’s Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde And Other Stories) and so fell behind on podcasts. But now there’s some more stuff to listen forward to.

    And then I’ll wrap up with this from KeplerLounge. It looks to be the start of some essays about something outside the scope of my Why Stuff Can Orbit series. (Which I figure to resume soon.) We start off talking about orbits as if planets were “point masses”. Which is what the name suggests: a mass that fills up a single point, with no volume, no shape, no features. This makes the mathematics easier. The mathematics is just as easy if the planets are perfect spheres, whether hollow or solid. But real planets are not perfect spheres. They’re a tiny bit blobby. And they’re a little lumpy as well. We can ignore that if we’re doing rough estimates of how orbits work. But if we want to get them right we can’t ignore that anymore. And this essay describes some of how we go about dealing with that.

  • Joseph Nebus 6:00 pm on Sunday, 29 January, 2017 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , Committed, , , , , Randy Glasbergen, , TruthFacts   

    Reading the Comics, January 28, 2017: Chuckle Brothers Edition 

    The week started out quite busy and I was expecting I’d have to split my essay again. It didn’t turn out that way; Comic Strip Master Command called a big break on mathematically-themed comics from Tuesday on. And then nobody from Comics Kingdom or from needed inclusion either. I just have a bunch of GoComics links and a heap of text here. I bet that changes by next week. Still no new Jumble strips.

    Brian Boychuk and Ron Boychuk’s The Chuckle Brothers for the 22nd was their first anthropomorphic numerals joke of the week.

    Kevin Fagan’s Drabble for the 22nd uses arithmetic as the sort of problem it’s easy to get clearly right or clearly wrong. It’s a more economical use of space than (say) knowing how many moons Saturn’s known to have. (More than we thought there were as long ago as Thursday.) I do like that there’s a decent moral to this on the way to the punch line.

    Bill Amend’s FoxTrot for the 22nd has Jason stand up for “torus” as a better name for doughnuts. You know how nerdy people will like putting a complicated word onto an ordinary thing. But there are always complications. A torus ordinarily describes the shape made by rotating a circle around an axis that’s in the plane of the circle. The result is a surface, though, the shell of a doughnut and none of the interior. If we’re being fussy. I don’t know of a particular name for the torus with its interior and suspect that, if pressed, a mathematician would just say “torus” or maybe “doughnut”.

    We can talk about toruses in two dimensions; those look just like circles. The doughnut-shell shape is a torus in three dimensions. There’s torus shapes made by rotating spheres, or hyperspheres, in four or more dimensions. I’m not going to draw them. And we can also talk about toruses by the number of holes that go through them. If a normal torus is the shape of a ring-shaped pool toy, a double torus is the shape of a two-seater pool toy, a triple torus something I don’t imagine exists in the real world. A quadruple torus could look, I imagine, like some pool toys Roller Coaster Tycoon allows in its water parks. I’m saying nothing about whether they’re edible.

    Brian Boychuk and Ron Boychuk’s The Chuckle Brothers for the 23rd was their second anthropomorphic numerals joke of the week. I suppose sometimes you just get an idea going.

    Mikael Wulff and Anders Morgenthaler’s TruthFacts for the 23rd jokes about mathematics skills versus life. The growth is fine enough; after all, most of us are at, or get to, our best at something while we’re training in it or making regular use of it. So the joke peters out into the usual “I never use mathematics in real life” crack, which, eh. I agree it’s what I feel like my mathematics skills have done ever since I got my degree, at any rate.

    Teresa Burritt’s Frog Applause for the 24th describes an extreme condition which hasn’t been a problem for me. I’m not an overindulgey type.

    Randy Glasbergen’s Glasbergen Cartoons rerun for the 26th is the pie chart joke for this week.

    Michael Fry’s Committed rerun for the 28th just riffs on the escalation of hyperbole, and what sure looks like an exponential growth of hyperbolic numbers. There’s a bit of scientific notation in the last panel. The “1 x” part isn’t necessary. It doesn’t change the value of the expression “1 x 1026”. But it might be convenient to use the “1 x” anyway. Scientific notation is about separating the size of the number from the interesting digits that the number has. Often when you compare numbers you’re interested in the size or else you’re interested in the important digits. Get into that habit and it’s not worth making an exception just because the interesting digits turn out to be boring in this case.

  • Joseph Nebus 6:00 pm on Thursday, 26 January, 2017 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , Clear Blue Water, Hi and Lois, , , One Big Family, ,   

    Reading the Comics, January 21, 2017: Homework Edition 

    Now to close out what Comic Strip Master Command sent my way through last Saturday. And I’m glad I’ve shifted to a regular schedule for these. They ordered a mass of comics with mathematical themes for Sunday and Monday this current week.

    Karen Montague-Reyes’s Clear Blue Water rerun for the 17th describes trick-or-treating as “logarithmic”. The intention is to say that the difficulty in wrangling kids from house to house grows incredibly fast as the number of kids increases. Fair enough, but should it be “logarithmic” or “exponential”? Because the logarithm grows slowly as the number you take the logarithm of grows. It grows all the slower the bigger the number gets. The exponential of a number, though, that grows faster and faster still as the number underlying it grows. So is this mistaken?

    I say no. It depends what the logarithm is, and is of. If the number of kids is the logarithm of the difficulty of hauling them around, then the intent and the mathematics are in perfect alignment. Five kids are (let’s say) ten times harder to deal with than four kids. Sensible and, from what I can tell of packs of kids, correct.

    'Anne has six nickels. Sue has 41 pennies. Who has more money?' 'That's not going to be easy to figure out. It all depends on how they're dressed!'

    Rick Detorie’s One Big Happy for the 17th of January, 2017. The section was about how the appearance and trappings of wealth matter for more than the actual substance of wealth so everyone’s really up to speed in the course.

    Rick Detorie’s One Big Happy for the 17th is a resisting-the-word-problem joke. There’s probably some warning that could be drawn about this in how to write story problems. It’s hard to foresee all the reasonable confounding factors that might get a student to the wrong answer, or to see a problem that isn’t meant to be there.

    Bill Holbrook’s On The Fastrack for the 19th continues Fi’s story of considering leaving Fastrack Inc, and finding a non-competition clause that’s of appropriate comical absurdity. As an auditor there’s not even a chance Fi could do without numbers. Were she a pure mathematician … yeah, no. There’s fields of mathematics in which numbers aren’t all that important. But we never do without them entirely. Even if we exclude cases where a number is just used as an index, for which Roman numerals would be almost as good as regular numerals. If nothing else numbers would keep sneaking in by way of polynomials.

    'Uh, Fi? Have you looked at the non-compete clause in your contract?' 'I wouldn't go to one of Fastrack's competitors.' 'No, but, um ... you'd better read this.' 'I COULDN'T USE NUMBERS FOR TWO YEARS???' 'Roman numerals would be okay.'

    Bill Holbrook’s On The Fastrack for the 19th of January, 2017. I feel like someone could write a convoluted story that lets someone do mathematics while avoiding any actual use of any numbers, and that it would probably be Greg Egan who did it.

    Dave Whamond’s Reality Check for the 19th breaks our long dry spell without pie chart jokes.

