Reading the Comics, November 30, 2019: The Glances Edition

I like this scheme where I use the Sunday publication slot to list comics that mention mathematics without inspiring conversation. I may need a better name for that branch of the series, though. But, nevertheless, here are comic strips from last week that don’t need much said about them.

Mell Lazarus’s Momma rerun for the 24th has Momma complain about Francis’s ability to do arithmetic. It originally ran the 23rd of February, 2014.

John Deering’s Strange Brew for the 24th features Pythagoras, here being asked about his angles. I’m not aware of anything actually called a Pythagorean Angle, but there’s enough geometric things with Pythagoras’s name attached for the joke to make sense.

Maria Scrivan’s Half Full for the 25th is a Venn Diagram joke for the week. It doesn’t quite make sense as a Venn Diagram, as it’s not clear to me that “invasive questions” is sensibly a part of “food”. But it’s a break from every comic strip doing a week full of jokes about turkeys preferring to not be killed.

Tony Carrillo’s F Minus for the 26th is set in mathematics class. And talks about how the process of teaching mathematics is “an important step on the road to hating math”, which is funny because it’s painfully true.

Jonathan Mahood’s Bleeker: The Rechargeable Dog for the 27th had Bleeker trying to help Skip with his mathematics homework. By the 28th Skip was not getting much done.

Bill Watterson’s Calvin and Hobbes rerun for the 30th wrapped up a storyline that saw Calvin being distracted away from his mathematics homework. The strip originally ran the 2nd of December, 1989.

And that’s that. Later this week I’ll publish something on the comic strips with substantial mathematics mention. And I do hope to have a couple thoughts on the recently-concluded Fall 2019 A-to-Z sequence. Plus, it’s the start of a new month, so that means I’ll be posting a map of the world. Maybe some other things too.

Reading the Comics, October 12, 2019: More Glances Edition

Today, I’m just listing the comics from last week that mentioned mathematics, but which didn’t raise a deep enough topic to be worth discussing. You know what a story problem looks like. I can’t keep adding to that.

John Zakour and Scott Roberts’s Maria’s Day for the 7th has Bob motivated to do arithmetic a little wrong.

Tony Carrillo’s F Minus for the 8th puts forth the idea that mathematics can be a superpower. Which, you know, it could be, given half a chance. According to a 1981 promotional comic book that Radio Shack carried, Superman’s brain is exactly as capable as a TRS-80 Color Computer. This was the pre-Crisis Superman, I feel like I should point out.

John Hambrock’s The Brilliant Mind of Edison Lee for the 9th has an appearance by E = mc^2 .

Anthony Smith’s Learn to Speak Cat for the 9th is dubbed “Mathecatics” and uses a couple mathematical symbols to make a little cat cartoon.

Hector D. Cantú and Carlos Castellanos’s Baldo for the 10th quotes René Descartes, billing him as a “French mathematician”. Which is true, but the quote is one about living properly. That’s more fairly a philosophical matter. Descartes has some reputation for his philosophical work, I understand.

Bil Keane and Jeff Keane’s The Family Circus for the 11th drew quite a few merry comments in the snark-reading community since it’s a surprisingly wicked joke. It’s about Billy, Age 7, having trouble with an assignment that’s clearly arithmetic. So, enjoy.

Tony Cochran’s Agnes for the 11th has the title character declare her disinterest in mathematics on the grounds she won’t use it.

Patrick Roberts’s Todd the Dinosaur for the 12th has the title character struggling with fractions.

And that’s the last of last week’s mathematically-themed comic strips. I do plan to have the next Reading the Comics post on Sunday. Tomorrow should resume the Fall 2019 A-to-Z sequence with the letter ‘N’. And I am still open for topics for the next half-dozen essays. Please offer your thoughts; they’re all grand to receive. Thank you.

Reading the Comics, September 24, 2018: Carnival Delay Edition

It’s unusual for me to have a Reading the Comics post on Monday, but that’s what fits my schedule. The Playful Mathematics Education Blog Carnival took my Sunday spot, and Tuesday and Friday I hope to continue the A to Z posts. It’s going to be a rather full week. I’m looking forward to, I hope, surviving. Meanwhile, here’s some comics.

Mike Thompson’s Grand Avenue for the 23rd resumes its efforts to become my archenemy with a strip about why learn arithmetic. Michael is right that we don’t need people to do multiplication. So why should we learn it? Grandmom Kate offers only the answer that he’ll be punished if he doesn’t learn them. This could motivate Michael to practice multiplication tables. But it’ll never convince him that learning multiplication tables is something of value.

