As always, the end of a school semester is hectic, and (as always again) I apologize for the lack of updates. However, to make up for it, I will actually bend the fabric of the space-time continuum to retroactively post updates.
Then again, since I’ve apparently already posted them months ago, why should I be apologizing now? Quit your bitchin’. Sheesh.
As a project for my complex analysis class, I had students keep a “complex function field guide,” which consisted of a journal describing important diagonistic features of important elementary complex functions. The complexified versions of standard functions like the exponential or the sine functions have many unexpected properties when the input variable is a complex number, and the purpose of the field guide is to explore those unexpected differences and put them into context when compared with the expected similarities to their real analogs.
One aspect of every field guide is to provide helpful illustrations showing the effect of the function as a mapping on the plane. Most folks opted for the usual demonstrations of “before and after” views of standard shapes like squares or sectors; the more daring opted for full color displays of the plane, such as the mapping by the squaring function w=z2:
One group took a much more interesting approach: they fixed an illustration — in their case, a picture of a grey cat — and then showed the pre-image of that illustration under the mapping, i.e. the set of points in the plane that would, under the given mapping, form the picture. For example, given the same squaring map, they produced the following:
The resulting images are unique and interesting, as is the code that produced them, but the thing that immediately grabbed my attention was the default image they chose to describe their complex maps: it nothing other than the (in)famous I CAN HAS CHEEZBURGER? LOLcat:
Now, if you haven’t seen a LOLcat before — and if you haven’t, welcome to your first visit to the internet! Enjoy the porn! — it’s a internet meme that is best described by fusing the following xkcd comic below
with the syntax of an illiterate code monkey:
In any event, I felt compelled to take some of the converted pictures of the protoLOLcat and convert them into new subLOLcats. A first-generation interative subclass of LOLcat, if you will. They may or may not make you LOL, but they do have cats in them (or at least, objects locally biholomorphic to a cat in them), and if you’re geek enough to find the above comic funny, you’ll hopefully get a kick out of them too. (I’ll leave it as an exercise to the reader to determine what elementary mapping determines the corresponding LOLcat. Solutions due at the midterm.)
In the words of the Defective Yeti, if everyone on the Internet jumped off a bridge, I would probably do that too.
Once upon a time, I used to be a capable artist. Well, cartoonist, at least.
Unfortunately, nowadays, what with working the tenure track and being a new dad and all, the only cartooning I do consists of doodles I make in the corners of agenda sheets during various university meetings. In the ages past, those terrible examples of chicken scratch were mercifully destroyed and forgotten when I threw away the agenda sheet, but what with my new hybrid computer, I’ve been taking my meeting notes on the tablet… and doodling there to. So when I was cleaning off the computer’s hard drive at the end of the year, I stumbled across them, had a chuckle at my pathetic skills, and was about to delete them….
Then it occured to me, I could show the rest of the universe how bad I suck anymore. So, here are some doodles with the occasional explanation.
At one meeting, someone mentioned the buzz about an advertising campaign for Komplexify U. I think I latched onto the word “buzz.”
A very old-looking computer desk, inspired by a departmental discussion about upgrading our clunky desktops.
Probably 30% of all department meetings seem to involve juggling too many math/computer science classes among too few math/computer science professors. At least this jester seems to be handling it better than I.
I don’t know how many hours of meetings are spent by faculty suggesting novel and intelligent ideas to move the university experience forward that are squashed in seconds for the want of money. Money money money.
I’m not sure how the “Komplexify University Atheist and Satantist Club” came to be discussed during a department meeting, but it was fun to draw a mascot for them.
It’s a math and computer science department, so we talk about robots a lot. Robots are cool.
What? It’s a surly worm wearing a Soussa band leader’s hat. Your guess is as good as mine.
Today you turned 14 months old.
You continue to grow and develop into a funny, smart, and beautiful little girl. You’ve sprouted two more top teeth, bringing the grand total up to six, and you show them off all the time with your big happy smile. You continue to sign, to the point now of inventing your own signs (such as “brushing your teeth,” which you indicate by twisting your index finger insde your mouth). You like to play and laugh. It’s hard to believe that just over six months ago we’d never met; now I don’t know what I’d do without you.
