Reading the Comics, July 14, 2018: County Fair Edition


The title doesn’t mean anything. My laptop’s random-draw of pictures pulled up one from the county fair last year is all. I’m just working too close to deadline to have a good one. Pet rabbit has surgery scheduled and we are hoping that turns out well for everyone involved.

Jeffrey Caulfield and Alexandre Rouillard’s Mustard and Boloney for the 12th has the blackboard of mathematical symbols. Familiar old shorthand of conflating mathematics ability with genius, or at least intelligence. The blackboard isn’t particularly full of expressions, possibly because Caulfield and Rouillard’s art might not be able to render too much detail clearly. It’s also got a sort-of appearance of Einstein’s most famous equation. Although with perhaps an extra joke to it. Suppose we’re to take ‘E’ and ‘M’ and ‘C’ to mean what they do in Einstein’s use. Then E - mc^2 has to equal zero. And there are many things you can safely do with zero. Dividing by it, though, isn’t one. I shan’t guess whether Caulfield and Rouillard were being that sly, though.

Blackboard with 'a^2 x 333 / E - MC^2 = 1,333' on it. Nerd: 'Ah! See, I've proved it!' Bully: 'That's nice, now let's step outside and settle this like men.'
Jeffrey Caulfield and Alexandre Rouillard’s Mustard and Boloney for the 12th of July, 2018. Must say that’s some really nice canvas grain and I wonder whether they actually work on media like that for their thrice-a-week comic strip or whether they simply use that texture in their art programs.

Marty Links’s Emmy Lou rerun for the 13th tries to be a paradox. How can one like mathematics without liking figures? But arithmetic is just one part of mathematics. Surely the most-used part, if we go by real-world utility. But not everything. Arithmetic is often useful, yes. But you can do good work in (say) logic or knot theory or geometry with only a slight ability to add or subtract or multiply. There’s not enough emphasis put on that in early education. I suppose it reflects the reasonable feeling that people do need to be competent at arithmetic, which is useful. But it gives one a distorted view of what mathematics can be.

Emmy Lou, looking over her homework, and complaining to her mother: 'Mathematics in itself isn't so hard! It's all these figures ... '
Marty Links’s Emmy Lou rerun for the 13th of July, 2018. Apparently it previously ran the 21st of October, 1971. (I make no claims about even earlier runs of the strip and am just going by what I can make out in the copyright information.)

Mark Parisi’s Off The Markfor the 13th is the anthropomorphic numerals joke for the week. And it presents being multiplied by zero as a terrifying fate for other numbers. This seems to reflect the idea that being multiplied by zero is equivalent to being made into nothing. That it’s being killed. Zero enjoys this dual meaning, culturally, representing both a number and the concept of a thing that doesn’t exist and the concept of non-existence. If being turned from one number to another is a numeral murder, then a 2 sneaking in with a + sign would be at least as horrifying. But that joke wouldn’t work, and I know that too.

Numerals, sweating as a suspenseful scene in a numerals movie: a 9 whistling happily, unsuspecting that a 0 is sneaking into the room and carrying a x sign.
Mark Parisi’s Off The Mark for the 13th of July, 2018. In a moment of comic relief the x slips in the 0’s hand, and it temporarily becomes a + and everybody sighs with relief.

Olivia Jaimes’s Nancy for the 14th is another recreational-mathematics puzzle. I know nothing of Jaimes’s background but apparently it involves a keen interest in that kind of play that either makes someone love or hate mathematics. (Myself, I’m only slightly interested in these kinds of puzzles, most of the time.) This one — add one line to ‘fix’ the equation 5 + 5 + 5 + 5 = 555 — I hadn’t encountered before. Took some fuming to work it out. The obvious answer, of course, is to add a slash across the = sign so that it means “does not equal”.

Teacher: 'Here's today's brainteaser. Can you add just one line to this equation to fix it?' [ 5 + 5 + 5 + 5 = 555 ] Nancy: 'Yep.' (She scribbles a line across the whole equation.)
Olivia Jaimes’s Nancy for the 14th of July, 2018. They … do seem to be spending a lot of time in class for it being July.

But that answer’s dull. What mathematicians like are statements that are true and interesting. There are many things that 5 + 5 + 5 + 5 does not equal. Why single out 555 from that set? So negating the equals sign meets the specifications of the problem, slightly better than Nancy does herself. It doesn’t have the surprise of the answer Nancy’s teacher wants.

If you don’t get how to do it, highlight over the paragraph below for a hint.

There are actually three ways to add the stroke to make this equation true. The three ways are equivalent, though. Notice that the symbols on the board comprise strokes and curves and consider that the meaning of the symbol can be changed by altering the composition of those strokes and curves.

Quincy's Grandmother: 'Who has been your favorite teacher this year, Quincy?' Quincy: 'Well, Mrs Glover sure has made arithmetic relevant. Like this problem. If your pants need a new patch every month ... how many patches would you have in a year and a half?!'
Ted Shearer’s Quincy for the 14th of July, 2018. It originally ran the 21st of May, 1979.

Ted Shearer’s Quincy for the 21st of May, 1979, and rerun the 14th is a joke about making mathematics problems relevant. And, yeah, I’ll give Mrs Glover credit for making problems that reflect stuff students know they’re going to have to deal with. Also that they may have already dealt with and so have some feeling for what plausible answers will be. It’s tough to find many problems like that which don’t repeat themselves too much. (“If your pants need a new patch every two months how many would you have in three years?”).


I do many Reading the Comics posts. Others like this one are here. For other essays that mention Mustard and Boloney, look to this link. I admit I’m surprised there’s anything there; I didn’t remember having written about it before For other discussions of Emmy Lou, try this link. For this and other times I’ve written about Off The Mark try this link. For Nancy content, try this link. And for other Quincy essays you can read this link. Thank you.

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Reading the Comics, July 11, 2018: GoComics Hardly Needs Me Edition


The first half of last week’s comics are mostly ones from Comics Kingdom and Creators.com. That’s unusual. GoComics usually far outranks the other sites. Partly for sheer numbers; they have an incredible number of strips, many of them web-only, that Comics Kingdom and Creators.com don’t match. I think the strips on GoComics are more likely to drift into mathematical topics too. But to demonstrate that would take so much effort. Possibly any effort at all. Hm.

Bill Holbrook’s On the Fastrack for the 8th of July is premised on topographic maps. These are some of the tools we’ve made to understand three-dimensional objects with a two-dimensional representation. When topographic maps come to the mathematics department we tend to call them “contour maps” or “contour plots”. These are collections of shapes. They might be straight lines. They might be curved. They often form a closed loop. Each of these curves is called a “contour curve” or a “contour line” (even if it’s not straight). Or it’s called an “equipotential curve”, if someone’s being all fancy, or pointing out the link between potential functions and these curves.

Dethany standing, in perspective, on a white surface with black curves traced on. The camera pulls out, revealing more and more curves, until they finally form an outline of her boss, Rose Trellis. Cut to the actual meeting, where Dethany is listening to Trellis speak. Dethany thinks: 'If only there was a topographic map showing how high a priority this is to her ... '
Bill Holbrook’s On the Fastrack for the 8th of July, 2018. I do like Holbrook’s art here, in evoking a figure standing vertically upon a most horizontal surface. There’s never enough intriguing camera angles in comic strips.

Their purpose is in thinking of three-dimensional surfaces. We can represent a three-dimensional surface by putting up some reasonable coordinate system. For the sake of simplicity let’s suppose the “reasonable coordinate system” is the Cartesian one. So every point in space has coordinates named ‘x’, ‘y’, and ‘z’. Pick a value for ‘x’ and ‘y’. There’s at most one ‘z’ that’ll be on the surface. But there might be many sets of values of ‘x’ and ‘y’ together which have that height ‘z’. So what are all the values of ‘x’ and ‘y’ which match the same height ‘z’? Draw the curve, or curves, which match that particular value of ‘z’.

Topographical maps are a beloved example of this, to mathematicians, because we imagine everyone understands them. A particular spot on the ground at some given latitude and longitude is some particular height above sea level. OK. Imagine the slice of a hill representing all the spots that are exactly 10 feet above sea level, or whatever. That’s a curve. Possibly several curves, but we just say “a curve” for simplicity.

A topographical map will often include more than one curve. Often at regular intervals, say with one set of curves representing 10 feet elevation, another 20 feet, another 30 feet, and so on. Sometimes these curves will be very near one another, where a hill is particularly steep. Sometimes these curves will be far apart, where the ground is nearly level. With experience one can learn to read the lines and their spacing. One can see where extreme values are, and how far away they might be.

Topographical maps date back to 1789. These sorts of maps go back farther. In 1701 Edmond Halley, of comet fame, published maps showing magnetic compass variation. He had hopes that the difference between magnetic north and true north would offer a hint at how to find longitude. (The principle is good. But the lines of constant variation are too close to lines of latitude for the method to be practical. And variation changes over time, too.) And that shows how the topographical map idea can be useful to visualize things that aren’t heights. Weather maps include “isobars”, contour lines showing where the atmospheric pressure is a set vale. More advanced ones will include “isotherms”, each line showing a particular temperature. The isobar and isotherm lines can describe the weather and how it can be expected to change soon.

This idea, rendering three-dimensional information on a two-dimensional surface, is a powerful one. We can use it to try to visualize four-dimensional objects, by looking at the contour surfaces they would make in three dimensions. We can also do this for five and even more dimensions, by using the same stuff but putting a note that “D = 16” or the like in the corner of our image. And, yes, if Cartesian coordinates aren’t sensible for the problem you can use coordinates that are.

If you need a generic name for these contour lines that doesn’t suggest lines or topography or weather or such, try ‘isogonal curves’. Nobody will know what you mean, but you’ll be right.

Hazel, sitting at a table, with a bunch of society women, as she works a calculator: ' ... making a total of $77.60. Fifteen percent for the tip, divided four ways ... '
Ted Key’s Hazel for the 9th of July, 2018. It’s a rerun, as all Hazel strips are. Ted Key, creator of Peabody’s Improbable History, died in 2008, and even then he’d retired in 1993. (I’m not clear whether someone else took up the strip in now-unpublished reruns or whether its original run ended then.)

Ted Key’s Hazel for the 9th is a joke about the difficulties in splitting the bill. It is archetypical of the sort of arithmetic people know they need to do in the real world. Despite that at least people in presented humor don’t get any better at it. I suppose real-world people don’t either, given some restaurants now list 15 and 20 percent tips on the bill. Well, at least everybody has a calculator on their phone so they can divide evenly. And I concede that, yeah, there isn’t really specifically a joke here. It’s just Hazel being competent, like the last time she showed up here.

Wavehead entering class: 'My dad said to tell you that geometry is squaresville. I don't understand what that means but he assured me that was comedy gold.'
Mark Anderson’s Andertoons for the 11th of July, 2018. I think Wavehead’s dad is underestimating triangles here. (There is a lot that we do with triangles, and extend to other polygons by breaking them into triangles.)

Mark Anderson’s Andertoons for the 11th is the Mark Anderson’s Andertoons for the week. And it’s a bit of geometry wordplay, too. Also about how you can carry a joke over well enough even without understanding it, or the audience understanding it, if it’s delivered right.

Dad: 'Joe, I gave you a five-dollar bill. The ice cream sandwich was a dollar fifty. How much change do you owe me?' Joe: 'Dad, you KNOW I don't like math. It's got so many problems!'
Rick DeTorie’s One Big Happy for the 11th of July, 2018. GoComics.com has a different strip for the day, as DeTorie publishes the new strips on Creators.com and uses several-years-old reruns on GoComics.

Rick DeTorie’s One Big Happy for the 11th is another strip about arithmetic done in the real world. I’m also amused by Joe’s attempts to distract from how no kid that age has ever not known precisely how much money they have, and how much of it is fairly won.

[ Toonie Excelsior Cornstarch thought green tea would make him smarter. ] Cornstarch: 'Also greener! And that's th'color of money! And most algae!' [ He downed 20 to 30 bottles of the stuff every day. ] Cornstarch: 'I already understand ALGEBRA! It comes from aliens!' [ Soon he began to think he knew everything about everything ... even quantum physics. ] Cornstarch: 'Dark matter just got much lighter!' [ But, being a TOONIE, he couldn't get a job at MIT, so he took to the streets to protest. That's when he was arrested by the INCORRECT SPELLING POLICE. ] (Cop dressed in a blend of Zippy the Pinhead gown and Keystone Cops uniform has his hand on the naked Cornstarch, who wears the sign 'MY ELEKTRONS CAN BEAT YOUR FOTONS!'
Bill Griffith’s Zippy the Pinhead for the 11th of July, 2018. This is part of a relatively new running sequence, perhaps a spinoff of Griffith’s very long Dingburg obsession, about people who are kind of generically golden-age-of-cartoon characters.

Bill Griffith’s Zippy the Pinhead for the 11th is another example of using understanding algebra as a show of intelligence. And it follows that up with undrestanding quantum physics as a show of even greater intelligence. One can ask what’s meant by “understanding” quantum physics. Someday someone might even answer. But it seems likely that the ability to do calculations based on a model has to be part of fully understanding it.


I have even more Reading the Comics posts, gathered in reverse chronological order at this link. Other essays with On The Fastrack tagged are at this link. Other Reading the Comics posts that mention Hazel are at this link. Some of the many, many essays mentioning Andertoons are at this link. Posts with mention of One Big Happy, both then-current and then-rerun, are at this link. And other mentions of Zippy the Pinhead are at this link.

Reading the Comics, July 7, 2018: Mutt and Jeff Relettering Scandal Edition


I apologize for not having a more robust introduction here. My week’s been chopped up by concern with the health of the older of our rabbits. Today’s proved to be less alarming than we had feared, but it’s still a lot to deal with. I appreciate your kind thoughts. Thank you.

Meanwhile the comics from last week have led me to discover something really weird going on with the Mutt and Jeff reruns.

Charles Schulz’s Peanuts Classics for the 6th has the not-quite-fully-formed Lucy trying to count the vast. She’d spend a while trying to count the stars and it never went well. It does inspire the question of how to count things when doing a simple tally is too complicated. There are many mathematical approaches. Most of them are some kind of sampling. Take a small enough part that you can tally it, and estimate the whole based on what your sample is. This can require ingenuity. For example, when estimating our goldfish population, it was impossible to get a good sample at one time. When tallying the number of visible stars in the sky, we have the problem that the Galaxy has a shape, and there are more stars in some directions than in others. This is why we need statisticians.

Lucy, going out in twilight with a pencil and sheet of paper: 'I'm going to count all the stars even if it kills me! People say I'm crazy, but I know I'm not , and that's what counts! I think I'll just sit here until it gets dark. This way I can take my time counting the stars. I'll mark 'em down as they come out. HA! There's the first one ... dum te ta te dum. There's another one. Two, three, four ... this is a cinch. Five, six, oh oh! SevenEightNineTen ... ElevenTwelveThirteen Oh, MY! They're coming out all over! SLOW DOWN! 21, 22, 23, 24, ... 35, 35, 40! Whew! (Gasp, gasp!) 41, 42 ... ' (Defeated Lucy sitting on the curb, exhausted, beneath the night sky.) 'Rats!'
Charles Schulz’s Peanuts Classics for the 6th of July, 2018. It originally ran the 4th of April, 1954. That is an adorable little adding machine and stool that Lucy has in the title panel there.

Zach Weinersmith’s Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal for the 6th looks initially like it’s meant for a philosophy blog’s Reading the Comics post. It’s often fruitful in the study of ethics to ponder doing something that is initially horrible, but would likely have good consequences. Or something initially good, but that has bad effects. These questions challenge our ideas about what it is to do good or bad things, and whether transient or permanent effects are more important, and whether it is better to be responsible for something (or to allow something) by action or inaction.

It comes to mathematics in the caption, though, and with an assist from the economics department. Utilitarianism seems to offer an answer to many ethical problems. It posits that we need to select a primary good of society, and then act so as to maximize that good. This does have an appeal, I suspect even to people who don’t thrill of the idea of finding the formula that describes society. After all, if we know the primary good of society, why should we settle for anything but the greatest value of that good? It might be difficult in practice, say, to discount the joy a musician would bring over her lifetime with her performances fairly against the misery created by making her practice the flute after school when she’d rather be playing. But we can imagine working with a rough approximation, at least. Then the skilled thinkers point out even worse problems and we see why utilitarianism didn’t settle all the big ethical questions, even in principle.

Professor: 'Suppose you want to kill a baker. But, if you kill him, a bunch of starving people will get access to his bread. Should you do it anyway?' Caption: 'All moral dilemmas can be rephrased as evil-maximization problems.'
Zach Weinersmith’s Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal for the 6th of July, 2018. Confess I’m not sure the precise good-maximization reversal of this. I suppose it’s implying that the baker is refusing to give bread to starving people who can’t pay, and the hungry could alleviate the problem a while by eating the rich?

