Miscellaneous thoughts related to base-twelve

If you haven't already, read my previous posts, "The case for base-twelve" (Part 1 and Part 2)

FINALLY we can get this whole
counting thing sorted out...

So no, I don't think switching to base-twelve is a feasible idea. I do lament the fact that it's not what we're using right now, though. It strikes me as a more elegant system, and it's a shame that happenstance has pretty much dictated that it'll never be the system we use. Unless, maybe, all of civilization collapses and the society that rises from the rubble happens to use it... But wishful thinking will get me nowhere.

One way I console myself over the fact that a modern, real-world base-twelve system will never be is to imagine a fictional society that uses it. Helpfully, I already happen to have a fictional society on hand. I can't recall if I've alluded to it before, but basically my friend and I have an imaginary continent in the North Pacific, on which I have an imaginary country called Morsenia. The whole thing sounds silly—and it is—but it's basically a collaborative thought experiment that gives us a mental playground for all sorts of hypotheticals. It's constantly-evolving geopolitical fan-fiction, more-or-less. Most of the concepts explored are political and historical, but in developing our countries' stories there's plenty of room for mulling on all sorts of subjects, like language, religion, and biogeography. All-in-all it's a fun excuse to learn a bunch of new things in a variety of subjects as you go about the business of building a believable country and culture.

In the past Morsenia was much more of a Mary Sue; I'd basically take all the things I think are good or cool ideas, say my country did them, and things would inevitably work out pretty well (so they were a wealthy, high-tech nation with a huge standing army filled with tilt-rotor aircraft and digital camo; but also they were somehow isolationist and relatively peaceful). I've made a lot of progress griming it up and throwing wrenches into the works to make it a little more believable (now they're poor and use decades-old weapons and equipment), but I still definitely use it as an intellectual testing ground for ideas I think might work well in real life. Base-twelve is one of those.

The case for base-twelve, Part 2

(If you haven't already, read Part 1, where I explain why we're going through all this trouble.)

An important thing to understand before we move on: what we tend to call a "number" is actually comprised of several different aspects. It has a value, which is the count of things it represents; it has a symbol, which is made up of the numerals 0-9 which can be arranged in single- and multi-digit fashion; and it has a name. In day-to-day life, when we don't bother with anything other than the standard base-ten system, the three aspects seem essentially tied to each other. However, once we start considering other systems we find that the three aspects are actually separate. In base-ten the symbol "10" coincides with this many things: (o o o o o o o o o o), but in another system it wouldn't (and it may or may not be called "ten").

In light of those distinctions, I'm going to employ a certain formatting scheme in this post that will hopefully make it easier to compare base-ten with other systems. If I write out the name of a number with letters then I'm referring to the value. So by "ten" I mean a group of this many things: (o o o o o o o o o o). On the other hand, if I were to write "10" then I'm referring to the symbol formed by the digits themselves, and not a specific value or count of something. It gets a little less clear when we get to the name, since I'm already using the spelled-out word to indicate the value. But generally, if I put the word for the number in quotation marks I'm probably talking about it specifically as a name rather than as a representation of the value. A little confusing, but hopefully it'll make sense in context.

Now, if we were planning to switch to any system between base-one and base-nine we'd be all set for symbols: we'd have a few extra hanging around that we wouldn't need anymore. But since we're talking about switching to a system higher than base-ten, we're gonna need a couple more single-digit numerals to fill in the new gap before we reach "10" (which, remember, is twelve things in base-twelve). For now, we can just swipe a couple symbols from the Greek alphabet*. Doing so could give us a series of number symbols that looks like this:  

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, γ, ψ, 10

Two values that were formerly represented by double-digit symbols, ten and eleven, are now represented by single-digit symbols, and the symbol "10" has been reassigned to represent a dozen of something.

The case for base-twelve, Part 1

Image Source

This is going to be another of my pet rants (like this one)—the kind that people who know me in real life may have heard five or six times now. I'm going to go into waaaaay more detail than I ever have in person, though. So maybe getting it all out of my system on the internet will mean they won't have to hear it anymore? (HAH!)

This topic's a favorite of mine because it challenges some of our most basic assumptions, and because the solution I advocate for is at once sensible yet terribly impractical. Basically my point is that instead of ten, we should be counting to twelve.

I'm by no means the first person to say as much but, even so, I don't think it occurs to most people that there's even an option to count to anything besides ten. It's just not the sort of thing you'll encounter unless you're involved in computer science (nope), are really into mathematics/number theory (nope), or are just a huge dork with too much time on your hands (ding-ding-ding!). In fact, I don't want to alarm you, but the ideas in this series of posts may very well BLOW YOUR MIND. :O (They had that effect on me when I was first introduced to them, anyway.)