    Mort Walker and Dik Browne’s Vintage Hi and Lois for the 27th of July, 1959 uses calculus as stand-in for what college is all about. Lois’s particular example is about a second derivative. Suppose we have a function named ‘y’ and that depends on a variable named ‘x’. Probably it’s a function with domain and range both real numbers. If complex numbers were involved then the variable would more likely be called ‘z’. The first derivative of a function is about how fast its values change with small changes in the variable. The second derivative is about how fast the values of the first derivative change with small changes in the variable.

    'I hope our kids are smart enough to win scholarships for college.' 'We can't count on that. We'll just have to save the money!' 'Do you know it costs about $10,000 to send one child through college?!' 'That's $40,000 we'd have to save!' Lois reads to the kids: (d^2/dx^2)y = 6x - 2.

    Mort Walker and Dik Browne’s Vintage Hi and Lois for the 27th of July, 1959. Fortunately Lois discovered the other way to avoid college costs: simply freeze the ages of your children where they are now, so they never face student loans. It’s an appealing plan until you imagine being Trixie.

    The ‘d’ in this equation is more of an instruction than it is a number, which is why it’s a mistake to just divide those out. Instead of writing it as \frac{d^2 y}{dx^2} it’s permitted, and common, to write it as \frac{d^2}{dx^2} y . This means the same thing. I like that because, to me at least, it more clearly suggests “do this thing (take the second derivative) to the function we call ‘y’.” That’s a matter of style and what the author thinks needs emphasis.

    There are infinitely many possible functions y that would make the equation \frac{d^2 y}{dx^2} = 6x - 2 true. They all belong to one family, though. They all look like y(x) = \frac{1}{6} 6 x^3 - \frac{1}{2} 2 x^2 + C x + D , where ‘C’ and ‘D’ are some fixed numbers. There’s no way to know, from what Lois has given, what those numbers should be. It might be that the context of the problem gives information to use to say what those numbers should be. It might be that the problem doesn’t care what those numbers should be. Impossible to say without the context.

    • Joshua K. 6:26 am on Monday, 30 January, 2017 Permalink | Reply

      Why is the function in the Hi & Lois discussion stated as y(x) = (1/6)6x^3 – (1/2)2x^2 + Cx +D? Why not just y(x) = x^3 – x^2 + Cx + D?


      • Joseph Nebus 5:43 pm on Friday, 3 February, 2017 Permalink | Reply

        Good question! I actually put a fair bit of thought into this. If I were doing the problem myself I’d have cut right to x^3 – x^2 + Cx + D. But I thought there’s a number of people reading this for whom calculus is a perfect mystery and I thought that if I put an intermediate step it might help spot the pattern at work, that the coefficients in front of the x^3 and x^2 terms don’t vanish without cause.

        That said, I probably screwed up by writing them as 1/6 and 1/2. That looks too much like I’m just dividing by what the coefficients are. If I had taken more time to think out the post I should have written 1/(23) and 1/(12). This might’ve given a slightly better chance at connecting the powers of x and the fractions in the denominator. I’m not sure how much help that would give, since I didn’t describe how to take antiderivatives here. But I think it’d be a better presentation and I should remember that in future situations like that.


  • Joseph Nebus 6:00 pm on Sunday, 22 January, 2017 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , BC, dummy variables, Edge City, , , , ,   

    Reading the Comics, January 16, 2017: Numerals Edition 

    Comic Strip Master Command decreed that last week should be busy again. So I’m splitting its strips into two essays. It’s a week that feels like it had more anthropomorphic numerals jokes than usual, but see if I actually count these things.

    2 asks 4: 'Six, six, six, can't you think of anything but six?'

    Mike Peters’s Mother Goose and Grimm for the 15th of January, 2017. I understand that sometimes you just have to use the idea you have instead of waiting for something that can best use the space available, but really, a whole Sunday strip for a single panel? And a panel that’s almost a barren stage?

    Mike Peters’s Mother Goose and Grimm for the 15th I figured would be the anthropomorphic numerals joke for the week. Shows what I know. It is an easy joke, but I do appreciate the touch of craft involved in picking the numerals. The joke is just faintly dirty if the numbers don’t add to six. If they were a pair of 3’s, there’d be the unwanted connotations of a pair of twins talking about all this. A 6 and a 0 would make at least one character weirdly obsessed. So it has to be a 4 and a 2, or a 5 and a 1. I imagine Peters knew this instinctively, at this point in his career. It’s one of the things you learn in becoming an expert.

    Mason Mastroianni, Mick Mastroianni, and Perri Hart’s B.C. for the 15th is mostly physical comedy, with a touch of — I’m not sure what to call this kind of joke. The one where a little arithmetic error results in bodily harm. In this sort of joke it’s almost always something not being carried that’s the error. I suppose that’s a matter of word economy. “Forgot to carry the (number)” is short, and everybody’s done it. And even if they don’t remember making this error, the phrasing clarifies to people that it’s a little arithmetic mistake. I think in practice mistaking a plus for a minus (or vice-versa) is the more common arithmetic error. But it’s harder to describe that clearly and concisely.

    Jef Mallett’s Frazz for the 15th puzzled me. I hadn’t heard this thing the kid says about how if you can “spew ten random lines from a classic movie” to convince people you’ve seen it. (I don’t know the kid’s name; it happens.) I suppose that it would be convincing, though. I certainly know a couple lines from movies I haven’t seen, what with living in pop culture and all that. But ten would be taxing for all but the most over-saturated movies, like any of the Indiana Jones films. (There I’m helped by having played the 90s pinball machine a lot.) Anyway, knowing ten random mathematics things isn’t convincing, especially since you can generate new mathematical things at will just by changing a number. But I would probably be convinced that someone who could describe what’s interesting about ten fields of mathematics had a decent understanding of the subject. That requires remembering more stuff, but then, mathematics is a bigger subject than even a long movie is.

    In Bill Holbrook’s On The Fastrack for the 16th Fi speaks of tallying the pluses and minuses of her life. Trying to make life into something that can be counted is an old decision-making technique. I think Benjamin Franklin explained how he found it so useful. It’s not a bad approach if a choice is hard. The challenging part is how to weight each consideration. Getting into fractions seems rather fussy to me, but some things are just like that. There is the connotation here that a fraction is a positive number smaller than 1. But the mathematically-trained (such as Fi) would be comfortable with fractions larger than 1. Or also smaller than zero. “Fraction” is no more bounded than “real number”. So, there’s the room for more sweetness here than might appear to the casual reader.

    'In a couple of weeks I'm getting married, so I'm taking stock of my life, adding up the pluses and minuses that factor into my goals.' 'Am I a positive or a negative integer?' 'You're a fraction.' 'How presumptuous of me.'

    Bill Holbrook’s On The Fastrack for the 16th of January, 2017. Were I in Dethany’s position I would have asked about being a positive or negative number, but then that would leave Holbrook without a third panel. Dethany knows what her author needs most.

    Scott Hilburn’s The Argyle Sweater for the 16th is the next anthropomorphic numerals joke for this week. I’m glad Hilburn want to be in my pages more. 5’s concern about figuring out x might be misplaced. We use variables for several purposes. One of them is as a name to give a number whose value we don’t know but wish to work out, and that’s how we first see them in high school algebra. But a variable might also be a number whose value we don’t particularly care about and will never try to work out. This could be because the variable is a parameter, with a value that’s fixed for a problem but not what we’re interested in. We don’t typically use ‘x’ for that, though; usually parameter are something earlier in the alphabet. That’s merely convention, but it is convention that dates back to René Descartes. Alternatively, we might use ‘x’ as a dummy variable. A dummy variable serves the same role that falsework on a building or a reference for an artistic sketch does. We use dummy variables to organize and carry out work, but we don’t care what its values are and we don’t even see the dummy variable in the final result. A dummy variable can be any name, but ‘x’ and ‘t’ are popular choices.

