Reading the Comics, July 17, 2018: These Are Comic Strips Edition


Some of the comics last week don’t leave me much to talk about. Well, there should be another half-dozen comics under review later in the week. You’ll stick around, won’t you please?

Anthony Blades’s Bewley for the 16th is a rerun, and an old friend. It’s appeared the 14th of August, 2016, and in April 2015 and in May 2013. Maybe it’s time I dropped the strip from my reading. The scheme by which the kids got the right answer out of their father is a variation on the Clever Hans trick. Clever Hans was a famous example of animal perception: the horse appeared to be able to do arithmetic, tapping his hoof to signal a number. Brilliant experimental design found what was going on. Not that the horse was clever enough to tell (to make up an example) 18 divided by 3. But that the horse was clever enough to recognize the slight change in his trainer’s expression when he had counted off six. Animals (besides humans) do have some sense of numbers, but not that great a sense.

Father: 'You can do the next question yourselves. I'm not giving you any more help.' Bea: 'Okay, 18 / 3. Well, that's an easy one. Two.' (Father looks disbelieving.) Bea: 'Three.' (Same.) 'Four. Five. Six.' Tonus: 'There! His eye twitched!' Bea: 'Six it is.' Father: 'This can't be what they teach you at school!'
Anthony Blades’s Bewley rerun for the 16th of July, 2018. I don’t know, I’d check with someone who seemed more confident in their work.

Jeff Stahler’s Moderately Confused for the 16th is the old joke told about accountants and lawyers when they encounter mathematics, recast to star the future disgraced former president. The way we normally define ‘two’ and ‘plus’ and ‘two’ and ‘equals’ and ‘four’ there’s not room for quibbling about their relationship. Not without just lying, anyway. Thus this satisfies the rules of joke formation.

Kid writing 2 + 2 = 4 on the board. Trump: 'The correct answer would be many thousands ... many, many. Never settle for just four.'
Jeff Stahler’s Moderately Confused for the 16th of July, 2018. Sorry to throw this at you without adequate warning. I got it that way myself.

Olivia Jaimes’s Nancy for the 16th is, I think, the point that Jaimes’s Nancy has appeared in my essays more than Guy Gilchrist’s ever did. Well, different artists have different interests. This one depicts Nancy getting the motivation she needed to excel in arithmetic. I’m not convinced of the pedagogical soundness of the Nancy comic strip. But it’s not as though people won’t practice things for rewards.

Esther: 'Wow, Nancy, you can multiply really fast.' Nancy: 'It's probably because I'm a beautiful genius. Perhaps the most beautiful genius of all.' [ Every day the prior week ] Aunt Frizz: 'No Wi-fi until you do *some* work today.' (She holds up a paper. New Password: 12124 x 316 = ???'
Olivia Jaimes’s Nancy for the 16th of July, 2018. If Nancy’s phrasing seems needlessly weird in the second and third panels (as it did to me) you might want to know that A Beautiful Genius was the name of a biography of the mathematician/economist John Nash. Yes, the Nash whose life inspired the movie A Beautiful Mind. So now it should seem a little less bizarre. Does it?

Jerry van Amerongen’s Ballard Street for the 17th is somehow a blend of the Moderately Confused and Nancy strips from the day before. All right, then. It’s nice when people share their enthusiasms.

Man standing behind a small table, with pamphlets, and a sign: 'I support 2 x 2 = 4 and more!' Caption: Eric's getting more involved with multiplication.
Jerry van Amerongen’s Ballard Street for the 17th of July, 2018. I do like how eager Eric looks about sharing multiplication with people. I’ve never looked that cheery even while teaching stuff I loved.

John McPherson’s Close to Home for the 17th is the Roman Numerals joke for the week. Enjoy.

Roman types playing golf on hole XXIV, in front of a Colosseum prop. One cries out, 'IV!'.
John McPherson’s Close to Home for the 17th of July, 2018. You might think that’s a pretty shaky Colosseum in the background, but McPherson did have to communicate that this was happening in Ancient Rome faster than the reader could mistake the word balloon for a homonym of “ivy”. How would you do it?

Terri Liebenson’s Pajama Diaries for the 18th is the Venn Diagram joke for the week. Enjoy.

Venn Diagram of my Kids' Volume Levels: Mumble; Shout; the tiny intersection, 'What happens when I'm not around'.
Terri Liebenson’s Pajama Diaries for the 18th of July, 2018. … Yeah, I don’t have further commentary for this. Sorry.