Your fourteenth month started off with a bang — or rather, a crack — as your fractured your left collarbone. You were climbing up onto the couch but slipped and landed hard on the place where the carpet meets the tile. At the time you walked it off with a couple of tears, but over the next few days it became obvious you were favoring your right side, so I took you into the doctor yet again, where a quick X-ray showed the fracture. The doctor said there wasn’t anything to do for it but let it heal on its own and to keep you from climbing up on things until then. “Doc,” I explained, “if I could keep her from climbing up on stuff to begin with, she would have less fractured bones and I would have a lot more hair.”
On one hand, I felt so terrible about your busted bone. While both the doctor and your mom assured me it wasn’t anybody’s fault, I felt rotten that I first was unable to keep you from falling and now unable to fix your hurt. On the other hand, a fractured collarbone was just the ticket to keep you further pursuing your arboreal existence, which was such a blissful relief for my nerves. I think doctors should provide humane collarbone-cracks for those children, like you, who posses a dangerous lack of both acrophobia and common sense.
Fortunately for everyone, within a week you showed no signs of injury, and were back to happily scaling the fridge and juggling stakeknives with your toes in no time. It occured to me that if you were going to be this hell-bent on breaking your bones, you at least ought to do it away from our expensive appliances and cutlery and whatnot, so you and I have played outside just about every day this month. You just love it. Perhaps it’s your sub-tropical Guizhou genetics, but you adore the sun and sky and clouds and grass and rocks and mud. I frequently plunk you out in the backyard, where you wander through the grass looking for rocks and dogs and, when you assume no one is watching, eating dirt.
As the squalid confines of your home are not enough to contain you, we also play at some of the parks around the house, where you marvel at the massive plastic play areas with unabashed glee. You’re a big fan of playground “rocking horses,” those plastic saddled animal effigies mounted to big springs. You climb up on them and then impatiently wait for me to saddle up behind you and rock them, since you’re still a little too short to rock on the thing yourself. The first time we did this, I hummed out the theme to Bonanza! as you rode to add some excitement; now I am required to do so, lest you throw a fit at the pointlessness of an oscllatory experience without a soundtrack.
However, your absolute favorite thing at the park are the slides, which has revealed to me that you are either exceptionally brave or exceptionally stupid, or some suicidal combination of the two. You like nothing more than to find the highest, most rickety plastic deathtrap at the playground, and then to climb to the top of it and throw yourself off with reckless abandon. At one park, the slide lies at the end of some kind of MXC obstacle course — a ramp to climb, a wall to scale, a wobbly bridge to cross — as if the playground was designed less by Ronald McDonald and more by Indiana Jones. Without fail, you race to the top of the slide and then leap face-first down it, operating under the assumption that I will catch you before you fly off the end of the slide and break some other part of your endoskeleton. This assumption has proven false on a few occasions, resulting in some wicked faceplants on your part. (Of course, given your dirt-eating proclivities, perhaps was the point all along.)
This month you discovered that books, rather than being the high-fiber snack food you’ve been munching away on previously, can actually be read to produce stories, and this must be my favorite new activity with you. You will bring me a book to me and, once I’m suitably sitting on the ground, will turn around a walk backwards into my lap to sit and read with me, like the world’s cutest sixteen-wheeler backing in for a delivery. Reading stories is a two-person job: I sound out the words and narrate the plot; you turn the pages and point out all the pictures you know signs for.
As a side note, after many books I’ve discovered that you divide the animal kingdom into four distinct subclasses of creatures. There are birds, which includes any feathered, avian animal. There are fish, which includes any scaly, gilled aquatic animal. There are bears, which includes any largish ursine mammal. And then there are dogs, which includes pretty much anything else: cats, horses, cows, sea lions, turtles, and (of course) the occasional canine. The upshot of this is that signing Old McDonald’s Farm with you is exceedingly boring.
In fact, you’ve very much become Daddy’s little girl. In the morning, we sit together and watch non-Dora cartoons on Nickelodeon; in the evening, we play in the bath with your toy turtles and ladybugs. When I go outside to take out the trash or turn water the yard, you wait at the back doorway for me to return, peeking your pig-tailed head through the screen and waving at me when you see me. We crawl all over the house playing, clanking away with blocks or playing tag or having tickling wars. You will never know how much I love playing with you, little Ladybug. I love giving you kisses and tickling your sides till you explode in your little cackles of laughter, or lying down with you resting on my tummy. When we were in China, things were much different — you were so much Mommy’s little baby that you’d chew through your own arm rather than be held by me — so this has been a welcome change for me.