Michael: 'You once told me: what you don't know won't hurt you. So I figure that means I don't need to know my multiplication tables!' Grandmom: 'You're right. Not knowing your multiplication tables won't hurt you. It will hurt both you and your allowance.' Michael: 'Wait! You're saying there's a possibility I might not get my allowance?' Grandmom: 'What you don't know won't hurt you.'
Mike Thompson’s Grand Avenue for the 23rd of September, 2018. So, not to nitpick the writing of these strips. Comic strip dialogue is subject to a great number of constraints that aren’t obvious, and that constrain how naturalistic it can be. But the dialogue flow is a slight wreck. Third panel to fourth, Grandmom goes from saying not knowing the multiplication tables won’t hurt you to saying it will hurt you and your allowance. Then, fourth panel to fifth, Michael goes from hearing he and his allowance will be hurt to wondering if there’s a possibility he might not get his allowance. It’s like they’re having different drafts of the conversation.

That said, what would convince him? It’s ridiculous to suppose Michael would be in a spot where he’d need to know eight times seven right away and without a computer to tell him. I find a certain amount of arithmetic-doing fun. But I already like doing it. (I admit a bootstrapping problem. Do I find it fun because I do it well, or do I do arithmetic well because I find it fun? I don’t know.) And that I find something fun is a lousy argument that everyone should learn to do it. I can argue that practicing multiplication tables is practice for finding neat patterns in other things, in higher mathematics. But is that reason to care? If Michael isn’t interested in eight times seven, is he going to be interested in the outer products of the set of symmetries on the octagon and the permutations of the heptagon?

I don’t have an actual answer here. I think it’s worth learning to do arithmetic. But not because we need people to do arithmetic. At least not except when we’re too lazy to take out our phones. But “or else you’ll lose money” is a terrible reason.

Things You Should Never, Ever Say To A Cartoonist. (It's nine panels of things they likely hear often, including 'Do you ever do any *real* art?' and 'You should try making your comics funnier' and 'You should do comics about my family, let me tell you about them!' Only one sends him running.) Questioner: 'What's the square root of 64 ? Why are you running away? Why are you screaming?' Corner Squirrel: 'Wait! Where do you get your ideaaaaas?!'
Dave Whamond’s Reality Check for the 23rd of September, 2018. That fourth panel happens to me, by the way, anytime I recount some odd, slightly awkward interaction that I have. And my family heritage is such that I’m a carrier of awkward interactions. Not to brag, but include a Nebus in your social circle and you’re more than ten times more likely than you ever imagined you could be to have responsibility for a styrofoam-peanut whirlwind, for example.

Dave Whamond’s Reality Check for the 23rd is a smorgasbord strip of things cartoonists get told too often. It comes in here because I like the strip, and because the punch line is built in the fear of arithmetic. It’s traditional to think that cartoonists, as artists, haven’t got an interest in mathematics or science. I can’t deny that the time it takes to learn how to draw, and the focus it takes to make a syndication-worthy comic strip, hurt someone’s ability to study much mathematics. And vice-versa. But people are a varied bunch. Bill Amend, of FoxTrot, and Bud Grace, of the discontinued The Piranha Club, were both physics majors. Darrin Bell, of Candorville and Rudy Park, writes well about mathematical (and scientific) topics. Crockett Johnson, of the renowned 1940s comic strip Barnaby and the Harold and the Purple Crayon books, was literate enough in mathematics to do over a hundred paintings based on geometry theorems. Part of why I note when the mathematics put into the background of a strip is that I do like pointing out there’s no reason artists and mathematicians or scientists need to be separate people.

Teacher: 'Question number three: you have twelve apples, but your friend Timmy only has two. How do you convince Timmy that this is a fair arrangement?'
Tony Carrillo’s F Minus for the 24th of September, 2018. Question four is about how many people named Timmy are in class.

Tony Carrillo’s F Minus for the 24th uses the form of the story problem. This one of the classic form of apples distributed amongst people. The problem presented makes its politics bare. But any narrative, however thin, carries along with it cultural values. That mathematicians may work out things whose truth is (we believe) independent of the posed problem doesn’t mean the posed problem is universal.

