Reading the Comics, April 7, 2020: April 7, 2020 Edition (Mostly)


I’m again falling behind the comic strips; I haven’t had the writing time I’d like, and that review of last month’s readership has to go somewhere. So let me try to dig my way back to current. The happy news is I get to do one of those single-day Reading the Comics posts, nearly.

Harley Schwadron’s 9 to 5 for the 7th strongly implies that the kid wearing a lemon juicer for his hat has nearly flunked arithmetic. At the least it’s mathematics symbols used to establish this is a school.

Nate Fakes’s Break of Day for the 7th is the anthropomorphic numerals joke for the week.

Jef Mallett’s Frazz for the 7th has kids thinking about numbers whose (English) names rhyme. And that there are surprisingly few of them, considering that at least the smaller whole numbers are some of the most commonly used words in the language. It would be interesting if there’s some deeper reason that they don’t happen to rhyme, but I would expect that it’s just, well, why should the names of 6 and 8 (say) have anything to do with each other?

Evan, to Kevyn: 'Whoa! Only two numbers rhyme with each other! And only a few other words rhyme with them and they're good words. I think that says something.' Devin: 'What are Evan and Kevyn looking so smug about?' Frazz: 'I don't know, Devin.'
Jef Mallett’s Frazz for the 7th of April, 2020. Essays that explore some topic raised in Frazz are at this link.

There are, arguably, gaps in Evan and Kevyn’s reasoning, and on the 8th one of the other kids brings them up. Basically, is there any reason to say that thirteen and nineteen don’t rhyme? Or that twenty-one and forty-one don’t? Evan writes this off as pedantry. But I, admittedly inclined to be a pedant, think there’s a fair question here. How many numbers do we have names for? Is there something different between the name we have for 11 and the name we have for 1100? Or 2011?

There isn’t an objectively right or wrong answer; at most there are answers that are more or less logically consistent, or that are more or less convenient. Finding what those differences are can be interesting, and I think it bad faith to shut down the argument as “pedantry”.

[ Birds aren't partial to fractions. ] Bird at a chalkboard, looking over a figure of a bird over a hand, set equal to a 3 over a bush. Bird: 'Worth 3 in the bush? No, that doesn't add up ... '
Dave Whamond’s Reality Check for the 7th of April, 2020. The essays that address something that appeared in Reality Check are at this link.

Dave Whamond’s Reality Check for the 7th claims “birds aren’t partial to fractions” and shows a bird working out, partially with diagrams, the saying about birds in the hand and what they’re worth in the bush.

The narration box, phrasing the bird as not being “partial to fractions”, intrigues me. I don’t know if the choice is coincidental on Whamond’s part. But there is something called “partial fractions” that you get to learn painfully well in Calculus II. It’s used in integrating functions. It turns out that you often can turn a “rational function”, one whose rule is one polynomial divided by another, into the sum of simpler fractions. The point of that is making the fractions into things easier to integrate. The technique is clever, but it’s hard to learn. And, I must admit, I’m not sure I’ve ever used it to solve a problem of interest to me. But it’s very testable stuff.


And that’s slightly more than one day’s comics. I’ll have some more, wrapping up last week, at this link within a couple days.

Reading the Comics, June 15, 2019: School Is Out? Edition


This has not been the slowest week for mathematically-themed comic strips. The slowest would be the week nothing on topic came up. But this was close. I admit this is fine as I have things disrupting my normal schedule this week. I don’t need to write too many essays too.

On-topic enough to discuss, though, were:

Lalo Alcaraz’s La Cucaracha for the 9th features a teacher trying to get ahead of student boredom. The idea that mathematics is easier to learn if it’s about problems that seem interesting is a durable one. It agrees with my intuition. I’m less sure that just doing arithmetic while surfing is that helpful. My feeling is that a problem being interesting is separate from a problem naming an intersting thing. But making every problem uniquely interesting is probably too much to expect from a teacher. A good pop-mathematics writer can be interesting about any problem. But the pop-mathematics writer has a lot of choice about what she’ll discuss. And doesn’t need to practice examples of a problem until she can feel confident her readers have learned a skill. I don’t know that there is a good answer to this.

