Reading the Comics, February 9, 2019: Garfield Outwits Me Edition


Comic Strip Master Command decreed that this should be a slow week. The greatest bit of mathematical meat came at the start, with a Garfield that included a throwaway mathematical puzzle. It didn’t turn out the way I figured when I read the strip but didn’t actually try the puzzle.

Jim Davis’s Garfield for the 3rd is a mathematics cameo. Working out a problem is one more petty obstacle in Jon’s day. Working out a square root by hand is a pretty good tedious little problem to do. You can make an estimate of this that would be not too bad. 324 is between 100 and 400. This is worth observing because the square root of 100 is 10, and the square root of 400 is 20. The square of 16 is 256, which is easy for me to remember because this turns up in computer stuff a lot. But anyway, numbers from 300 to 400 have square roots that are pretty close to but a little less than 20. So expect a number between 17 and 20.

Jon swipes his card at a supermarket checkout. The reader asks: 'Would you like to donate a dollar to charity today?' (Boop.) 'Enter PIN.' (boop boop boop boop.) 'Your total is $3.24. Is this correct?' (Boop.) 'What is the square root of 324? Please show your work.' Jon: 'ALL I WANT IS A BAG OF CHEESE DOODLES!' Garfield: 'DON'T WE ALL?!!'
Jim Davis’s Garfield for the 3rd of February, 2019. Other essays featuring Garfield would be at this link. But somehow this is the first time I’ve had something to write about based in Garfield. Huh.

But after that? … Well, it depends whether 324 is a perfect square. If it is a perfect square, then it has to be the square of a two-digit number. The first digit has to be 1. And the last digit has to be an 8, because the square of the last digit is 4. But that’s if 324 is a perfect square, which it almost certainly is … wait, what? … Uh .. huh. Well, that foils where I was going with this, which was to look at a couple ways to do square roots.

One is to start looking at factors. If a number is equal to the product of two numbers, then its square root is the product of the square roots of those numbers. So dividing your suspect number 324 by, say, 4 is a great idea. The square root of 324 would be 2 times the square root of whatever 324 ÷ 4 is. Turns out that’s 81, and the square root of 81 is 9 and there we go, 18 by a completely different route.

So that works well too. If it had turned out the square root was something like 2\sqrt{82} then we get into tricky stuff. One response is to leave the answer like that: 2\sqrt{82} is exactly the square root of 328. But I can understand someone who feels like they could use a numerical approximation, so that they know whether this is bigger than 19 or not. There are a bunch of ways to numerically approximate square roots. Last year I worked out a way myself, one that needs only a table of trigonometric functions to work out. Tables of logarithms are also usable. And there are many methods, often using iterative techniques, in which you make ever-better approximations until you have one as good as your situation demands.

Anyway, I’m startled that the cheese doodles price turned out to be a perfect square (in cents). Of course, the comic strip can be written to have any price filled in there. The joke doesn’t depend on whether it’s easy or hard to take the square root of 324. But that does mean it was written so that the problem was surprisingly doable and I’m amused by that.

T-Rex: 'Say the average person can expect to live for 81 years. That's a little over 2.5 billion seconds. 2.5 billion is not that much! I thought I'd compare the seconds in a life to the molecules in a glass of water, but even a gram of water has over ten sextillion molecules in it. Even if I measure my life in NANOSECONDS I'm still not on par with a gram of boring ol' WATER.' Dromiceiomimus: 'Molecules are super tiny, T-Rex! You should measure yourself in bigger units.' T-Rex: 'like ... cubic millimeters?' Utahraptor: 'That'd give you 2500 litres, that's a lot!' T-Rex: 'Dude, that's just a GIANT BATHTUB! I want to visualize my lifespan as something impressive!' Utahraptor: 'OK. 2.5 billion kilometers is enough to make a one-way trip to Saturn and get most of the way back before dying, OR to travel part of the way to Uranus, but again, dying well before you arrive.' LATER: T-Rex: 'Dear audio diary! Today I learned why we measure lifetimes in years and not in 'failed trips to Uranus where only corpses show up at the end'. It's, um, for the reasons you'd expect, basically.'
Ryan North’s Dinosaur Comics for the 4th of February, 2019. Some of the many essays inspired by Dinosaur Comics appear at this link.