To start, we need to understand that the symbol "10," regardless of how many things it actually represents, is very important. As the first number with more than one digit it basically says, "Okay, at this point we've finished one 'set' of things, and now we're starting over with a new 'set.'" So a number like "27" basically means, "two complete 'sets,' plus seven."

The big question I'm asking here is, Why is this many things: (o o o o o o o o o o) considered a full set? In other words, Why is ten the first two-digit number?

The truth is that there's no real reason—perhaps other than the fact that we happen to have ten fingers to count on. But you may notice that that's not a very good reason. If human beings were like Homer Simpson, then eight might have been considered a full set and thus represented by "10;" all-in-all, it's troublingly arbitrary.

And so while the way we count seems incredibly natural to us, it's actually just one of many (infinite, really) possible systems. The one we use is called base-ten, or decimal. You could hypothetically have a system based on any value (base-ten, base-seven, base-five-hundred, whatever)—it just means you start two-digit numbers when you've reached the amount named after "base-". They wouldn't all be equally convenient, however. And as you'll see, that's one of my main points in discussing all this: some systems are more useful than others and in my opinion the one we use, base-ten, is not the best. Base-twelve (duodecimal, or dozenal) is far superior.

 "What's so bloody great about twelve?" you may be asking yourself. Well, I'm happy to explain...

Geek vs. Dork vs. Nerd

(Image Source)

I'm the sort of person who happily self-identifies as both a "geek" and a "dork," but as soon as someone tries to call me a "nerd" I'll vehemently deny it. Why?

Because I'm also a pedant, though I've come to realize that my pedantry in this particular area may be a lot more subjective than I used to think. To me, the terms "geek," "dork," and "nerd" have always had distinct meanings and I had assumed that was generally understood. But after years of issuing my prescriptivist rant on the subject to the rolling eyes but blessedly patient ears of my friends and acquaintances, I've noticed that most people seem content to use the terms interchangeably.

Now, if I were a reasonable human being I might admit defeat and drop the subject. But I'm stubborn, so I've stuck to my guns and will continue sticking to them. I think it's much more useful for the terms to have their own distinct definitions than for all of them to be vaguely synonymous—plus the differences among them just seem too self-evident to ignore (even if it turns out that's only a result of my subjective experiences). So I'll keep on making my case to any kind soul patient enough to listen—and now it's your turn, fine folks of the internet.

Cephalopods because why not

Look on and despair. (Image source)

I'll ramble on about my love for cephalopods at the slightest provocation. They are, after all, the most-excellent of the invertebrates. Now I know there are some pretty fervent fans of beetles out there, and I'll admit their diversity of forms and downright beauty are impressive. And I personally know someone who studies the nudibranchs who would probably be aghast at my proclamation, and I can certainly see where he's coming from. But while both those groups are undeniably amazing in form, cephalopods are still the supreme creatures without backbones.

Why? Well, what it basically comes down to is that I don't worry about beetles or sea slugs taking over the world. For cephalopods I have no such peace of mind.

First of all, we'll never see them coming. Many of them have an incredible capacity to blend in to the environment. Some might call them "the chameleons of the sea," but frankly that's insulting because compared to cephalopods, chameleons are amateurs. Unlike what you might see in cartoons (or faked YouTube videos), chameleons cannot perfectly mimic whatever color or pattern is near them. While some species can indeed change color and while it is useful for camouflage (mainly in the ranges of green and brown), they certainly can't replicate complex patterns and the primary use of the ability is to convey emotional state. (Many of the videos you'll find online involve holding one up to a mirror so that it's fooled into thinking there's a rival in its presence, triggering the response.)

The good (or terrifying) news is that there actually are creatures who almost live up to that fictional prowess of chameleons, and which actually surpass it in some ways. Cephalopods such as cuttlefish and octopuses can indeed change their coloring to mimic their surroundings, and do a decent job of replicating complicated and artificial patterns:

As you can see, they go above-and-beyond chameleons both in the accuracy and subtlety of their colors and in the fact that they can actually change the shape and texture of their skin to blend in more completely. Here's a short clip of an octopus blending in amazingly well before being spooked.