Well, almost. In addition to lots of playing and reading together, you’ve taken a fascination to hanging out when I’m on the toilet. Your doctor said it was about time we start letting you watch us “go potty” to help ease your eventual toilet training, so, while I haven’t exactly invited you in, I’ve left the bathroom door open when I need to go. I’m not exactly sure what you’re supposed to learn by it, but having someone watch me intently while mimicing my every grunt or deep breath has been a such humbling learning experience for me that I’m currently considering keeping you in diapers forever just to bypass it.
This month also marked the six-month anniversary of Gotcha Day, the day we finally became a family. (In fact, this day coincided with Mother’s Day, so while your mom complains that I get all your lovin’ lately, the universe is still apparently rooting for her.) We celebrated by heading over to the park to take some family pictures. In point of fact, the pictures were actually for your big six-month visit with the social worker on Monday, who, assuming all goes well and she doesn’t discover the infant-powered textile mill we run from our basement, will give us the A-OK to re-adopt you.
Yes, we get the option to adopt you again. Where by “option” I mean “are required to by the state of South Dakota, since the previous two years of persistence and paperwork filed with two different adoption agencies in two different countries is insufficient to prove we love you,” and by “get” I mean “pay an assload of money to have a laywer to do it.”
You enjoyed taking family pictures slightly less than having your face eaten off by a swarm of fire ants, and so you cried and squirmed and whined through just about every picture. If a third-party were to see only pictures of you taken today, they might reasonably I adopted a giant whining mouth topped with a bow. Heck, the only way we could keep your head from exploding with frustration was to blow bubbles at you all day, which delighted you as you tried to eat them and delighted me at the realization that, like it or not, you were getting your mouth washed out with soap. Sucker!
We also fished through our many older pictures of you for the social worker, and we marvelled about how much you’ve grown and changed in just half a year. Your mother, who is much better at Photoshop than I’ll ever be, put together some comparison pictures that she posted on her blog but which I will steal and post here to:
I love you, Ladybug. Then, and now.
– Ba ba
See more pictures from your fourteenth month of existence over at Flickr.
Each semester, I offer students a last chance for extra credit by writing their favorite joke or riddle on their crib sheet, with extra credit assigned based purely on how funny I think it is. Here are some of the better ones.
Q: What does the Little Mermaid wear to math class?
A: An algebra.
Q: What is the shape of a dead parrot?
A: A polygon.
Q: Why did the mathematician-dentist name is son Pi?
A: Because everyone knows pi is transcendental.
Q: What’s the difference between a PhD in Mathematics and a large pizza.
A: The pizza can feed a family of four.
Q: How do you pick-up chicks in a Calculus II class?
A:
Q: Who was the most depressed mathematician?
A: Dedekind.
Q: How do you know?
A: Dedekind cuts.
Math problems? Call 1-800-[4-x(2 pi)2]-sin(b)/xy.
Theorem: A cat has nine tails. Proof: No cat has eight tails. A cat has one more tail than no cat. Therefore, a cat has 8+1=9 tails. QED.
George W. Bush visits Algeria. As part of his program, he delivers a speach to the Algerian people: “Ya know, I regret to inform y’all that I’m gonna give this speach in English. I’da liked to talk to y’all in yer native tongue, but I was never any good at algebra.”
The ark lands after the Flood. Noah lets all the animals out, saying, “Go and multiply.” Several months pass. Noah decides to check up on the animals. All are doing fine except a pair of snakes. “What’s the problem?” asks Noah. “Cut down some trees and let us live there,” say the snakes. Noah follows their advice. Several more weeks pass. Noah checks on the snakes again. Lots of little snakes crawl over the earth, and everybody is happy. Perplexed, Noah asks, “Want to tell me how the trees helped?” “Certainly,” say the snakes. “We’re adders, and we need logs to multiply.”