I try to put all my Reading the Comics posts at this link, based on the ‘Comic Strips’ tag. Essays that mention Bewley are at this link. The essays which discuss Moderately Confused should be gathered at this link. The increasing number of essays mentioning Nancy are at this link. The Ballard Street strips discussed should be at this link; it turns out to be a new tag. Huh. Any Close To Home strips reviewed here should be at this link; it, too, is a new tag. And more Pajama Diaries comments should be at this link. Thanks for reading.

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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?

Reading the Comics, January 16, 2017: Better Workflow Edition


So one little secret of my Reading the Comics posts is I haven’t been writing them in a way that makes sense to me. To me, I should take each day’s sufficiently relevant comics, describe them in a paragraph or two, and then have a nice pile of text all ready for the posting Sunday and, if need be, later. I haven’t been doing that. I’ve let links pile up until Friday or Saturday, and then try to process them all, and if you’ve ever wondered why the first comic of the week gets 400 words about some subtlety while the last gets “this is a comic that exists”, there you go. This time around, let me try doing each day’s strips per day and see how that messes things up.

Jef Mallett’s Frazz for the 14th of January is another iteration of the “when will we ever use mathematics” complaint. The answer of “you’ll use it on the test” is unsatisfactory. But somehow, the answer of “you’ll use it to think deeply about something you had never considered before” also doesn’t satisfy. Anyway I’d like to see the idea that education is job-training abolished; I think it should be about making a person conversant with the history of human thought. That can’t be done perfectly, and we might ask whether factoring 32 is that important a piece, but it should certainly be striven for.

Ham’s Life on Earth for the 14th is a Gary Larsonesque riff on that great moment of calculus and physics history, Newton’s supposition that gravity has to follow a universally true law. I’m not sure this would have made my cut if I reviewed a week’s worth of strips at a time. Hm.

Mason Mastroianni’s B.C. for the 15th is a joke about story problem construction, and how the numbers in a story problem might be obvious nonsense. It’s also a cheap shot at animal hoarders, I suppose, but that falls outside my territory here.

Anthony Blades’s Bewley rerun for the 15th riffs on the natural number sense we all have. And we do have a number sense, remarkably. We might not be able to work out 9 times 6 instantly. But asked to pick from a list of possible values, we’re more likely to think that 58 is credible than that 78 or 38 are. It’s quite imprecise, but isn’t it amazing that it’s there at all?

Bill Amend’s FoxTrot Classics for the 15th is a story problem joke, in this case, creating one with a strong motivation for its solution to be found. The strip originally ran the 22nd of January, 1996.

Zach Weinersmith’s Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal for the 16th is maybe marginal to include, too. It’s about the kinds of logic puzzles that mathematicians grow up reading and like to pass around. And the way you can fake out someone by presenting a problem with too obvious a solution. It’s not just professors who’ll be stymied by having the answer look too obvious, by the way. Everyone’s similarly vulnerable. To see anything, including an abstract thing like the answer to a puzzle, you need some idea of what you are looking at. If you don’t think the answer could be something that simple, you won’t see it there.

Paw: 'It's four o'clock ... what time are we going to eat?' Maw :'About five.' Paw: 'Good! That gives me two hours to work with Pokey on his arithmeteic.'
Gordon Bess’s Redeye for the 6th of September, 1971. That’s the sort of punch line that really brings out the comically-anachronistic Old West theme.

Gordon Bess’s Redeye for the 6th of September, 1971, was reprinted the 17th. It’s about the fun of teaching a subject you aren’t all that good on yourself. The mathematics is a name-drop here, but the joke wouldn’t make sense if it were about social studies.

Popeye: 'King, they's one thing I wants to know. How much is a pezozee?' King Blozo: 'Why bring that up?' Popeye: 'Yer men hired me to help lick yer emeny at a thousing pezozees a week - tha's why I'd like to know what is a pezozee.' Blozo: 'A pezozee is two pazookas.' Popeye: 'What's a pazooky?' Blozo: 'A pazooka is two pazinkas.' Popeye: 'What's a pazinky?' Blozo: 'A pazinka is two pazoonies.' Popeye: 'What's a pazeenya?' Blozo: 'Phooey! I wish you would quit following me! A pazooney is two pazeenyas.' Popeye: 'what's a pazeenya?' Blozo: 'Two pazimees.' Popeye: 'Hey! What's a pazimee worth?' Blozo: 'Absolutely nothing!' Popeye: 'Blow me down, I'm glad I ain't gettin' paid in pazimees!'
Elzie Segar’s Thimble Theatre for the 10th of August, 1931. Not listed: the rate of exchange for paczki, which reappeared this week.