The mathematics, though. As Weinersmith’s caption puts it, we can phrase moral dilemmas as problems of maximizing evil. Typically we pose them as ones of maximizing good. Or at least of minimizing evil. But if we have the mechanism in place to find where evil is maximized, don’t we have the tools to find where good is? If we can find the set of social parameters x, y, and z which make E(x, y, z) as big as possible, can’t we find where -E(x, y, z) is as big, too? And isn’t that then where E(x, y, z) has to be smallest?

And, sure. As long as the maximum exists, or the minimum exists. Maybe we can tell whether or not there is one. But this is why when you look at the mathematics of finding maximums you realize you’re also doing minimums, or vice-versa. Pretty soon you either start referring to what you find as extremums. Or you stop worrying about the difference between a maximum and a minimum, at least unless you need to check just what you have found. Or unless someone who isn’t mathematically expert looks at you wondering if you know the difference between positive and negative numbers.

Jeff: 'You're such a fool, I'll bet you can't solve this simple problem!' Mutt: 'Which problem?' Jeff: 'If five men can eat a ham in five minutes, how long it will take ten men to eat that same ham?' Mutt: 'Well, some people eat slower.' Jeff: 'See? You just can't do it!' Mutt: 'Neither can you! It can't be solved!' Jeff: 'You say it can't be solved? Why?' Mutt: 'Because the first five men have ALREADY eaten the ham!'
Bud Fisher’s Mutt and Jeff for the 7th of July, 2018. So I found a previous iteration of this strip, from the 21st of February, 2015. They had relettered things, changing the wording slightly and making it overall somehow clunkier. The thing is, that 2015 strip looks to me like it might be a computer-lettered typeface too; look at the C’s, and the little loops on top of the letters. On the other hand, there’s some variation in the ? marks there. I understand relettering the more impenetrable old strips, especially if they don’t have the original material and have to go from archived newspaper prints. But the 2015 edition seems quite clear enough; why change that?

Bud Fisher’s Mutt and Jeff for the 7th has run here before. Except that was before they redid the lettering; it was a roast beef in earlier iterations. I was thinking to drop Mutt and Jeff from my Reading the Comics routine before all these mysteries in the lettering turned up. Anyway. The strip’s joke starts with a work-rate problems. Given how long some people take to do a thing, how long does it take a different number of people to do a thing? These are problems that demand paying attention to units, to the dimensions of a thing. That seems to be out of fashion these days, which is probably why these questions get to be baffling. But if eating a ham takes 25 person-minutes to do, and you have ten persons eating, you can see almost right away how long to expect it to take. If the ham’s the same size, anyway.

Teacher: 'Can you tell me how many triangles are in this diagram?' (It's an equilateral triangle, divided into thirds horizontally, and with the angle up top trisected, so that there are nine discrete figures inside.) Nancy, with a dozen scraps of used paper strewn around: 'Can you tell me how many pages we have to waste trying to solve this accursed puzzle?'
Olivia Jaimes’s Nancy for the 7th of July, 2018. There’s some real Old People Complaining in the comments, by the way, about how dare Nancy go sassing her elders like that. So, if you want to read those comments, judge wisely.

Olivia Jaimes’s Nancy for the 7th is built on a spot of recreational mathematics. Also on the frustration one can have when a problem looks like it’s harmless innocent fun and turns out to take just forever and you’re never sure you have the answers just right. The commenters on GoComics.com have settled on 18. I’m content with that answer.


Care for more of this? You can catch all my Reading the Comics posts at this link. Essays with Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal content are at this link. Essays with Peanuts are at this link. Those with Mutt and Jeff are at this link. And those with Nancy are here. Thank you.

Reading the Comics, July 3, 2018: Fine, Jef Mallett Wants My Attention Edition


Three of these essays in a row now that Jef Mallett’s Frazz has done something worth responding to. You know, the guy lives in the same metro area. He could just stop in and visit sometime. There’s a pinball league in town and everything. He could view it as good healthy competition.

Bill Hinds’s Cleats for the 1st is another instance of the monkeys-on-typewriters metaphor. The metaphor goes back at least as far as 1913, when Émile Borel wrote a paper on statistical mechanics and the reversibility problem. Along the way it was worth thinking of the chance of impossibly unlikely events, given enough time to happen. Monkeys at typewriters formed a great image for a generator of text that knows no content or plan. Given enough time, this random process should be able to produce all the finite strings of text, whatever their content. And the metaphor’s caught people’s fancy I guess there’s something charming and Dadaist about monkeys doing office work. Borel started out with a million monkeys typing ten hours a day. Modern audiences sometimes make this an infinite number of monkeys typing without pause. This is a reminder of how bad we’re allowing pre-revolutionary capitalism get.

Kid: 'Mom, Dad, I want to go bungee jumping this summer!' Dad: 'A thousand monkeys working a thousand typewriters would have a better chance of randomly typing the complete works of William Shakespeare over the summer than you have of bungee jumping.' (Awksard pause.) Kid: 'What's a typewriter?' Dad: 'A thousand monkeys randomly TEXTING!'
Bill Hinds’s Cleats rerun for the 1st of July, 2018. It originally ran the 28th of June, 2009. Oh, but you figured that out yourselves, didn’t you? Also, boy, that’s not much of a punch line. Most comics aren’t actually written with disdain for young people and their apps and their podcasts and their emojis and all that. But sometimes one kind of hits it.

Sometimes it’s cut down to a mere thousand monkeys, as in this example. Often it’s Shakespeare, but sometimes it’s other authors who get duplicated. Dickens seems like a popular secondary choice. In joke forms, the number of monkeys and time it would take to duplicate something is held as a measure of the quality of the original work. This comes from people who don’t understand. Suppose the monkeys and typewriters are producing truly random strings of characters. Then the only thing that affects how long it takes them to duplicate some text is the length of the original text. How good the text is doesn’t enter into it.

Jef Mallett’s Frazz for the 1st is about the comfort of knowing about things one does not know. And that’s fine enough. Frazz cites Fermat’s Last Theorem as a thing everyone knows of but doesn’t understand. And that choice confuses me. I’m not sure what there would be to Fermat’s Last Theorem that someone who had heard of it would not understand. The basic statement of it — if you have three positive whole numbers a, b, and c, then there’s no whole number n larger than 2 so that a^n + b^n equals c^n — has it.

Frazz: 'You know what I like? Fermat's last theorem.' Jane: 'Do you even understand it?' Frazz: 'Nope. And neither do you. To paraphrase Mark Twain, we live in a world where too many people don't know what they don't know. With Fermat's Last Theorem, we can all agree on something we don't know.' Jane: 'Nice. Except how many people have ever heard of Fermat's Last Theorem?' Frazz: '2,125,420,566.' Jane: 'You don't know that.' Frazz: 'I know!'
Jef Mallett’s Frazz for the 1st of July, 2018. Frazz’s estimate of how many have heard of Fermat’s Last Theorem seems low to me. But I grew up at a time when the theorem was somewhat famous for being something easy to understand and that had defied four hundred years’ worth of humanity trying to prove. And even then my experience is selected to a particular kind of Western-culture person. Was the theorem ever so interesting to, say, Indian or Chinese mathematicians? (Come to it, was there someone in the South Asian or Chinese or Japanese traditions who ran across the same property but didn’t get famous in Western literature for it?)

But “understanding” is a flexible concept. He might mean that people don’t know why the Theorem is true. Fair enough. Andrew Wiles and Richard Taylor’s proof is a long thing that goes deep into a field of mathematics that even most mathematicians don’t study. Why it should be true can be an interesting question, and one that’s hard to ever satisfyingly answer. What is the difference between a proof that something is true and an explanation for why it’s true? And before you say there’s not one, please consider that many mathematicians do experience a difference between seeing something proved and understanding why something is true.

And Frazz might also mean that nobody knows what use Fermat’s Last Theorem is. This is a fair complaint too. I’m not aware offhand of any interesting results which follow from its truth, nor of anything neat that would come about had it been false. It’s just one of those things that happens to be true, and that we’ve found to be pretty, perhaps because it is easy to ask whether it’s true and hard to answer. I don’t know.

Morrie Turner’s Wee Pals for the 2nd has a kid looking for a square root. We all have peculiar hobbies. His friends speak of it as though it’s a lost physical object. This is a hilarious misunderstanding until it strikes you that we speak about stuff like square roots “existing”. Indeed, the language of mathematics would be trashed if we couldn’t speak about numerical constructs “existing” somewhere to be “found”. But try to put “four” in a box and see what you get. That we mostly have little trouble understanding what we mean by showing some mathematical construct exists, and what we hope to do by looking for it, suggests we roughly know what we mean by the phrases. All right then; what is that, in terms a kid could understand?

Ralph: 'Whatcha doin', Oliver?' Oliver: 'Trying to find the square root of 8,765,510.' Ralph: 'Where did you lose it? Randy and I will help you find it!'
Morrie Turner’s Wee Pals rerun for the 2nd of July, 2018. It originally ran the 2nd of July, 2013. Just saying, it would have been slick if Oliver had been working out something for which 42 was the answer. Why couldn’t he have been looking for the cube root of 74,088 instead?

There are many ways to numerically compute a square root, if you have to do it by hand and it isn’t a perfect square. My preference is for iterative methods, in which you start with a rough guess and try to improve things. One good enough method for we call the Babylonian method, reflecting how old we think it is. Start with your number S whose square root you want. And start with a number x0, a first guess for what the square root is. This can be anything. The great thing about iterative methods is even if you start with a garbage answer, you get to a good answer soon enough. Still, if you have a suspicion of what the square root should be, start there.

Your first iteration, the first guess for a better answer, is to calculate the number x_1 = \frac{1}{2}\left( x_0 + \frac{S}{x_0}\right) . Typically, x1 will be closer to the square root of S than will x0 be. And in any case, we can get closer still. Use x1 to calculate a new number. This is x_2 = \frac{1}{2}\left( x_1 + \frac{S}{x_1}\right) . And then x3 and x4 and x5 and so on. In theory, you never finish; you’re stuck finding an infinitely long sequence of better approximations to the square root. In practice, you finish; you find that you’re close enough to the square root. Well, the square root of a whole number is either a whole number (if it was a perfect square to start) or is an irrational number. You were going to stop on an approximation sooner or later.

The method requires doing division. Long division, too, after the first couple steps. I don’t know a way around that which doesn’t divert into something less pleasant, such as logarithms and exponentials. Or maybe into trigonometric functions. This can be tedious to do by hand. Great thing, though, is if you make a mistake? That’s kind of all right. The next iteration will (usually) correct for it. That’s the glory of iterative methods. They tend to be forgiving of numerical error, whatever its source. Another iteration reduces, or even eliminates, the mistake of the previous iteration.

At the bar. Harley's Friend: 'I've done the math. You won't make it across the canyon without a good ramp, Harley! You need a quadrilateral with exactly one pair of parallel sides. You'll be riding into a trap ... ezoid.' Harley, in jail, to the sheriff: 'Who knew a calculator could go that far up his nose.'
Dan Thompson’s Harley for the 3rd of July, 2018. I don’t know the guy’s name here. The storyline is part of Harley’s annual effort to jump across the canyon and no, it doesn’t go well.

Dan Thompson’s Harley for the 3rd is a shapes joke. Haven’t had a proper anthropomorphic geometric figures joke in a while. This is near enough.


For more of these Reading the Comics posts please follow this link. If you’re only interested in Reading the Cleats strips, please use this link instead. But Cleats is a new tag this essay, so for now, there aren’t others. If you’re hoping to see all my Reading the Comics posts about Frazz, try this link. If you’d like more of my essays which mention Wee Pals, you can use this link. And if you’d like more Reading the Comics posts that mention Harley, use this link. That’s another new tag, but I believe Dan Thompson is still making new examples of the strip. So it may appear again.

Reading the Comics, June 29, 2018: Chuckle and Breakfast Cereal Edition


The last half of last week was not entirely the work of Chuckle Brothers and Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal. It seemed like it, though. Let’s review.

Patrick Roberts’s Todd the Dinosaur for the 28th is a common sort of fear-of-mathematics joke. In this case the fear of doing arithmetic even when it is about something one would really like to know. I think the question got away from Todd, though. If they just wanted to know whether they had enough money, well, they need twelve dollars and have seven. Subtracting seven from twelve is only needed if they want to know how much more they need. Which they should want to know, but wasn’t part of the setup.

Kid: 'Do we have enough money to go to the movie?' Todd: 'Let's see! You ahve four dollars and I have three dollars. That's seven. The movie is twelve dollars for both of us. So twelve take away seven is ... *GASP* Oh no! I accidentally did math!' Kid: 'So?' Todd: 'This is SUMMER!' Kid: 'I don't even know you!'
Patrick Roberts’s Todd the Dinosaur for the 28th of June, 2018. I’m sorry, I don’t know the kid’s name.

Brian Boychuk and Ron Boychuk’s The Chuckle Brothers for the 28th uses mathematics as the sine qua non of rocket science. As in, well, the stuff that’s hard and takes some real genius to understand. It’s not clear to me that the equations are actually rocket science. There seem to be a shortage of things in exponentials to look quite right to me. But I can’t zoom in on the art, so, who knows just what might be in there.

Professor-type in front of a class labelled Rocket Science 101: 'Doesn't ANYBODY understand this stuff?'
Brian Boychuk and Ron Boychuk’s The Chuckle Brothers rerun for the 28th of June, 2018. It originally ran the 16th of July, 2009. Relatable.

Zach Weinersmith’s Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal for the 28th is a set theory joke. Or a logic joke, anyway. It refers to some of the mathematics/logic work of Bertrand Russell. Among his work was treating seriously the problems of how to describe things defined in reference to themselves. These have long been a source of paradoxes, sometimes for fun, sometimes for fairy-tale logic, and sometimes to challenge our idea of what we mean by definitions of things. Russell made a strong attempt at describing what we mean when we describe a thing by reference to itself. The iconic example here was the “set of all sets not members of themselves”.

Caption: 'Nobody liked Bertrand Russell's scavenger hunts.' Items to find: 'The list of all lists that do not list themselves. (List here).'
Zach Weinersmith’s Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal for the 28th of June, 2018. Well, among other things, wouldn’t there be infinitely many such lists? Unless this description were enough to describe them all, by being a description of what to do to get you all of them?

Russell started out by trying to find some way to prove Georg Cantor’s theorems about different-sized infinities wrong. He worked out a theory of types, and what kinds of rules you can set about types of things. Most mathematicians these days prefer to solve the paradox with a particular organization of set theory. But Russell’s type theory still has value, particularly as part of the logic behind lambda calculus. This is an approach to organizing relationships between things that can do wonderful things, including in computer programming. It lets one write code that works extremely efficiently and can never be explained to another person, modified, or debugged ever. I may lack the proper training for the uses I’ve made of it.

News anchor: 'In a cruel, bizarre twist of fate, this week's $1 million winning lotto number 579281703 was shared by exactly one million people. In other news ... ' (The person watching the news has a lottery ticket number 579281703.)
Brian Boychuk and Ron Boychuk’s The Chuckle Brothers rerun for the 29th of June, 2018. It originally ran the 17th of July, 2009. You can tell it’s from so long ago because the TV set is pre-HD.

Brian Boychuk and Ron Boychuk’s The Chuckle Brothers for the 29th is a lottery joke. It does happen that more than one person wins a drawing; sometimes three or even four people do, for the larger prizes. The chance that there’s a million winners? Frightfully unlikely unless something significant went wrong with the lottery mechanism.

So what are the chances of a million lottery winners? If I’m not mistaken the only way to do this is to work out a binomial distribution. The binomial distribution is good for cases where you have many attempts at doing a thing, where each thing can either succeed or fail, and the likelihood of success or failure is independent of all the other attempts. In this case each lottery ticket is an attempt; it winning is success and it losing is failure. Each ticket has the same chance of winning or losing, and that chance doesn’t depend on how many wins or losses there are. What is that chance? … Well, if each ticket has one chance in a million of winning, and there are a million tickets out there, the chance of every one of them winning is about one-millionth raised to the millionth power. Which is so close to zero it might as well be nothing. … And yet, for all that it’s impossible, there’s not any particular reason it couldn’t happen. It just won’t.

What I Learned This Year. Kid: 'Um ... you can divide a number by 3 if the sum of its digits can be divided by 3.' [ Later ] Frazz: 'So, what'd you learn this year?' Kid: 'Don't go last on what-I-learned-this-year day.'
Jef Mallet’s Frazz for the 29th of June, 2018. Sorry, again, not sure of this kid’s name. The comic is often so good about casually dropping in character names.

