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Category: numbers

Spreadsheets, Schmedsheets!

Spreadsheets, Schmedsheets!

I’m sure it’s psychological, just one of those quirks, but whenever I work with a spreadsheet, I have to take a deep breath. I tell myself that I’m typing characters on a keyboard just as I am when I type words, but that doesn’t help. 

I think it all goes back to the ancient typing class I took in high school. It was a last-minute elective, and still one of the most valuable classes I’ve ever taken. But for some reason (senioritis?) I dropped it when we came to the numbers section. It was my last class of the day and I didn’t need it to graduate.

It was a bad decision. With a few weeks of numbers practice — and a few missed phone calls with friends (don’t know what else I was doing after those early dismissals) — I would have been able to touch-type numbers as quickly as I do letters. 

Who knows? Staying in that class might have changed my entire career trajectory. 

But I doubt it. 

2/22/22

2/22/22

It’s enough to make me wish I was writing a bunch of checks today, or signing a sheaf of documents — any excuse to write the date 2/22/22 as many times as possible.

A bounty of weddings and engagements are planned, Caesarean sections, too, scads more than would be scheduled for an otherwise ordinary late-winter weekday.

But it’s not an ordinary late-winter weekday. It’s 2/22/22 — and a Tuesday, to boot. It’s a day when numbers align, boding good luck for some, mild terror for others. It’s a day of symmetry and palindromic satisfaction. It’s 2/22/22. I haven’t been this excited about numbers since 10/10/10.

(In honor of 2/22/22, a photo of 2 toddlers, courtesy Claire Capehart.)
Creeping Numeralism

Creeping Numeralism

It was called the zoning improvement plan, but went by its chipper acronym, Zip. And it wasn’t adapted quickly, wrote John Kelly in yesterday’s Washington Post. Zip codes met with “pockets of resistance,” he said, including from the White House, which omitted “20500” from its official stationery, even though President Lyndon Johnson had ordered federal agencies to start using the five-digit code a month or so earlier, in June 1965.

Americans may have been sick of numbers, Kelly said. Three years earlier they’d had to start including Social Security numbers on their tax returns. That same year, 1962, AT&T introduced “all-number” calling — which put an end to such notable exchanges as BUtterfield 8 and MUrray Hill 6. 
In fact, Kelly reports, there was an “Anti-Digit Dialing League” created to fight “creeping numeralism.” 
I wonder what the anti-numeralists would think of life in 2018. Today I created three new passwords, all letter-number-symbol combinations. In the course of doing that I was sent at least four different codes that would expire in minutes or hours. Numbers were texted to me, which I then used to create new letter-number codes. 
As I wrote recently, the world has been heading toward numeralism for at least 400 years. Now we have Zip-plus-four. Put me in the words column, though. I’ll fight “creeping numeralism” wherever I find it. 
(Mr. Zip courtesy Wikipedia)
Knowledge and Numbers

Knowledge and Numbers

The Scientific Revolution began not in knowledge but in ignorance, writes Yuval Noah Harari in his book Sapiens, which I’m more than halfway through now. (See last Friday’s entry.)

“The great discovery that launched the Scientific Revolution was the discovery that humans do not know the answers to their most important questions,” Harari says.

In the ancient or medieval world, the pre-16th-century world, there were two kinds of ignorance. An individual might not know something, in which case he or she would ask someone who did. (A peasant asks his local priest how the world begins; the priest will know the answer, which has been laid out for humankind in the Bible.)

The other kind of ignorance, says Harari, was that an entire tradition might be ignorant of unimportant things. How spiders spin their webs, for instance. The answer was not in the Bible, and there were few if any spider scholars back then. But it was not important to know the answer to this question. God knows everything, the world has its order, and homo sapiens took comfort in that.

“The willingness to admit ignorance has made modern science more dynamic, supple and inquisitive than any previous tradition of knowledge,” Harari writes. “This has hugely expanded our capacity to understand how the world works and our ability to invent new technologies.”

In his scientific manifesto, The New Instrument, published in 1620, Francis Bacon argued that knowledge is power and that the test of knowledge is not whether it is true, but whether it empowers us. Science and technology have been connected ever since.

This is very good for science, for unlocking the secrets of the universe, but not always good for social order — and certainly not good for people who aren’t good at math.

Because ever since the Scientific Revolution, darn it, the secrets of the universe seem to reveal themselves in equations. “Newton showed that the book of nature is written in the language of mathematics,” Harari says. And this mathematifying (my word) of knowledge has moved from the hard sciences to the social sciences, even to fields like psychology.

“Confucius, Buddha, Jesus and Mohammed would have been bewildered if you told them that in order to understand the human mind and cure its illnesses you must first study statistics.”

They aren’t the only ones.

ISO Abacus

ISO Abacus

I noticed this morning that yesterday was my 1,400th post. A nice, tidy number, with those fulsome zeroes so easy on the eye and the mental calculator. Plus for those of us religiously inclined, a multiple of seven. No wonder the number is pleasing to the eye.

Speaking of numbers (which I hardly ever do), this week I had another page-count panic. The magazine that I edit was coming up two pages long.

This time there was an easy fix. But with the previous issue the confusion was even greater. First I thought we were short, then long, then short again.

Which is why, after resolving this issue’s overage with the designers, I told them that for my next birthday they could give me a calculator. Or an abacus.

Seven!

Seven!

A quick glimpse back at older posts today to make sure I hadn’t written another called “Seven.” And  I haven’t. “Seven Times Seven.” “Mornings at Seven.” But not just “Seven.” So here we go.

Seven is not the time, though close; it’s 7:40 this instant. Seven is not the number of days or weeks or months until something important happens.

Seven is the temperature outside. Seven, which divides evenly into 28, which is today’s date. February 28. Almost March. And it’s seven.

I will say no more.

Does Not Compute

Does Not Compute

So this is the day I write about math, the day after Pi Day (Pi + 1). It’s better than writing about the Ides of March.  Maybe only slightly better, though.

“Don’t be afraid of math,” was the cheery message at the presentation on math and journalism I went to week a couple of weeks ago. Spurn math and you’ll cut yourself out of plum assignments. Spurn math and your accounts will be a mess. Spurn math and you’ll miss the story.

Our lives run on numbers, whether we like them or not. Make peace with them. But that presupposes  one has numbers to make peace with. Here is a brief tally :

Number of math classes I’ve had since high school: 1

Number of real math classes I’ve had since high school: 0

Number of business articles I’ve written: 1

Number of times I’ve written about numbers in this blog: 2 (see also Seven Times Seven)

Number of times I have not: 953

Number of times since elementary school that I helped my kids with math: 0

All of which is to say that when it comes to numbers, the only way for me to go is up.

Seven Times Seven

Seven Times Seven

It’s not nice to play favorites, but I’ll admit: I ‘ve always had a favorite multiplication table. Hands down, it’s seven.

Twos, fours, fives and tens — too easy. Three is melodic (“Three, six, nine, the goose drank wine…”) but lacking in substance. Six and eight are uninteresting. And nine has always given me trouble.

So that leaves seven. What is it about seven times seven that soothes and satisfies, that clicks? Maybe it’s the spiritual aspect, the way the number shows up in fairy tales and fables and the Bible. Seven years, seven leagues, seven sacraments.

Or maybe the symmetry, like the precise paths of a formal garden. Making order out of chaos. Seven is odd but beautiful. Prime and primal.

But all of this doesn’t explain a prejudice that developed in, what, third grade? For some reason I took to sevens and they took to me. And that’s the way it is.

I began this post to write about the movie “56 Up,” but I’ll save that for another day.