There's a flower shop I pass on the daily (seriously, who says "on the daily?") that advertises roses for $12.95 per dozen. This is there everyday on one of those sand-filled sandwich boards, except for the days preceding Mother's Day, when roses were running at $14.95 a dozen. My 3 semesters beforing aborting a Math major, and one semi-entry-level Philosophy class thus lead me to the logical conclusion that mothers are worth, in the grand sense, $2.00 per dozen roses. Which is to say 200/12, reducing to 50/3, or 16 and 2/3 cents per rose. The standard cost of a rose is, okay, I'm not going to do the precise math of 1295/12, and instead round up to 108 since my goodness it's just shy anyway.
(50/3)/108 is then equivalent to x/100, so that (5000/3)/108, or 5000/324, or 2500/162, or 1250/81, or 15 and 35/81 so ~ 15.4%. So then, mother's are worth 15.4% of a rose, and it thus takes more than 6 mothers to equal one rose. This assuming all mothers are equal.
But what this really means, is that math is important. Is it more important than mothers? That is so qualitative rather than quantitative, but one thing we can say is that Math helps us understand the value of mothers. They're not quite the commodity that fossil fuels and precious metals are, but they are unique.
So where was this post on mother's day no one is asking. And to this non-question I say: exactly.
In the meantime, have a little fun with Gizoogle (I dug it on the dinky running website I go to too frequently).
Also, I've yet to be blacklisted anywhere, but thanks to someone signing my old email address up at Afroromance.com (albeit with another human's name) I can say I've been biraciallisted. I wonder if it was the same person that tried to register a tumblr account to me. Ah privacy.
Showing posts with label Math. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Math. Show all posts
Friday, May 31, 2013
Friday, July 20, 2012
Mean
Mathematically speaking, it's the average. Middle-school speaking, it's just how a lot of kids act. Pop musically, it's a Taylor Swift song. And right as I was planning this, that song was being played by the company with whom our own shares an office. Now I dig that song, but that won't prevent me taking digs at it here. Away we go.
Swift is assailing a bullying type in the song, for his physical and verbal abuse. But the problem I have is that she tells him how one day she (or the song's protagonist) will be living in a big old city, and all that individual will be is mean. Living in a city that I enjoy, I still resent the notion that living in the city makes you any better. It's precisely the kind of city superiority that makes people loathe cities from time-to-tim. How exactly does living in a big old city equate to a superior stance to being mean? The protagonist can still be a bitch/asshole, but because they will be living in a big ole city it's okay? People are people. Some are great, some are shit, some are in between. Some of them live in cities, and some of them live elsewhere.
I was also thinking that this song reeks of spite. But I realize that some day has not arrived yet for the protagonist, so perhaps this song is a little ditty or extended mantra that the protagonist tells themself internally to deal with the constant bullying they receive. Plus, there is the acknowledgement of the cycle of abuse, and it closes with "why you gotta be so mean," so there's that nice return, after all the hatred aimed at the "mean" person, to an attempt to be sympathetic.
As this shows, you can [over]analyze anything you like, but here's a lengthy analysis (and not of a Taylor Swift song) that I think is worth the read. It's about the role of the political comic or perhaps a better distillation is to say what the relationship of comedy to politics is versus what it could and maybe should be.
Also, a quick open letter to my legs and feet: please resume somewhat standard operation. I mean, I just want to run like maybe forty or fifty or more miles a week, and that's pretty normal right?
When I don't run, I'm liable to be more mean (jerk), when really I want to be mean (average) for what mean means for my body (running forty-plus miles at a variety of paces).
Oh, and have a nice weekend.
Swift is assailing a bullying type in the song, for his physical and verbal abuse. But the problem I have is that she tells him how one day she (or the song's protagonist) will be living in a big old city, and all that individual will be is mean. Living in a city that I enjoy, I still resent the notion that living in the city makes you any better. It's precisely the kind of city superiority that makes people loathe cities from time-to-tim. How exactly does living in a big old city equate to a superior stance to being mean? The protagonist can still be a bitch/asshole, but because they will be living in a big ole city it's okay? People are people. Some are great, some are shit, some are in between. Some of them live in cities, and some of them live elsewhere.
I was also thinking that this song reeks of spite. But I realize that some day has not arrived yet for the protagonist, so perhaps this song is a little ditty or extended mantra that the protagonist tells themself internally to deal with the constant bullying they receive. Plus, there is the acknowledgement of the cycle of abuse, and it closes with "why you gotta be so mean," so there's that nice return, after all the hatred aimed at the "mean" person, to an attempt to be sympathetic.
As this shows, you can [over]analyze anything you like, but here's a lengthy analysis (and not of a Taylor Swift song) that I think is worth the read. It's about the role of the political comic or perhaps a better distillation is to say what the relationship of comedy to politics is versus what it could and maybe should be.
Also, a quick open letter to my legs and feet: please resume somewhat standard operation. I mean, I just want to run like maybe forty or fifty or more miles a week, and that's pretty normal right?
When I don't run, I'm liable to be more mean (jerk), when really I want to be mean (average) for what mean means for my body (running forty-plus miles at a variety of paces).
Oh, and have a nice weekend.
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