    Terry LaBan and Patty LaBan’s Edge City rerun for the 16th plays on the idea that mathematics people talk in algebra. Funny enough, although, “the opposing defense is a variable of 6”? That’s an idiosyncratic use of “variable”. I’m going to suppose that Charles is just messing with Len’s head because, really, it’s fun doing a bit of that.

  • Joseph Nebus 6:00 pm on Thursday, 19 January, 2017 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , , , , , The Daily Drawing, The Elderberries, Ziggy   

    Reading the Comics, January 14, 2017: Maybe The Last Jumble? Edition 

    So now let me get to the other half of last week’s comics. Also, not to spoil things, but this coming week is looking pretty busy so I may have anothe split-week Reading the Comics coming up. The shocking thing this time is that the Houston Chronicle has announced it’s discontinuing its comics page. I don’t know why; I suppose because they’re fed up with people coming loyally to a daily feature. I will try finding alternate sources for the things I had still been reading there, but don’t know if I’ll make it.

    I’m saddened by this. Back in the 90s comics were just coming onto the Internet. The Houston Chronicle was one of a couple newspapers that knew what to do with them. It, and the Philadelphia Inquirer and the San Jose Mercury-News, had exactly what we wanted in comics: you could make a page up of all the strips you wanted to read, and read them on a single page. You could even go backwards day by day in case you missed some. The Philadelphia Inquirer was the only page that let you put the comics in the order you wanted, as opposed to alphabetical order by title. But if you were unafraid of opening up URLs you could reorder the Houston Chronicle page you built too.

    And those have all faded away. In the interests of whatever interest is served by web site redesigns all these papers did away with their user-buildable comics pages. The Chronicle was the last holdout, but even they abolished their pages a few years ago, with a promise for a while that they’d have a replacement comics-page scheme up soon. It never came and now, I suppose, never will.

    Most of the newspapers’ sites had become redundant anyway. Comics Kingdom and offer user-customizable comics pages, with a subscription model that makes it clear that money ought to be going to the cartoonists. I still had the Chronicle for a few holdouts, like Joe Martin’s strips or the Jumble feature. And from that inertia that attaches to long-running Internet associations.

    So among the other things January 2017 takes away from us, it is taking the last, faded echo of the days in the 1990s when newspapers saw comics as awesome things that could be made part of their sites.

    Lorie Ransom’s The Daily Drawing for the 11th is almost but not quite the anthropomorphized-numerals joke for this installment. It’s certainly the most numerical duck content I’ve got on record.

    Tom II Wilson’s Ziggy for the 11th is an Early Pi Day joke. Cosmically there isn’t any reason we couldn’t use π in take-a-number dispensers, after all. Their purpose is to give us some certain order in which to do things. We could use any set of numbers which can be put in order. So the counting numbers work. So do the integers. And the real numbers. But practicality comes into it. Most people have probably heard that π is a bit bigger than 3 and a fair bit smaller than 4. But pity the two people who drew e^{\pi} and \pi^{e} figuring out who gets to go first. Still, I won’t be surprised if some mathematics-oriented place uses a gimmick like this, albeit with numbers that couldn’t be confused. At least not confused by people who go to mathematics-oriented places. That would be for fun rather than cake.

    CTEFH -OOO-; ITODI OOO--; RAWDON O--O-O; FITNAN OO--O-. He wanted to expand his collection and the Mesopotamian abacus would make a OOOO OOOOOOOO.

    the Jumble for the 11th of January, 2017. This link’s all but sure to die the 1st of February, so, sorry about that. Mesopotamia did have the abacus, although I don’t know that the depiction is anything close to what the actual ones looked like. I’d imagine they do, at least within the limits of what will be an understandable drawing.

    I can’t promise that the Jumble for the 11th is the last one I’ll ever feature here. I might find where David L Hoyt and Jeff Knurek keep a linkable reference to their strips and point to them. But just in case of the worst here’s an abacus gag for you to work on.

    Corey Pandolph, Phil Frank, and Joe Troise’s The Elderberries for the 12th is, I have to point out, a rerun. So if you’re trying to do the puzzle the reference to “the number of the last president” isn’t what you’re thinking of. It is an example of the conflation of intelligence with skill at arithmetic. It’s also an example the conflation of intelligence with a mastery of trivia. But I think it leans on arithmetic more. I am not sure when this strip first appeared. “The last president” might have been Bill Clinton (42) or George W Bush (43). But this means we’re taking the square root of either 33 or 34. And there’s no doing that in your head. The square root of a whole number is either a whole number — the way the square root of 36 is — or else it’s an irrational number. You can work out the square root of a non-perfect-square by hand. But it’s boring and it’s worse than just writing “\sqrt{33} ” or “\sqrt{34} ”. Except in figuring out if that number is larger than or smaller than five or six. It’s good for that.

    Dave Blazek’s Loose Parts for the 13th is the actuary joke for this installment. Actuarial studies are built on one of the great wonders of statistics: that it is possible to predict how often things will happen. They can happen to a population, as in forecasts of how many people will be in traffic accidents or fires or will lose their jobs or will move to a new city. We may have no idea to whom any of these will happen, and they may have no way of guessing, but the enormous number of people and great number of things that can combine to make a predictable state of affairs. I suppose it’s imaginable that a group could study its dynamics well enough to identify who screws up the most and most seriously. So they might be able to say what the odds are it is his fault. But I imagine in practice it’s too difficult to define screw-ups or to assign fault consistently enough to get the data needed.

    Zach Weinersmith’s Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal for the 14th is another multiverse strip, echoing the Dinosaur Comics I featured here Sunday. I’ll echo my comments then. If there is a multiverse — again, there is not evidence for this — then there may be infinitely many versions of every book of the Bible. This suggests, but it does not mandate, that there should be every possible incarnation of the Bible. And a multiverse might be a spendthrift option anyway. Just allow for enough editions, and the chance that any of them will have a misprint at any word or phrase, and we can eventually get infinitely many versions of every book of the Bible. If we wait long enough.

  • Joseph Nebus 6:00 pm on Tuesday, 17 January, 2017 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: capitals, , , ,   

    48 Altered States 

    I saw this intriguing map produced by Brian Brettschneider.

    He made it on and for Twitter, as best I can determine. I found it from a stray post in Usenet newsgroup soc.history.what-if, dedicated to ways history could have gone otherwise. It also covers ways that it could not possibly have gone otherwise but would be interesting to see happen. Very different United States state boundaries are part of the latter set of things.

    The location of these boundaries is described in English and so comes out a little confusing. It’s hard to make concise. Every point in, say, this alternate Missouri is closer to Missouri’s capital of … uhm … Missouri City than it is to any other state’s capital. And the same for all the other states. All you kind readers who made it through my recent A To Z know a technical term for this. This is a Voronoi Diagram. It uses as its basis points the capitals of the (contiguous) United States.

    It’s an amusing map. I mean amusing to people who can attach concepts like amusement to maps. It’d probably be a good one to use if someone needed to make a Risk-style grand strategy game map and didn’t want to be to beholden to the actual map.

