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  • Joseph Nebus 6:00 pm on Sunday, 19 February, 2017 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , fandom, Frog Applause, , , , , , Wandering Melon   

    Reading the Comics, February 15, 2017: SMBC Cuts In Line Edition 


    It’s another busy enough week for mathematically-themed comic strips that I’m dividing the harvest in two. There’s a natural cutting point since there weren’t any comics I could call relevant for the 15th. But I’m moving a Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal of course from the 16th into this pile. That’s because there’s another Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal of course from after the 16th that I might include. I’m still deciding if it’s close enough to on topic. We’ll see.

    John Graziano’s Ripley’s Believe It Or Not for the 12th mentions the “Futurama Theorem”. The trivia is true, in that writer Ken Keeler did create a theorem for a body-swap plot he had going. The premise was that any two bodies could swap minds at most one time. So, after a couple people had swapped bodies, was there any way to get everyone back to their correct original body? There is, if you bring two more people in to the body-swapping party. It’s clever.

    From reading comment threads about the episode I conclude people are really awestruck by the idea of creating a theorem for a TV show episode. The thing is that “a theorem” isn’t necessarily a mind-boggling piece of work. It’s just the name mathematicians give when we have a clearly-defined logical problem and its solution. A theorem and its proof can be a mind-wrenching bit of work, like Fermat’s Last Theorem or the Four-Color Map Theorem are. Or it can be on the verge of obvious. Keeler’s proof isn’t on the obvious side of things. But it is the reasoning one would have to do to solve the body-swap problem the episode posited without cheating. Logic and good story-telling are, as often, good partners.

    Teresa Burritt’s Frog Applause is a Dadaist nonsense strip. But for the 13th it hit across some legitimate words, about a 14 percent false-positive rate. This is something run across in hypothesis testing. The hypothesis is something like “is whatever we’re measuring so much above (or so far below) the average that it’s not plausibly just luck?” A false positive is what it sounds like: our analysis said yes, this can’t just be luck, and it turns out that it was. This turns up most notoriously in medical screenings, when we want to know if there’s reason to suspect a health risk, and in forensic analysis, when we want to know if a particular person can be shown to have been a particular place at a particular time. A 14 percent false positive rate doesn’t sound very good — except.

    Suppose we are looking for a rare condition. Say, something one person out of 500 will have. A test that’s 99 percent accurate will turn up positives for the one person who has got it and for five of the people who haven’t. It’s not that the test is bad; it’s just there are so many negatives to work through. If you can screen out a good number of the negatives, though, the people who haven’t got the condition, then the good test will turn up fewer false positives. So suppose you have a cheap or easy or quick test that doesn’t miss any true positives but does have a 14 percent false positive rate. That would screen out 430 of the people who haven’t got whatever we’re testing for, leaving only 71 people who need the 99-percent-accurate test. This can make for a more effective use of resources.

    Gary Wise and Lance Aldrich’s Real Life Adventures for the 13th is an algebra-in-real-life joke and I can’t make something deeper out of that.

    Mike Shiell’s The Wandering Melon for the 13th is a spot of wordplay built around statisticians. Good for taping to the mathematics teacher’s walls.

    Eric the Circle for the 14th, this one by “zapaway”, is another bit of wordplay. Tans and tangents.

    Zach Weinersmith’s Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal for the 16th identifies, aptly, a difference between scientists and science fans. Weinersmith is right that loving trivia is a hallmark of a fan. Expertise — in any field, not just science — is more about recognizing patterns of problems and concepts, ways to bring approaches from one field into another, this sort of thing. And the digits of π are great examples of trivia. There’s no need for anyone to know the 1,681st digit of π. There’s few calculations you could ever do when you needed more than three dozen digits. But if memorizing digits seems like fun then π is a great set to learn. e is the only other number at all compelling.

    The thing is, it’s very hard to become an expert in something without first being a fan of it. It’s possible, but if a field doesn’t delight you why would you put that much work into it? So even though the scientist might have long since gotten past caring how many digits of π, it’s awfully hard to get something memorized in the flush of fandom out of your head.