Ryan North’s Dinosaur Comics for the 4th goes in some odd directions. But it’s built on the wonder of big numbers. We don’t have much of a sense for how big truly large numbers. We can approach pieces of that, such as by noticing that a billion seconds is a bit more than thirty years. But there are a lot of truly staggeringly large numbers out there. Our basic units for things like distance and mass and quantity are designed for everyday, tabletop measurements. The numbers don’t get outrageously large. Had they threatened to, we’d have set the length of a meter to be something different. We need to look at the cosmos or at the quantum to see things that need numbers like a sextillion. Or we need to look at combinations and permutations of things, but that’s extremely hard to do.

Tube Sock: a white cylinder with two blue stripes near the top. Inner Tube Sock: a white torus with two blue stripes around the narrow radius.
Tom Horacek’s Foolish Mortals for the 4th of February, 2019. This is a new tag. When I am next moved to write about Foolish Mortals the results should be this link. This might be a while. I can find some examples of writing about this strip in 2014, before I tagged the comic strips by name, but not since then.

Tom Horacek’s Foolish Mortals for the 4th is a marginal inclusion for this week’s strips, but it’s a low-volume week. The intended joke is just showing off a “tube sock” and an “inner tube sock”. But it happens to depict these as a cylinder and a torus and those are some fun shapes to play with. Particularly, consider this: it’s easy to go from a flat surface to a cylinder. You know this because you can roll a piece of paper up and get a good tube. And it’s not hard to imagine going from a cylinder to a torus. You need the cylinder to have a good bit of give, but it’s easy to imagine stretching it around and taping one end to the other. But now you’ve got a shape that is very different from a sheet of paper. The four-color map theorem, for example, no longer holds. You can divide the surface of the torus so it needs at least seven colors.

Wiley's Dictionary, as read by Peter: 'Logarithm. A downed tree with dance moves.'
Mastroianni and Hart’s B.C. for the 5th of February, 2019. Essays describing some aspect of B.C., whether the current run or the vintage 1960s reruns, appear at this link.

Mastroianni and Hart’s B.C. for the 5th is a bit of wordplay. As I said, this was a low-volume week around here. The word “logarithm” derives, I’m told, from the modern-Latin ‘logarithmus’. John Napier, who advanced most of the idea of logarithms, coined the term. It derives from ‘logos’, here meaning ‘ratio’, and ‘re-arithmos’, meaning ‘counting number’. The connection between ratios and logarithms might not seem obvious. But suppose you have a couple of numbers, and we’ll reach deep into the set of possible names and call them a, b, and c. Suppose a ÷ b equals b ÷ c. Then the difference between the logarithm of a and the logarithm of b is the same as the difference between the logarithm of b and the logarithm of c. This lets us change calculations on numbers to calculations on the ratios between numbers and this turns out to often be easier work. Once you’ve found the logarithms. That can be tricky, but there are always ways to do it.

Mother: 'Maggot, help Otis with his math homework. Explain fractions to him.' Maggot, to Otis: 'Well, it's like when you drop a beer bottle and it breaks into a lot of pieces.'
Bill Rechin’s Crock rerun for the 8th of February, 2019. I have no information about when this strip previously appeared. Essays based on things mentioned in Crock appear at this link. Somehow this isn’t the first time I’ve tagged this comic.

Bill Rechin’s Crock for the 8th is not quite a bit of wordplay. But it mentions fractions, which seem to reliably confuse people. Otis’s father is helpless to present a concrete, specific example of what fractions mean. I’d probably go with change, or with slices of pizza or cake. Something common enough in a child’s life.

And I grant there have been several comic strips here of marginal mathematics value. There was still one of such marginal value. Mark Parisi’s Off The Mark for the 7th has anthropomorphized numerals, in service of a temperature joke.


These are all the mathematically-themed comic strips for the past week. Next Sunday, I hope, I’ll have more. Meanwhile please come around here this week to see what, if anything, I think to write about.

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Reading the Comics, September 14, 2018: I Already Forgot What I Said About Randolph Itch Edition


Yeah, so remember how like two weeks ago I noticed another Randolph Itch, 2 am repeat? And figured to retire the comic strip from my Reading the Comics routine? Well, then you’re better at this blog than I am. But this time I’ll retire it for sure, rather than waste text I wrote up already.

Tom Toles’s Randolph Itch, 2 am for the 13th is the Roman Numerals joke for the week. IV is a well-established way to write four, although on clock faces IIII is a quite common use. There’s not a really clear reason why this should be. I’m convinced that it’s mostly for reasons of symmetry. IIII comes nearer the length of VIII, across it on the clock face. The subtractive principle, where ‘IV’ means ‘one taken away from five’, wasn’t really a thing until the middle ages. But then neither were clocks like that.