    No state comes out unchanged, although a few don’t come out too bad. Maine is nearly unchanged. Michigan isn’t changed beyond recognition. Florida gets a little weirder but if you showed someone this alternate shape they’d recognize the original. No such luck with alternate Tennessee or alternate Wyoming.

    The connectivity between states changes a little. California and Arizona lose their border. Washington and Montana gain one; similarly, Vermont and Maine suddenly become neighbors. The “Four Corners” spot where Utah, Colorado, New Mexico, and Arizona converge is gone. Two new ones look like they appear, between New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut; and between Pennsylvania, Maryland, Virginia, and West Virginia. I would be stunned if that weren’t just because we can’t zoom far enough in on the map to see they’re actually a pair of nearby three-way junctions.

    I’m impressed by the number of borders that are nearly intact, like those of Missouri or Washington. After all, many actual state boundaries are geographic features like rivers that a Voronoi Diagram doesn’t notice. How could Ohio come out looking anything like Ohio?

    The reason comes to historical subtleties. At least once you get past the original 13 states, basically the east coast of the United States. The boundaries of those states were set by colonial charters, with boundaries set based on little or ambiguous information about what the local terrain was actually like, and drawn to reward or punish court factions and favorites. Never mind the original thirteen (plus Maine and Vermont, which we might as well consider part of the original thirteen).

    After that, though, the United States started drawing state boundaries and had some method to it all. Generally a chunk of territory would be split into territories and later states that would be roughly rectangular, so far as practical, and roughly similar in size to the other states carved of the same area. So for example Missouri and Alabama are roughly similar to Georgia in size and even shape. Louisiana, Arkansas, and Missouri are about equal in north-south span and loosely similar east-to-west. Kansas, Nebraska, South Dakota, and North Dakota aren’t too different in their north-to-south or east-to-west spans.

    There’s exceptions, for reasons tied to the complexities of history. California and Texas get peculiar shapes because they could. Michigan has an upper peninsula for quirky reasons that some friend of mine on Twitter discovers every three weeks or so. But the rough guide is that states look a lot more similar to one another than you’d think from a quick look. Mark Stein’s How The States Got Their Shapes is an endlessly fascinating text explaining this all.

    If there is a loose logic to state boundaries, though, what about state capitals? Those are more quirky. One starts to see the patterns when considering questions like “why put California’s capital in Sacramento instead of, like, San Francisco?” or “Why Saint Joseph instead Saint Louis or Kansas City?” There is no universal guide, but there are some trends. Generally states end up putting their capitals in a city that’s relatively central, at least to the major population centers around the time of statehood. And, generally, not in one of the state’s big commercial or industrial centers. The desire to be geographically central is easy to understand. No fair making citizens trudge that far if they have business in the capital. Avoiding the (pardon) first tier of cities has subtler politics to it; it’s an attempt to get the government somewhere at least a little inconvenient to the money powers.

    There’s exceptions, of course. Boston is the obviously important city in Massachusetts, Salt Lake City the place of interest for Utah, Denver the equivalent for Colorado. Capitals relocated; Atlanta is Georgia’s eighth(?) I think since statehood. Sometimes they were weirder. Until 1854 Rhode Island rotated between five cities, to the surprise of people trying to name a third city in Rhode Island. New Jersey settled on Trenton as compromise between the East and West Jersey capitals of Perth Amboy and Burlington. But if you look for a city that’s fairly central but not the biggest in the state you get to the capital pretty often.

    So these are historical and cultural factors which combine to make a Voronoi Diagram map of the United States strange, but not impossibly strange, compared to what has really happened. Things are rarely so arbitrary as they seem at first.

    • Matthew Wright 6:49 pm on Tuesday, 17 January, 2017 Permalink | Reply

      New Zealand’s provincial borders were devised at much the same time as the midwestern and western US and in much the same way. Some guy with a map that only vaguely showed rivers, and a ruler. Well, when I say ‘some guy’ I mean George Grey, Edward Eyre and their factotum, Alfred Domett among only a handful of others. Early colonial New Zealand was like that. The civil service consisted of about three people (all of them Domett) and because the franchise system meant some voting districts might have as few as 25 electors, anybody had at least a 50/50 chance of becoming Prime Minister.


      • Joseph Nebus 3:45 pm on Saturday, 21 January, 2017 Permalink | Reply

        I am intrigued and delighted to learn this! For all that I do love maps and seeing how borders evolve over time I’m stronger on United States and Canadian province borders; they’re just what was easily available when I grew up. (Well, and European boundaries, but I don’t think there’s a single one of them that’s based on anything more than “this is where the armies stood on V-E Day”.)

        Would you have a recommendation on a pop history of New Zealand for someone who knows only, mostly, that I guess confederation with Australia was mooted in 1900 but refused since the islands are actually closer to the Scilly Isles than they are Canberra for crying out loud?

        Liked by 1 person

    • Matthew Wright 8:43 pm on Saturday, 21 January, 2017 Permalink | Reply

      Europe has had so many boundary changes since Roman times that I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a tradition for governments to issue people with an eraser and pot of paint to update their maps – and, no question, their history IS the history of those boundary changes. Certainly it explains their wars…

      On matters NZ, I wrote just such a book – it was first published in 2004 and has been through a couple of editions (I updated it in 2012). My publishers, Bateman, put it up on Kindle:

      It’s ‘publisher priced’ but I’d thoroughly recommend it! :-) The parallels between NZ’s settler period and the US ‘midwestern’ expansion through to California at the same time are direct.

      The reasons why NZ never joined Australia in 1900 have been endlessly debated and never answered but probably had something to do with the way NZ was socially re-identifying itself with Britain at the time. The British ignored the whole thing for defence/strategic purposes, deploying just one RN squadron to Sydney as the ‘mid point’ of Australasia. Sydney-siders liked it, but everybody from Perth to Wellington was annoyed. I wrote my thesis on the political outcome, way back when.


      • Joseph Nebus 6:19 am on Saturday, 28 January, 2017 Permalink | Reply

        Aw, thank you kindly! I’d thought you might have something suitable.

        The organizing of territory that white folks told themselves was unsettled is a process I find interesting, I suppose because I’ve always wondered about how one goes about establishing systems. I think it’s similar to my interest in how nations devastated by wars get stuff like trash collection and fire departments and regional power systems running again. The legal system for at least how the United States organized territory is made clear enough in public schools (at least to students who pay attention, like me), but it isn’t easy to find the parallel processes in other countries. Now and then I try reading about Canada and how two of every seven sections of land in (now) Quebec and Ontario was reserved to the church and then I pass out and by the time I wake up again they’re making infrastructure promises to Prince Edward Island.

        I’m not surprised that from the British side of things the organization of New Zealand and Australia amounted to a bit of afterthought and trusting things would work out all right. I have read a fair bit (for an American) about the British Empire and it does feel like all that was ever thought about was India and the route to India and an ever-widening corridor of imagined weak spots on the route to India. The rest of the world was, pick some spot they had already, declare it “the Gibraltar of [ Geographic Region ]” and suppose there’d be a ship they could send there if they really had to.