Teacher: 'Class, today is the last day of school. You don't want to be here, and neither do I. So, I found a way where we can learn while getting an early start on the summer break!' Next panel, they're all on surfboards. Teacher: 'Next question: whats eight sick waves times eight six waves?' Students: 'Sixty-four sick waves!'
Lalo Alcaraz’s La Cucaracha for the 9th of June, 2019. I had thought I’d mentioned this comic at least a couple times in the past, and seem to be wrong. So this is a new tag and that’s always nice to have. Any future essays which mention something inspired by La Cucaracha should be at this link.

Also part of me feels that “eight sick waves times eight sick waves” has to be “sixty-four sick-waves-squared”. This is me worrying about the dimensional analysis of a joke. All right, but if it were “eight inches times eight inches” and you came back with “sixty-four inches” you’d agree something was off, right? But it’s easy to not notice the units. That we do, mechanically, the same thing in multiplying (oh) three times $1.20 or three times 120 miles or three boxes times 120 items per box as we do multiplying three times 120 encourages this. But if we are using numbers to measure things, and if we are doing calculations about things, then the units matter. They carry information about the kinds of things our calculations represent. It’s a bad idea to misuse or ignore those tools.

Paul Trap’s Thatababy for the 14th is roughly the anthropomorphized geometry cartoon of the week. It does name the three ways to group triangles based on how many sides have the same length. Or if you prefer, how many interior angles have the same measure. So it’s probably a good choice for your geometry tip sheet. “Scalene” as a word seems to have entered English in the 1730s. Its origin traces to Late Latin “scalenus”, from the Greek “skalenos” and meaning “uneven” or “crooked”.

Thatababy drawing triangles: an equilateral triangle, an isosceles triangle, a scalene triangle, and then a love triangle, showing two isosceles triangles holding hands; one of them looks with interest at an equilateral triangle.
Paul Trap’s Thatababy for the 14th of June, 2019. Now, this strip I thought I featured more around here. It doesn’t seem to have gotten an appearance in over a year, though. Still, other appearances by Thatababy should be in essays at this link.

“Isosceles” also goes to Late Latin and, before that, the Greek “isoskeles”, with “iso” the prefix meaning “equal” and “skeles” meaning “legs”. The curious thing to me is “Isosceles”, besides sounding more pleasant, came to English around 1550. Meanwhile, “equilateral” — a simple Late Latin for “equal sides” — appeared around 1570. I don’t know what was going on that it seemed urgent to have a word for triangles with two equal sides first, and a generation later triangles with three equal sides. And then triangles with no two equal sides went nearly two centuries without getting a custom term.

But, then, I’m aware of my bias. There might have been other words for these concepts, recognized by mathematicians of the year 1600, that haven’t come to us. Or it might be that scalene triangles were thought to be so boring there wasn’t any point giving them a special name. It would take deeper mathematics history knowledge than I have to say.


Those are all the mathematically-themed comic strips I can find something to discuss from the past week. There were some others with mentions of mathematics, though. These include:

Tony Rubino and Gary Markstein’s Daddy’s Home for the 9th, in which mathematics is the last class of the school year. Francesco Marciuliano and Jim Keefe’s Sally Forth for the 11th has a study session with “math charades” mentioned. Mark Andersons Andertoons for the 11th wants in on some of my sweet Thatababy exposition. Harley Schwadron’s 9 to 5 for the 14th is trying to become the default pie chart joke around here. It won’t beat out Randolph Itch, 2 am without a stronger punch line. And Mark Tatulli’s Heart of the City for the 15th sees Dean mention hiding sleeping in algebra class.


This closes out a week’s worth of comic strips. My next Reading the Comics post should be at this link next Sunday. And now I need to think of something to post for the Thursday and, if I can, Tuesday publication dates.