Randolph, looking at a grandfather clock, imagines a used-chariot salesman saying to a Roman centurion, '... Or check out our new IV by IV'. Followup: 'Did I mention the sunroof?'
Tom Toles’s Randolph Itch, 2 am rerun for the 13th of September, 2018. It originally ran the 27th of January, 2000.

Bill Rechin’s Crock for the 14th is a joke about being bad at arithmetic. And yeah, most instructors wouldn’t accept “a lot” as the answer to 125 times 140. But we can go from approximations to something more precise. The number’s got to be more than 10,000, for example. 125 is more than 100, and 140 is more than 100. So 125 times 140 has to be more than 100 times 100. And then I notice: 125 is a hundred plus a quarter-of-a-hundred. So, 125 times 140 is a hundred times 140 plus a quarter-of-a-hundred times 140. A hundred times 140 is easy: it’s 14,000. A quarter of that? … Is a quarter of 12,000 plus a quarter of 2,000. That’s 3,000 plus 500. So 125 times 140 has to be 14,000 plus 3,000 plus 500. 17,500. My calculator agrees, so I feel pretty good. If this all seems like an ad hoc process, well, it is. But it’s how I can do this in my head.

Vulture: 'How come you failed the math test?' Kid: 'Dad helped me study for it. I knew I was in trouble when he said the answer to 125 x 140 was 'a lot'.'
Bill Rechin’s Crock rerun for the 14th of September, 2018. I’m trusting that it’s a rerun, although I don’t know when from. Everyone had thought Crock was supposed to be finished running by now — Rechin died years ago — and we don’t understand its current existence even more than we didn’t understand its previous existence.

Yes, the comments at ComicsKingdom include a warning that “using this obscenity called new math he may never be right, but he will never be wrong either”. I mention this for fans of cranky old person comics commentary.

Quincy, looking at a display of calculators: 'I got two months to save enough dough for that adding machine.' Sneeze: 'Why do you need an answering machine?' Quincy: 'You didn't see my last arithmetic mark.'
Ted Shearer’s Quincy rerun for the 14th of September, 2018. It originally ran the 21st of July, 1979.

Ted Shearer’s Quincy for the 21st of July, 1979 was rerun the 14th. It expresses the then-common wish for a calculator, which held such promise for making mathematics easy. It does make some kinds of mathematics easy. It especially takes considerable tedium out of mathematics. And it opens up new things to discover. Especially if the calculator lets you put the last thing calculated into a formula. That makes it easy to play with all sorts of iterative processes. They let you find solutions to weird and complicated problems. Or explore beautiful fractals. Figure out what limits work like. Or just notice what’s neat about 3.302775638. They let you get into different things.

Mom: 'What's your homework?' Nicholas: 'I have to cut out all these fractions and paste them in decreasing order.' (Mom sniffs, and sneezes, scattering the clipped-out pages.) Mom: 'I hate ragweed season.' Nicholas: 'I love it! This is much better than 'the dog ate my homework'!'
Daniel Shelton’s Ben for the 14th of September, 2018. That … seems like a heck of a sneeze to me, but I suppose odd things will happen in comic strips.

Daniel Shelton’s Ben for the 14th has Nicholas doing mathematics homework. And something that couldn’t just be any subject; arranging fractions by size is something worth learning. They do have the peculiar and hard-to-adjust-to property that making the denominator larger, without changing the numerator, makes the entire fraction represent a smaller number. I mean a number closer to zero. So I think sorting fractions a reasonable homework project. Cutting them out and pasting them down seems weird to me. But maybe there’s some benefit in making the project tactile like that.


My Reading the Comics posts make up the bulk of this blog by volume. They should all appear at this link. I really this time mean to retiree Randolph Itch, 2am as a tag, but please enjoy the strip’s appearances at this link. This and other appearances by Crock are at this link. Ted Shearer’s Quincy appears in essays on this link And other appearances by Ben should be at this link. Also I’m surprised to learn there are other essays. I would have bet Ben was a new tag this essay.

Reading the Comics, August 8, 2018: Hm Edition


There are times I feel like my writing here collapses entirely to Reading the Comics posts. It’s a temptation to just give up doing anything else. They’re easy to write, since the comics give me the subjects to discuss. And it offers a nice, accessible mix of same-old topics with the occasional oddball. It’s fun. But sometimes Comic Strip Master Command decides I’ve been doing enough of that. This is one of those weeks; I only found six comics in my normal reading that were on point enough to discuss. So here’s half of them.