Tortoise: 'Y'know, I'm embarrassed to tell you how old I am.' Dog: 'Can you whisper it?' Tortoise: 'I'll write my age in the sand real temporary-like.' Dog: 'Don't spell it out, I can't read words!' Tortoise: 'Those are Roman numerals!'
Steve Boreman’s Little Dog Lost rerun for the 24th of September, 2018. This is a rerun from the 8th of September, 2009. Little Dog Lost has ended its run, and of gentle comic strips it’s one that I particularly miss.

Steve Boreman’s Little Dog Lost rerun for the 24th is the Roman Numerals joke for the week. There is a connotation of great age to anything written in Roman Numerals. Likely because we are centuries past the time they were used for anything but ornament. And even in ornament they seem to be declining in age. I do wonder if the puniness of, say, ‘MMI’ or ‘MMXX’ as a sequence of numerals, compared to (say) ‘MCMXLVII’ makes it look better to just write ‘2001’ or ‘2020’ instead.

The full set of Reading the Comics posts should be at this link. Essays that discuss Grand Avenue should be at this link. This and other appearances by Reality Check should be at this link. Appearances by F Minus are at this link. And other essays with Little Dog Lost should be at this link. Thanks for reading along.

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, September 1, 2017: Getting Ready For School Edition

In the United States at least it’s the start of the school year. With that, Comic Strip Master Command sent orders to do back-to-school jokes. They may be shallow ones, but they’re enough to fill my need for content. For example:

Bill Amend’s FoxTrot for the 27th of August, a new strip, has Jason fitting his writing tools to the class’s theme. So mathematics gets to write “2” in a complicated way. The mention of a clay tablet and cuneiform is oddly timely, given the current (excessive) hype about that Babylonian tablet of trigonometric values, which just shows how even a nearly-retired cartoonist will get lucky sometimes.

Dan Collins’s Looks Good On Paper for the 27th does a collage of school stuff, with mathematics the leading representative of the teacher-giving-a-lecture sort of class.

Olivia Walch’s Imogen Quest for the 28th uses calculus as the emblem of stuff that would be put on the blackboard and be essential for knowing. It’s legitimate formulas, so far as we get to see, the stuff that would in fact be in class. It’s also got an amusing, to me at least, idea for getting students’ attention onto the blackboard.

Tony Carrillo’s F Minus for the 29th is here to amuse me. I could go on to some excuse about how the sextant would be used for the calculations that tell someone where he is. But really I’m including it because I was amused and I like how detailed a sketch of a sextant Carrillo included here.

Jim Meddick’s Monty for the 29th features the rich obscenity Sedgwick Nuttingham III, also getting ready for school. In this case the summer mathematics tutoring includes some not-really-obvious game dubbed Integer Ball. I confess a lot of attempts to make games out of arithmetic look to me like this: fun to do but useful in practicing skills? But I don’t know what the rules are or what kind of game might be made of the integers here. I should at least hear it out.

Michael Cavna’s Warped for the 30th lists a top ten greatest numbers, spoofing on mindless clickbait. Cavna also, I imagine unintentionally, duplicates an ancient David Letterman Top Ten List. But it’s not like you can expect people to resist the idea of making numbered lists of numbers. Some of us have a hard time stopping.

Todd: 'If I'm gonna get a good job someday, I've decided I'm gonna have to buckle down and get serious with my studies!' 'Good for you, Todd!' 'When I get to Junior High and High School, I'm gonna take stuff like trickanometree, calculatorius and alge-brah! Hee hee! Snicker! Snicker!' 'What?' 'I said Bra! Hee! Hee!' 'Better keep buckling down, bub.'
Patrick Roberts’s Todd the Dinosaur for the 1st of September, 2017. So Paul Dirac introduced to quantum mechanics a mathematical construct known as the ‘braket’. It’s written as a pair of terms, like, < A | B > . These can be separated into pieces, with < A | called the ‘bra’ and | B > the ‘ket’. We’re told in the quantum mechanics class that this was a moment of possibly “innocent” overlap between what’s a convenient mathematical name and, as a piece of women’s clothing, unending amusement to male physics students. I do not know whether that’s so. I don’t see the thrill myself except in the suggestion that great physicists might be aware of women’s clothing.

Patrick Roberts’s Todd the Dinosaur for the 1st of September mentions a bunch of mathematics as serious studies. Also, to an extent, non-serious studies. I don’t remember my childhood well enough to say whether we found that vaguely-defined thrill in the word “algebra”. It seems plausible enough.