Jef Mallet’s Frazz for the 29th is a less dire take on what-you-learned-this-year. In this case it’s trivia, but it’s a neat sort of trivia. Once you understand how it works you can understand how to make all sorts of silly little divisibility rules. The threes rule — and the nines rule — work by the same principle. Suppose you have a three-digit number. Let me call ‘a’ the digit in the hundreds column, ‘b’ the digit in the tens column, and ‘c’ the digit in the ones column. Then the number is equal to 100\cdot a + 10\cdot b + 1\cdot c . And, well, that’s equal to 99\cdot a + 1\cdot a + 9 \cdot b + 1 \cdot b + 1 \cdot c . Which is 99\cdot a + 9 \cdot b + a + b + c . 99 times any whole number is a multiple of 9, and also of 3. 9 times any whole number is a multiple of 9, and also of 3. So whether the original number is divisible by 9, or by 3, depends on whether a + b + c is. And that’s why adding the digits up tells you whether a number is a whole multiple of three.

This has only proven anything for three-digit numbers. But with that proof in mind, you probably can imagine what the proof looks like for two- or four-digit numbers, and would believe there’s one for five- and for 500-digit numbers. Or, for that matter, the proof for an arbitrarily long number. So I’ll skip actually doing that. You can fiddle with it if you want a bit of fun yourself.

Also maybe it’s me, or the kind of person who gets into mathematics. But I find silly little rules like this endearing. It’s a process easy to understand that anyone can do and it tells you something not obvious from when you start. It feels like getting let in on a magic trick. That seems like the sort of thing that endears people to mathematics.

Michael: 'Grandma broke out the math workbooks!' Gabby: 'She does this every summer!' (They hide behind a tree.) Gabby: 'Says she doesn't want us to forget what we learned during the school year.' Michael: 'She has a point. We do need to keep our homework-avoidance skills sharp.'
Mike Thompson’s Grand Avenue for the 29th of June, 2018. At the risk of taking the art too literally: isn’t that tree kind of short to be that fat? Shouldn’t the leaves start higher up?

Mike Thompson’s Grand Avenue for the 29th is trying to pick its fight with me again. I can appreciate someone wanting to avoid kids losing their mathematical skills over summer. It’s just striking how Thompson has consistently portrayed their grandmother as doing this in a horrible, joy-crushing manner.

Greek: 'Why are you the wisest man, Socrates?' Socrates: 'Because I know one thing: that I know nothing.' Greek: 'That's all you know?' Socrates: 'I mean strictly speaking ... ' Greek: 'What about the infinite universe of analytic statements, like if A = A then A = A?' Socrates: 'Okay yeah That stuff. Just that.' Greek: 'Just ALL of math.' (Pause.) Greek: 'Sorry, did I make you sad?' Socrates: 'I can't be certain, but probably.'
Zach Weinersmith’s Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal for the 29th of June, 2018. I am curious if anyone in the philosophy department would offer an idea which Ancient Greek might be chatting with Socrates here. If Weinersmith had anyone in mind I would guess whichever one has Socrates getting a slave to do a geometry proof. But there’s also … I want to say Parmenides, where the elder scholar whips the young Socrates in straight syllogisms. Again, if anyone specific was in mind and it wasn’t just “another Ancient Greek type”.

Zach Weinersmith’s Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal for the 29th gets into a philosophy-of-mathematics problem. Also a pure philosophy problem. It’s a problem of what things you can know independently of experience. There are things it seems as though are true, and that seem independent of the person who is aware of them, and what culture that person comes from. All right. Then how can these things be relevant to the specifics of the universe that we happen to be in just now? If ‘2’ is an abstraction that means something independent of our universe, how can there be two books on the table? There’s something we don’t quite understand yet, and it’s taking our philosophers and mathematicians a long while to work out what that is.


And as ever, if you’d like to see more Reading the Comics posts, please look to this page. For essays with Todd the Dinosaur in them, look here. For essays with the Chuckle Brothers, here you go. For some of the many, many essays with Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal, follow this link. For more talk about Frazz, look here. And for the Grand Avenue comics, try this link please.

Reading the Comics, June 27, 2018: Stitch Day Edition


For a while I thought this essay would include only the mathematically-themed strips which Comic Strip Master Command sent out through to June 26th, which is picking up the nickname Stitch Day (for 6-26, the movie character’s experiment number). And then I decided some from last Sunday weren’t on-point enough (somehow), and there were enough that came later in the week that I couldn’t do a June 26th Only edition. Which is my longwinded way of saying this one doesn’t have a nonsense name. It just has a name that’s only partially on point.

Mike Baldwin’s Cornered for the 26th is the Rubik’s Cube/strange geometry joke for the week. It seems to me I ought to be able to make some link between the number of various ways to arrange a Rubik’s Cube — which pieces can and which ones cannot be neighbors to a red piece, say, no matter how one scrambles the cube — and the networking between people that you can get from an office where people have to see each other. But I’m not sure that I can make that metaphor work. I’m blaming the temperature, both mine (I have a cold) and the weather’s (it’s a heat wave).

Man sitting behind an upside-down desk, to a person standing on a horizontal wall-with-window: 'Hang on --- I've almost got it.' Caption: Rubik's Cubicle.
Mike Baldwin’s Cornered for the 26th of June, 2018. Say what you will; at least it’s not an open-office plan.

Mark Leiknes’s Cow and Boy for the 26th makes literal the trouble some people have with the phrase “110 percent”. Read uncharitably, yes, “110 of a hundred” doesn’t make sense, if 100 percent is all that could conceivably be of the thing. But if we can imagine, say, the number of cars passing a point on the highway being 90 percent of the typical number, surely we can imagine the number of cars also being 110 percent. To give an example of why I can’t side with pedants in objecting to the phrase.

Boy (Billy), playing chess with Cow: 'I hate it when people say they're giving a hundred and ten percent. I mean, how is that even possible? Wouldn't you be trying so hard that your body couldn't contain the extra ten percent of effort and your head would explode?' Cow: 'Check mate!' [ Cow's head explodes. ] Boy: 'OK, but I was only giving it like 35 percent.' Headless Cow: 'Darn.'
Mark Leiknes’s Cow and Boy for the 26th of June, 2018. This strip originally ran the 12th of October, 2011 and it’s not usually so gruesome.

Jef Mallett’s Frazz for the 26th is just itching for a fight. From me and from the Creative Writing department. Yes, mathematics rewards discipline. All activities do. At the risk of making a prescription: if you want to do something well, spend time practicing the boring parts. For arithmetic, that’s times tables and regrouping calculations and factoring and long division. For writing, that’s word choice and sentence structure and figuring how to bring life to describing dull stuff. Do the fun stuff too, yes, but because it is fun. Getting good at the boring stuff makes you an expert. When you discover that the boring stuff is also kinda fun, you will do the fun stuff masterfully.

Student presenting 'What I Learned This Year': 'Writing rewards creativity while math rewards a disciplined pursuit of a single right answer.' Later, Frazz: 'So, what'd you learn this year?' Student: 'Apparently we don't learn how to fudge the numbers until business school.'
Jef Mallett’s Frazz for the 26th of June, 2018. Again I apologize; I don’t know who the student is. Cast lists, cartoonists. Get your cast on your web page.

But to speak of mathematics as pursuing a single right answer — well, perhaps. In an elementary-school problem there is typically just the one right answer, and the hope is that students learn how to get there efficiently. But if the subject is something well-worn, then there are many ways to do any problem. All are legitimate and the worst one can say of a method is maybe it’s not that efficient, or maybe it’s good here but doesn’t generally work. If the subject is on the edge of what mathematics we know, there may be only one way to get there. But there are many things to find, including original ways to understand what we have already found. To not see that mathematics is creative is to not see mathematics. Or, really, any field of human activity.

Horace, reading the newspaper: 'Your horoscope: you will be positively surprised.' A giant + sign drops from the sky, barely missing Horace.
Samson’s Dark Side of the Horse for the 27th of June, 2018. So, how would you rewrite the horoscope to make this work for multiplication? ‘You’re encountering some surprising times’?

Samson’s Dark Side of the Horse for the 27th edges up to being the anthropomorphic numerals joke for the week. I need a good name for this sort of joke about mathematical constructs made tangible, even if they aren’t necessarily characters.

Zach Weinersmith’s Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal for the 27th I hope makes sense if you just know the words “graph” and “drunk”, and maybe “McNugget”. That’s all you truly need to understand why this contains a joke. But there is some good serious mathematical terminology at work here.

Mathematics instructor: 'Here we have a graph which embodies a stochastic process. Now, we perform a random walk on the graph for n steps and --- HEY! [ Curses ] The graph went out for McNuggets!' (The graph looks faintly more like a person, has a basket of McNuggets, and is saying, 'Nuggs nuggs nuggie nuggie nugg WOOH! God you're so hot.'
Zach Weinersmith’s Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal for the 27th of June, 2018. Can’t be intended, but that graph looks to me like plots of what the constellation Orion is expected to look like after several ten thousand years of stellar movement.

So. A “graph” is a thing that’s turned up in my A To Z serieses. In this context a graph is a collection of points, called “vertices”, and a collection of “edges” that connect vertices. Often the vertices represent something of interest and the edges ways to turn one thing into another. Sometimes the edges are the thing of interest and the vertices are just there to be manipulated in some way by edges. It’s a way to make visual the studying of how stuff is connected, and how things can pass from one to another.

A “stochastic process” is about random variables. Random variables are some property about a system. And you know some things about that variable’s value. You know maybe the range of possible values it could have. You know whether some values are more likely than others. But you do not know what the value is at any particular moment. Consider, say, the temperature outside where you live at a particular time of day. You may have no idea what that is. But you can say, for example, whether today it is more likely to be 90 degrees Fahrenheit or 60 degrees Fahrenheit or 20 degrees Fahrenheit. For a stochastic process we have some kind of index. We can say, for example, which values of temperature are more likely today, the 1st of July, and which ones will be more likely the 1st of August, and which ones will be less likely the 1st of December. Calling it a “process”, to my intuition, makes it sound like we expect something to happen that causes the likelihood of some temperatures to change. And many processes are time-indexed. They study problems where something interesting changes in time, predictable in aggregate but not in detail.

So a graph like this, representing a stochastic process, is a shorthand. Each vertex is a state that something might be in. Each edge is a way to get from one state to another when — something — happens. Doesn’t matter what thing.

A “drunk walk”, or as it’s known to tenderer writers a “random walk”, is a term of art. Not a deep one. It’s meant to evoke the idea of a severely drunk person who yes, can move, but has no control over which way. Thus he wanders around, reaching any point only by luck. Many things look like random walks, in which there is no overall direction, just an unpredictable shuffling around. A drunk walk on this graph would be, well, start at any of the vertices. Then follow edges, chosen randomly. If you start at the uppermost point of the triangle on top, for example, there’s two places to go on the second step: the lower-left or the center-right vertex on the upper triangle. Suppose you go to the center-right vertex. On the next step, you might go right back where you started. You might go to the lower-left vertex on the triangle. You might drop down that bridge to the top of that quadrilateral. And so on, for another step.

Do that some presumably big number of times. Where are you? … Anywhere, of course. But are there vertices you’re more likely to be on? Ones you’re less likely to be on? How does the shape of the graph affect that likelihood? How does how long you spend walking affect that? These tell us things about the process, and are why someone would draw this graph and talk about a random walk on it.


If you’d like to read more of my comic-strip review posts please do! They all should be available at this link, listed in reverse chronological order.

To read more of the individual comics? Here are essays with Cornered in them. These are Cow and Boy comics at this link. Frazz strips are here. Essays including Dark Side of the Horse are here. And Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal, which is threatening to take over “being the majority of my blog” from Andertoons, I have at that link.

Reading the Comics, June 23, 2018: Big Duck Energy Edition


I didn’t have even some good nonsense for this edition’s title and it’s a day late already. And that for only having a couple of comics, most of them reruns. And then this came across my timeline:

Please let it not be a big milkshake duck. I can’t take it if it is.

Larry Wright’s Motley for the 21st uses mathematics as emblem of impossibly complicated stuff to know. I’m interested to see that biochemistry was also called in to represent something that needs incredible brainpower to know things that can be expressed in one panel. Another free little question: what might “2,368 to the sixth power times pi” be an answer to? The obvious answer to me is “what’s the area of a circle of radius 2,368 to the third power”. That seems like a bad quiz-show question to me, though. It tests a legitimate bit of trivia, but the radius is such an ugly number. There are some other obvious questions that might fit, like “what is the circumference of a circle of radius [ or diameter ] of (ugly number here)?” Or “what is the volume of a circle of radius (similarly ugly number here)?” But the radius (or diameter) of those surfaces would have to be really nasty numbers, ones with radicals of 2,368 — itself no charming number — in it.

Debbie, yelling at the TV: 'Hydromononucleatic acid! 2,368 to the sixth power times pi, stupid!' (Walking away, disgusted.) 'I can't believe the questions on these game shows are so easy and no one ever gets them!'
Larry Wright’s Motley rerun for the 21st of June, 2018. It originally ran sometime in 1997.

And “2,368 to the sixth power times pi” is the answer to infinitely many questions. The challenge is finding one that’s plausible as a quiz-show question. That is it should test something that’s reasonable for a lay person to know, and to calculate while on stage, without pen or paper or much time to reflect. Tough set of constraints, especially to get that 2,368 in there. The sixth power isn’t so easy either.

Well, the biochemistry people don’t have an easy time thinking of a problem to match Debbie’s answer either. “Hydro- ” and “mono- ” are plausible enough prefixes, but as far as I know there’s no “nucleatic acid” to have some modified variant. Wright might have been thinking of nucleic acid, but as far as I know there’s no mononucleic acid, much less hydromononucleic acid. But, yes, that’s hardly a strike against the premise of the comic. It’s just nitpicking.

[ During his first day at Math Camp, Jim Smith learns the hard way he's not a numbers person. ] Coach: 'The ANSWER, Mr Smith?' (Smith's head pops open, ejecting a brain, several nuts, and a few screws; he says the null symbol.)
Charlie Pondrebarac’s CowTown rerun for the 22nd of June, 2018. I don’t know when it first ran, but it seems to be older than most of the CowTown reruns offered.

Charlie Pondrebarac’s CowTown for the 22nd is on at least its third appearance since I started reading the comics for the mathematics stuff regularly. I covered it in June 2016 and also in August 2015. This suggests a weird rerun cycle for the comic. Popping out of Jim Smith’s mouth is the null symbol, which represents a set that hasn’t got any elements. That set is known as the null set. Every set, including the null set, contains a null set. This fact makes set theory a good bit easier than it otherwise would be. That’s peculiar, considering that it is literally nothing. But everything one might want to say about “nothing” is peculiar. That doesn’t make it dispensable.

Marlene: 'Timmy's school says that all 7th and 8th graders have to buy a $98 calculator for math this year!' Burl: 'Whatever happened to timesing and minusing in your head?' Dale: 'I remember all we had to get for math was a slide rule for drawing straight lines and a large eraser.' (On the TV is 'The Prices Is Right, Guest Host Stephen Hawking', and they have a videotape of 'A Beautiful Mind'.)
Julie Larson’s Dinette Set rerun for the 22nd of June, 2018. It originally ran the 15th of August, 2007. Don’t worry about what’s on the TV, what’s on the videotape box, or Marlene’s ‘Gladys Kravitz Active Wear’ t-shirt; they’re side jokes, not part of the main punchline of the strip. Ditto the + and – coffee mugs.

Julie Larson’s Dinette Set for the 22nd sees the Penny family’s adults bemoaning the calculator their kid needs for middle school. I admit feeling terror at being expected to buy a hundred-dollar calculator for school. But I also had one (less expensive) when I was in high school. It saves a lot of boring routine work. And it allows for playful discoveries about arithmetic. Some of them are cute trivialities, such as finding the Golden Ratio and similar quirks. And a calculator does do essentially the work that a slide rule might, albeit more quickly and with more digits of precision. It can’t help telling you what to calculate or why, but it can take the burden out of getting the calculation done. Still, a hundred bucks. Wow.

Couple watching a newscaster report: 'Experts are still struggling to explain how, for a few brief moments this year, two plus two equalled five.'
Tony Carrillo’s F Minus for the 23rd of June, 2018. It is not a rerun and first appeared the 23rd of June, 2018, so far as I know.

Tony Carrillo’s F Minus for the 23rd puts out the breaking of a rule of arithmetic as a whimsical, inexplicable event. A moment of two plus two equalling five, whatever it might do for the structure of the universe, would be awfully interesting for the philosophy of mathematics. Given what we ordinarily think we mean by ‘two’ and ‘plus’ and ‘equals’ and ‘five’ that just can’t happen. And what would it mean for two plus to to equal five for a few moments? Mathematicians often think about the weird fact that mathematical structures — crafted from definitions and logic — describe the real world stunningly well. Would this two plus two equalling five be something that was observed in the real world, and checked against definitions that suddenly allowed this? Would this be finding a chain of reasoning that supported saying two plus two equalled five, only to find a few minutes later that a proof everyone was satisfied with was now clearly wrong?

