Twenty-five times four and eight tenths is one hundred and twenty.
A couple of weeks ago I was tagged to do the "25 things" meme in facebook. I usually disregard memes as casually as junk mail, but the person who tagged me caused me to pause. Out of all the people in the world to genuinely be curious in my answers, it was Sprotticus.
Sprotticus was a strong friend of mine from the days of high school. He hung out with us dungeon and dragons/magic the gathering kids, despite a complete lack of interest in either. He played a few video games - mostly Madden and NCAA football. His connection to us was mostly tradition - best friends of his since elementary school were in our clique. I'd like to say that roots like that run powerful in South Carolina, but really... they run powerful in everyone's k-12.
So Sprotticus is *the* one guy that I feel really close to and at the same time probably doesn't get me. At least, doesn't completely get me. So when he was the one to tag me, well, I felt compelled. Compelled enough to actually write a list. All 25. In textpad. And then I never posted it. I'm still having regrets about closing that file (never saved - gone completely now). But I don't know... I didn't feel comfortable releasing it. Or publishing it. More of the latter.
This might sound odd... but I didn't publish it because that note (any note) would have been against the... design... I had visioned for my facebook page. Whatever. It's my page and I can do what I want. One solution was to put that list here... but same thing about this journal. So I trashed it.
I am good at compromises, however. And while I may not publish a list, I'll be more than happy to tell a story. And in a substitute for not telling the world about the health conditions of my family's cat, I shall tell you the story of my first experience with counting.
You see, I've spent alot of time with enumerative combinatorics. It's a pair of big words with lovely syllables, but it's not all that complicated. Enumerative, an adjective for enumerating something, or counting it, is the soul of the idea. I count things. Professionally. It's fun. Kind of like the idea 1 + 2 + 3 + 4 + ... + n = 0.5 * n * (n + 1), but on steroids.
But I didn't always want to do this. Wanting to become a mathematician (or historian or English major or music major or other course in high school) seemed like missing out on an opportunity to get a prestige class in one's education. Math is a great start... and if you go through so many levels, you can become a philosopher! Sweet!
I did take math seriously from the start, as it seemed like an easy enough class. My teachers didn't always agree with me about any gift I thought I had, but by the seventh grade I started proving my worth without a doubt. I was asked to compete in the local math competition by my 8th grade math teacher. I was pretty nonchalant about the event. Sounded like just taking another test to me. I took those every month at school and did really well. What's the worry?
The night before the competition, I went out to eat with my family. The school had given us a study guide for this competition. The things on there that I knew, I knew cold. And the rest... didn't make any sense. I can't remember much about that night, but I remember my Dad quizzing me on the study guide. I told him I knew everything on it... but he started asking me questions about that inane stuff. He asked me to take a factorial.
I know what a factorial is now. But seriously... what middle schooler knows what a factorial is?
Anyway, I was pretty dumb struck by the question, and he wound up teaching me what a factorial is. It seemed pretty stupid and useless to me at the time. Multiplying a bunch of numbers just because they're in sequence? Whatever, man. But I listened and learned.
When the test finally came around, I placed in the top 40. Or 64. Or 56? I was in the top something, and we had a playoff. They put us in groups of eight, who would come to the front of the auditorium, in front of _everyone_, families and all. Each group of eight got a series of questions and buzzers. The first person to get the question right got a point. The first person to two points won. Winners come together at the end for a championship round for the king of the competition. I was in the second to last group, and I got to watch those that went before me. And holy cow... those were hard questions. I raced myself against them in my seat, and I was getting the crap kicked out of me.
My time to come forward came eventually. I went up. And missed the first question. And the next. And the next. At this point, I assume I have to get the next two, or I'm done. The three kids that already have one point are clearly pretty smart... and it's high probability that one of them will get the next one. Assuming I don't get it. And then it's game over. The next question came forward:
"What is 5! (five factorial)?"