Reading the Comics, June 6, 2019: Not The Slowest Week Edition


Comic Strip Master Command started the summer vacation early this year. There have been even slower weeks for mathematically-themed comics, but not many, and not much slower. Well, it’s looking like a nice weekend anyway. We can go out and do something instead.

And I’m doing a little experiment to see what happens if I publish posts a bit earlier in the day. My suspicion is nothing that reaches statistical significance. But statistical significance isn’t everything. I can devote a month or two to a lark.

Piers Baker’s Ollie and Quentin for the 2nd is a rerun. The strip ended several years ago, and has not been one of those formerly syndicated comics gone to web-only publication. And it’s one that I’ve discussed before, in a 2014 repeat and briefly in 2015. I don’t know why it reran six months apart. Having a particular daily strip repeat so often is usually a sign I should retire the strip from this blog. Likely I won’t retire it from my reading. I like its style a bit too much.

Quentin: 'Sorry you aren't feeling happy today.' Ollie: 'Why do you think I'm not happy?' Quentin: 'Studies show 50% of people aren't happy, and I'm in a great mood.' Ollie: 'You idiot! It doesn't work like that!' Quentin: 'Yes it does, every second person isn't happy, I'm happy, so you can't be.' Ollie: 'I am happy you moron!' Quentin: 'No you're not.' Ollie: 'I AM!' Quentin: 'You don't sound it!' Ollie: 'AAAARGH!' (And he storms off, cursing.) Quentin: 'Sorry you aren't feeling happy today.'
Piers Baker’s Ollie and Quentin for the 2nd of June, 2019. I find that I’ve discussed this strip less often than I imagined. Essays including some mention of Ollie and Quentin appear at this link. There are some appearances of the strip which predate my using the comic as a tag, however.

The joke is built on Quentin hearing that only 50% of people are not happy. And as he is happy, and he and Ollie are two people, it follows Ollie can’t be. The joke builds on the logic of the gambler’s fallacy. This is the idea that the probability of some independent event depends on what has recently happened. Here “event” means what it does to statisticians, what it turns out something is. This can be the result of a coin toss. This can be finding out whether a person is happy or not. The gambler’s fallacy has a hard-to-resist logic to it. We know it is unlikely that a coin tossed fairly ten times will come up tails each time. We also know it is even more unlikely that a coin tossed fairly eleven times will turn up tails every time. So if the coin has already come up tails ten times? It’s easy in the abstract to sneer at people who make this mistake. But at some point or other we all think some unpredictable event is “due”.

There is a catch here, though. The gambler’s fallacy covers independent events. One coin’s toss does not affect whether the next toss should be heads or tails. But personal happiness? That is something affected by other people. Perhaps not dramatically. But one person’s mood can certainly alter another’s, just as the strip demonstrates. In past appearances of this strip I’ve written about it as though the mathematical comedy element were obvious. Now I realize I may have under-explored what is happening here.

Student at blackboard, working problems like 3+2 and 2+2, to the teacher: 'Do we need to learn this in case our smart devices are down?'
Harley Schwadron’s 9 to 5 for the 3rd of June, 2019. This strip I mention rarely, but that’s about as often as I expect. Essays inspired by something in 9 to 5 appear at this link.

Harley Schwadron’s 9 to 5 for the 3rd is a student-at-the-blackboard joke. And a joke about the uselessness of learning arithmetic if there are computing devices around. There have always been computing devices around, though. I’d prefer them for tedious problems, or for problems in which mistakes have serious consequences. But I think it’s worth knowing at least what to do. But I like mathematics. Of course I would.

Student at blackboard, having written out 7 x 6 = 50, to the teacher: 'I added a tip.'
Mike Baldwin’s Cornered for the 6th of June, 2019. This comic comes up sometimes. Cornered appears in essays at this link.