That’s a particularly chilling prospect, if you’re in the right mood. We like to think mathematical proofs are absolute and irrefutable, things which are known to be true regardless of who knows them, or what state they’re in, or anything. And perhaps they are. They seem to come as near as mortals can to seeing Platonic forms. (My understanding is that mathematical constructs are not Platonic forms, at least in Plato’s view of things. But they are closer to being forms than, say, apples put on a table for the counting would be.) But what we actually know is whether we, fallible beings comprised of meat that thinks, are satisfied that we’ve seen a proof. We can be fooled. We can think something is satisfactory because we haven’t noticed an implication that’s obviously wrong or contradictory. Or because we’re tired and are feeling compliant. Or because we ate something that’s distracting us before we fully understand an argument. We may have a good idea of what a satisfactory logical proof would be. But stare at the idea hard enough and we realize we might never actually know one.

If you’d like to see more Reading the Comics posts, you can find them at this link. If you’re interested in the individual comics, here you go. My essays tagged with CowTown are here. Essays tagged Dinette Set are at this link. The essays that mention F Minus since I started adding strip tags are here. And this link holds the Motley comics.

Reading the Comics, June 19, 2018: Don’t Ask About The Hyperbolic Cosine Edition


Although the hyperbolic cosine is interesting and I could go on about it.

Eric the Circle for the 18th of June is a bit of geometric wordplay for the week. A secant is — well, many things. One of the important things is it’s a line that cuts across a circle. It intersects the circle in two points. This is as opposed to a tangent, which touch it in one. Or missing it altogether, which I think hasn’t got any special name. “Secant” also appears as one of the six common trig functions out there.

Small circle: 'Hey, Eric! There's a line on you!' Medium circle: 'Get it off!' Eric, with a line across his side: 'See? Can't!'
Eric the Circle for the 18th of June, 2018. This one was composed by Griffinetsabine. It originally appeared sometime in 2012.

In value the secant of an angle is just the reciprocal of the cosine of that angle. Where the cosine is never smaller than -1 nor larger than 1, the secant is always either greater than 1 or smaller than -1. It’s a useful function to have by name. We can write “the secant of angle θ” as sec(\theta) . The otherwise sensible-looking \cos^{-1}(\theta) is unavailable, because we use that to mean “the angle whose cosine is θ”. We need to express that idea, the “arc-cosine” or “inverse cosine”, quite a bit too. And \cos(\theta)^{-1} would look like we wanted the cosine of one divided by θ. Ultimately, we have a lot of ideas we’d like to write down, and only so many convenient quick shorthand ways to write them. And by using secant as its own function we can let the arc-cosine have a convenient shorthand symbol. These symbols are a point where you see the messy, human, evolutionary nature of mathematical symbols at work.

We can understand the cosine of an angle θ by imagining a right triangle with hypotenuse of length 1. Set that so the hypotenuse makes angle θ with respect to the x-axis. Then the opposite leg of that right triangle will be the cosine of θ away from the origin. The secant, now, that works differently. Again here imagine a right triangle, but this time one of the legs has length 1. And that leg is at an angle θ with respect to the x-axis. Then the far leg of that right triangle is going to cross the x-axis. And it’ll do that at a point that’s the secant of θ away from the origin.

Debbie: 'In this soap opera, Kimberly is trying to hide her past from Renaldo ... who has hired a detective to find out how many times (x) Kimberly has made love to how many lovers (y). ... Who says algebra has no use outside the classroom?'
Larry Wright’s Motley Classics for the 19th of June, 2018. It originally ran sometime in 1997.

Larry Wright’s Motley Classics for the 19th speaks of algebra as the way to explain any sufficiently complicated thing. Algebra’s probably not the right tool to analyze a soap opera, or any drama really. The interactions of characters are probably more a matter for graph theory. That’s the field that studies groups of things and the links between them. Occasionally you’ll see analyses of, say, which characters on some complicated science fiction show spend time with each other and which ones don’t. I’m not aware of any that were done on soap operas proper. I suspect most mathematics-oriented nerds view the soaps as beneath their study. But most soap operas do produce a lot of show to watch, and to summarize; I can’t blame them for taking a smaller, easier-to-summarize data set to study. (Also I’m not sure any of these graphs reveal anything more enlightening than, “Huh, really thought The Doctor met Winston Churchill more often than that”.)

Teacher: 'You two making progress on the math problem?' Nancy: 'We're making progress on *A* math problem.' (Nancy and Esther's paper: 'number of seconds left in school, 24 x 5 x 60 x 60'.)
Olivia Jaimes’s Nancy for the 19th of June, 2018. This one originally appeared in June of 2018.

Olivia Jaimes’s Nancy for the 19th is a joke on getting students motivated to do mathematics. Set a problem whose interest people see and they can do wonderful things.

Circle in the bar, speaking to another circle: 'You wanna get out of here, come back to my place and create a Venn diagram?' ... Squirrel in the corner, adding commentary: 'It'll never work ... they have nothing in common.'
Dave Whamond’s Reality Check for the 19th of June, 2018. Those seem like small drinks for circles that large.

Dave Whamond’s Reality Check for the 19th is our Venn Diagram strip for the week. I say the real punch line is the squirrel’s, though. Properly, yes, the Venn Diagram with the two having nothing in common should still have them overlap in space. There should be a signifier inside that there’s nothing in common, such as the null symbol or an x’d out intersection. But not overlapping at all is so commonly used that it might as well be standard.

Cardinal: 'Whatever you're thinking, don't say it.' Other bird has a thought balloon full of arithmetic expressions.
Teresa Bullitt’s Frog Applause for the 21st of June, 2018. It’s a Dadaist comic strip; embrace the bizarreness.

Teresa Bullitt’s Frog Applause for the 21st uses a thought balloon full of mathematical symbols as icon for far too much deep thinking to understand. I would like to give my opinion about the meaningfulness of the expressions. But they’re too small for me to make out, and GoComics doesn’t allow for zooming in on their comics anymore. I looks like it’s drawn from some real problem, based on the orderliness of it all. But I have no good reason to believe that.


If you’d like more of these Reading the Comics posts, you can find them in reverse chronological order at this link. If you’re interested in the comics mentioned particularly here, Eric the Circle strips are here. Frog Applause comics are on that link. Motley strips are on that link. Nancy comics are on that page. And And Reality Check strips are here.

Reading the Comics, June 16, 2018: No Panels Edition


My week got busier than I imagined, but it was in ways worthwhile. I apologize for running late, and for not having an essay I meant to put up here this week. But I should be back to something more normal next week. I keep saying that. Also, for what seems like a rarity, all the strips for this essay are comic strips. No panels. That won’t last, I know.

Johnny Hart’s Back to B.C. for the 14th features arithmetic as a demonstration of The Smartest Man in the World’s credentials. I understand using a bit of arithmetic as a quick check that someone has any intelligence at all. It seems to me that checking “two plus two” is more common than “one plus one”, and either is more common than, say, “one plus two” or “three plus five” or anything. I’m curious why that is, though. Might one plus one just seem too simple? Or is it the bias against odd numbers and feeling that two plus two is somehow more balanced? If only there were some smart person I could ask.

Peter(?) is by a sign reading 'The Smartest Man in the World'. Other Caveman (BC?): 'How much is 2 + 2?' Peter(?): 'Four.' BC: 'What makes day?' Peter: 'The sun.' BC: 'What made people?' (Peter looks frazzled.) BC: 'Here we go again.'
Johnny Hart’s Back to B.C. for the 14th of June, 2018. The strip originally ran the 17th of December, 1960. Thing to remember about Peter(?)’s claim is that at this time there’s like eight people in the world so, you know, yeah.

Jef Mallett’s Frazz for the 14th has a blackboard full of arithmetic as the icon of “doing a lot of school work”. Can’t say it’s age-inappropriate or anything. It’s just an efficient way to show a lot of work that’s kind of tiring to do has been done. … Also somehow one of the commenters didn’t understand the use of ‘flag’ as meaning to lose energy or enthusiasm. Huh.

[ In front of board full of multiplication problems. ] Mrs Olsen: 'Very good. Would you like to do a few more before the bell rings?' Student: 'No, thank you. It's flag day.' [ Later ] Frazz: 'What did that have to do with it?' Student: 'I was beginning to flag.'
Jef Mallett’s Frazz for the 14th of June, 2018. I apologize that I can’t remember this student’s name and I couldn’t find it on a reasonable search. Comic strip About pages need character names.

Jef Mallett’s Frazz for the 15th is a percentages joke, built on confusion between how to go from percentages to fractions and back again. Must say that I had thought 50 percent was tied well enough to one-half in ordinary language (or in phrases like splitting something fifty-fifty) that someone wouldn’t be confused by that. But everyone does miss some obvious things.

Student, to Mrs Olsen: 'If we're just going to forget 60% of this stuff over the summer, why not study only the half of it we'll remember?' [ Later ] Student: 'Annnnnd she doubled our homework.' Frazz: 'What percent of it is math now?'
Jef Mallett’s Frazz for the 15th of June, 2018. I have a similar apology for this student’s name, too. Shall happily accept information on this point.

Mark Pett’s Lucky Cow for the 16th is a probability strip. It is based on what seems obvious, that the fact of any person’s existing is an incredibly unlikely event. We can imagine restarting the universe, and letting it all develop again. And we’re forced to conclude there are so many other ways that galaxies might form and stars might come into being and planets might form and life might develop and evolution might proceed and people might meet and children might be born, and only one way that gets us here. So the chance of any of us existing is impossibly tiny. This is all consistent with the “frequentist” idea of what probability means. In that, we say the probability of a thing happening is all the ways that it could happen divided by all the ways that something could happen. (There are a bunch of technical points to go along with this.)

Clare: 'I need to win the lottery. That would solve all my problems!' Leticia: 'You know, Clare, if you think about it, we've all already *won* the lottery! Each one of us is here because of a long line of happy accidents! Eons ago, our ancestors happened to meet and have children and so on down to our parents! Really, the odds against you or me even being here are *astronomical*!' ... Clare: 'Now I see what they mean when they say winning the lottery can be a curse.'
Mark Pett’s Lucky Cow for the 16th of June, 2018. It originally ran the 20th of August, 2006.

But there are a lot of buried assumptions in there. Many of them seem reasonable. For example: could the universe unfold any differently? It seems obvious that, for example, the radius of the Earth’s orbit around the sun is arbitrary and might be anything in a band that could support life. And, surely, if the year had more or fewer days to it all human history would be different. But then this seems obvious: drop a bunch of short needles across a set of parallel straight lines. The number of needles that cross any of those lines should be arbitrary and unpredictable. Except that it is predictable; there’s a well-known formula that says how many of those needles have to cross those lines. The prediction can be lousy for a handful of needles. For millions of needles, though, it’ll be dead on. The universe won’t make sense any other way.

I can’t go so far as to say that it’s impossible for a universe to exist without me existing and just as I am. That seems egotistical. Even the needle-drop talk has room for variations on the universe. In ten million needle drops, one needle crossing more or less would not be an implausible difference. Ten or a thousand needles falling differently wouldn’t stand out. But, then, after enough needle drops? … If infinitely many needles dropped, I could say exactly what percentage of them crossed lines. (I am speaking so very casually about very difficult technical points. Please pretend I have clear answers for them.) There are deep philosophical questions about the idea of “other universes” that we have to ask if we want to take the subject seriously. But there are deep mathematical questions too.

X figure in a circle: 'DNA tests show I'm related to a Roman beauty by the name of Boderikus Maximus.' Woman: 'Good looking, was she?' X: 'Caesar himself called her a perfect 10.'
Bob Shannon’s Tough Town for the 16th of June, 2018. And the woman here is in nearly every strip and she’s not named either. The About page just talks about Rudolph, “a divorced reindeer working unhappily as a 4th grade teacher” and I think I remember him appearing in the strip back when it started. Oh, I guess that’s him in the title panel on the page, but not in the strip worth mentioning anymore.

Bob Shannon’s Tough Town for the 16th is more or less the anthropomorphized Roman Numerals joke for the week. I don’t know that there’s a strong consensus about why X was used to represent “ten”. Likely it’s impossible to prove any explanation is right. But X has settled into meaning ten, and to serve a host of other uses in typography and in symbols. Some of them are likely connected. Some are probably just coincidence.


If you’d like more of these Reading the Comics posts, you can find them in reverse chronological order at this link. If you’re interested in the comics mentioned particularly here, this page has the B.C. comics (both new and vintage). Frazz is on this page. The Lucky Cow strips are on this page. And Tough Town strips are here.

Reading the Comics, June 13, 2018: Wild Squirrel Edition


I have another Reading the Comics post with a title that’s got nothing to do with the post. It has got something to do with how I spent my weekend. Not sure if I’ll ever get around to explaining that since there’s not much mathematical content to that weekend. I’m not sure whether the nonsense titles are any better than trying to find a theme in what Comic Strip Master Command has sent the past week. It takes time to pick something when anything would do, after all.

Scott Hilburn’s The Argyle Sweater for the 10th is the anthropomorphic numerals strip for the week. Also arithmetic symbols. The ÷ sign is known as “the division symbol”, although now and then people try to promote it as the “obelus”. They’re not wrong to call it that, although they are being the kind of person who tries to call the # sign the “octothorp”. Sometimes social media pass around the false discovery that the ÷ sign is a representation of a fraction, \frac{a}{b} , with the numbers replaced by dots. It’s a good mnemonic for linking fractions and division. But it’s wrong to say that’s what the symbol means. ÷ started being used for division in Western Europe in the mid-17th century, in competition with many symbols, including / (still in common use), : (used in talking about ratios or odds), – (not used in this context anymore, and just confusing if you do try to use it so). And ÷ was used in northern Europe to mean “subtraction” for several centuries after this.

Numeral 8, speaking to a numeral 4 on a motorcycle by a ramp at the edge of a canyon that has a giant division symbol island within it: 'I'd think twice. Even if you make it to the other side, you'll always be half the man I am.' Caption: 'Crossing the Great Divide.'
Scott Hilburn’s The Argyle Sweater for the 10th of June, 2018. I’m kind of curious how far in the comments one has to go before getting to a ‘jumping the shark’ comment but not so curious as to read the comments.

Tom Toles’s Randolph Itch, 2am for the 11th is a repeat; the too-short-lived strip has run through several cycles since I started doing these summaries. But it is also one of the great pie chart jokes ever and I have no intention of not telling people to enjoy it.

Randolph dreaming about his presentation; it shows a Pie Chart: Landed On Stage, 28%. Back wall, 13%. Glancing blow off torso, 22%. Hit podium, 12%. Direct hit in face, 25%. Several pies have been thrown, hitting the stage, back wall, his torso, the podium, his face. Corner illustration: 'I turn now to the bar graph.'
Tom Toles’s Randolph Itch, 2am for the 11th of June, 2018. I’m not sure when it did first run, past that it was in 2000, but I’ve featured it at least two times before, both of those in 2015, peculiarly. So in short I have no idea how GoComics picks its reruns for this strip.

Pie charts, and the also-mentioned bar charts, come to us originally from the economist William Playfair, who in the late 1700s and early 1800s devised nearly all the good ways to visualize data. But we know them thanks to Florence Nightingale. Among her other works, she recognized in these charts good ways to represent her studies about Crimean War medicine and about sanitation in India. Nightingale was in 1859 named the first woman in the Royal Statistical Society, and was named an honorary member of the American Statistical Association in 1874.

Esther: 'The first step of the assignment is to find a partner.' Nancy: 'What's the second step?' [ Worksheet: 'Find a partner. Solve: x^2 + y^2 = 3, 16 x^2 - 4y^2 = 0, for x and y ] Nancy, sitting beside Esther, talking to the teacher: 'Neither of us could find a partner.'
Olivia Jaimes’s Nancy for the 12th of June, 2018. Well, if you still need a partner you can probably find me hiding under the desk hoping I don’t have to talk to anybody, ever. For what that’s worth.

Olivia Jaimes’s Nancy for the 12th uses arithmetic as iconic for classwork nobody wants to do. Algebra, too; I understand the reluctance to start. Simultaneous solutions; the challenge is to find sets of values ‘x’ and ‘y’ that make both equations true together. That second equation is a good break, though. 16 x^2 - 4y^2 = 0 makes it easy to write what ‘y’ has to be in terms of ‘x’. Then you can replace the ‘y’ in the first equation with its expression in terms of ‘x’. In a slightly tedious moment, it’s going to turn out there’s multiple sets of answers. Four sets, if I haven’t missed something. But they’ll be clearly related to each other. Even attractively arranged.

x^2 + y^2 = 3 is an equation that’s true if the numbers ‘x’ and ‘y’ are coordinates of the points on a circle. This is if the coordinates are using the Cartesian coordinate system for the plane, which is such a common thing to do that mathematicians can forget they’re doing that. The circle has radius \sqrt{3} . So you can look at the first equation and draw a circle and write down a note that its radius is \sqrt{3} and you’ve got it. 16x^2 - 4y^2 = 0 looks like an equation that’s true if the numbers ‘x’ and ‘y’ are coordinates of the points on a hyperbola. Again in the Cartesian coordinate system. But I have to feel a little uncomfortable saying this. If the equation were (say) 16x^2 - 4y^2 = 1 then it’d certainly be a hyperbola, which mostly looks like a mirror-symmetric pair of arcs. But equalling zero? That’s called a “degenerate hyperbola”, which makes it sound like the hyperbola is doing something wrong. Unfortunate word, but one we’re stuck with.