Bill Rechin’s Crock for the 6th is … hm. Well, let’s call it a fractions joke. I’m curious exactly what the clerk’s joke is supposed to mean. Is it intended to suggest an impossibility, putting into something far more than it can hold? Or is it just meant to suggest gross overabundance? And deep down I suspect Rechin didn’t have any specific meaning; it’s just a good-sounding insult.

At the Dress Shoppe. Grossie asks, 'How do you think I'd fit into this little number?' Clerk: 'Like five into four.'
Bill Rechin’s Crock rerun for the 6th of August, 2018. At least I believe this to be a rerun; Rechin died in 2011. But then I had understood the comic was supposed to continue running until 2015 to satisfy some outstanding contracts and then cease. It’s been more than three years. I have no explanation for this phenomenon.

Hector D Cantu and Carlos Castellanos’s Baldo for the 7th is … hm. Well, let’s call it a wordplay joke. It works by “strength” having multiple meanings, and “numbers” having multiple meanings. And there being a convenient saying to link one to the other. If this were a busier week I wouldn’t even bring it up, but I hate going without anything around here.

Baldo: 'What are you doing?' (Gracie's putting books into two milk cartons connected by a pole.) Gracie: 'I'm seeing how many math books I can lift.' Baldo: 'Why?' Gracie (lifting them as if dead weights): 'There's strength in numbers!'
Hector D Cantu and Carlos Castellanos’s Baldo for the 7th of August, 2018. Yes, I see you complaining that the pole can’t possibly hold up those two cartons of books as depicted. But if the books didn’t stand upright in the middle of the cartons then there’d be no telling that there was a substantial weight inside the cartons, defeating the joke before it has half a chance. Read generously.

Keith Tutt and Daniel Saunders’s Lard’s World Peace Tips for the 8th is … hm. Well, let’s call it a Roman numerals joke. It’s really more wordplay. And one I like, although the pacing is off. The second panel could be usefully dropped, and you could probably redo this all in two panels — or one — to better effect.

Woman: 'Hey Lard, have you heard what's happening?' Lard: 'I don't think so ... ' Woman: 'They're phasing out Roman numerals!' Lard: 'Not on my watch!'
Keith Tutt and Daniel Saunders’s Lard’s World Peace Tips for the 8th of August, 2018. I do not understand the copyright information given here, but as one might have seen from my explorations of Gene Mora’s Graffiti, I don’t understand a lot of copyright information given on comic strips.

They’ve been phasing Roman Numerals out for a long while. Arabic numerals got their grand introduction to the (Western) Roman Empire’s territories in 1202 by Leonardo of Pisa, known now as “Fibonacci”. His Liber Abaci (Book of Calculation) laid out the Arabic numerals scheme and place values, and how to use them. By 1228 he published an edition comparing Roman numerals to Arabic numerals.

This wasn’t the first anyone in western Europe had heard of them, mind. (It never is; anyone telling you anything was the first is simplifying.) Spanish monks in the 10th century studied Arabic texts, and wrote about what they found. But after Leonardo of Pisa, Arabic numerals started displacing Roman numerals at least in specialized trades. Florence, in what is now Italy, prohibited merchants from using Arabic numerals in 1299; they could use Roman numerals or write them out in words. This, presumably, to prevent cheating by use of strange, unfamiliar calculus. Arabic numerals escaped being tools of specialists in the 16th century, thanks in large part to the German mathematician Adam Ries, who explained the scheme in terms apprentices could understand.

Still, these days, a Roman numeral is mostly an affectation. Useful for bit of style; not for serious mathematics. Good for watches.


Well. I keep all my Reading the Comics essays tagged so that you can read them at this link. Other essays that mention Crock should be available at this link. If you’re more interested in Baldo other essays mentioning it should be here. And other Lard’s World Peace Tips, when they inspire mathematical thoughts, are available at this link. Thank you.

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, October 7, 2017: Rerun Comics Edition


The most interesting mathematically-themed comic strips from last week were also reruns. So be it; at least I have an excuse to show a 1931-vintage comic. Also, after discovering my old theme didn’t show the category of essay I was posting, I did literally minutes of search for a new theme that did. And that showed tags. And that didn’t put a weird color behind LaTeX inline equations. So I’m using the same theme as my humor blog does, albeit with a different typeface, and we’ll hope that means I don’t post stuff to the wrong blog. As it is I start posting something to the wrong place about once every twenty times. All I want is a WordPress theme with all the good traits of the themes I look at and none of the drawbacks; why is that so hard to get?