Mike Baldwin’s Cornered for the 6th is another student-at-the-blackboard joke. This one has the student excusing his wrong answer, a number too high, as a tip. In the student’s defense, I’ll say being able to come up with a decent approximate answer, even one you know is a little too high, is worth it. Often an important step in a problem is knowing about what a reasonable answer is. This can involve mental-mathematics tricks. For example, remembering that 7 times 7 is just under fifty, which would help with a problem like 7 times 6.


And that’s all the comic strips I found worth any mention last week. There weren’t even any that rated a “there’s a comic that said ‘math class’, so here you go” aside. This bodes well for an interesting week of content around here. My next Reading the Comics post should appear next Sunday at this link. All the past comic strip discussion should, too. If you should find a comics essay that doesn’t appear in those archives please let me know. I’ll fix it.

Reading the Comics, March 21, 2018: Old Mathematics Jokes Edition


For this, the second of my Reading the Comics postings with all the comics images included, I’ve found reason to share some old and traditional mathematicians’ jokes. I’m not sure how this happened, but sometimes it just does.

Zach Weinersmith’s Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal for the 18th brings to mind a traditional mathematics joke. A dairy hires a mathematician to improve operations. She tours the place, inspecting the cows and their feeding and the milking machines. She speaks with the workers. She interviews veterinarians. She talks with the truckers who haul out milk. She interviews the clients. Finally she starts to work on a model of better milk production. The first line: “Assume a spherical cow.”

[Pro Tip: this is the answer to any thermodynamics question that requires you to determine an object's temperature: ] T = 2.73 K (assume well-mixed Cosmos)
Zach Weinersmith’s Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal for the 18th of March, 2018. Temperature’s a great subject though, and I’ve been thinking for ages about doing a series on it just because I want to explain negative temperatures Kelvin.

One big field of mathematics is model-building. When doing that you have to think about the thing you model. It’s hard. You have to throw away all the complicating stuff that makes your questions too hard to answer. But you can’t throw away all the complicating stuff or you have a boring question to answer. Depending on what kinds of things you want to know, you’ll need different models. For example, for some atmosphere problems you’ll do fine if you assume the air has no viscosity. For others that’s a stupid assumption. For some you can ignore that the planet rotates and is heated on one side by the sun. For some you don’t dare do that. And so on. The simplifications you can make aren’t always obvious. Sometimes you can ignore big stuff; a satellite’s orbit, for example, can be treated well by pretending that the whole universe except for the Earth doesn’t exist. Depends what you’re looking for. If the universe were homogenous enough, it would all be at the same temperature. Is that useful to your question? That’s the trick.

On the board: 1/2 - 1/8 = ?. Student: 'Apropos of nothing, I have two cats.'
Mark Anderson’s Andertoons for the 20th of March, 2018. Okay, but why the poster with the octopus on it?

Mark Anderson’s Andertoons for the 20th is the Mark Anderson’s Andertoons for this essay. It’s just a student trying to distract the issue from fractions. I suppose mathematics was chosen for the blackboard problem because if it were, say, a history or an English or a science question someone would think that was part of the joke and be misled. Fractions, though, those have the signifier of “the thing we’d rather not talk about”.

Woman: 'And if you haven't figured it out yet, this is the math department lavatory'. The door reads 1 +/- 2
Daniel Beyer’s Long Story Short for the 21st of March, 2018. Not to nitpick but shouldn’t it be 1½ ± ½?

Daniel Beyer’s Long Story Short for the 21st is a mathematicians-mindset sort of joke. Let me offer another. I went to my love’s college reunion. On the mathematics floor of the new sciences building the dry riser was labelled as “N Bourbaki”. Let me explain why is a correctly-formed and therefore very funny mathematics joke. “Nicolas Bourbaki” was the pseudonym used by the mathematical equivalent of an artist’s commune, in France, through several decades of the mid-20th century. Their goal was setting mathematics on a rigorous and intuition-free basis, the way mathematicians sometimes like to pretend it is. Bourbaki’s influential nonexistence lead to various amusing-for-academia problems and you can see why a fake office is appropriately named so, then. (This is the first time I’ve tagged this strip, looks like.)