Some go even further, and imitate the shapes and behaviors of other living things:

New Year's

In the past, New Year's Eve has been among my least favorite holidays. Maybe it's the fact that it has to follow Christmas's act, maybe it's the fact that the much-lauded "ball drop" will never live up to my childhood interpretation of an actual drop of the giant glass ball from a significant height, presumably to shatter into a million pieces on the ground. The whole ordeal has always just seemed anti-climactic: you're back together with all the long-lost loved ones you haven't seen since the week before, and the excitement either seems forced or just alcohol-induced. And as a pedantic little twerp, I've also always taken issue with the arbitrary concept of the date on which the "new" year begins, and the human-centric practice of measuring time by our own little planet's revolutions.

But I've recently been looking at the holiday in a new light, fueled by my ponderings of what sort of winter holiday I might celebrate with my hypothetical family someday. Celebrating Christmas can be enjoyable, but not only am I an atheist but I also have no desire to lie to my kids about Santa, either. So I need something else to fill the space (a family-oriented, gift-giving winter holiday seems to go much deeper into human tradition than just Christian tradition, and in the US, school is conveniently off for the week). There are plenty of options based around the solstice, but I'm no more pagan than I am Christian or Jewish, so that wouldn't feel any more appropriate for me.

But what I've begun to think about is perhaps a multi-night New Year celebration, with gift-giving. Despite my previous lack of enthusiasm for New Year's, it is satisfactorily secular, and if it were to stand on its own instead of following Christmas--while absorbing some of that holiday's significance--I think it could fill the space nicely. A large part of Christmas (at least from my point of view) is already about celebrating another year spent with loved ones. My lingering pedantry was still making me wonder how enthusiastic I'd be able to get about the New Year concept in general, though, until I saw this awesome comic on the subject from the blog Storyboards..

Click here to read the whole thing

That extension of the celebration to all of humanity and life in general totally won me over. While the "start" date of the year is of course still entirely arbitrary, the celebration of a new revolution seems a lot more meaningful in that light. Not only can it be an appreciation for the passage of time in the company of loved ones, it can also be a recognition of the great cosmic fortune enjoyed by life on Earth, including our own species. You could even see the celebration of a(n approximately) 365-day year as recognition of our position in our star's habitable zone. And like the comic says, instead of making the same, traditionally self-absorbed New Year's resolutions, we could instead make resolutions on behalf of humanity and life in general.

As for how exactly to signify and celebrate this new conglomeration of holidays, I'm still deciding. I don't want to get too caught up in things and start inventing all sorts of new traditions, since we can see how that's worked out for Christmas. Every year that celebration seems more and more centered on the fluff than the philosophy. I don't want my mongrel holiday to devolve into a preoccupation of a certain type of decoration or a seemingly innocuous story that comes to overshadow the original intent; I want it to stay grounded in reality and a simple appreciation of love, friendship, our fellow human beings, and all life.

I think general winter-themed decorations would work: snowmen, snowflakes, and the like. And while I can't stand the gaudy and overdone outdoor light and decoration displays that bring some people enjoyment, I do think simple white lights used smartly can be incredibly gorgeous, and could totally get behind that. As for a Christmas tree- or Menorah-analogous centerpiece, I'm still not sure. It's nice to have a simple symbol to summarize the sentiment of a holiday, but I hesitate to include for the reasons I listed above; I don't want the focus to shift to the symbol itself. But I have plenty of time yet to figure out that, and all the other details. And so far I'm pretty excited about the whole concept.

What do you think?

Bloody maths

Ladies and gentlemen—a view of Canobie Lake in Southern New Hampshire, if it were filled with blood instead of water:

I tinted the clouds red because I figured they'd reflect the lake a bit,
not because I was trying to make the scene even more sinister. :P (original image)

You may be assuming I'm a bit of a creep for creating that image (and I am), but lemme explain:

I was listening to the song "3rd Planet" by Modest Mouse the other day, when I was inspired to take one of the lines far too literally. Dozens of browser tabs, piles of conversions, and way more hours than I'd planned later, and we get the image above and this post.

The line goes, "When it occurred to me that the animals are swimming around in the water in the oceans in our bodies; and another had been found, another ocean on the planet, given that our blood is just like the Atlantic."

It's lovely imagery, but it got me wondering: how does the volume of blood inside all living human beings compare to the volume of large bodies of water like the Atlantic Ocean?

Hank the Beautiful (Etymology, Comedy, Sexism, Vikings, and Asterisks)

You may be aware that the term "America" likely comes from the name of cartographer Amerigo Vespucci, being the Latinized, feminine form of his first name (Amerigo -> Americus -> America, to match the feminine names of the Old World continents). Vespucci made journeys to the New World after Columbus and his name was on the maps he made, and another cartographer apparently saw fit to therefore name over a quarter of the world's land area after him (to his credit he of course didn't know it was that much).