  • Joseph Nebus 6:00 pm on Sunday, 15 January, 2017 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , Barkeater Lake, combinatorics, , Dinette Set, Dinosaur Comics, Nancy, , Reply All, , Slylock Fox,   

    Reading the Comics, January 14, 2017: Redeye and Reruns Edition 

    So for all I worried about the redesign it’s not bad. The biggest change is it’s removed a side panel and given the space over to the comics. And while it does show comics you haven’t been reading, it only shows one per day. One week in it apparently sticks with the same comic unless you choose to dismiss that. So I’ve had it showing me The Comic Strip That Has A Finale Every Day as a strip I’m not “reading”. I’m delighted how thisbreaks the logic about what it means to “not read” an “ongoing comic strip”. (That strip was a Super-Fun-Pak Comix offering, as part of Ruben Bolling’s Tom the Dancing Bug. It was turned into a regular feature by someone who got the joke.)

    Comic Strip Master Command responded to the change by sending out a lot of comic strips. I’m going to have to divide this week’s entry into two pieces. There’s not deep things to say about most of these comics, but I’ll make do, surely.

    Julie Larson’s Dinette Set rerun for the 8th is about one of the great uses of combinatorics. That use is working out how the number of possible things compares to the number of things there are. What’s always staggering is that the number of possible things grows so very very fast. Here one of Larson’s characters claims a science-type show made an assertion about the number of possible ideas a brain could hold. I don’t know if that’s inspired by some actual bit of pop science. I can imagine someone trying to estimate the number of possible states a brain might have.

    And that has to be larger than the number of atoms in the universe. Consider: there’s something less than a googol of atoms in the universe. But a person can certainly have the idea of the number 1, or the idea of the number 2, or the idea of the number 3, or so on. I admit a certain sameness seems to exist between the ideas of the numbers 2,038,412,562,593,604 and 2,038,412,582,593,604. But there is a difference. We can out-number the atoms in the universe even before we consider ideas like rabbits or liberal democracy or jellybeans or board games. The universe never had a chance.

    Or did it? Is it possible for a number to be too big for the human brain to ponder? If there are more digits in the number than there are atoms in the universe we can’t form any discrete representation of it, after all. … Except that we kind of can. For example, “the largest prime number less than one googolplex” is perfectly understandable. We can’t write it out in digits, I think. But you now have thought of that number, and while you may not know what its millionth decimal digit is, you also have no reason to care what that digit is. This is stepping into the troubled waters of algorithmic complexity.

    Shady Shrew is selling fancy bubble-making wands. Shady says the crazy-shaped wands cost more than the ordinary ones because of the crazy-shaped bubbles they create. Even though Slylock Fox has enough money to buy an expensive wand, he bought the cheaper one for Max Mouse. Why?

    Bob Weber Jr’s Slylock Fox and Comics for Kids for the 9th of January, 2017. Not sure why Shady Shrew is selling the circular wands at 50 cents. Sure, I understand wanting a triangle or star or other wand selling at a premium. But then why have the circular wands at such a cheap price? Wouldn’t it be better to put them at like six dollars, so that eight dollars for a fancy wand doesn’t seem that great an extravagance? You have to consider setting an appropriate anchor point for your customer base. But, then, Shady Shrew isn’t supposed to be that smart.

    Bob Weber Jr’s Slylock Fox and Comics for Kids for the 9th is built on soap bubbles. The link between the wand and the soap bubble vanishes quickly once the bubble breaks loose of the wand. But soap films that keep adhered to the wand or mesh can be quite strangely shaped. Soap films are a practical example of a kind of partial differential equations problem. Partial differential equations often appear when we want to talk about shapes and surfaces and materials that tug or deform the material near them. The shape of a soap bubble will be the one that minimizes the torsion stresses of the bubble’s surface. It’s a challenge to solve analytically. It’s still a good challenge to solve numerically. But you can do that most wonderful of things and solve a differential equation experimentally, if you must. It’s old-fashioned. The computer tools to do this have gotten so common it’s hard to justify going to the engineering lab and getting soapy water all over a mathematician’s fingers. But the option is there.

    Gordon Bess’s Redeye rerun from the 28th of August, 1970, is one of a string of confused-student jokes. (The strip had a Generic Comedic Western Indian setting, putting it in the vein of Hagar the Horrible and other comic-anachronism comics.) But I wonder if there are kids baffled by numbers getting made several different ways. Experience with recipes and assembly instructions and the like might train someone to thinking there’s one correct way to make something. That could build a bad intuition about what additions can work.

    'I'm never going to learn anything with Redeye as my teacher! Yesterday he told me that four and one make five! Today he said, *two* and *three* make five!'

    Gordon Bess’s Redeye rerun from the 28th of August, 1970. Reprinted the 9th of January, 2017. What makes the strip work is how it’s tied to the personalities of these kids and couldn’t be transplanted into every other comic strip with two kids in it.

    Corey Pandolph’s Barkeater Lake rerun for the 9th just name-drops algebra. And that as a word that starts with the “alj” sound. So far as I’m aware there’s not a clear etymological link between Algeria and algebra, despite both being modified Arabic words. Algebra comes from “al-jabr”, about reuniting broken things. Algeria comes from Algiers, which Wikipedia says derives from `al-jaza’ir”, “the Islands [of the Mazghanna tribe]”.

    Guy Gilchrist’s Nancy for the 9th is another mathematics-cameo strip. But it was also the first strip I ran across this week that mentioned mathematics and wasn’t a rerun. I’ll take it.

    Donna A Lewis’s Reply All for the 9th has Lizzie accuse her boyfriend of cheating by using mathematics in Scrabble. He seems to just be counting tiles, though. I think Lizzie suspects something like Blackjack card-counting is going on. Since there are only so many of each letter available knowing just how many tiles remain could maybe offer some guidance how to play? But I don’t see how. In Blackjack a player gets to decide whether to take more cards or not. Counting cards can suggest whether it’s more likely or less likely that another card will make the player or dealer bust. Scrabble doesn’t offer that choice. One has to refill up to seven tiles until the tile bag hasn’t got enough left. Perhaps I’m overlooking something; I haven’t played much Scrabble since I was a kid.

    Perhaps we can take the strip as portraying the folk belief that mathematicians get to know secret, barely-explainable advantages on ordinary folks. That itself reflects a folk belief that experts of any kind are endowed with vaguely cheating knowledge. I’ll admit being able to go up to a blackboard and write with confidence a bunch of integrals feels a bit like magic. This doesn’t help with Scrabble.

    'Want me to teach you how to add and subtract, Pokey?' 'Sure!' 'Okay ... if you had four cookies and I asked you for two, how many would you have left?' 'I'd still have four!'

    Gordon Bess’s Redeye rerun from the 29th of August, 1970. Reprinted the 10th of January, 2017. To be less snarky, I do like the simply-expressed weariness on the girl’s face. It’s hard to communicate feelings with few pen strokes.

    Gordon Bess’s Redeye continued the confused-student thread on the 29th of August, 1970. This one’s a much older joke about resisting word problems.

    Ryan North’s Dinosaur Comics rerun for the 10th talks about multiverses. If we allow there to be infinitely many possible universes that would suggest infinitely many different Shakespeares writing enormously many variations of everything. It’s an interesting variant on the monkeys-at-typewriters problem. I noticed how T-Rex put Shakespeare at typewriters too. That’ll have many of the same practical problems as monkeys-at-typewriters do, though. There’ll be a lot of variations that are just a few words or a trivial scene different from what we have, for example. Or there’ll be variants that are completely uninteresting, or so different we can barely recognize them as relevant. And that’s if it’s actually possible for there to be an alternate universe with Shakespeare writing his plays differently. That seems like it should be possible, but we lack evidence that it is.

