Last week’s offerings from Comic Strip Master Command got away from me. Here’s some more of the strips that had some stuff worth talking about. I should have another installment this week. I’m back to nonsense edition names; sorry.
Lincoln Pierce’s Big Nate for the 29th of May is about the gambler’s fallacy. Everyone who learns probability learns about it. The fallacy builds on indisputable logic: your chance of losing at something eighteen times in a row is less than the chance of your losing at that thing seventeen times in a row. So it makes sense that if you’ve lost seventeen times in a row then you must be due.
And that’s one of those lies our intuition tells us about probability. What’s important to Nate here is not the chance he’s in an 18-at-bat losing streak. What’s important is the chance that he’s in an 18-at-bat losing streak, given that he’s already failed 17 times in a row. These are different questions. The chance of an 18th at-bat in a row being a failure (for him) is much larger than the chance of an 18-at-bat losing streak starting from scratch.
That said I can’t go along with Francis’s claim that the chance of Nate getting a hit isn’t enhanced by his long dry spell. We can, and often do, model stuff like at-bats as though they’re independent. That is, that the chance of getting a hit doesn’t depend on what came before. Doing it this way gives results that look like real sports matches do. But it’s very hard to quantify things like losing streaks or their opposite, hot hands. It’s hard to dismiss the evidence of people who compete, though. Everyone who does has known the phenomenon of being “in the zone”, where things seem easier. I was in it for two games out of five just last night at pinball league. (I was dramatically out of it for the other three. I nearly doubled my best-ever game of Spider-Man and still came in second place. And by so little a margin my opponent thought the bonus might make the difference. Such heartbreak.)
But there is a huge psychological component to how one plays at a game. Nate thinks differently about what he’s doing going up to bat after seventeen failures in a row than he would after, say, three home runs in a row. It’s hard to believe that this has no effect on how he plays, even if it’s hard to track down a consistent signal through the noise. Maybe it does wash out. Maybe sometimes striking out the first three at-bats in a game makes the batter give up on the fourth. Meanwhile other times it makes the batter focus better on the fourth, and there’s no pinning down which effect will happen. But I can’t go along with saying there’s no effect.
John Zakour and Scott Roberts’s Working Daze for the 29th is an infinite-monkeys joke. Well, given some reasonable assumptions we can suppose that sufficiently many monkeys on typewriters will compose whatever’s needed, given long enough. Figuring someone’s work will take fewer monkeys and less time is a decent probability-based insult.
Ted Key’s Hazel for the 30th has the maid doing a bit of tutoring work. That’s about all I can make of this either. Doesn’t seem like a lot of fun, but there is only so much to do with arithmetic computation like this. It’s convenient to know a times table by memory.
Scott Hilburn’s The Argyle Sweater for the 30th has a chalkboard full of mathematical symbols as iconic for deep thinking. And it’s even Einstein’s chalkboard. And it’s even stuff that could plausibly be on Einstein’s chalkboard at some point. Besides E = mc2 the other formulas are familiar ones from relativity. They’re about the ways our ideas of how much momentum or mass a thing has has to change if we see the thing in motion. (I’m a little less sure about that expression, but I think I can work something out.) And as a bonus it includes the circle-drawing compass as Galileo might have used. Well, he surely used a compass; I’m just not sure that the model shown wouldn’t be anachronistic. As though that matters; fortune cookies, after all, are a 20th century American invention and we’re letting that pass.
Zach Weinersmiths’s Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal for the 30th builds on a fun premise. Underneath the main line it gets into some whimsical ratios built on important numbers you’d never use for this sort of thing, such as π, and the imaginary unit . The Golden Ratio makes an appearance too, sneaking a definition for φ in in terms of espresso and milk. Here’s a free question: is there a difference between the “infiniccino” and “just espresso” except for the way it’s presented? … Well, presentation can be an important part of a good coffee.
π is well-known. Not sure I have anything interesting to add to its legend. φ is an irrational number a bit larger than 1.6. I’m not sure if I’ve ever called it the Boba Fett of numbers, but I should have. It’s a cute enough number, far more popular than its importance would suggest. is far more important. Suppose that there is some number, which we give that name, with the property that equals -1. Then we get complex-valued numbers, which let us solve problems we’d like to know but couldn’t do before. It’s a great advance.
The name tells you how dubiously people approached this number, when it was first noticed. I wonder if people would be less uneasy with “imaginary numbers” if it weren’t for being told how there’s no such thing as the square root of minus one for years before algebra comes along and says, well, yes there is. It’s hard to think of a way that, say, “negative four” is more real than , after all, and people are mostly all right with -4. And I understand why people are more skeptical of -4 than they are of, say, 6. Still, I wonder how weird would look if people weren’t primed to think it was weird.