Employee: 'Cool 'power tie' boss'. The tie reads E = mc^2.
Harley Schwadron’s 9 to 5 for the 21st of March, 2018. I understand the tie has to face the audience to make the joke work, but isn’t it more fun to imagine that it’s actually a pyramidal tie, like, a solid triangular projection of tie material, and we see one side of it and maybe there’s another equation written on the other side? Please vote in the comments.

Harley Schwadron’s 9 to 5 for the 21st is a name-drop of Einstein’s famous equation as a power tie. I must agree this meets the literal specification of a power tie since, you know, c2 is in it. Probably something more explicitly about powers wouldn’t communicate as well. Possibly Fermat’s Last Theorem, although I’m not sure that would fit and be legible on the tie as drawn.

Clare: 'How many cylinders with length 3 and diameter 1.5 equal the volume of a sphere with diameter 3?' Neil: 'Um ... 2.6. no, 2.7!' Clare: 'Neil, how on earth did you know that?' Neil: 'It's simple, Clare! I converted the cylinder to 'Ho Hos' and the sphere to Hostess 'Sno Balls', then I imagined eating them!' Clare: 'Um ... wow.' Neil: 'My brain's only average, but my tummy's a genius!'
Mark Pett’s Lucky Cow for the 21st of March, 2018. I preferred Ding Dongs eater myself. But my heart was with the Suzy Q’s, if we’re not letting Tastykake into the discussion.

Mark Pett’s Lucky Cow rerun for the 21st has the generally inept Neil work out a geometry problem in his head. The challenge is having a good intuitive model for what the relationship between the shapes should be. I’m relieved to say that Neil is correct, to the number of decimal places given. I’m relieved because I’ve spent embarrassingly long at this. My trouble was missing, twice over, that the question gave diameters instead of radiuses. Pfaugh. Saving me was just getting answers that were clearly crazy, including at one point 21 1/3.

Professor in girl's daydream: 'But don't take my word for it. It's Euler's theorem.' (Points to e^{i pi} + 1 = 0 on the board.) Girl: 'Greg! Greg! I've changed my mind! Let's be colleagues again! ... Greg?' (Sees a closet jammed shut by a door.) Person inside: 'Help! I'm stuck!' (She unjams the door.) Person inside: 'Did she leave? Where's ray? Someone has to stop her!' Girl: 'That's like trying to stop a yeti!' Person inside: 'By my calculations it's far worse.' (Looks over sheet labelled 'Monster Unit Conversions', with Wray worked out to be 8 orcs or 3 trolls or 6 werewolves or werebears or 2.788 Yetis.)
Zach Weinersmith, Chris Jones and James Ashby’s Snowflakes for the 21st of March, 2018. I would like to give you more context for this but I confess I haven’t been able to follow the storyline. I don’t know why but this is one of the strips I don’t get the flow of.

Zach Weinersmith, Chris Jones and James Ashby’s Snowflakes for the 21st mentions Euler’s Theorem in the first panel. Trouble with saying “Euler’s Theorem” is that Euler had something like 82 trillion theorems. If you ever have to bluff your way through a conversation with a mathematician mention “Euler’s Theorem”. You’ll probably have said something on point, if closer to the basics of the problem than people figured. But the given equation — e^{\imath \pi} + 1 = 0 — is a good bet for “the” Euler’s Theorem. It’s a true equation, and it ties together a lot of interesting stuff about complex-valued numbers. It’s the way mathematicians tie together exponentials and simple harmonic motion. It makes so much stuff easier to work with. It would not be one of the things presented in a Distinctly Useless Mathematics text. But it would be mentioned along the way to something fascinating and useless. It turns up everywhere. (This is another strip I’m tagging for the first time.)