  • Joseph Nebus 6:00 pm on Thursday, 12 January, 2017 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , December, , , ,   

    How December 2016 Treated My Mathematics Blog 

    I’m getting back to normal. And getting to suspect WordPress just isn’t sending out “Fireworks” reports on how the year for my blog went. Fine then; I’ll carry on. Going back to the Official WordPress statistics page and sharing it for whatever value that has we find that … apparently I just held November 2016 all over again. Gads what a prospect.

    As ever I exaggerate, and as ever, not by much. There were 956 page views from 589 distinct readers in December. In November there were 923 page views from 575 distinct readers. There were 21 posts in December, compared to 21 posts in November. Both are up from October, 907 page views from 536 visitors, although that was a nice and easy month with only 13 posts published. I’m a little disappointed to fall under a thousand page views for four months running, but, like, I tried posting stuff more often. What else can I do, besides answer comments the same year they’re posted and chat with people on their blogs? You know?

    There were 136 pages liked in December, down from November’s 157 and up from October’s 115. Comments were down to 29 from November’s 35, and while that’s up from October’s 24 I should point out some of January’s comments are really me answering December comments. I had a lot of things slurping up time and energy. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to count the comments I wrote in January as anything other than January’s comments, though.

    According to Insights, my most popular day for reading is Sunday, with 17 percent of page views coming then. I expected that; Sunday’s been the most popular day the last few months. It’s only slightly most popular, though. 17 percent (18 percent last month) is about what you’d expect for people reading here without any regard for the day of the week. 6 pm was the most popular hour, barely, with 9 percent of page views then. That’s the hour I’ve settled on for posting stuff. But that hour’s down from being 14 percent of page views in November. I don’t know what that signifies.

    My roster of countries and the page views from them looks like this. I’m curiously delighted that India’s becoming a regular top-five country.

    Country Views
    United States 587
    United Kingdom 61
    India 47
    Canada 44
    Germany 25
    Austria 22
    Slovenia 15
    Philippines 13
    Netherlands 10
    Spain 9
    Australia 9
    Italy 7
    Puerto Rico 7
    Finland 6
    Norway 6
    Singapore 6
    France 5
    Ireland 5
    Switzerland 5
    Indonesia 4
    Sweden 4
    Thailand 4
    Bahrain 3
    Barbados 3
    Estonia 3
    Israel 3
    Turkey 3
    Chile 2
    Greece 2
    New Zealand 2
    Nigeria 2
    Peru 2
    Poland 2
    Sri Lanka 2
    United Arab Emirates 2
    Bangladesh 1
    Belgium 1
    Denmark 1 (*)
    Egypt 1
    European Union 1
    Japan 1 (**)
    Kuwait 1
    Lebanon 1
    Luxembourg 1
    Nepal 1
    Pakistan 1
    Romania 1
    Saudi Arabia 1 (**)
    Slovakia 1
    South Africa 1 (**)

    There’s 50 countries altogether that sent me viewers, if we take “European Union” as a country. That’s up from November’s 46. There were 15 single-view countries, the same as in November. Denmark was a single-view country last month. Japan, Saudia Arabia, and South Africa are on three-month single-view streaks. “European Union” is back after a brief absence.

    For the second month in a row none of my most popular posts were Reading the Comics essays. They instead were split between the A To Z, some useful-mathematics stuff, and some idle trivia. The most popular stuff in December here was:

    There weren’t many specific search terms; most were just “unknown”. Of the search terms that could be known I got this bunch that started out normal enough and then got weird.

    • comics strip of production function
    • comics of production function theory
    • comics about compound event in math
    • comics trip math probability
    • example of probability comics trip
    • population of charlotte nc 1975
    • a to z image 2017
    • mathematics dark secrets

    I, um, maybe have an idea what that last one ought to find.

    January starts with my mathematics blog having gotten 44,104 page views total from 18,889 distinct known visitors. That’s still a little page view lead on my humor blog, but that’s going to be lost by the start of February. My humor blog’s been more popular consistently the several months, and the humor blog got some little wave of popularity the past couple days. Why should it have had that? My best guess: I’m able to use that platform to explain what’s going on in Judge Parker, which I can’t quite justify here. Maybe next month.

    If you’d like to follow my mathematics blog, please, click the buttons in the upper-right corner of the page to follow the blog on WordPress or by e-mail. You can also find me on Twitter as @nebusj where I try not to be one of those people who somehow has fifty tweets or retweets every hour of the day. But I haven’t done any livetweeting of a bad cartoon in ages. Might change.

    • mathtuition88 8:04 am on Friday, 13 January, 2017 Permalink | Reply

      Nice number of United States views!


      • Joseph Nebus 3:18 pm on Saturday, 21 January, 2017 Permalink | Reply

        Thank you. I’m always surprised by how the numbers concentrate in a particular region. I’d naively expect to be about equally read anywhere in the English-speaking world, although perhaps my heavy focus on United States-syndicated comic strips does something to attract more United States readers and shoo off non-US-audiences. It’s a curious effect, anyway.

        Liked by 1 person

        • mathtuition88 3:29 pm on Saturday, 21 January, 2017 Permalink | Reply

          I have a similar case, most of my viewership (90% in fact) is from Singapore even though 70%-80% of my content should be considered country-neutral.


          • Joseph Nebus 3:48 pm on Saturday, 21 January, 2017 Permalink | Reply

            Yeah, the country links are weird. I would understand time-zone-based links; something that appears at 3 am local time is not going to be read nearly as much as the same thing at 3 pm. So with most of my mathematics posts here appearing in late-morning/early-afternoon United States time, and early-evening European time, I would expect more chances for readers there. But that there seem to be correlations across national boundaries even for places that haven’t got time zone differences is weird: why not as many Hong Kong readers as Singaporean ones? Or shouldn’t India’s large English-reading audience balance out a couple hours’ difference in time zone? Something I don’t understand is going on here.

            Liked by 1 person

            • mathtuition88 3:54 pm on Saturday, 21 January, 2017 Permalink | Reply

              Have you tried Google Webmasters? There is a way to set your website’s target location (they call it geotargeting). It didn’t work much for me, but it is worth a try.


              • Joseph Nebus 5:21 am on Saturday, 28 January, 2017 Permalink | Reply

                I have not! I haven’t even thought about it, actually, but it’s worth at least investigating. I suppose that insofar as I have a location the United States is fair enough; my comic strip posts are irredeemably America-centric. But I’d like other people to feel welcome around here.

                Liked by 1 person

    • elkement (Elke Stangl) 10:37 am on Sunday, 15 January, 2017 Permalink | Reply

      It would be interesting to see statistics for a large number of blog and about how views have been changed over recent years. More and more blogs are started, but on the other hand the life time of most blogs seems to be alive only for about 1-2 years. Recently somebody ‘from the past’ commented on my blog: He came back to his abandoned blog after a few years and found that I was the only blogger ‘still alive’ from the crowd he once followed.

      I think views are not increased significantly if you blog more. E.g. in the last year I had about 1400 views per month – despite I blog only twice a month. Most of the views are generated by a small set of posts, some of them as old as 2012. In 2014 I blogged more than twice as much and had about 30% more views. But this included some pronounced spikes which I attributed to bot-like behavior as the clicks over time were so regular. WordPress support could not confirm this but could not refute it either.
      It somehow feels as if an ‘established’ blog is given a certain share of internet attention, and it will not change no matter what you do :-)

      Do you see some long-term trend in views per year? Does it correlate with posts per year?