Elzie Segar’s Thimble Theatre for the 10th of August, 1931, was also reprinted the 17th. It’s an old gag, even back when it was first run. But I suppose there’s some numerical-conversion mathematics to wring out of it. Given the rate of exchange, a pezozee would seem to be 24 pazimees. I’m not sure we need so many units in-between the pazimee and the pezozee, but perhaps King Blozo’s land set its units in a time when fractions were less familiar to the public. The punch line depends on the pazimee being worth nothing and, taken literally, that has sad implications for the pezozee too. If you take the King as speaking roughly, though, sixteen times a small amount is … at least a less small amount. It wouldn’t take many doublings to go from an infinitesimally tiny sum to a respectable one.

And it turns out there were enough comic strips I need to split this into two segments. So I should schedule that to appear. It’s already written and everything.

Reading the Comics, September 29, 2017: Anthropomorphic Mathematics Edition


The rest of last week had more mathematically-themed comic strips than Sunday alone did. As sometimes happens, I noticed an objectively unimportant detail in one of the comics and got to thinking about it. Whether I could solve the equation as posted, or whether at least part of it made sense as a mathematics problem. Well, you’ll see.

Patrick McDonnell’s Mutts for the 25th of September I include because it’s cute and I like when I can feature some comic in these roundups. Maybe there’s some discussion that could be had about what “equals” means in ordinary English versus what it means in mathematics. But I admit that’s a stretch.

Professor Earl's Math Class. (Earl is the dog.) 'One belly rub equals two pats on the head!'
Patrick McDonnell’s Mutts for the 25th of September, 2017. I should be interested in other people’s research on this. My love’s parents’ dogs are the ones I’ve had the most regular contact with the last few years, and the dogs have all been moderately to extremely alarmed by my doing suspicious things, such as existing or being near them or being away from them or reaching a hand to them or leaving a treat on the floor for them. I know this makes me sound worrisome, but my love’s parents are very good about taking care of dogs others would consider just too much trouble.

Olivia Walch’s Imogen Quest for the 25th uses, and describes, the mathematics of a famous probability problem. This is the surprising result of how few people you need to have a 50 percent chance that some pair of people have a birthday in common. It then goes over to some other probability problems. The examples are silly. But the reasoning is sound. And the approach is useful. To find the chance of something happens it’s often easiest to work out the chance it doesn’t. Which is as good as knowing the chance it does, since a thing can either happen or not happen. At least in probability problems, which define “thing” and “happen” so there’s not ambiguity about whether it happened or not.

Piers Baker’s Ollie and Quentin rerun for the 26th I’m pretty sure I’ve written about before, although back before I included pictures of the Comics Kingdom strips. (The strip moved from Comics Kingdom over to GoComics, which I haven’t caught removing old comics from their pages.) Anyway, it plays on a core piece of probability. It sets out the world as things, “events”, that can have one of multiple outcomes, and which must have one of those outcomes. Coin tossing is taken to mean, by default, an event that has exactly two possible outcomes, each equally likely. And that is near enough true for real-world coin tossing. But there is a little gap between “near enough” and “true”.

Rick Stromoski’s Soup To Nutz for the 27th is your standard sort of Dumb Royboy joke, in this case about him not knowing what percentages are. You could do the same joke about fractions, including with the same breakdown of what part of the mathematics geek population ruins it for the remainder.

Nate Fakes’s Break of Day for the 28th is not quite the anthropomorphic-numerals joke for the week. Anthropomorphic mathematics problems, anyway. The intriguing thing to me is that the difficult, calculus, problem looks almost legitimate to me. On the right-hand-side of the first two lines, for example, the calculation goes from

\int -8 e^{-\frac{ln 3}{14} t}

to
-8 -\frac{14}{ln 3} e^{-\frac{ln 3}{14} t}

This is a little sloppy. The first line ought to end in a ‘dt’, and the second ought to have a constant of integration. If you don’t know what these calculus things are let me explain: they’re calculus things. You need to include them to express the work correctly. But if you’re just doing a quick check of something, the mathematical equivalent of a very rough preliminary sketch, it’s common enough to leave that out.

It doesn’t quite parse or mean anything precisely as it is. But it looks like the sort of thing that some context would make meaningful. That there’s repeated appearances of - \frac{ln 3}{14} , or - \frac{14}{ln 3} , particularly makes me wonder if Frakes used a problem he (or a friend) was doing for some reason.

Mark Anderson’s Andertoons for the 29th is a welcome reassurance that something like normality still exists. Something something student blackboard story problem something.

Anthony Blades’s Bewley rerun for the 29th depicts a parent once again too eager to help with arithmetic homework.

Maria Scrivan’s Half Full for the 29th gives me a proper anthropomorphic numerals panel for the week, and none too soon.