A priest, a lawyer, and an engineer go to Mexico. They party a bit too hard one night and awake the next morning to find they’re about to be executed in the electric chair (though none can remember what they did to deserve it). The priest is strapped in first, and for his last words declares “I believe God will intervene on my behalf!” The guards throw the switch and nothing happens, so they assume God has intervened and let the priest go. The lawyer is strapped in next, and for his last words declares “I believe in the power of justice to protect the innocent!” The guards throw the switch and nothing happens, so they assume justice has been served and let the lawyer go. Finally, the engineer is strapped in, and for his last words declares “Well shoot! You ain’t gonna electrocute nobody if you don’t plug this dang thing in…”
Three engineers are discussing the wonders of the human body. All agree that God must have been an engineer himself, but disagree as to what kind. The first engineer says, “God must have been a mechanical engineer. Look at all the joints and muscles and structures in the body. Definately mechanical.” The second says, “God must have been an electrical engineer. Look at the miles and miles of nerves we have runnning through our bodies, not to mention the brain. Definately electrical.” The third engineer shrugs. “You two have got it all wrong… God was a civil engineer. Who else would run a toxic waste pipeline right through a recreational area?”
Johnny was in his arithmetic class when the teacher singles him out. “If I gave you $20,” she askes, “and you gave $5 to Mary and $5 to Sally and $5 to Betty, what would you have?” Johnny smiles. “One helluva good time!”
A math professor was explaining a particularly complicated concept to his class when a pre-med student interrupted him. “Why do we have to learn this stuff?” the premed blurted out. “Because math saves lives,” answered the professor. “How?” demanded the student. The professor answered: “Because it keeps certain people out of medical school.”
A farmer was showing a mathematician around his fields. Frustrated by his endless demonstrations of cerebral aptitude, the farmer decided to teach him a lesson. He took the mathematician to a field that packed with hundreds of grazing sheep, all moving around, and challenged the mathematician “If you can guess the exact number of sheep in this field, I’ll give you all of them!” The mathematician looked thoughtful for a moment, and his eyes darted back and forth rapidly. Presently he announced, “Two hundred and fourteen.” The farmer gaped, too stunned to calculate his loss yet, “How on Earth did you do that? There’s no way you could have counted all those sheep that fast!” “You’re absolutely right,” the mathematician replied. “I counted all the legs, and then divided by four.”
I got a lot of pictures this time, too:
Jake hears a knock on his door. He opens it and finds a snail there. “Gimme a hamburger!” demands the snail. Jake gets mad and kicks the snail. Twently years later, Jake hears another knock at his door. He opens it to finds the same snail there. “What’d you do that for?”
Three little old ladies are sitting on a park bench when a flasher steps up and opens his trenchcoat wide. The first two old ladies had a stroke, but the third lady couldn’t reach.
A woman walks into a bar and says “Gimme a double entendre.” So the barkeep gives her one.
A string walks into a bar and orders a drink. The bartender says, “I’m sorry, but we don’t serve strings here.” The disgruntled string walks outside, unravels his edges, and ties himelf into a bow. He again walks into the bar and orders a drink. “Say,” says the bartender, “aren’t you that string that just came in here?” The string shakes his head and says, “No, I’m a frayed knot.”
A panda walks into a bar, but before he can order anything, the barkeep chases him out the door and yells “Don’t come back!” When his assistant asks why, the barkeep says “We don’t serve pandas,” and leaves it at that. The next day, the panda returns to the bar, but before he can order anything, the barkeep chases him out the door again and yells “Don’t come back!” When his assistant asks why, the barkeep says “We don’t serve pandas,” and leaves it at that. On the third day, the panda walks into the bar, but the barkeep (being in the back restocking the booze) doesn’t see. It walks up the bar and orders a hamburger. It then scarfs it down, pulls out a handgun, and shoots several patrons before it runs off. The barkeep rushes back at the sounds of the gunshots, only to see the devastation. “What happened?” he asks the assistant. Dumbfounded, he answers “The panda…” “Dammit man,” shouts the barkeep. “Don’t you know anything about pandas? A panda eats chutes and leaves!”