      Liked by 1 person

      • elkement (Elke Stangl) 10:39 am on Sunday, 15 January, 2017 Permalink | Reply

        (… and I wished there would be an editor… ‘ the life time of most blogs seems to be alive’ … one time would have been enough… I guess you know that I mean ;-))

        Liked by 1 person

        • Joseph Nebus 3:29 pm on Saturday, 21 January, 2017 Permalink | Reply

          Oh, yes, understood easily. … It is a little surprising there’s not at least the chance to edit the first five minutes after posting something.

          Liked by 1 person

      • Joseph Nebus 3:27 pm on Saturday, 21 January, 2017 Permalink | Reply

        I admit a part of my posting these numbers is that I’m curious what other people’s readership patterns are like. I’m shameless and happy to admit my actual exact numbers as best as I can know them. But I’d like to know about overall trends. After all, it was only by comparing numbers that we worked out there seems to have been some strange drop like a year and a half ago that we think reflected mobile-device numbers no longer being counted.

        The expiration of older blogs is another of those strange phenomena. I mean some free weekend to go through my blog and cut out sites that haven’t updated in, like, two years. But why I should do that I don’t know; if they aren’t posting it isn’t as though they’re crowding out space. Just some sense that my readership list ought to be faintly in touch with what’s current.

        I’ve got a few perennial posts. The count of how many grooves are on a record’s side (or, really, how many times the groove intersects a radial line on a record). How to figure what you need on the final. The Arthur Christmas series. The latter two I try to promote at appropriate times, though. Past that it’s usually my comic strip posts that get readers, I suppose because people like to look up when curious mathematics stuff appears in Luann and they wonder if that makes any sense.

        Now, my long-term, year-long trends … I’m not sure. I have got five full years (wow) of numbers to work with so I can make something that looks faintly like a linear regression study. Might do that and see if there’s any correlation with post count.

        Liked by 2 people

      • mathtuition88 3:51 pm on Saturday, 21 January, 2017 Permalink | Reply

        That is true. For my blog 10% of the posts generate 90% of the views. And unfortunately those 10% are probably the least mathematical of the posts (for instance discussion/information of the Singapore education system). Pareto principle holds true.

        Liked by 1 person

        • Joseph Nebus 5:16 am on Saturday, 28 January, 2017 Permalink | Reply

          You know, discussions of what are the popular versus the most-worked-on versus the most common posts people have reminds me of something from Walt Kelly’s masterpiece comic strip Pogo. The irascible Porky Pine warned, I think, Pogo, “If the public decides it’s gonna honor you they ain’t gonna let your feelings get in the way.”

          Liked by 1 person

  • Joseph Nebus 6:00 pm on Sunday, 8 January, 2017 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , Birdbrains, Boomerangs, Elderberries, Grand Avenue, , Pot Shots, , Quincy   

    Reading the Comics, January 7, 2016: Just Before GoComics Breaks Everything Edition 

    Most of the comics I review here are printed on Well, most of the comics I read online are from there. But even so I think they have more comic strips that mention mathematical themes. Anyway, they’re unleashing a complete web site redesign on Monday. I don’t know just what the final version will look like. I know that the beta versions included the incredibly useful, that is to say dumb, feature where if a particular comic you do read doesn’t have an update for the day — and many of them don’t, as they’re weekly or three-times-a-week or so — then it’ll show some other comic in its place. I mean, the idea of encouraging people to find new comics is a good one. To some extent that’s what I do here. But the beta made no distinction between “comic you don’t read because you never heard of Microcosm” and “comic you don’t read because glancing at it makes your eyes bleed”. And on an idiosyncratic note, I read a lot of comics. I don’t need to see Dude and Dude reruns in fourteen spots on my daily comics page, even if I didn’t mind it to start.

    Anyway. I am hoping, desperately hoping, that with the new site all my old links to comics are going to keep working. If they don’t then I suppose I’m just ruined. We’ll see. My suggestion is if you’re at all curious about the comics you read them today (Sunday) just to be safe.

    Ashleigh Brilliant’s Pot-Shots is a curious little strip I never knew of until GoComics picked it up a few years ago. Its format is compellingly simple: a little illustration alongside a wry, often despairing, caption. I love it, but I also understand why was the subject of endless queries to the Detroit Free Press (Or Whatever) about why was this thing taking up newspaper space. The strip rerun the 31st of December is a typical example of the strip and amuses me at least. And it uses arithmetic as the way to communicate reasoning, both good and bad. Brilliant’s joke does address something that logicians have to face, too. Whether an argument is logically valid depends entirely on its structure. If the form is correct the reasoning may be excellent. But to be sound an argument has to be correct and must also have its assumptions be true. We can separate whether an argument is right from whether it could ever possibly be right. If you don’t see the value in that, you have never participated in an online debate about where James T Kirk was born and whether Spock was the first Vulcan in Star Fleet.

    Thom Bluemel’s Birdbrains for the 2nd of January, 2017, is a loaded-dice joke. Is this truly mathematics? Statistics, at least? Close enough for the start of the year, I suppose. Working out whether a die is loaded is one of the things any gambler would like to know, and that mathematicians might be called upon to identify or exploit. (I had a grandmother unshakably convinced that I would have some natural ability to beat the Atlantic City casinos if she could only sneak the underaged me in. I doubt I could do anything of value there besides see the stage magic show.)

    Jack Pullan’s Boomerangs rerun for the 2nd is built on the one bit of statistical mechanics that everybody knows, that something or other about entropy always increasing. It’s not a quantum mechanics rule, but it’s a natural confusion. Quantum mechanics has the reputation as the source of all the most solid, irrefutable laws of the universe’s working. Statistical mechanics and thermodynamics have this musty odor of 19th-century steam engines, no matter how much there is to learn from there. Anyway, the collapse of systems into disorder is not an irrevocable thing. It takes only energy or luck to overcome disorderliness. And in many cases we can substitute time for luck.

    Scott Hilburn’s The Argyle Sweater for the 3rd is the anthropomorphic-geometry-figure joke that’s I’ve been waiting for. I had thought Hilburn did this all the time, although a quick review of Reading the Comics posts suggests he’s been more about anthropomorphic numerals the past year. This is why I log even the boring strips: you never know when I’ll need to check the last time Scott Hilburn used “acute” to mean “cute” in reference to triangles.

    Mike Thompson’s Grand Avenue uses some arithmetic as the visual cue for “any old kind of schoolwork, really”. Steve Breen’s name seems to have gone entirely from the comic strip. On Usenet group rec.arts.comics.strips Brian Henke found that Breen’s name hasn’t actually been on the comic strip since May, and D D Degg found a July 2014 interview indicating Thompson had mostly taken the strip over from originator Breen.

    Mark Anderson’s Andertoons for the 5th is another name-drop that doesn’t have any real mathematics content. But come on, we’re talking Andertoons here. If I skipped it the world might end or something untoward like that.

    'Now for my math homework. I've got a comfortable chair, a good light, plenty of paper, a sharp pencil, a new eraser, and a terrific urge to go out and play some ball.'

    Ted Shearer’s Quincy for the 14th of November, 1977, and reprinted the 7th of January, 2017. I kind of remember having a lamp like that. I don’t remember ever sitting down to do my mathematics homework with a paintbrush.

    Ted Shearer’s Quincy for the 14th of November, 1977, doesn’t have any mathematical content really. Just a mention. But I need some kind of visual appeal for this essay and Shearer is usually good for that.