The description just reflects that the hyperbola is boring in some way. In this case, it’s boring because the ‘x’ and ‘y’ that make the equation true are just the points on a pair of straight lines that go through the origin, the point with coordinates (0, 0). And they’re going to be mirror-images of each other around the x- and the y-axis. So it seems like a waste to use the form of a hyperbola when we could do just as well using the forms of straight lines to describe the same points. This hyperbola will look like an X, although it might be a pretty squat ‘x’ or a pretty narrow one or something. Depends on the exact equation.

So. The solutions for ‘x’ and ‘y’ are going to be on the points that are on both a circle centered around the origin and on an X centered around the origin. This is a way to see why I would expect four solutions. Also they they would look about the same. There’d be an answer with positive ‘x’ and positive ‘y’, and then three more answers. One answer has ‘x’ with the same size but a minus sign. One answer has ‘y’ with the same size but a minus sign. One has both ‘x’ and ‘y’ with the same values but minus signs.

[ A woman turns a row on a Rubik's cube. She speaks into her phone. ] ' If I move Jen's ortho to Friday, it conflicts with Sam's clarinet. But I can't move that to Monday because Tina has soccer! Ugh, how do I line this thing up?'
Dave Coverly’s Speed Bump for the 12th of June, 2018. This is one of those gimmicks I could see having a niche. Not so much as something someone could use, but as a mildly amusing joke present to give someone you like but don’t really know anything about when for some reason you can’t just give a book instead.

Sorry I wasn’t there to partner with.

Dave Coverly’s Speed Bump for the 12th is a Rubik’s Cube joke. Here it merges the idea with the struggles of scheduling anything anymore. I’m not sure that the group-theory operations of lining up a Rubik’s cube can be reinterpreted as the optimization problems of scheduling stuff. But there are all sorts of astounding and surprising links between mathematical problems. So I wouldn’t rule it out.

Kid: 'Gramma says lotteries are a tax for people who are bad at math.' Dad: 'In a manner of speaking.' Kid: 'What's the tax for people who are bad at reading?' Dad: 'Handicapped-parking fines.'
John Allen’s Nest Heads for the 13th of June, 2018. Not to get too cranky but I can’t figure out what the kid’s name is. I understand some cartoonists want dialogue that’s a bit more natural than someone saying each character’s name at least once per daily strip, but could a cast list please be put on the strip’s ‘About’ page at leaset?

John Allen’s Nest Heads for the 13th is a lotteries joke. I’m less dogmatic than are many mathematicians about the logic of participating in a lottery. At least in the ones as run by states and regional authorities the chance of a major payout are, yes, millions to one against. There can be jackpots large enough that the expectation value of playing becomes positive. In this case the reward for that unlikely outcome is so vast that it covers the hundreds of millions of times you play and lose. But even then, you have the question of whether doing something that just won’t pay out is worth it. My taste is to say that I shall do much more foolish things with my disposable income than buying a couple tickets each year. And while I would like to win the half-billion-dollar jackpot that would resolve all my financial woes and allow me to crush those who had me imprisoned in the Château d’If, I’d also be coming out ahead if I won, like, one of the petty $10,000 prizes.

Reading the Comics, March 9, 2018: Some Old Lines Edition


To close out last week’s comics I got a bunch of strips that were repeats, or that touch on topics I’ve discussed quite a bit around these parts already. I’m pretty sure all the words I have here are new in their specific organization. The words themselves are pretty old.

Maria Scrivan’s Half Full for the 4th is the Rubik’s Cube joke for the week. I ought to write up a proper description of the algebra of Rubik’s Cubes. The real stuff is several books’ worth of material, yes. But a couple hundred words about what’s interesting should be doable. … Or I could just ask folks if they’ve read good descriptions of the group theory that cubes show off. I’m always open to learning other people have said stuff better than me. This is part of why I’ve never published an essay about Cantor’s Diagonal Proof; many people have written such essays and I couldn’t add anything useful to that heap of words.

Partly scrambled Rubik's Cube to a solved one: 'Rough week.'
Maria Scrivan’s Half Full for the 4th of June, 2018. Yeah, uh, it me.

Ryan North’s Dinosaur Comics for the 5th is about the heap paradox. Or the sorites paradox, depending on what book you’ve been reading from. The problem is straightforward enough. As God, in the strip says, a big pile of sand is clearly a heap. One or two grains of sand is clearly not. If you remove grains from the heap, eventually, you lose the heap-ness. T-Rex suggests solving the question of when that happens by statistical survey, finding what people on average find to be the range where things shift over.

God: 'T-Rex let's say you have a giant heap of sand and I remove one grain of it at a time.' T-Rex: 'Ooh, let's!' God: 'Clearly when there's only one grain of sand left it's not a heap anymore!' T-Rex: 'Clearly!' God: 'Aha my friend but when precisely did it switch from heap to non-heap?' T-Rex: 'I dunno! At some fuzzy point if would switch for most observers from 'heap' to, say, 'small pine', and there we can draw the line. Language isn't that precise.' God: 'Listen this is a classic paradox of Eubulides of Miletus came up with over 2000 years ago. You need to have your mind blown now okay.' T-Rex: 'Sounds kinda dumb to me!' Utahraptor: 'What does?' T-Rex: 'The point at which a shrinking heap of sand becomes a non-heap. Clearly I'm supposed to struggle with an arbitrary threshold, because piles on either side of it look much the same. But it's just language! Look at statistical usage of the word 'heap', decide using that average, end of story. Oh, snap, philosophers! Did T-Rex just totally school you with his statistically-based descriptivist approach to semantics? IT APPEARS THAT HE TOTALLY DID! It also appears he's speaking in the third person because he's so impressed with his awesome self!'
Ryan North’s Dinosaur Comics for the 5th of June, 2018. I get that part of the setup of these comics is that T-Rex is nerdy-smart, but I can also imagine the philosophers rolling their eyes at how he’s missed the point. Maybe if he were asked about the density of a single molecule of water he’d understand better why the question can’t be obvious. (And T-Rex does sometimes revisit issues with deeper understanding of the issues. This might have happened between when this strip first appeared on qwantz.com and when it appeared on GoComics.com.

As with many attempts to apply statistical, or experimental, methods to philosophical questions it misses the point. There are properties that things seem to have only as aggregations. Where do they come from? How can there be something true about a collection of things that isn’t true about any part of the thing? This is not just about messy real-world properties either; we can say stuff about groups of mathematical objects that aren’t true about individual objects within the set. For example, suppose we want to draw a real number at random, uniformly, from the continuous interval 0 to 10. There’s a 50% chance we’ll draw a number greater than 5. The chance of drawing any specific number greater than 5, though, is zero. But we can always draw one. Something weird is happening here, as often happens with questions we’ve been trying to answer for thousands of years.

Customer: 'How much will this be at 80% off?' Clerk: 'Ten bucks.' Customer: 'How did you do that in your head so fast?' Clerk: '20% of fifty is ten.' Customer: 'Wow! So you're some kind of super math genius?' Customer: 'Sure.'
Norm Feuti’s Retail for the 6th of June, 2018. This joke, though not this strip, was also run the 26th of June, 2017. There I share my one great retail-mathematics anecdote.

Norm Feuti’s Retail for the 6th is a new strip, although the joke’s appeared before. There’s some arithmetic calculations that are easy to do, or that become easy because you do them a lot. Or because you see them done a lot and learn what the patterns are. A handful of basic tricks — like that 80 percent off is 20 percent of something, or that 20 percent of a thing is one-fifth the original thing — can be stunning. Stage magicians find the same effect.

Rita: 'Tell your group I expect them to give me 110%! Keep in mind, reviews are coming!' Jay: 'Rita --- you should realize that it's impossible to give more than 100%!' Rita: 'No --- not with that kind of attitude!'
John Zakour and Scott Roberts’s Working Daze for the 6th of June, 2018. It ran the 22nd of October, 2014, although that was as part of a “Best Of” week. No idea when it originally ran.

John Zakour and Scott Roberts’s Working Daze for the 6th is another chance for me to talk about the supposed folly of giving 110 percent. Or point you to where I did already. I’m forgiving of the use of the phrase.

Abacus at the bar: 'If you ever find yourself working for Weinstein as a bookkeeper, let me offer you sum advice ... never use the phrase, 'Harvey, you can count on me'.' Hostess: 'Thanks for the tip.'
Bob Shannon’s Tough Town for the 7th of June, 2018. The strip is one about all sorts of odd creatures hanging out in the bar, so, you’re not misunderstanding this.

Bob Shannon’s Tough Town for the 7th is the anthropomorphized abacus joke of the week. Been a while since we had one of those. I suppose an adding machine would be at least as good a representative of the abstract concept of doing arithmetic, but it’s likely harder to draw too. This is just tiring to draw.

Cave-person Father: 'Me have method for knowing how many rocks you have. Called 'counting'. Put up fingers, then say --- ' Cave-person Kid: 'We ever use this in REAL LIFE?' Caption: The First Math Class.
Zach Weinersmith’s Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal for the 8th of June, 2018. Admit I do wonder how often cave people needed to track the number of rocks they had. I mean, how often do we need to count our rocks? Aren’t the rocks themselves an adequate representation of the number of rocks around?

Zach Weinersmith’s Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal for the 8th presents the old complaint about mathematics’s utility, here in an ancient setting. I’m intereste that the caveman presents counting in terms of matching up other things to his fingers. We use this matching of one set of things to another even today. It gets us to ordinal and cardinal numbers, and the to what we feel pretty sure about with infinitely large sets. An idea can be ancient and basic and still be vital.

Karen: 'Uuuhhhhggghh!!! I hate math!!!' Dad: 'First of all, don't say 'hate'. It's a very strong word. Secondly, you will always need math. Even if you're in sales like me. In fact, I'm using math right now. I'm figuring out where I stand against my quota for this quarter. Observe ... I take this number, add it to that one. Take a percentage of this value and subtract it here. See, that's my number ... ... ... I hate math.'
Steve Sicula’s Home and Away rerun for the 9th of June, 2018. The strip originally ran the 6th of March, 2011. … How does Karen there say “Uuuhhhggghh”?

Steve Sicula’s Home and Away for the 9th is about the hatred people profess for mathematics. Some of that is more hatred of how it’s taught, which is too often as a complicated and apparently pointless activity. Some of that is hatred of how it’s used, since it turns up in a lot of jobs. And for some reason we’ve designed society so that we do jobs we don’t like. I don’t know why we think that’s a good idea. We should work on that.

Reading the Comics, June 4, 2018: Weezer’s Africa Edition


Once again the name of this Reading the Comics edition has nothing to do with any of the strips. I’m just aware that Weezer’s cover of Africa is quite popular right now and who am I to deny people things they want? (I like the cover, but it’s not different enough for me to feel satisfied by it. I tend to like covers that highlight something minor in the original, or that go in a strange direction. Shifting a peppy song into a minor key doesn’t count anymore. But bear in mind, I’m barely competent at listening to music. Please now enjoy my eight hours of early electronica in which various beeps and whistles are passed off as music.)

Samson’s Dark Side of the Horse for the 3rd is the Roman numerals joke for the week. And a welcome return for Dark Side of the Horse. It feels like it’s been gone a while. I wouldn’t try counting by Roman numerals to lull myself to sleep; it seems like too much fussy detail work. But I suppose if you’ve gotten good at it, it’s easy.

Horace, counting sheep jumping over the fence: MCDXCVII; MCDXCIX and the sheep falls over the fence; MD and a sheep with a medical bag runs up to tend the fallen sheep.
Samson’s Dark Side of the Horse for the 3rd of June, 2018. Have to say that’s an adorable medical sheep in the third panel.

Jef Mallett’s Frazz for the 3rd builds on removing statistics from their context. It’s a common problem. It’s possible to measure so very many things. Without a clear idea of what we should expect as normal the measurement doesn’t tell us much. And it can be hard to know what the right context for something even is. Let me deconstruct Caulfield’s example. We’re supposed to reflect on and consider that 40% of all weekdays are Monday and Friday too. But it’s not only weekdays that people work. Even someone working a Sunday might take a sick day. Monday and Friday are a bit over 28% of the whole week. But more people do work Monday-to-Friday than do Saturdays and Sundays, so the Sunday sick day is surely rarer than the Monday. So even if we grant Caulfield’s premise, what does it tell us?

Caulfield: 'Did you know 40% of all sick days are taken on Mondays and Fridays?' Three panels of silence. Caulfield: 'Think about it. ... Did you know 60% of some comic strips is filler?' Frazz: 'If the cartoonist can still make it funny and get outside on the first nice day of spring, I'm cool.'
Jef Mallett’s Frazz for the 3rd of June, 2018. So Jef Mallett lives in the same metro area I do, which means I could in principle use this to figure out how far ahead of deadline he wrote this strip. Except that’s a fraud since we never had a first nice day of spring this year. We just had a duplicate of March for all of April and the first three weeks of May, and then had a week of late July before settling into early summer. Just so you know.

Jason Chatfield’s Ginger Meggs for the 3rd is a bit of why-learn-mathematics propaganda. Megg’s father has a good answer. But it does shift the question back one step. Also I see in the top row that Meggs has one of those comic-strip special editions where the name of the book is printed on the back cover instead. (I’m also skeptical of the photo and text layout on the newspaper Megg’s father is reading. But I don’t know the graphic design style of Australian, as opposed to United States, newspapers.)

Ginger Meggs: 'Dad, do I really need to know how to do maths?' Dad: 'Well, of course you need to know how to do mathematics, Ginger! Think about it! Without maths, you could never become an accountant!' (Ginger and his dog stand there stunned for a panel. Next panel, they're gone. Next panel after that ... ) Mom: 'I suppose you know you just blew it.'
Jason Chatfield’s Ginger Meggs for the 3rd of June, 2018. So … I guess Ginger Megg’s father is an accountant? I’m assuming because it makes the joke land better?

Zach Weinersmith’s Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal for the 3rd may belong on some philosopher’s Reading the Comics blog instead. No matter. There’s some mathematical-enough talk going on here. There’s often many ways to approach the same problem. For example, approaching a system as a handful of items. Or as a huge number of them. Or as infinitely many things. Or as a continuum of things. There are advantages each way. A handful of things, for example, we can often model as interactions between pairs of things. We can model a continuum as a fluid. A vast number of things can let one’s computer numerically approximate a fluid. Or infinitely many particles if that’s more convenient.

Professor: 'Monists believe there is no distinction between mind and body.' (Writes 1/1.) 'Dualists believe mind and body are, in some sense, separate aspects of being.' (Writes 1/2.) 'There's a lively debate here, but the important thing to notice is that both are talking about the same human beings. This proves that you can add 1 to the quantity of aspects of being without altering the being itself.' (Writes 1/3, 1/4, 1/5, 1/6, ... ) 'By induction, you can be a monist, dualist, triplist, quadruplist, and so on. There are literally infinite permitted philosophies in ontology-space! Personally, I am a 10-to-the-27th-powerist, in that I believe every one of the atoms in my body is meaningfully distinct.' Student: 'You've taken a difficult philosophy problem and reduced it to a tractable but pointless math problem.' Professor: 'You may also be interested in my work on free will!'
Zach Weinersmith’s Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal for the 3rd of June, 2018. Also I’m not sure where the professor figures he’s going with this but my understanding is it’s rather key to our understanding of quantum mechanics that, say, every atom of Carbon-12 in our bodies is the same as every other atom. At least apart from accidental properties like which compound it might happen to be in at the moment and where it is in that compound. That is, if you swapped two of the same isotope there’d be no way to tell you had.

To describe all these different models as sharing an “ontology-space” is good mathematical jargon too. In this context the “-space” would mean the collection of all these things that are built by the same plan but with different values of whichever parameter matters.

Julian writes E = mc^2 on a blackboard. He tells Suzy, 'That's Einstein's theory.' Suzy: 'It's real cute, Julian!'
Bud Blake’s Tiger for the 6th of August, 1965. It was rerun the 4th of June, 2018. I confess I’m not sure exactly what the joke is. If it’s not that Suzy has no idea what’s being written but wants to say something nice about Julian’s work … all right, and I guess that’s an unremarkable attitude for a cartoonist to express in 1965, but it’s a weak joke.

