Seems too hard, annoying and mindless to get in this box.

noone forced you to even try.

Smoking what? I dont understand.... do you smoke crack?

Let's not to make our life harder with non-helpful things even if it is already overloaded.

Quote from george_tsiros :

so we agree that 1/3 = 0.333... ?

No we do not agree.

If kids today are going to be taught that one thid is 0.333 and multiplying 0.333 by 3 is 0.999 and that's the same as 1, then I pray that none of these children will enter the field of precision engineering.

One third is represented in the decimal system as 0.3 recurring, where recurring is usually written as a superfixed period. If you chose to represent one third incorrectly when converting it to a decimal representation because your calculator cannot cope with displaying anything else and your mind cant do maths without a calculator and your teacher cant explain how maths really works, then you must also chose to correct the final result by a margin equivellent to how badly you screwed it up in the first place.

His ellipsis is the recurring dot. His is aware of the rounding error that 0.333 would give, and is not suggesting that 3*0.333 = 1, but that 3*0.333...=1, which is true and accurate.

tristan, thanks for clearing it up.

becky, why are you such a mean person?

also... precision engineering?

i am a physicist. do you have any idea just how many significant digits are important to physicists? we have aborted theories because they did not agree with the experiment to 20 or so significant digits. don't talk to me as if physicists are something to be frowned upon. i have never done that to engineers. if i had, even once, it would mean that i am not worth anything either, because engineers and physicists complement each other. /rant

[quote=ATC Quicksilver;913985]There is no such thing as orbit, what happens is tiny spermoids tow things around in circles to generate energy which they feed on.[quote]



urgh i'll never put another piece of sugar free gum in my mouth again

also it's a bit worrying why my teenage daughter likes the taste of it so much

Quote :

becky, why are you such a mean person?

I just dont get it, there are several methods for showing recurrance from the superfixed period, to bracketting a number, and I see on Wikipedia some people even do a superfixed underscore. So with all these defined standards to show recurrance why do we need 0.333 - which is, let's be honest, just giving up.

It's giving up because rather than show recurrance it's saying "i'll put a few 3's in, then i'll just stop". It's not even showing all the 3's that where on the calculator display because, well, kids today cannot be got to write 8 digits down before their ADHD kicks in and they throw the calculator at another classmate.

I just don't see why another way of showing recurrance is needed, especially one that then creates a conflict with another, existing, represented decimal value. It's like treating numbers as algebraic values. 0.333 isn't really 0.333 guys, it's like "a" and it currently equals 0.(3)... Unless it's showing 0.333, in which case it is 0.333 but not if it's 0.333 ok? Got that? Right...

Surely the combined wealth of the calculator industry could have come up with a better solution by now?

ain't he talking about 0.333... (which mean an endless stream of 3s afterwards) rather than 0.333?

ah, I see in this thread i've been reading ... as continuation, not as recurrance so i've missed the argument in the thread completely.

Calculators can't cope with recurrance or infinity, so they use approximations - 0.333333 ~= 1/3, which is close enough for those who use calculators. Those who don't want rounding errors, or want to deal with infinities never use calculators anyway.

If you don't want rounding errors don't deal with decimals. Sientific calculators can easily do 1*(1/3) x 5*(36/60) on a calculator and it will leave you with a perfectly accurate fraction in return

edit: the answer is 1 btw :P

whats the name of this game, el corro de la patata, i loved it play it as a child:

we like 10 childs would take hands andmake circles while singing and at the end you just fell, it was pretty fun

well now thats my spirit i dont dirve to win anymore just to make circles while listening to music and ocasionally sing

i mean if i enjoy more chasing someone fast why should i go 1st

that would be let main criteria impose to my own liking

I didn't get the second half of the post, but the game is "ring a ring a rosy". Epic fun in Junior Infants

humm it seems to be world wide game

maybe a clue memory of the fall of man?

End These 23 Pages Of Crazy!

24 pages*

Quote from lerts :

humm it seems to be world wide game

maybe a clue memory of the fall of man?

Fall of man? We didn't fall, we (our ancestors, that is) crawled out of the soup, climbed up a tree and then climbed back down again because the birds were pecking our eyes when we slept (and because we kept nicking their tasty, tasty eggs), hence man's deep fear & loathing of all things that fly and his love for cats & Spanish omelettes & Kentucky Fried Chicken (made from birds which are imprisoned from birth and that actually cannot fly, KFC is often thought of as ironic yet disproportionate punishment. The Red Cross is investigating).

But this is no time for science!

Or is it?

"Ring A Rosy" is a popular European nursery rhyme that means nothing, or, possibly, means several things at once. Or both, in the kind of quantum etymological metacrisis that theoretical literary theorists have been puzzling over for millennia (they hope the Rather-Large Dictionary Collider, built at a cost of ten British pounds and located in Kevin's cellar, can yield positive results such as proving the existence of the theoretical "God Punctuation Mark" known as the "Quasi-Colon", said to give all other punctuation marks their mass).

I guess I was wrong about it not being science time. Heck, who am I kidding? It's always science time!

But not anymore!