    Corey Pandolph, Phil Frank, and Joe Troise’s The Elderberries rerun for the 7th is also a very marginal mention. But, what the heck, it’s got some of your standard wordplay about angles and it’ll get this week’s essay that much closer to 800 words.

  • Joseph Nebus 6:00 pm on Thursday, 5 January, 2017 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , , mathematics history, recap,   

    What I Learned Doing The End 2016 Mathematics A To Z 

    The slightest thing I learned in the most recent set of essays is that I somehow slid from the descriptive “End Of 2016” title to the prescriptive “End 2016” identifier for the series. My unscientific survey suggests that most people would agree that we had too much 2016 and would have been better off doing without it altogether. So it goes.

    The most important thing I learned about this is I have to pace things better. The A To Z essays have been creeping up in length. I didn’t keep close track of their lengths but I don’t think any of them came in under a thousand words. 1500 words was more common. And that’s fine enough, but at three per week, plus the Reading the Comics posts, that’s 5500 or 6000 words of mathematics alone. And that before getting to my humor blog, which even on a brief week will be a couple thousand words. I understand in retrospect why November and December felt like I didn’t have any time outside the word mines.

    I’m not bothered by writing longer essays, mind. I can apparently go on at any length on any subject. And I like the words I’ve been using. My suspicion is between these A To Zs and the Theorem Thursdays over the summer I’ve found a mode for writing pop mathematics that works for me. It’s just a matter of how to balance workloads. The humor blog has gotten consistently better readership, for the obvious reasons (lately I’ve been trying to explain what the story comics are doing), but the mathematics more satisfying. If I should have to cut back on either it’d be the humor blog that gets the cut first.

    Another little discovery is that I can swap out equations and formulas and the like for historical discussion. That’s probably a useful tradeoff for most of my readers. And it plays to my natural tendencies. It is very easy to imagine me having gone into history than into mathematics or science. It makes me aware how mediocre my knowledge of mathematics history is, though. For example, several times in the End 2016 A To Z the Crisis of Foundations came up, directly or in passing. But I’ve never read a proper history, not even a basic essay, about the Crisis. I don’t even know of a good description of this important-to-the-field event. Most mathematics history focuses around biographies of a few figures, often cribbed from Eric Temple Bell’s great but unreliable book, or a couple of famous specific incidents. (Newton versus Leibniz, the bridges of Köningsburg, Cantor’s insanity, Gödel’s citizenship exam.) Plus Bourbaki.

    That’s not enough for someone taking the subject seriously, and I do mean to. So if someone has a suggestion for good histories of, for example, how Fourier series affected mathematicians’ understanding of what functions are, I’d love to know it. Maybe I should set that as a standing open request.

    In looking over the subjects I wrote about I find a pretty strong mix of group theory and real analysis. Maybe that shouldn’t surprise. Those are two of the maybe three legs that form a mathematics major’s education. So anyone wanting to understand mathematicians would see this stuff and have questions about it. (There are more things mathematics majors learn, but there are a handful of things almost any mathematics major is sure to spend a year being baffled by.)

    The third leg, I’d say, is differential equations. That’s a fantastic field, but it’s hard to describe without equations. Also pictures of what the equations imply. I’ve tended towards essays with few equations and pictures. That’s my laziness. Equations are best written in LaTeX, a typesetting tool that might as well be the standard for mathematicians writing papers and books. While WordPress supports a bit of LaTeX it isn’t quite effortless. That comes back around to balancing my workload. I do that a little better and I can explain solving first-order differential equations by integrating factors. (This is a prank. Nobody has ever needed to solve a first-order differential equation by integrating factors except for mathematics majors being taught the method.) But maybe I could make a go of that.

    I’m not setting any particular date for the next A-To-Z, or similar, project. I need some time to recuperate. And maybe some time to think of other running projects that would be fun or educational for me. There’ll be something, though.

  • Joseph Nebus 6:00 pm on Tuesday, 3 January, 2017 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , ,   

    The End 2016 Mathematics A To Z Roundup 

    As is my tradition for the end of these roundups (see Summer 2015 and then Leap Day 2016) I want to just put up a page listing the whole set of articles. It’s a chance for people who missed a piece to easily see what they missed. And it lets me recover that little bit extra from the experience. Run over the past two months were:

  • Joseph Nebus 6:00 pm on Sunday, 1 January, 2017 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , Bad Machinery, Buni, Daily Drawing, , Madeline L'Engle, , , , Speechless, Wrong Hands   

    Reading the Comics, December 30, 2016: New Year’s Eve Week Edition 

    So last week, for schedule reasons, I skipped the Christmas Eve strips and promised to get to them this week. There weren’t any Christmas Eve mathematically-themed comic strips. Figures. This week, I need to skip New Year’s Eve comic strips for similar schedule reasons. If there are any, I’ll talk about them next week.

    Lorie Ransom’s The Daily Drawing for the 28th is a geometry wordplay joke for this installment. Two of them, when you read the caption.

    John Graziano’s Ripley’s Believe It or Not for the 28th presents the quite believable claim that Professor Dwight Barkley created a formula to estimate how long it takes a child to ask “are we there yet?” I am skeptical the equation given means all that much. But it’s normal mathematician-type behavior to try modelling stuff. That will usually start with thinking of what one wants to represent, and what things about it could be measured, and how one expects these things might affect one another. There’s usually several plausible-sounding models and one has to select the one or ones that seem likely to be interesting. They have to be simple enough to calculate, but still interesting. They need to have consequences that aren’t obvious. And then there’s the challenge of validating the model. Does its description match the thing we’re interested in well enough to be useful? Or at least instructive?

    Len Borozinski’s Speechless for the 28th name-drops Albert Einstein and the theory of relativity. Marginal mathematical content, but it’s a slow week.

    John Allison’s Bad Machinery for the 29th mentions higher dimensions. More dimensions. In particular it names ‘ana’ and ‘kata’ as “the weird extra dimensions”. Ana and kata are a pair of directions coined by the mathematician Charles Howard Hinton to give us a way of talking about directions in hyperspace. They echo the up/down, left/right, in/out pairs. I don’t know that any mathematicians besides Rudy Rucker actually use these words, though, and that in his science fiction. I may not read enough four-dimensional geometry to know the working lingo. Hinton also coined the “tesseract”, which has escaped from being a mathematician’s specialist term into something normal people might recognize. Mostly because of Madeline L’Engle, I suppose, but that counts.

    Samson’s Dark Side of the Horse for the 29th is Dark Side of the Horse‘s entry this essay. It’s a fun bit of play on counting, especially as a way to get to sleep.

    John Graziano’s Ripley’s Believe It or Not for the 29th mentions a little numbers and numerals project. Or at least representations of numbers. Finding other orders for numbers can be fun, and it’s a nice little pastime. I don’t know there’s an important point to this sort of project. But it can be fun to accomplish. Beautiful, even.

    Mark Anderson’s Andertoons for the 30th relieves us by having a Mark Anderson strip for this essay. And makes for a good Roman numerals gag.

    Ryan Pagelow’s Buni for the 30th can be counted as an anthropomorphic-numerals joke. I know it’s more of a “ugh 2016 was the worst year” joke, but it parses either way.

    John Atkinson’s Wrong Hands for the 30th is an Albert Einstein joke. It’s cute as it is, though.

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