Bud Blake’s Tiger for the 6th of August, 1965 features Einstein’s famous equation. I suppose it’s showing how well-informed Julian is, that he knows and can present such a big result. There is beauty in mathematics (and physics). Mathematicians (and physicists) find the subject beautiful to start with, and try to find attractive results. I’m curious what the lay reader makes of mathematical symbols, though, just as pieces of art. I remember as a child finding this beauty in a table of integrals in the front of one of my mother’s old college textbooks. All those parallel rows of integral symbols drew me in though nothing I’d seen in mathematics had prepared me to even read it. I still find that beautiful, but I can’t swear that I would even if I hadn’t formed that impression early in life. Are lay and professional readers’ views of mathematical-expression beauty similar? How are they different?

Reading the Comics, June 1, 2018: His First Name Is Tom For What That’s Worth Edition


And now I’ve got caught up with last week’s comics. I can get to readying for this coming Sunday looking at … so far … nine comic strips that made the preliminary cut. Whimper.

This time the name does mean something.

Thaves’s Frank and Ernest for the 31st complains about not being treated as a “prime number”. There’s a lot of linguistic connotation gone into this strip. The first is the sense that to be a number is to be stripped of one’s humanity, to become one of a featureless horde. Each number is unique, of course; Iva Sallay’s Find the Factors page each day starts with some of the features of each whole number in turn. But one might look at, oh, 84,644 and not something very different from 84,464.

Frank: 'The boss treats me like a number, and not a prime one.'
Thaves’s Frank and Ernest for the 31st of May, 2018. In the past I’ve gone out trying to find and print Thaves’s first name, on the grounds that I should fully credit people. I’m coming around on this, first because I keep forgetting his first name and looking it up every time is tiresome. But more important, if Thaves wants to be known simply as ‘Thaves’ what am I doing arguing that? Is there a different Thaves, possibly his evil twin, producing another comic strip named Frank and Ernest that I have to make clear I’m not talking about? So that’s my level of overthinking these captions right now.

And yet there’s the idea that there are prime numbers, celebrities within the anonymous counting numbers. The name even says it; a prime something is especially choice. And we speak of prime numbers as somehow being the backbone of numbers. This reflects that we find unique factorizations to be a useful thing to do. But being a prime number doesn’t make a number necessarily better. There are reasons most (European) currencies, before decimalization, divided their currency unit into 20 parts of 12 parts each. And nobody divided them into 19 parts of 13 parts each. As often happens, whether something is good depends on what you’re hoping it’s good for.

[ Movie showing the digits of Pi marching out of a flying saucer.] Guy in movie: 'What are they?' Woman in movie: 'They appear to be numbers.' Guy watching movie: 'I just love sci-pi movies.'
Nate Fakes’s Break of Day for the 1st of June, 2018. Sure, but what do you do for the sequel? No, τ is not a thing.

Nate Fakes’s Break of Day for the 1st of June is more or less the anthropomorphized numerals installment for the week. It’s also a bit of wordplay, so, good on them. There’s not so many movies about mathematics. Darren Aronofsky’s Pi, Ron Howard’s A Beautiful Mind, and Theodore Melfi’s Hidden Figures are the ones that come to mind, at least in American cinema. And there was the TV detective series Numbers. It seems odd that there wasn’t, like, some little studio prestige thing where Paul Muni played Évariste Galois back in the day. But a lot of the mathematical process isn’t cinematic. People scribbling notes, typing on a computer, or arguing about something you don’t understand are all hard to make worth watching. And the parts that anyone could understand — obsession, self-doubt, arguments over priority, debates about implications — are universal to any discovery or invention. Note that the movies listed are mostly about people who happen to be doing mathematics. You could change the specialties to, say, chemical engineering without altering the major plot beats. Well, Pi would need more alteration. But you could make it about any process that seems to offer reliable forecasting in a new field.

Bernice, whispering: 'Luann! Did you hear? Tiffany asked Aaron Hill to the dance but he turned her down! He said he's inviting 'someone else'!' Teacher: 'So if x is 1/4 y over 42.6 minus (Q^2 R)/19 ...' Bernice: 'And we know WHO that 'someone else' is, don't we?' [ Luann is wide-eyed with joy. ] Teacher: 'Can anyone tell me what 'R' is?' Luann: 'YES!' Teacher: 'Good! Come up here to the board, Luann.'
Greg Evans’s Luann Againn for the 1st of June, 2018. It originally ran the 1st of June, 1990.

Greg Evans’s Luann Againn for the 1st takes place in mathematics class. The subject doesn’t matter for the joke. It could be anything that doesn’t take much word-balloon space but that someone couldn’t bluff their way through.

Mr Barrows: 'You're pretty good at numbers, Quincy. Are you going to work with figures when you grow up?' Quincy: 'I'm not sure yet, Mr Barrows. I'm either gonna be a very tall accountant or a very short basketball player.'
Ted Shearer’s Quincy for the 7th of April, 1979 and reprinted the 1st of June, 2018. I get why Quincy would figure he’d grow up to be a very tall accountant, but why does he just assume he’d be a very short basketball player? Isn’t it as easy to imagine you’ll grow up to be a typically-sized basketball player? Does he know something we don’t?

Ted Shearer’s Quincy for the 7th of April, 1979 has Quincy thinking what he’ll do with his head for figures. He sees accounting as plausible. Good for him. Society always needs accountants. And they probably do more of society’s mathematics than the mathematicians do.

Scientist type pointing to the blackboard full of arithmetic: 'Cutting-edge formula? No, that's the wi-fi password.'
Bill Abbott’s Spectickles for the 1st of June, 2018. So, is this all the characters that have to be typed in, or is it one of those annoying things where you have to solve the puzzle to get the password?

Bill Abbott’s Spectickles for the 1st features the blackboard-full-of-mathematics to represent the complicated. It shows off the motif that an advanced mathematical formula will be a long and complicated one. This has good grounds behind it. If you want to model something interesting that hasn’t been done before, chances are it’s because you need to consider many factors. And trying to represent them will be clumsily done. It takes reflection and consideration and, often, new mathematical tools to make a formula pithy. Famously, James Clerk Maxwell introduced his equations about electricity and magnetism as a set of twenty equations. By 1873 Maxwell, making some use of quaternions, was able to reduce this to eight equations. Oliver Heaviside, in the late 19th century, used the still-new symbols of vector mechanics. This let him make an attractive quartet. We still see that as the best way to describe electromagnetic fields. As with writing, much of mathematics is rewriting.

Reading the Comics, May 30, 2018: Spherical Photos Edition


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.

Nate: 'Time for me to break this 0-and-17 stretch.' Teddy: 'Exactly! You're due, Nate! You're due!' Francis: 'Not necessarily. The chances of Nate getting a hit aren't enhanced by the fact that he's gone five games without one.' Teddy: 'I lied. You're not due.' Francis: 'But miracles happen, so go for it.'
Lincoln Pierce’s Big Nate rerun for the 29th of May, 2018. The strip first ran the 18th of May, 2010. I’ve not heard anything about why Pierce has been away from the strip since the start of the year.

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.

Melvin: 'Hold on now --- replacement? Who could you find to do all the tasks only Melvin can perform?' Rita: 'A macaque, in fact. Listen, if an infinite number of monkeys can write all the great works, I'm confident that one will more than cover for you.'
John Zakour and Scott Roberts’s Working Daze for the 29th of May, 2018. Earlier in the sequence they had the Zootopia sloth replacing Ed, but there’s no making that on topic for my blog here.

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.

Hazel, with mathematics book, asking a bored kid: 'Okay, now what's nine times eight?' Next panel: the kid's coming out and saying 'Next'; a sign reads, 'Need help with your homework? See Hazel 1 to 5 pm Saturdays'.
Ted Key’s Hazel rerun for the 30th of May, 2018. I can’t say when this first ran. I’m not sure what the kid’s name is, sorry.

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.

Accessories of Famous Teachers: Einstein's Chalkboard; Galileo's Compass; Confucius's Fortune Cookie; Socrates's Hemlock; Miss Othmar's Trombone.
Scott Hilburn’s The Argyle Sweater for the 30th of May, 2018. Are … Einstein, Galileo, and Confucius really famous teachers? Calling Socrates a teacher is a lesser stretch.

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 \Delta t 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.

Mathematical Fun Fact: For each of the possible espresso-to-milk ratios, there exists at least one Italian-sounding name: Just Milk; 1:3 'latte', 1:2 'Cappuccino', 1:1 'Antoccino', 2:1 'Macchiato', 3:1 'Antilatte', Just Espresso. Also: 1/c^2 'Relativisto'; (espresso + milk)/espresso = espresso/milk 'Phicetto'; i:1 'Imaginarati', pi:1 'Irratiognito'; 6.022*10^23 : 1, 'Avogadro'; lim_{milk->0} espresso/milk: 'Infiniccino'.
Zach Weinersmiths’s Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal for the 30th of May, 2018. Kind of curious what sorts of drinks you get from putting in infinitesimals. (You get milk or espresso with a homeopathic bit of the other.)

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 \imath . 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. \imath is far more important. Suppose that there is some number, which we give that name, with the property that \imath^2 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 \imath , 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 \imath would look if people weren’t primed to think it was weird.

Reading the Comics, May 29, 2018: Finding Reruns Edition


There were a bunch of mathematically-themed comic strips this past week. A lot of them are ones I’d seen before. One of them is a bit risque and I’ve put that behind a cut. This saves me the effort of thinking up a good nonsense name to give this edition, so there’s that going for me too.

Bill Amend’s FoxTrot Classics for the 24th of May ought to have run last Sunday, but I wasn’t able to make time to write about it. It’s part of a sequence of Jason tutoring Paige in geometry. She’s struggling with the areas of common shapes which is relatable. Many of these area formulas could be kept straight by thinking back to rectangles. The size of the area is equal to the length of the base times the length of the height. From that you could probably reason right away the area of a trapezoid. It would have the same area as a rectangle with a base of length the mean length of the trapezoid’s different-length sides. The parallelogram works like the rectangle, length of the base times the length of the height. That you can convince yourself of by imagining the parallelogram. Then imagine slicing a right triangle off one of its sides. Move that around to the other side. Put it together right and you have a rectangle. Already know the area of a rectangle. The triangle, then, you can get by imagining two triangles of the same size and shape. Rotate one of the triangles 180 degrees. Slide it over, so the two triangles touch. Do this right and you have a parallelogram and so you know the area. The triangle’s half the area of that parallelogram.

Paige: 'OK, let me see if I've got these area formulas memorized. For a triangle, it's 1/2 bh. For a trapezoid, it's 1/2 (a + b)h. And for a circle, it's pi r^2.' Jason: 'Yes! Yes! Yes! You got them all right! You're going to ace this test! I'm going to make $10!' Paige: 'I always get confused --- does h stand for my height or the triangle's? ... Just kidding.' Jason: 'WILL YOU QUIT TOYING WITH ME?!'
Bill Amend’s FoxTrot Classics for the 24th of May, 2018. It originally ran the 30th of May, 1996.

The circle, I don’t know. I think just remember that if someone says “pi” they’re almost certainly going to follow it with either “r squared” or “day”. One of those suggests an area; the other doesn’t. Best I can do.

Jeri: 'Arrrrhh'. Teena: 'Sup?' Jeri: 'I'm having issues with this math issue. It's the way they phrase these word things. They're like trick questions. I can never figure them out.' Teena: 'Here, let me see what you're having trouble with. ... 'Sarah sits next to Stephen, who is very good at algebra. This causes Sarah, who has issues with BOTH Steven AND algebra, to feel bad But if Sarah moves next to someone else, Steven will feel bad. How do you protect Sarah's and Steven's self-esteem?' Jeri: 'I'm not that comfortable with my answer.' Teena: 'Which is?' Jeri: 'Eleven.' Teena: 'It must be very interesting in your school.'
Allison Barrows’s PreTeena rerun for the 27th of May, 2018. It originally ran the 15th of February, 2004.

Allison Barrows’s PreTeena rerun for the 27th discusses self-esteem as though it were a good thing that children ought to have. This is part of the strip’s work to help build up the Old Person Complaining membership that every comics section community group relies on. But. There is mathematics in Jeri’s homework. Not mathematics in the sense of something particular to calculate. There’s just nothing to do there. But it is mathematics, and useful mathematics, to work out the logic of how to satisfy multiple requirements. Or, if it’s impossible to satisfy them all at once, then to come as near satisfying them as possible. These kinds of problems are considered optimization or logistics problems. Most interesting real-world examples are impossibly hard, or at least become impossibly hard before you realize it. You can make a career out of doing as best as possible in the circumstances.

Charles Schulz’s Peanuts rerun for the 27th features an extended discussion by Lucy about the nature of … well, she explicitly talks about “nothing”. Is she talking about zero? Probably; you have to get fairly into mathematics or philosophy to start worrying about the difference between the number zero and the idea of nothing. In Algebra, mathematicians learn to work with systems of things that work like numbers enough that you can add and subtract and multiply them together, without committing to the idea that they’re working with numbers. They will have something that works like zero, though, a “nothing” that can be added to or subtracted from anything without changing it. And for which multiplication turns something into that “nothing”.

Charlie Brown, at Lucy's Psychiatric Help 5 cents booth: 'I always wanted to go up to that little red-haired girl and talk to her, but I just couldn't. I couldn't start a conversation because I was such a nothing and she was something. If she had wanted to talk to me, it would have been easy because someone who is really something can just go right up to someone who is nothing, and just talk.' Lucy: 'I think your problem is mathematical, Charlie Brown.' Charlie Brown: 'Mathematical?' Lucy: 'If you add nothing and something, what do you get?' Charlie Brown: 'Something, I guess.' Lucy: 'Right ... now, if you subtract nothing from something, what do you get?' Charlie Brown: 'Something.' Lucy: 'Very good ... now, if you multiply something by nothing, what do you get?' Charlie Brown: 'Nothing.' Lucy: 'Five cents, please.' Charlie Brown: 'When you're a nothing, you have a hard time understanding anything!'
Charles Schulz’s Peanuts rerun for the 27th of May, 2018. It originally ran the 30th of May, 1971. This strip originally ran during a time when, in-continuity, the Little Red-Haired Girl had moved away and Charlie Brown was coping with having never spoken to her. At some point she moved back, possibly because Schulz felt he had done everything he could with that or possibly because he forgot she had moved away.

I’m with Charlie Brown in not understanding where Lucy was going with all this, though. Maybe she lost the thread herself.

Mark Anderson’sAndertoons for the 28th is Mark Anderson’sAndertoons for the week. Wavehead’s worried about the verbs of both squaring and rounding numbers. Will say it’s a pair of words with contrary alternate meanings that I hadn’t noticed before. I have always taken the use of “square” to reflect, well, if you had a square with sides of size 4, then you’d have a square with area of size 16. The link seems obvious and logical. So on reflection that’s probably not at all where English gets it from. I mean, not to brag or anything but I’ve been speaking English all my life. If I’ve learned anything about it, it’s that the origin is probably something daft like “while Tisquantum [Squanto] was in England he impressed locals with his ability to do arithmetic and his trick of multiplying one number by itself got nicknamed squantuming, which got shortened to squaning to better fit the meter in a music-hall song about him, and a textbook writer in 1704 thought that was a mistake and `corrected’ it to squaring and everyone copied that”. I’m not even going to venture a guess about the etymology of “rounding”.

On the board: 2^2 = 4, 3^2 = 9, 4^2 = 16. Wavehead: 'Wait, we're squaring numbers now? We just figured out how to round them!'
Mark Anderson’sAndertoons for the 28th of May, 2018. But why would the examples be written out before the students were told what the were doing?

Marguerite Dabaie and Tom Hart’s Ali’s House for the 28th sets up a homework-help session over algebra. Can’t say where exactly Maisa is going wrong. Her saying “x equals 30 but the train equals” looks like trouble to me. It’s often good practice to start by writing out what are the things in the problem that seem important. And what symbol one wants each to mean. And what one knows about the relationship between these things. It helps clarify why someone would want to do that instead of something else. This is a new comic strip tag and I don’t think I’ve ever had cause to discuss it before.

Maisa: 'Can you help me with my homework?' Sahib: 'Dad promised me a hamburger.' Maisa: 'You see - x equals 30 but the train equals ... ' Sahib: 'Dad never makes hamburgers ... mutter mutter mutter.' Maisa: 'Look, I really need help with this.' Sahib: 'My brain isn't set on pay attention my brain is set on burger!'
Marguerite Dabaie and Tom Hart’s Ali’s House for the 28th of May, 2018. Relatable.

Hilary Price’s Rhymes With Orange for the 29th is a Rubik’s Cube joke. I’ve counted that as mathematical enough, usually. The different ways that you can rotate parts of the cube form a group. This is something like what I mentioned in the Peanuts discussion. The different rotations you can do can be added to or subtracted from each other, the way numbers can. (Multiplication I’m wary about.)

