IT’S PI DAY’S EVE!!!!

‘Cause you know 3.14, 3-14-09 (Duh) and it is the day before. Today at school during math and science, we celebrated pi day (we can’t celebrate it on Saturday, the real pi day.) We watched this really long movie about pi, it was just about some dude called Archemides. and then we ate pie! I brought a pumpkin pie and got to eat the leftovers for lunch, YUM! I wore my pi shirt and everything. (Our Math is Cool Club shirts have pi on them, so I thought it was a cool idea to wear it, unfortunately, most of the other Math is Cool Kids had the same idea.) I know 10 digits of pi now, which is pretty sad compared to Seyjil, a girl in my classes, 70 digits by memory. She was pretty amazing! I know… 3.1415926535…  There are these awesome songs I learned, here is one!

Pi Rap Battle

Lyrics: (I can’t find them so this is what they sound like…)

Look, if you had…one shot…one opportunity…
To recite the digits of the number pi… One moment…
Would you capture it… or just let it slip?

His palms are sweaty, knees weak, head is heavy
The numbers cloud his vision already, keep it steady
He’s nervous, but on the surface he looks calm and ready
To re-cite, but it’s not quite off-settin’

That he’s froze now, and the whole crowd knows he vowed
To get it perfect, but the numbers won’t come out
He’s chokin’, how – everybody’s jokin’ now
Three point one five—woops—kablouw!

Snap back to reality, oh, it’s a malady
Oh, it’s so random, he choked
He can’t stand, but he won’t give up
That easy, no
He won’t have it, he knows – all his fans really hope
He can shatter the glob…

…al world record of Fo’…
…rty-two-thousand*, although
If-he-looks down at his notes, he knows that’s when it’s
Back to the learnin’ by rote
To feel rapture
He’d better capture those digits a little faster

You better lose yourself in the digits of pi, it’s a high
But you got a thousand more to go
The numbers do not stop
Or drop into pattern, no
And memorizin’ ‘em takes most of a lifetime

If I’m not mistaken, my memory’s wakin’
This number’s mine for the taking
Hear it ring, as I list all the, digits in order
And whole numbers are borin’, approximations just keep me snorin’,

Pi only grows longer to get more precise
A rounded-off fraction just won’t cut the ice
So twenty-two sevenths, you take my advice
If I catch you round here, you will

Pay the price, so give up this façade,
Ray-shee-os are oh so flawed
They close the door to those who like infinite
Strings of oh’s, 2s, 9s, 3’s, and 6’s, it

Shows the woes of-all-the schmoes who chose
To forgo Pi’s logic, and I
Don’t suppose those bozos applaud it
When I throw down the gauntlet, with a
“Three point one four”… I got it!

You better lose yourself in the digits of pi, it’s a high
But you got a thousand more to go
The numbers do not stop
Or drop into pattern, no
And memorizin’ ‘em takes most of a lifetime
Pi is 3.141592653589793238462643383279…

No more games, I’m-a bust right outta my cage, and
Get my Pi-recitin’ groove on, on this here stage
I was playin’ in the beginnin’, the mood all changed
I been broken up from soakin’ up this whole page

But I kept churnin’ and kept learnin’ to decipher
The rhythm of the number that makes me so hyper
All the pain and strife amplified by the
Fact that I can’t get back to my life, I’m

Whacked and I don’t exactly know why, I’m
Acting like I am attracted to Pi!  So
Back to a kid jam-packed with random numbers
I think this whole process is makin’ me dumber

It still shakes me up, man, it makes me sentimental
That a number so essential is also transcendental
Caught up between bein’ in fashion and bein’ irrational
It’s passion flashin’ through my brain
Whenever I explain it

I just think pi is nice, Would you… like a slice?
I’ve gotten to the point, it’s like a vice, I’m not
Afraid of gettin’ caught, but still it hurts a lot
Success is my only mathematic option, failure’s not

Pi, I love you, but these people got to know
A million tiny circles haunt my every thought
So here I go with my shot
Brain, fail me not,
This may be the only opportunity that I got!

You better lose yourself in the digits of pi, it’s a high
But you got a thousand more to go
The numbers do not stop
Or drop into pattern, no
And memorizin’ ‘em takes most of a lifetime
Pi is… 3.14159265358979323846264338327950288419716939937510582097494459…yeeeah.

You can do anything you set your mind to, man.  Even memorizin’ pi.  I’m out.

Here is one I found, it really describes pi.

The Pi Rap (π)

You expect it from boys.

It’s immortalized in poetry:

What are little boys made of?
Snips and snails and puppy dogs’ tails.
That’s what little boys are made of!

What are little girls made of?
Sugar and spice and everything nice.
That’s what little girls are made of!

It comes in Christmas letters. We got this in a Christmas letter this year:

“He is all boy and has had an excellent year learning to appreciate the passing of gas in all its forms and the value of a booger for grossing out cootie infested girls.”

My sister makes all sorts of claims about the injustice she had to endure in sharing the basement with me (a boy, of all things). I’m sure part of it’s true, but most of it is probably the exaggeration of memory over time.

So with three daughters and one son, you’d think my exposure would be limited. Not so.

We were driving home from church today with a car full of noisy children and Jessica started hacking and gagging. She does have a flair for the dramatic.

She started fumbling with the window control, but I keep the window locks on so that they don’t drive me crazy with the windows. So I hit the button to roll down the window. It was that or listen to her gag and sputter for the next six miles.

And at 35 miles an hour she spits … and doesn’t clear the car.

It’s really my fault. The suburban had a low tire yesterday so I took it to the gas station to pump up the tire. It was pretty grimy from the road chemicals and needed gas (I’m pretty sure Jenny plans it that way), so I filled it up and decided to wash it. Then came the loogie.

Everybody started going on about how gross it was. I chanced a glance over my shoulder at the window and could see the spit being blown across my formerly-clean car with the wind.

But I couldn’t see the loogie. Jenny told me she could see it in her mirror, but I didn’t see what the big deal was — until I got home.

Pictures don’t do it justice. You had to be there and see the three-dimensional blob. But pictures are all you get on the blog. Unless you hock a loogie on the computer screen when you see it. You’ve been warned.

Hock a loogie

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Jessica's school picture - Fall 2008