If horror movies have taught me anything, "Ring A Rosy" is best sung very, very slowly by one spooky little child's voice, using lots of reverb & in a haunted house with background noises of creaking, rusted swings and the distant laughter of children. And maybe a screaming baby. The song should be followed by one of the protagonists standing, rooted to the spot and looking rather terrified, as something nasty rushes up the deserted hallway & pulls parts of him away from the other parts (instead of him, say, running like hell in the opposite direction), much to the frustration of everyone watching.

So there you have it. Another mystery solved.

Thank me later, punks.

Quote from george_tsiros :

also, who the **** is tomba? in any case, if anyone got so upset by a forum discussion and he left, he obviously has issues that need to be taken care of. nothing life-altering is taking place here. your life stays the same no matter what goes on on forums. ffs.

Talking about me in here ;O

yeh im glad youre back tomba

mods, please i beg of you, lock it

Quote from DevilDare :

mods, please i beg of you, lock it

Don't spoil the fun.

The 'report' button is never far away.

Yeah, don't be a wet blanket Devil! But don't hit "report" either - the best way to combat silliness is to join in and be more retarded than Vader could possibly imagine.

So let's start a dream journal! I'll kick it off.

I entered the dream on top of a tall building, staring down through a rifle scope at the most vile, loathsome & heinously criminal humans of all time: the members of the band Supertramp. I was chanting my sniper mantra - designed to calm my body and true my aim - under my breath: "pink mist, pink mist, pink mist" when one of them looked up. He'd spotted me. I cursed and immediately opened fire, hoping I'd at least nail the singer if noone else (he's the one most directly responsible for them sounding like complete twats). Unfortunately, it seemed my rounds had been replaced with paintballs, so I attempted to spell out "YOU WANKERS" on the wall of the deli behind them as they took cover behind a pink Hummer. I'd spelled out "YO" when they returned fire. I ducked behind a mannequin and, as dreams do, I inexplicably sequed into a car chase: the Hummer was now chasing my battered brown Daewoo down Flinders St (Melbourne) and I was having to dodge drunken schoolies dressed in second-rate manga cosplay outfits who kept flashing gang signs and throwing empty vodka cruiser bottles at my car. When I realised that this was all completely ridiculous and implausible, I woke up next to a man dressed in full 18th century Royal Navy regalia (which was darkly stained, presumably by gunpowder & blood, for that was the odour which greeted my nostrils - I remembered an earlier dispatch regarding the massing of the Prussian fleet) & sporting a rather fetching eyepatch. He was sitting up with a silver breakfast tray (complete with a rose in a small vase) across his legs and was eating kippered herrings and fried tomato. He'd forgotten the salt & pepper but didn't seem too alarmed by it. I noticed he'd left his boots on and I made a mental note to scold him about it later (such conversations are best not had over breakfast). He greeted me, a lopsided grin covering his three-day beard, with a thick, slow, pastoral drawl, reminiscent of my days working in the apple orchards which borded my parents' farm: "Mornin' luv. Sleep ok?"

"Thank god," I sighed, "back to normal."

Quote from Hankstar :

Yeah, don't be a wet blanket Devil! But don't hit "report" either - the best way to combat silliness is to join in and be more retarded than Vader could possibly imagine.

So let's start a dream journal! I'll kick it off.

I entered the dream on top of a tall building, staring down through a rifle scope at the most vile, loathsome & heinously criminal humans of all time: the members of the band Supertramp. I was chanting my sniper mantra - designed to calm my body and true my aim - under my breath: "pink mist, pink mist, pink mist" when one of them looked up. He'd spotted me. I cursed and immediately opened fire, hoping I'd at least nail the singer if noone else (he's the one most directly responsible for them sounding like complete twats). Unfortunately, it seemed my rounds had been replaced with paintballs, so I attempted to spell out "YOU WANKERS" on the wall of the deli behind them as they took cover behind a pink Hummer. I'd spelled out "YO" when they returned fire. I ducked behind a mannequin and, as dreams do, I inexplicably sequed into a car chase: the Hummer was now chasing my battered brown Daewoo down Flinders St (Melbourne) and I was having to dodge drunken schoolies dressed in second-rate manga cosplay outfits who kept flashing gang signs and throwing empty vodka cruiser bottles at my car. When I realised that this was all completely ridiculous and implausible, I woke up next to a man dressed in full 18th century Royal Navy regalia (which was darkly stained, presumably by gunpowder & blood, for that was the odour which greeted my nostrils - I remembered an earlier dispatch regarding the massing of the Prussian fleet) & sporting a rather fetching eyepatch. He was sitting up with a silver breakfast tray (complete with a rose in a small vase) across his legs and was eating kippered herrings and fried tomato. He'd forgotten the salt & pepper but didn't seem too alarmed by it. I noticed he'd left his boots on and I made a mental note to scold him about it later (such conversations are best not had over breakfast). He greeted me, a lopsided grin covering his three-day beard, with a thick, slow, pastoral drawl, reminiscent of my days working in the apple orchards which borded my parents' farm: "Mornin' luv. Sleep ok?"

"Thank god," I sighed, "back to normal."