I slam dunked that shit. I was hopping happy that I won that point. So, so happy. I can't even remember if I got another point. Maybe? Did I go to the championship round? Mmmm... I don't think I did. But I got that point. And I remember that point. Like it was yesterday. Damn straight. And I still work with factorials to this day.
Sprotticus was a strong friend of mine from the days of high school. He hung out with us dungeon and dragons/magic the gathering kids, despite a complete lack of interest in either. He played a few video games - mostly Madden and NCAA football. His connection to us was mostly tradition - best friends of his since elementary school were in our clique. I'd like to say that roots like that run powerful in South Carolina, but really... they run powerful in everyone's k-12.
So Sprotticus is *the* one guy that I feel really close to and at the same time probably doesn't get me. At least, doesn't completely get me. So when he was the one to tag me, well, I felt compelled. Compelled enough to actually write a list. All 25. In textpad. And then I never posted it. I'm still having regrets about closing that file (never saved - gone completely now). But I don't know... I didn't feel comfortable releasing it. Or publishing it. More of the latter.
This might sound odd... but I didn't publish it because that note (any note) would have been against the... design... I had visioned for my facebook page. Whatever. It's my page and I can do what I want. One solution was to put that list here... but same thing about this journal. So I trashed it.
I am good at compromises, however. And while I may not publish a list, I'll be more than happy to tell a story. And in a substitute for not telling the world about the health conditions of my family's cat, I shall tell you the story of my first experience with counting.
You see, I've spent alot of time with enumerative combinatorics. It's a pair of big words with lovely syllables, but it's not all that complicated. Enumerative, an adjective for enumerating something, or counting it, is the soul of the idea. I count things. Professionally. It's fun. Kind of like the idea 1 + 2 + 3 + 4 + ... + n = 0.5 * n * (n + 1), but on steroids.
But I didn't always want to do this. Wanting to become a mathematician (or historian or English major or music major or other course in high school) seemed like missing out on an opportunity to get a prestige class in one's education. Math is a great start... and if you go through so many levels, you can become a philosopher! Sweet!
I did take math seriously from the start, as it seemed like an easy enough class. My teachers didn't always agree with me about any gift I thought I had, but by the seventh grade I started proving my worth without a doubt. I was asked to compete in the local math competition by my 8th grade math teacher. I was pretty nonchalant about the event. Sounded like just taking another test to me. I took those every month at school and did really well. What's the worry?
The night before the competition, I went out to eat with my family. The school had given us a study guide for this competition. The things on there that I knew, I knew cold. And the rest... didn't make any sense. I can't remember much about that night, but I remember my Dad quizzing me on the study guide. I told him I knew everything on it... but he started asking me questions about that inane stuff. He asked me to take a factorial.
I know what a factorial is now. But seriously... what middle schooler knows what a factorial is?
Anyway, I was pretty dumb struck by the question, and he wound up teaching me what a factorial is. It seemed pretty stupid and useless to me at the time. Multiplying a bunch of numbers just because they're in sequence? Whatever, man. But I listened and learned.
When the test finally came around, I placed in the top 40. Or 64. Or 56? I was in the top something, and we had a playoff. They put us in groups of eight, who would come to the front of the auditorium, in front of _everyone_, families and all. Each group of eight got a series of questions and buzzers. The first person to get the question right got a point. The first person to two points won. Winners come together at the end for a championship round for the king of the competition. I was in the second to last group, and I got to watch those that went before me. And holy cow... those were hard questions. I raced myself against them in my seat, and I was getting the crap kicked out of me.
My time to come forward came eventually. I went up. And missed the first question. And the next. And the next. At this point, I assume I have to get the next two, or I'm done. The three kids that already have one point are clearly pretty smart... and it's high probability that one of them will get the next one. Assuming I don't get it. And then it's game over. The next question came forward:
"What is 5! (five factorial)?"
I slam dunked that shit. I was hopping happy that I won that point. So, so happy. I can't even remember if I got another point. Maybe? Did I go to the championship round? Mmmm... I don't think I did. But I got that point. And I remember that point. Like it was yesterday. Damn straight. And I still work with factorials to this day.