Rubik's Headquarters. It's a three-by-three wireframe with tiny offices inside. Person looking in: 'My corner office ... gone! I hate when they do a management shuffle.' [ Title panel, Other person: 'Rumor has it they're going to an open-concept model.' ]
Hilary Price’s Rhymes With Orange for the 29th of May, 2018. Pity whoever gets the center office, bottom layer.

And now here’s the strip that is unsuitable for reading at work, owing to the appearance of an undressed woman.

Continue reading “Reading the Comics, May 29, 2018: Finding Reruns Edition”

Reading the Comics, May 18, 2018: Quincy Doesn’t Make The Cut Edition


I hate to disillusion anyone but I lack hard rules about what qualifies as a mathematically-themed comic strip. During a slow week, more marginal stuff makes it. This past week was going slow enough that I tagged Wednesday’s Quincy rerun, from March of 1979 for possible inclusion. And all it does is mention that Quincy’s got a mathematics test due. Fortunately for me the week picked up a little. It cheats me of an excuse to point out Ted Shearer’s art style to people, but that’s not really my blog’s business.

Also it may not surprise you but since I’ve decided I need to include GoComics images I’ve gotten more restrictive. Somehow the bit of work it takes to think of a caption and to describe the text and images of a comic strip feel like that much extra work.

Roy Schneider’s The Humble Stumble for the 13th of May is a logic/geometry puzzle. Is it relevant enough for here? Well, I spent some time working it out. And some time wondering about implicit instructions. Like, if the challenge is to have exactly four equally-sized boxes after two toothpicks are moved, can we have extra stuff? Can we put a toothpick where it’s just a stray edge, part of no particular shape? I can’t speak to how long you stay interested in this sort of puzzle. But you can have some good fun rules-lawyering it.

Dad: A guy showed me a brain teaser down at the coffee shop. Watch.' Molly: Ooh, coolie! I'm good at these!' Dad: 'OK, you've got 5 equal-sized boxes here ... moving only 2 toothpicks, make it into FOUR equal-size boxes.' (It's three matchstick boxes in the top row, and two underneath, with the rightmost of the top row above the leftmost of the bottom row.) Dad: 'Heh-heh! THAT ought to keep you busy for a while!' Molly: 'I'll have it in a minute.' Silent final panel, Molly there, bloodshot eyes, late at night.
Roy Schneider’s The Humble Stumble rerun for the 13th of May, 2018. This originally ran the 18th of August, 2006, but I wasn’t doing mathematics blogs back then. Also, Molly there is me with any mathematics puzzle, which is why I panic whenever someone brings one to me. This is a new tag for the comic strip.

Jeff Harris’s Shortcuts for the 13th is a children’s informational feature about Aristotle. Aristotle is renowned for his mathematical accomplishments by many people who’ve got him mixed up with Archimedes. Aristotle it’s harder to say much about. He did write great texts that pop-science writers credit as giving us the great ideas about nature and physics and chemistry that the Enlightenment was able to correct in only about 175 years of trying. His mathematics is harder to summarize though. We can say certainly that he knew some mathematics. And that he encouraged thinking of subjects as built on logical deductions from axioms and definitions. So there is that influence.

A panel full of jokes, activities, and trivia relating to Aristotle. There's no way for me to summarize it all (which includes a word search and a maze as activities) in the space available.
Jeff Harris’s Shortcuts for the 13th of May, 2018. That demonstration of Aristotle’s syllogisms is the same one I see when I search DuckDuckGo for ‘aristotle mathematics’ so it must come right from his texts that I’ve never read! That’s how citations work, right?

Dan Thompson’s Brevity for the 15th is a pun, built on the bell curve. This is also known as the Gaussian distribution or the normal distribution. It turns up everywhere. If you plot how likely a particular value is to turn up, you get a shape that looks like a slightly melted bell. In principle the bell curve stretches out infinitely far. In practice, the curve turns into a horizontal line so close to zero you can’t see the difference once you’re not-too-far away from the peak.

Baseball manager warning the player, 'Watch out, he's got a wicked curve'. The pitcher is a classic hand-style bell with clapper, and also arms and a glove and ball.
Dan Thompson’s Brevity for the 15th of May, 2018. I am curious whether there’s any significance to Thompson’s uniforms, particularly the player having a ‘B’ camp and a ‘U’ shoulder patch. I don’t think there’s an obvious relevance to the statistics jokes being made.

Jason Chatfield’s Ginger Meggs for the 16th I assume takes place in a mathematics class. I’m assuming the question is adding together four two-digit numbers. But “what are 26, 24, 33, and 32” seems like it should be open to other interpretations. Perhaps Mr Canehard was asking for some class of numbers those all fit into. Integers, obviously. Counting numbers. Compound numbers rather than primes. I keep wanting to say there’s something deeper, like they’re all multiples of three (or something) but they aren’t. They haven’t got any factors other than 1 in common. I mention this because I’d love to figure out what interesting commonality those numbers have and which I’m overlooking.

Teacher: 'Meggs! Pop quiz: what are 26, 24, 33, and 32?' Ginger Meggs, after a panel of silent thought: 'Your last four payslips?'
Jason Chatfield’s Ginger Meggs for the 16th of May, 2018. Little surprised Ginger didn’t name cricketeers with those uniform numbers, trusting that cricket players have uniform numbers.

Ed Stein’s Freshly Squeezed for the 17th is a story problem strip. Bit of a passive-aggressive one, in-universe. But I understand why it would be formed like that. The problem’s incomplete, as stated. There could be some fun in figuring out what extra bits of information one would need to give an answer. This is another new-tagged comic.

Nate, the son: 'We're supposed to do today's homework with our parents.' Mom: 'Okay.' Nate: '1. If there are 28 kids in a class, and the education budget is cut by $465 million, how many will be in the class next year?' Dad: 'Taking parental involvement to the next level.' Nate: '2. If the teacher's insurance doesn't cover nervous breakdowns ... '
Ed Stein’s Freshly Squeezed rerun for the 17th of May, 2018. This originally ran the 5th of May, 2011 and maybe I even featured it then. … No, it doesn’t look like I did. Well, I can only imagine how very well this appeal to the parents of the school district under guise of homework went over!

Henry Scarpelli and Craig Boldman’s Archie for the 19th name-drops calculus, credibly, as something high schoolers would be amazed to see one of their own do in their heads. There’s not anything on the blackboard that’s iconically calculus, it happens. Dilton’s writing out a polynomial, more or less, and that’s a fit subject for high school calculus. They’re good examples on which to learn differentiation and integration. They’re a little more complicated than straight lines, but not too weird or abstract. And they follow nice, easy-to-summarize rules. But they turn up in high school algebra too, and can fit into geometry easily. Or any subject, really, as remember, everything is polynomials.

Archie: 'It's amazing how Dilton can do calculus in his head!' Reggie: 'Yeah, I suppose! I guess I'll settle for being the school's most admired athlete and greatest sex symbol!' Jughead: 'It's amazing how Reggie does all that in *his* head, too!'
Henry Scarpelli and Craig Boldman’s Archie rerun for the 19th of May, 2018. And yeah, C^2 + x + 1) isn’t really a coherent expression. It’s either missing a ( mark or, if the C is the open-parentheses, then it’s got nothing-in-particular squared. Also I am so bothered to have close-parentheses and open-parentheses out of order that last sentence. You have no idea.

Mark Anderson’s Andertoons for the 19th is Mark Anderson’s Andertoons for the week. Glad that it’s there. Let me explain why it is proper construction of a joke that a Fibonacci Division might be represented with a spiral. Fibonacci’s the name we give to Leonardo of Pisa, who lived in the first half of the 13th century. He’s most important for explaining to the western world why these Hindu-Arabic numerals were worth learning. But his pop-cultural presence owes to the Fibonacci Sequence, the sequence of numbers 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, and so on. Each number’s the sum of the two before it. And this connects to the Golden Ratio, one of pop mathematics’ most popular humbugs. As the terms get bigger and bigger, the ratio between a term and the one before it gets really close to the Golden Ratio, a bit over 1.618.

Business group looking at a slide showing the golden spiral. Speaker: 'And, as you can see, the Fibonacci division is right on track.'
Mark Anderson’s Andertoons for the 19th of May, 2018. I wonder which direction it’s moving in.

So. Draw a quarter-circle that connects the opposite corners of a 1×1 square. Connect that to a quarter-circle that connects opposite corners of a 2×2 square. Connect that to a quarter-circle connecting opposite corners of a 3×3 square. And a 5×5 square, and an 8×8 square, and a 13×13 square, and a 21×21 square, and so on. Yes, there are ambiguities in the way I’ve described this. I’ve tried explaining how to do things just right. It makes a heap of boring words and I’m trying to reduce how many of those I write. But if you do it the way I want, guess what shape you have?

And that is why this is a correctly-formed joke about the Fibonacci Division.

Reading the Comics, May 12, 2018: New Nancy Artist Edition


And now, closer to deadline than I like, let me wrap up last week’s mathematically-themed comic strips. I had a lot happening, that’s all I can say.

Glenn McCoy and Gary McCoy’s The Flying McCoys for the 10th is another tragic moment in the mathematics department. I’m amused that white lab coats are taken to read as “mathematician”. There are mathematicians who work in laboratories, naturally. Many interesting problems are about real-world things that can be modelled and tested and played with. It’s hardly the mathematics-department uniform, but then, I’m not sure mathematicians have a uniform. We just look like academics is all.

A wall of the Mathematics Department has fallen in. A guy in lab coat says, 'Quick --- someone call the square root of 829,921!!'
Glenn McCoy and Gary McCoy’s The Flying McCoys for the 10th of May, 2018. I suppose the piece of chalk serves as a mathematician’s professional badge, but it would be odd for a person walking in to the room to happen to have a piece. I mean, there’s good reason he might, since there’s never enough chalk in the right places and it has to be stolen from somewhere. But that’s a bit too much backstory for a panel like this.

It also shows off that motif of mathematicians as doing anything with numbers in a more complicated way than necessary. I can’t imagine anyone in an emergency trying to evoke 9-1-1 by solving any kind of puzzle. But comic strip characters are expected to do things at least a bit ridiculously. I suppose.

Mark Litzler’s Joe Vanilla for the 11th is about random numbers. We need random numbers; they do so much good. Getting them is hard. People are pretty lousy at picking random numbers in their head. We can say what “lousy” random numbers look like. They look wrong. There’s digits that don’t get used as much as the others do. There’s strings of digits that don’t get used as much as other strings of the same length do. There are patterns, and they can be subtle ones, that just don’t look right.

Person beside a sign, with the numbers 629510, 787921 and 864370 crossed out and 221473 at the bottom. Caption: 'Performance Art: Random Number Generator'.
Mark Litzler’s Joe Vanilla for the 11th of May, 2018. Bonus: depending on how you want to group a string of six numbers there’s as many as eleven random numbers to select there.

And yet we have a terrible time trying to say what good random numbers look like. Suppose we want to have a string of random zeroes and ones: is 101010 better or worse than 110101? Or 000111? Well, for a string of digits that short there’s no telling. It’s in big batches that we should expect to see no big patterns. … Except that occasionally randomness should produce patterns. How often should we expect patterns, and of what size? This seems to depend on what patterns we’ve found interesting enough to look for. But how can the cultural quirks that make something seem interesting be a substantial mathematical property?

Nancy: 'Don't you hate when you sit down at a computer and can't remember what you were going to do. For the life of me I can't recall what I wanted to do when I sat down.' Teacher: 'Nice try, Nancy, but you still have to take the countywide math test.' (Two other rows of students are on similar computers.)
Olivia Jaimes’s Nancy for the 11th of May, 2018. … Or has the Internet moved on from talking about Nancy already? Bear in mind, I still post to Usenet, so that’s how out of touch I am.

Olivia Jaimes’s Nancy for the 11th uses mathematics-assessment tests for its joke. It’s of marginal relevance, yes, but it does give me a decent pretext to include the new artist’s work here. I don’t know how long the Internet is going to be interested in Nancy. I have to get what attention I can while it lasts.

Scott Hilburn’s The Argyle Sweater for the 12th is the anthropomorphic-geometry joke for the week. Unless there was one I already did Sunday that I already forgot. Oh, no, that was anthropomorphic-numerals. It’s easy to see why a circle might be labelled irrational: either its radius or its area has to be. Both can be. The triangle, though …

Marriage Counsellor: 'She says you're very close-minded.' Triangle: 'It's called 'rational'. But she's all 'pi this' and 'pi that'. Circle: 'It's a constant struggle, doctor.'
Scott Hilburn’s The Argyle Sweater for the 12th of May, 2018. Will admit that I hadn’t heard of Heronian Triangles before I started poking around this, and I started to speculate whether it was even possible for all three legs of a triangle to be rational and the area also be rational. So you can imagine what I felt like when I did some searching and found the 5-12-13 right triangle, since that’s just the other Pythagorean Triplet you learn after the 3-4-5 one. Oh, I guess also the 3-4-5 one.

Well, that’s got me thinking. Obviously all the sides of a triangle can be rational, and so its perimeter can be too. But … the area of an equilateral triangle is \frac{1}{2}\sqrt{3} times the square of the length of any side. It can have a rational side and an irrational area, or vice-versa. Just as the circle has. If it’s not an equilateral triangle?

Can you have a triangle that has three rational sides and a rational area? And yes, you can. Take the right triangle that has sides of length 5, 12, and 13. Or any scaling of that, larger or smaller. There is indeed a whole family of triangles, the Heronian Triangles. All their sides are integers, and their areas are integers too. (Sides and areas rational are just as good as sides and areas integers. If you don’t see why, now you see why.) So there’s that at least. The name derives from Heron/Hero, the ancient Greek mathematician whom we credit with that snappy formula that tells us, based on the lengths of the three sides, what the area of the triangle is. Not the Pythagorean formula, although you can get the Pythagorean formula from it.

Still, I’m going to bet that there’s some key measure of even a Heronian Triangle that ends up being irrational. Interior angles, most likely. And there are many ways to measure triangles; they can’t all end up being rational at once. There are over two thousand ways to define a “center” of a triangle, for example. The odds of hitting a rational number on all of them at once? (Granted, most of these triangle centers are unknown except to the center’s discoverer/definer and that discoverer’s proud but baffled parents.)

Paul: 'Claire, this online business program looks good.' Claire: 'Yeah, I saw that one. But I think it's too intense. I mean, look at this. They make you take two courses in statistics and probability. What are the odds I'd ever need that? ... Oh, wait ... '
Carla Ventresca and Henry Beckett’s On A Claire Day rerun for the 12th of May, 2018. If I make it out right this originally ran the 14th of May, 2010. I forget whether I’ve featured this here already. Likely will drop it from repeats given how hard it is to write much about it. Shame, too, as I’ve just now added that tag to the roster here.

Carla Ventresca and Henry Beckett’s On A Claire Day for the 12th mentions taking classes in probability and statistics. They’re the classes nobody doubts are useful in the real world. It’s easy to figure probability is more likely to be needed than functional analysis on some ordinary day outside the university. I can’t even compose that last sentence without the language of probability.

I’d kind of agree with calling the courses intense, though. Well, “intense” might not be the right word. But challenging. Not that you’re asked to prove anything deep. The opposite, really. An introductory course in either provides a lot of tools. Many of them require no harder arithmetic work than multiplication, division, and the occasional square root. But you do need to learn which tool to use in which scenario. And there’s often not the sorts of proofs that make it easy to understand which tool does what. Doing the proofs would require too much fussing around. Many of them demand settling finicky little technical points that take you far from the original questions. But that leaves the course as this archipelago of small subjects, each easy in themselves. But the connections between them are obscured. Is that better or worse? It must depend on the person hoping to learn.

Reading the Comics, May 5, 2018: Does Anyone Know Where The Infinite Hotel Comes From Edition


With a light load of mathematically-themed comic strips I’m going to have to think of things to write about twice this coming week. Fortunately, I have plans. We’ll see how that works out for me. So far this year I’m running about one-for-eight on my plans.

Mort Walker and Dik Browne’s Hi and Lois for the 1st of November, 1960 looks pretty familiar somehow. Having noticed what might be the first appearance of “the answer is twelve?” in Peanuts I’m curious why Chip started out by guessing twelve. Probably just coincidence. Possibly that twelve is just big enough to sound mathematical without being conspicuously funny, like 23 or 37 or 42 might be. I’m a bit curious that after the first guess Sally looked for smaller numbers than twelve, while Chip (mostly) looked for larger ones. And I see a logic in going from a first guess of 12 to a second guess of either 4 or 144. The 32 is a weird one.

