A brief month ends. Time to round up the happenings…
A number system with no zero.
This month I added a snazzy new line to my CV: “math puzzle columnist for Science News.”
My stuff will appear on the back page of the magazine (alternating months with science-themed crosswords). In the future, expect ghosts, mud, village fools, and Michael Phelps’s towel.
But for the inaugural puzzle, I decided to go with a numerical oddity. I first came across it in Reckonings: Numerals, Cognition, and History, by anthropologist Stephen Chrisomalis, and it has tickled me ever since.
The zero-free number system.
The opening:
Here, count with me: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, T, 11, 12 … Oh, what’s that? You write ten with “zero”? Fair enough.
Zero, we have been told, is the foundation of our number system: “a development without which the progress of modern science, industry or commerce is inconceivable.”
But in 1947, mathematician James Foster laid out a system that works like ours in every way — except that it lacks nothing.
He called it “a number system without a zero-symbol.”
See more at Science News, and thanks to the editorial team!
My successor approaches.
I have been coming to grips with the idea that A.I. is going to replace me.
But my obsolescence is coming even faster than I thought. You see, my pal Dilip passed along this work from his 3rd-grade student Roland.
Clearly, the next generation is prepared to seize the Sharpies from my clumsy fingers. I embrace this fate. Young people have always been my favorite form of alien intelligence.
A new stump speech.
This month I debuted a new (and modestly titled) talk:
The first time giving it, on home turf at Saint Paul College, I only got through four puzzles. This means, of course, that I overdelivered, covering all of mathematics three puzzles faster than promised. You’re welcome, SPC friends.
Here’s the opening puzzle, by the way:
The second time, at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor, a few gracious audience members politely pointed out that my puzzles missed a few topics… such as, say, all of algebra. But you know what they say: “all of algebra has been left as an exercise for the reader.”
The magic in Michigan.
Speaking of Ann Arbor, I must give my blushing, tongue-tied thanks to everyone who made time to chat with me. From what I can tell, that’s one of the most thrilling and exceptional undergraduate math experiences in the country.
No department is perfect, but as an imperfect entity myself, I hold that imperfect things can still be wonderful and special.
What am I talking about? Well, here’s what happened while I was there:
- Popcorn study break (a weekly event).
- Bagel study break (also weekly).
- Math circle for middle and high schoolers (weekly event on Thursday evenings)…
- ….followed by the (weekly) trip to the pizza parlor for undergrads who help at the circle.
- A second math circle, this one for middle and high school teachers (weekly, on Saturday mornings).
- Coffee study break (not a weekly event; it happens twice weekly).
- Math club talk (weekly, also culminating in pizza and Pokémon stickers).
- Walking club, leaving 6 a.m. from the math department, open to all (a daily event).
- Public math talk, given in this case by me (such talks are annual; not everything can be weekly, okay?)
- Universally understood hand gestures, used by everyone from undergrads to professors, which emerge from…
- … the free Math Corps summer camp that the department runs for the benefit of local middle and high schoolers.
I haven’t even mentioned the curriculum, with all its inquiry-based learning (IBL) classes, meeting in the beautiful IBL center. Its mascot is the IB Owl, and near the entrance, you’ll find various artists’ renderings of him, including one by yours truly:
In short, Michigan seems (to this outsider) to have the warmth and community you might find at a cozy liberal arts college–but with the cinematic scale and nonstop activity of a flagship public university. I didn’t think it was possible to squeeze so many carbohydrates into a single week. Evidently it is.
If you’re a math educator interested in building culture, my advice is to get yourself to Ann Arbor. Pitch in at a math circle. Stop by the IBL Center. Ask for Stephen DeBacker and Sarah Koch (they’re honestly rather busy running all this stuff, but if you’re up at 6am, you’ll know where to find them).
I’ve seen nowhere else quite like this, and that’s my dream for math education: a whole world full of places that there’s nowhere else quite like.
The kindness of Ericks.
I had two great podcast chats this month, first with an Erik (“Beyond the To-Do List”), and then with an Eric (“The One You Feed”).
My conclusion: Ericks are really wonderful podcast hosts.
I wasn’t a natural fit for either show. Erik explores productivity, creativity, and how to do your best and most rewarding work. Meanwhile, Eric explores spirituality, life’s greatest challenges, and how to nurture the better angels of your nature. Neither has an obvious need for corny puns on the word “irrational.”
Yet both Ericks made this teacher feel at home. Erik led with the story of his own mathematical struggles, always a brave and difficult move. And I was really touched by Eric’s gentleness and finesse in leading our conversation.
Our world tends to set math apart. It is seen as a kind of boring magic, practiced by boring geniuses. We hold math (and its practitioners) in high esteem, but even more so, we hold them at arm’s length. My professional goal, I sometimes say, is to end this separation, to put math in dialogue with the rest of life.
When a kindly Erick welcomes me into his podcast, he’s not just helping me sell books. He’s taking a risk to bring math into the fold. I’m grateful to all such Ericks: Eric, Erik, and even the metaphorical Ericks who have different names entirely.
Book reviews.
I had fun the other day polishing up a few old book reviews:
Parting puzzle.
Let’s revisit that one from my talk. Here it is again:
My hint: Think about the party with just 3 graduates. The lessons there will generalize.