Castor Oyl: 'Hey, Popeye, handing out money is an easy job. Come, work on the books awhile. I'll take your place. yah. Figure up and see what the capital of our one-way bank is today.' Popeye: ? Oke. ! Eight times eight is eighty-eight ... six and' six is sixteen ... ahoy, Castor! Ya makes a nine like a six only up-side-down ain't it? ... Me figgers say we eighter got sixty thousing left of we was broke three days ago. I wonder which is right?' (At the vault.) Castor: 'What the heck are you doing?' Popeye: 'Blow me down - it's more easy to count it. 7627, 7628 ... '
Elzie Segar’s Thimble Theatre rerun for the 25th of April, 1931, and rerun the 5th of October, 2017. No, Kabibble Kabaret is not actually a joke and yes, it’s always like that, and no, I have no idea why Comics Kingdom includes these footers. I find them fascinating in their badness, but, yeah.

Elzie Segar’s Thimble Theatre rerun for the 5th originally ran the 25th of April, 1931. It’s just a joke about Popeye not being good at bookkeeping. In the story, Popeye’s taking the $50,000 reward from his last adventure and opened a One-Way Bank, giving people whatever money they say they need. And now you understand how the first panel of the last row has several jokes in it. The strip is partly a joke about Popeye being better with stuff he can hit than anything else, of course. I wonder if there’s an old stereotype of sailors being bad at arithmetic. I remember reading about pirate crews that, for example, not-as-canny-as-they-think sailors would demand a fortieth or a fiftieth of the prizes as their pay, instead of a mere thirtieth. But it’s so hard to tell what really happened and what’s just a story about the stupidity of people. Marginal? Maybe, but I’m a Popeye fan and this is my blog, so there.

Bill Rechin’s Crock rerun(?) from the 6th must have come before. I don’t know when. Anyway it’s a joke about mathematics being way above everybody’s head.

Vulture: 'How come you failed the math test?' Kid: 'Dad helped me study for it. I knew I was in trouble when he said the answer to 125 times 140 was 'a lot'.
Bill Rechin’s Crock from the 6th of October, 2017. Yeah, I don’t exactly get the vulture as a pack animal either, but it’s kind of a cute idea. Or I’m a soft touch for cartoon and comic strip vultures. I would like to identify the characters but I forget their names and Wikipedia and the official Comics Kingdom site don’t give me any help.

Norm Feuti’s Gil rerun for the 6th is a subverted word problem joke. And it’s a reminder of how hard story problems can be. You need something that has a mathematics question on point. And the question has to be framed as asking something someone would actually care to learn. Plus the story has to make sense. Much easier when you’re teaching calculus, I think.

Jason Chatfield’s Ginger Meggs for the 6th is a playing-stupid joke built in percentages. Cute enough for the time it takes to read.

Gary Wise and Lance Aldrich’s Real Life Adventures for the 6th is a parent-can’t-help-with-homework joke, done with arithmetic since it’s hard to figure another subject that would make the joke possible. I suppose a spelling assignment could be made to work. But that would be hard to write so it didn’t seem contrived.

Thaves’ Frank and Ernest for the 7th feels like it’s a riff on the old saw about Plato’s Academy. (The young royal sent home with a coin because he asked what the use of this instruction was, and since he must get something from everything, here’s his drachma.) Maybe. Or it’s just the joke that you make if you have “division” and “royals” in mind.

Mark Tatulli’s Lio for the 7th is not quite the anthropomorphic symbols joke for this past week. It’s circling that territory, though.

Reading the Comics, February 11, 2017: Trivia Edition


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

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

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

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

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

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

'Did you ever take a date to a drive-in movie in high school?' 'Once, but she went to the concession stand and never came back.' 'Did you wonder why?' 'Yeah, but I kept on doing my math homework.'
Bill Rechin’s Crock rerun for the 11th of February, 2017. They actually opened a brand-new drive-in theater something like forty minutes away from us a couple years back. We haven’t had the chance to get there. But we did get to one a fair bit farther away where yes, we saw Turbo, that movie about the snail that races in the Indianapolis 500. The movie was everything we hoped for and it’s just a shame Roger Ebert died too young to review it for us.

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