Teacher: 'Chip, do you know the answer to number five?' Chip: 'Is it twelve? No, wait ... it's four. Or is it 32 ... it's either that or 144. No, wait a second ... I'll get it.' Teacher: 'I'm sure you will --- we're nearly out of numbers!'
Mort Walker and Dik Browne’s Hi and Lois for the 1st of November, 1960 and reprinted the 30th of April, 2018. Yeah, sure, eleven years later Charles Schulz would do basically the same joke. But comics snarkers get all smug when they notice that The Argyle Sweater is using the same premise as a Far Side from 1983 or something.

Tom Toles’s Randolph Itch, 2 am for the 30th of April, 2018 is on at least its third appearance around here. I suppose I have to retire the strip from consideration for these comics roundups. It didn’t run that long, sad to say, and I think I’ve featured all its mathematical strips. I’ll go on reading, though, as I like the style and Toles’s sense of humor.

Randolph, thinking in bed: 'Algebra pretty much put pirates out of business.' Pirate teacher: 'If ax^2 + bx + c = 0, what is x?' And a pirate sweats. Footer joke: '15 men on a dead man's chest, you ho ho, and a bottle of rum equals what?'
Tom Toles’s Randolph Itch, 2 am for the 30th of April, 2018. I think I’ve mentioned not knowing whether the legendary X on pirate maps is related to the use of X as the thing-to-be-found in algebra. My understanding is the X on a pirate map thing is mostly a matter of storytelling rather than something anyone really did.

Mark Tatulli’s Heart of the City for the 3rd of May is a riff on the motivation problem. For once, not about the motivation of the people in story problems to do what they do. It’s instead about why the student should care what the story people do. And, fair enough, really. It’s easy to calculate something you’d like to know the answer to. But give the teacher or textbook writer a break. There’s nothing that’s interesting to everybody. No, not even what minimum grade they need on this exam to get an A in the course. After a moment of clarity in fifth grade I never cared what my scores were. I just did my work and accepted the assessment. My choice not to worry about my grades had more good than bad results, but I admit, there were bad results too.

Heart: 'This homework is ridiculous! How are we supposed to know this? OK, so Julio has eleven apples! Why is it any of my business how many he shares with Allisa and Wesley? Why should I care how he divides them or what fraction he keeps for himself?' Dean: 'They're just math word problems. I don't think we have to explain motivation.' Heart: 'I guess I just can't get past why exactly a kid has eleven apples in the first place!'
Mark Tatulli’s Heart of the City for the 3rd of May, 2018. How does Heart know that Julio is a kid? Adults will go out and buy a dozen apples without that seeming strange, and we’ll eat as many as four of them before forgetting they’re on the counter and letting them rot by accident.

John McNamee’s Pie Comic for the 4th of May riffs on some ancient story-problems built on infinite sets. I don’t know the original source. I assume a Martin Gardiner pop-mathematics essay. I don’t know, though, and I’m curious if anyone does know.

[ You arrive at the Infinite Hotel ... but the concierge says *all* infinity of their rooms are booked. Luckily, you know MATH. 'Infinity = Infinity + 1'. You explain that if you just ask each guest to move one room over ... ] There's a large man in diapers with a sock puppet on his hand in the first door. [ Yeah ... math's not solving that. ] You drive away.
John McNamee’s Pie Comic for the 4th of May, 2018. Also you know how long it’d take to re-code everybody’s door access card? It’d be like forever.

Often I see these kinds of problem as set at the Hilbert Hotel. This references David Hilbert, the late-19th/early-20th century mastermind behind the 20th century’s mathematics field. They try to challenge people’s intuitions about infinitely large sets. Ponder a hotel with one room for each of the counting numbers. Suppose it’s full. How many guests can you add to it? Can you add infinitely many more guests, and still have room for them all? If you do it right, and if “infinitely many more guests” means something particular, yes. If certain practical points don’t get in the way. I mean practical for a hotel with infinitely many rooms.

This is a new-tag comic.

Medieval monks, talking about the one who's written down E = mc^2. 'God only knows what it means. This guy isn't all that swift.'
Dave Whamond’s Reality Check for the 4th of May, 2018. Yeah, I heard the sequel to A Canticle for Leibowitz was disappointing.

Dave Whamond’s Reality Check for the 4th is a riff on Albert Einstein’s best-known equation. He had some other work, granted. But who didn’t?

Reading the Comics, April 28, 2018: Friday Is Pretty Late Edition


I should have got to this yesterday; I don’t know. Something happened. Should be back to normal Sunday.

Bill Rechin’s Crock rerun for the 26th of April does a joke about picking-the-number-in-my-head. There’s more clearly psychological than mathematical content in the strip. It shows off something about what people understand numbers to be, though. It’s easy to imagine someone asked to pick a number choosing “9”. It’s hard to imagine them picking “4,796,034,621,322”, even though that’s just as legitimate a number. It’s possible someone might pick π, or e, but only if that person’s a particular streak of nerd. They’re not going to pick the square root of eleven, or negative eight, or so. There’s thing that are numbers that a person just, offhand, doesn’t think of as numbers.

Crock to the two prisoners in lockboxes: 'Guess the number I'm thinking and I'll set you free.' First prisoner: '4,796,034,621,322.' Crock: 'Sorry, it's nine.' Second prisoner: 'What made you guess THAT number?' First prisoner: 'It was the first one to pop into my head.'
Bill Rechin’s Crock rerun for the 26th of April, 2018. Going ahead and guessing there’s another Crock with the same setup, except the prisoner guesses nine, and Crock says it was 4,796,034,621,322, and then in the final panel we see that Crock really had thought nine and lied.

Mark Anderson’s Andertoons for the 26th sees Wavehead ask about “borrowing” in subtraction. It’s a riff on some of the terminology. Wavehead’s reading too much into the term, naturally. But there are things someone can reasonably be confused about. To say that we are “borrowing” ten does suggest we plan to return it, for example, and we never do that. I’m not sure there is a better term for this turning a digit in one column to adding ten to the column next to it, though. But I admit I’m far out of touch with current thinking in teaching subtraction.

On the board: 51 - 26, with the 51 rewritten as 4 with a borrowed 11. Wavehead: 'So we're just borrowing 10 no questions asked? What about a credit check? What's the interest rate?'
Mark Anderson’s Andertoons for the 26th of April, 2018. This is Mark Anderson’s Andertoons for the week.

Greg Cravens’s The Buckets for the 26th is kind of a practical probability question. And psychology also, since most of the time we don’t put shirts on wrong. Granted there might be four ways to put a shirt on. You can put it on forwards or backwards, you can put it on right-side-out or inside-out. But there are shirts that are harder to mistake. Collars or a cut around the neck that aren’t symmetric front-to-back make it harder to mistake. Care tags make the inside-out mistake harder to make. We still manage it, but the chance of putting a shirt on wrong is a lot lower than the 75% chance we might naively expect. (New comic tag, by the way.)

Larry: 'Your shirt is on all wrong.' Toby: 'It was bound to happen.' Larry: 'What? Why?' Toby: 'There's FOUR different ways a shirt can go on! That gives me only, like, a 20% chance any time I put it on.'
Greg Cravens’s The Buckets for the 26th of April, 2018. I’m not sure Larry (the father)’s disbelief at his kid figuring putting the shirt on all wrong was bound to happen. It’s a mistake we all make; accepting the inevitability of that doesn’t seem that wrong.

Charles Schulz’s Peanuts rerun for the 27th is surely set in mathematics class. The publication date interests me. I’m curious if this is the first time a Peanuts kid has flailed around and guessed “the answer is twelve!” Guessing the answer is twelve would be a Peppermint Patty specialty. But it has to start somewhere.

Sally, at her schooldesk: 'The answer is twelve! It isn't? How about six? Four? Nine? Two? Ten? ... Do you have the feeling that I'm guessing?'
Charles Schulz’s Peanuts rerun for the 27th of April, 2018. This strip first ran the 30th of April, 1971. It also was rerun the 25th of April, 2003, with a different colorization scheme for some reason.

Knowing nothing about the problem, if I did get the information that my first guess of 12 was wrong, yeah, I’d go looking for 6 or 4 as next guesses, and 12 or 48 after that. When I make an arithmetic mistake, it’s often multiplying or dividing by the wrong number. And 12 has so many factors that they’re good places to look. Subtracting a number instead of adding, or vice-versa, is also common. But there’s nothing in 12 by itself to suggest another place to look, if the addition or subtraction went wrong. It would be in the question which, of course, doesn’t exist.

Venn Diagram. One circle's labelled 'Venn Diagrams'; the second 'Jokes'. The intersection is 'Lazy Cartoonists'.
Maria Scrivan’s Half-Full for the 28th of April, 2018. Hey, cartoonists deserve easy days at work too. And there’s not always a convenient holiday they can have the cast just gather around and wish everyone a happy instance of.

Maria Scrivan’s Half-Full for the 28th is the Venn Diagram joke for this week. It could include an extra circle for bloggers looking for content they don’t need to feel inspired to write. This one isn’t a new comics tag, which surprises me.

Guy: 'Relax. Half the time, job interviewers don't even read your resume. They just see how long it is.' Mathematician: 'Really?' Guy: 'Yeah. Where are you going?' Mathematician: 'To make a Mobius strip.' Interviewer: 'Wow! I've never met someone with *infinite* skills and work experience.' Mathematician: 'I don't like to brag.'
Zach Weinersmith’s Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal for the 28th of April, 2018. If I had seen this strip in 2007 maybe I would’ve got that tenure-track posting instead of going into the world of technically being an extant mathematics blog.

Zach Weinersmith’s Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal for the 28th uses the M&oum;bius Strip. It’s an example of a surface that you could just go along forever. There’s nothing topologically special about the M&oum;bius Strip in this regard, though. The mathematician would have as infinitely “long” a résumé if she tied it into a simple cylindrical loop. But the M&oum;bius Strip sounds more exotic, not to mention funnier. Can’t blame anyone going for that instead.

Reading the Comics, April 25, 2018: Coronet Blue Edition


You know what? Sometimes there just isn’t any kind of theme for the week’s strips. I can use an arbitrary name.

Zach Weinersmith’s Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal for the 21st of April, 2018 would have gone in last week if I weren’t preoccupied on Saturday. The joke is aimed at freshman calculus students and then intro Real Analysis students. The talk about things being “arbitrarily small” turns up a lot in these courses. Why? Well, in them we usually want to show that one thing equals another. But it’s hard to do that. What we can show is some estimate of how different the first thing can be from the second. And if you can show that that difference can be made small enough by calculating it correctly, great. You’ve shown the two things are equal.

Delta and epsilon turn up in these a lot. In the generic proof of this you say you want to show the difference between the thing you can calculate and the thing you want is smaller than epsilon. So you have the thing you can calculate parameterized by delta. Then your problem becomes showing that if delta is small enough, the difference between what you can do and what you want is smaller than epsilon. This is why it’s an appropriately-formed joke to show someone squeezed by a delta and an epsilon. These are the lower-case delta and epsilon, which is why it’s not a triangle on the left there.

Mad scientist cackling at a man being crushed between giant delta and epsilon figure: 'And now, good doctor, we will see how you fit between this delta and this epsilon!' Caption: Soon, soon the calculus teacher would become arbitrarily small.
Zach Weinersmith’s Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal for the 21st of April, 2018. I feel vaguely personally called out by the calculus teacher wearing cargo shorts, tall white socks, and sandals.

For example, suppose you want to know how long the perimeter of an ellipse is. But all you can calculate is the perimeter of a polygon. I would expect to make a proof of it look like this. Give me an epsilon that’s how much error you’ll tolerate between the polygon’s perimeter and the ellipse’s perimeter. I would then try to find, for epsilon, a corresponding delta. And that if the edges of a polygon are never farther than delta from a point on the ellipse, then the perimeter of the polygon and that of the ellipse are less than epsilon away from each other. And that’s Calculus and Real Analysis.

John Zakour and Scott Roberts’s Maria’s Day for the 22nd is the anthropomorphic numerals joke for this week. I’m curious whether the 1 had a serif that could be wrestled or whether the whole number had to be flopped over, as though it were a ruler or a fat noodle.

Maria at her desk challenges a giant number 4 to arm wrestling; she slams its 'arm' down easily. Other numerals flee as she yells out: 'Okay, anyone else wanna take me on? Huh? --- Yeah, didn't think so!' Reality: she's at her desk with a book and some paper and says, "Whew! This math homework was tough --- but I think I got it down.'
John Zakour and Scott Roberts’s Maria’s Day for the 22nd of April, 2018. I’m curious whether Zakour and Roberts deliberately put 2 and 3 to the left, with pain stars indicating they’ve been beaten already, while the bigger numbers are off to the side. Or was it just an arbitrary choice? The numbers are almost in order, left to right, except that the 7’s out of place. So maybe the ordering is just coincidence?

Anthony Blades’s Bewley for the 23rd offers advice for what to do if you’ve not got your homework. This strip’s already been run, and mentioned here. I might drop this from my reading if it turns out the strip is done and I’ve exhausted all the topics it inspires.

Bea: 'Aaaah! I forgot to do my maths homework!' Tonus: 'I did mine.' Bea: 'Can I copy yours?' Tonus: 'Of course you can. I didn't know the answers so I drew a picture of a scary dinosaur.' [ Silent penultimate panel. ] Bea: 'Better than nothing.' Tonus: 'Remember the big teeth. Big teeth make it scary.'
Anthony Blades’s Bewley for the 23rd of April, 2018. Whenever a comic strip with this setup begins I think of the time in geometry class when I realized I hadn’t done any homework and wondered if I could get something done in the time it took papers to be passed up. This in a class of twelve students. No, there was not, even though the teacher started from the other side of the classroom.

Dave Whamond’s Reality Check for the 23rd is designed for the doors of mathematics teachers everywhere. It does incidentally express one of those truths you barely notice: that statisticians and mathematicians don’t seem to be quite in the same field. They’ve got a lot of common interest, certainly. But they’re often separate departments in a college or university. When they do share a department it’s named the Department of Mathematics and Statistics, itself an acknowledgement that they’re not quite the same thing. (Also it seems to me it’s always Mathematics-and-Statistics. If there’s a Department of Statistics-and-Mathematics somewhere I don’t know of it and would be curious.) This has to reflect historical influence. Statistics, for all that it uses the language of mathematics and that logical rigor and ideas about proofs and all, comes from a very practical, applied, even bureaucratic source. It grew out of asking questions about the populations of nations and the reliable manufacture of products. Mathematics, even the mathematics that is about real-world problems, is different. A mathematician might specialize in the equations that describe fluid flows, for example. But it could plausibly be because they have interesting and strange analytical properties. It’d be only incidental that they might also say something enlightening about why the plumbing is stopped up.

[ Clown Statistician vs Clown mathematician. ] The Clown Statistician holds up a pie chart, ready to throw it. The mathematician holds up a pi symbol, ready to throw it. Corner squirrel's comment: 'There's always room for more pi.'
Dave Whamond’s Reality Check for the 23rd of April, 2018. I’m not sure I’ve laughed more at a dumb joke than I have at this in a long while.

Neal Rubin and Rod Whigham’s Gil Thorp for the 24th seems to be setting out the premise for the summer storyline. It’s sabermetrics. Or at least the idea that sports performance can be quantized, measured, and improved. The principle behind that is sound enough. The trick is figuring out what are the right things to measure, and what can be done to improve them. Also another trick is don’t be a high school student trying to lecture classmates about geometry. Seriously. They are not going to thank you. Even if you turn out to be right. I’m not sure how you would have much control of the angle your ball comes off the bat, but that’s probably my inexperience. I’ve learned a lot about how to control a pinball hitting the flipper. I’m not sure I could quantize any of it, but I admit I haven’t made a serious attempt to try either. Also, when you start doing baseball statistics you run a roughly 45% chance of falling into a deep well of calculation and acronyms of up to twelve letters from which you never emerge. Be careful. (This is a new comic strip tag.)

[ With rain delaying (baseball) practice, Kevin Pelwecki expounds on his new favorite subject --- ] Kevin: 'Launch angle! You want the ball coming off the bat at 25 degrees.' Teammate: 'Anyone else notice we're taking math lessons --- from a guy who barely passed geometry?'
Neal Rubin and Rod Whigham’s Gil Thorp for the 24th of April, 2018. Are … both word balloons coming from the same guy? In the last panel there. I understand one guy starting and another closing a thought but that’s usually something you do with an established in-joke that anyone can feed and anyone else can finish. A spontaneous insult like this seems like it only needs the one person, but the word balloon tails are weird if they’re both from the same guy.

Randy Glasbergen’s Glasbergen Cartoons rerun for the 25th feels a little like a slight against me. Well, no matter. Use the things that get you in the mood you need to do well. (Not a new comic strip tag because I’m filing it under ‘Randy Glasbergen’ which I guess I used before?)

Kid with guitar: 'I start every song by counting 1-2-3-4 because it reminds me of math. Math depresses me and that helps me sing the blues.'
Randy Glasbergen’s Glasbergen Cartoons rerun for the 25th of April, 2018. OK, but what’s his guitar plugged in to?