[ Cybil used to teach at MIT ] Cybil, teaching: 'If you've got pi/2 x 4 apples, and you eat Sigma x square root of cos(68) apples, how many apples do you have?' The class looks baffled.
Wulff and Morgenthaler’s WuMo for the 21st of March, 2018. Fun fact: since 68 is a rational number, the cosine of 68 has to be transcendental. All right, but it’s fun to me and whose blog is this? Thank you. But the cosine of any rational number other than zero is transcendental. Ditto the sine and the tangent.

Wulff and Morgenthaler’s WuMo for the 21st uses excessively complicated mathematics stuff as a way to signify intelligence. Also to name-drop Massachusetts Institute of Technology as a signifier of intelligence. (My grad school was Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, which would totally be MIT’s rival school if we had enough self-esteem to stand up to MIT. Well, on a good day we can say snarky stuff about the Rochester Institute of Technology if we don’t think they’re listening.) Putting the “Sigma” in makes the problem literally nonsense, since “Sigma” doesn’t signify any particular number. The rest are particular numbers, though. π/2 times 4 is just 2π, a bit more than 6.28. That’s a weird number of apples to have but it’s perfectly legitimate a number. The square root of the cosine of 68 … ugh. Well, assuming this is 68 as in radians I don’t have any real idea what that would be either. If this is 68 degrees, then I do know, actually; the cosine of 68 degrees is a little smaller than ½. But mathematicians are trained to suspect degrees in trig functions, going instead for radians.

Well, hm. 68 would be between 11 times 2π and 12 times 2π. I think that’s just a little more than 11 times 2π. Oh, maybe it is something like ½. Let me check with an actual calculator. Huh. It is a little more than 0.440. Well, that’s a once-in-a-lifetime shot. Anyway the square root of that is a little more than 0.663. So you’d be left with about five and a half apples. Never mind this Sigma stuff. (A little over 5.619, to be exact.)

Reading the Comics, April 29, 2017: The Other Half Of The Week Edition


I’d been splitting Reading the Comics posts between Sunday and Thursday to better space them out. But I’ve got something prepared that I want to post Thursday, so I’ll bump this up. Also I had it ready to go anyway so don’t gain anything putting it off another two days.

Bill Amend’s FoxTrot Classics for the 27th reruns the strip for the 4th of May, 2006. It’s another probability problem, in its way. Assume Jason is honest in reporting whether Paige has picked his number correctly. Assume that Jason picked a whole number. (This is, I think, the weakest assumption. I know Jason Fox’s type and he’s just the sort who’d pick an obscure transcendental number. They’re all obscure after π and e.) Assume that Jason is equally likely to pick any of the whole numbers from 1 to one billion. Then, knowing nothing about what numbers Jason is likely to pick, Paige would have one chance in a billion of picking his number too. Might as well call it certainty that she’ll pay a dollar to play the game. How much would she have to get, in case of getting the number right, to come out even or ahead? … And now we know why Paige is still getting help on probability problems in the 2017 strips.

Jeff Stahler’s Moderately Confused for the 27th gives me a bit of a break by just being a snarky word problem joke. The student doesn’t even have to resist it any.

The Venn Diagram of Maintenance. 12 days after cut and color, color still rresh, bluntness of cut relaxed. Same-day mani-pedi, no chips in polish. Ten days after eyebrow tint, faded to look normal. After two weeks of religiously following salt-free diet, bloating at minimum. One day after gym workout, fresh-faced vitality from exercise. The intersection the one perfect day where it all comes together.
Sandra Bell-Lundy’s Between Friends for the 29th of April, 2017. And while it’s not a Venn Diagram I’m not sure of a better way to visually represent that the cartoonist is going for. I suppose the intended meaning comes across cleanly enough and that’s the most important thing. It’s a strange state of affairs is all.

Sandra Bell-Lundy’s Between Friends for the 29th also gives me a bit of a break by just being a Venn Diagram-based joke. At least it’s using the shape of a Venn Diagram to deliver the joke. It’s not really got the right content.

Harley Schwadron’s 9 to 5 for the 29th is this week’s joke about arithmetic versus propaganda. It’s a joke we’re never really going to be without again.