    I know you’re curious. I can only remember π out to 3.14158926535787962. I might have gotten farther if I’d tried, but I actually got a digit wrong, inserting a ‘3’ before that last ’62’, and the effort to get that mistake out of my head obliterated any desire to waste more time memorizing digits. For e I can only give you 2.718281828. But there’s almost no hope I’d know that far if it weren’t for how e happens to repeat that 1828 stanza right away.

     
  • Joseph Nebus 6:00 pm on Sunday, 29 January, 2017 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , , , Frog Applause, , Randy Glasbergen, ,   

    Reading the Comics, January 28, 2017: Chuckle Brothers Edition 


    The week started out quite busy and I was expecting I’d have to split my essay again. It didn’t turn out that way; Comic Strip Master Command called a big break on mathematically-themed comics from Tuesday on. And then nobody from Comics Kingdom or from Creators.com needed inclusion either. I just have a bunch of GoComics links and a heap of text here. I bet that changes by next week. Still no new Jumble strips.

    Brian Boychuk and Ron Boychuk’s The Chuckle Brothers for the 22nd was their first anthropomorphic numerals joke of the week.

    Kevin Fagan’s Drabble for the 22nd uses arithmetic as the sort of problem it’s easy to get clearly right or clearly wrong. It’s a more economical use of space than (say) knowing how many moons Saturn’s known to have. (More than we thought there were as long ago as Thursday.) I do like that there’s a decent moral to this on the way to the punch line.

    Bill Amend’s FoxTrot for the 22nd has Jason stand up for “torus” as a better name for doughnuts. You know how nerdy people will like putting a complicated word onto an ordinary thing. But there are always complications. A torus ordinarily describes the shape made by rotating a circle around an axis that’s in the plane of the circle. The result is a surface, though, the shell of a doughnut and none of the interior. If we’re being fussy. I don’t know of a particular name for the torus with its interior and suspect that, if pressed, a mathematician would just say “torus” or maybe “doughnut”.

    We can talk about toruses in two dimensions; those look just like circles. The doughnut-shell shape is a torus in three dimensions. There’s torus shapes made by rotating spheres, or hyperspheres, in four or more dimensions. I’m not going to draw them. And we can also talk about toruses by the number of holes that go through them. If a normal torus is the shape of a ring-shaped pool toy, a double torus is the shape of a two-seater pool toy, a triple torus something I don’t imagine exists in the real world. A quadruple torus could look, I imagine, like some pool toys Roller Coaster Tycoon allows in its water parks. I’m saying nothing about whether they’re edible.

    Brian Boychuk and Ron Boychuk’s The Chuckle Brothers for the 23rd was their second anthropomorphic numerals joke of the week. I suppose sometimes you just get an idea going.

    Mikael Wulff and Anders Morgenthaler’s TruthFacts for the 23rd jokes about mathematics skills versus life. The growth is fine enough; after all, most of us are at, or get to, our best at something while we’re training in it or making regular use of it. So the joke peters out into the usual “I never use mathematics in real life” crack, which, eh. I agree it’s what I feel like my mathematics skills have done ever since I got my degree, at any rate.

    Teresa Burritt’s Frog Applause for the 24th describes an extreme condition which hasn’t been a problem for me. I’m not an overindulgey type.

    Randy Glasbergen’s Glasbergen Cartoons rerun for the 26th is the pie chart joke for this week.

    Michael Fry’s Committed rerun for the 28th just riffs on the escalation of hyperbole, and what sure looks like an exponential growth of hyperbolic numbers. There’s a bit of scientific notation in the last panel. The “1 x” part isn’t necessary. It doesn’t change the value of the expression “1 x 1026”. But it might be convenient to use the “1 x” anyway. Scientific notation is about separating the size of the number from the interesting digits that the number has. Often when you compare numbers you’re interested in the size or else you’re interested in the important digits. Get into that habit and it’s not worth making an exception just because the interesting digits turn out to be boring in this case.

     
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