George Dubya Bush is awakened one night to a spooky sound in the White House. He investigates and finds the ghost of George Washington wandering the halls. “Hey George,” asks Dubya, “my presidency’s failing and I’m losing the trust of the people. What can I do to better serve my fellow Americans?” Washington ponders this gravely, then answers: “Always tell the truth, even if it hurts you to do so.” Dubya doesn’t like the sound of that, but says he’ll try. The next night, he wakes up to find the ghost of Thomas Jefferson wandering the halls. Dubya asks: “Hey Tom, my presidency’s failing and I’m losing the trust of the people. What can I do to better serve my fellow Americans?” Jefferson ponders this gravely, and then answers: “Always listen to the will of the people, even if you find it disagreeable.” The following night, he wakes up again, this time to find the ghost of his idol Abraham Lincoln wandering the halls. Dubya asks: “Hey Abe, my presidency’s failing and I’m losing the trust of the people. What can I do to better serve my fellow Americans?” Lincoln ponders this gravely, and then answers: “Go to the theater.”
During a trans-Atlantic flight, both engines of a 747 blow out and the pilot annouces that the plane is going to crash into the freezing ocean. The passengers began to panic, except for a couple at the back of the plane. The woman looks at her man, rips off her blouse and skirt and says, “Make me feel like a woman one last time before we die.” Her man looks back at her, rips off his shirt and pants, and says “Here. Iron these.”
During his sermon, a minister asks his congregation if anyone had been married for fifty years. “I’ll celebrate my 50th in two days,” says Ralph. After a round of applause, the minister asks Ralph to share some insight into a successful married life. “Well,” Ralph replies, “I treated her with respect, spent money on her, and took her travelling on special occasions. Like for our 25th anniversary, I took her to Beijing.” The minister beams: “What an inspiration to us all. What do you have planned for your 50th anniversary?” Ralph shrugs. “I’m going to back to Beijing to get her.”
An Englishman, a Frenchman, and an American were travelling through the Amazon when they are captured by natives. The chief tells them they are to be killed, and their skins used to make canoes; however, the men may choose the manner in which they are killed. The Englishman demands a gun. Upon getting it, he cries “God save the Queen” and shoots himself. The Frenchman demands a sword. Upon getting it, he cries “Vive la France!” and impales himself. The American demands a fork. Upon getting it, he stabs himself repleated over his whole body and shouts “Screw your canoes!”
Bill goes to the circus. A clown leads a donkey into the center ring and then asks Bill to identify the type of animal it is. Bill replies “That would be a jackass,” to which the clown replies, “No, that would be a donkey. You’re the jackass!” The crowd explodes into laughter, and Bill is humiliated and angry, but has no reply. Dead set on revenge, Bill goes to college and, after four years and $50 thousand, earns a B.A. in Witty Comebacks. Bill returns to the circus, and (sure enough!) the same clown leads a donkey into center ring and (sure enough again!) asks Bill to identify the type of animal. Bill replies “That would be a jackass,” to which the clown replies, “No, that would be a donkey. You’re the jackass!” The crown again explodes into laughter, but as soon as it subsides, Bill stands up, defiantly points his finger at the clown and yells, “Screw you, clown!” And leaves.
MA kindergarten teacher is trying to explain the definition of “definitely” to her class. To make sure of their understanding, she asks several students to us it in a sentence. “The sky is definitely blue,” says Molly. “Well,” says the teacher, “sometimes when it’s rainy, the sky is grey, so that’s not completely true.” “Grass is definitely green,” offers Joey. “Well,” says the teacher, “sometimes when it’s very hot, grass becomes brown, so that isn’t entirely correct either.” Ray then raises his hands and asks, “Teacher, do farts have lumps?” The teacher scowls and replies “No, they don’t.” “Well then,” announces Ray, “I have definitely crapped my pants.”
Two little brothers hear some folks cussing and think it sounds pretty cool, so they decide to try it out. The next morning at breakfast, their mom asks “What do you want to eat?” The older brother replies “I want some fucking pancakes!” Mom is so horrified that she yanks him out of his chair, beats him black and blue, and sends him to his room. When she returns, Mom asks the younger brother “What do you want to eat?” Terrified, he squeals “I don’t want any fucking pancakes!”
You know you’re a mathematician if you’ve ever wondered how Euler pronounced Euclid.
I totally forgot to mention this notable entry, which appeared not on the exam itself, but in tee-shirt form:
