gradient and avatar

Though the concept became cemented as sort of an academic urban legion through the stories of futurist Hungarian author Frigyes Karinthy whose interbellum characters first speculated on social networks and social capital in a rebuilt world and the work of playwright John Guare, the notion of Six Degrees of Separation, the chain that binds any two people together with six steps or fewer, reaches even further back to the pioneering wireless transmissions of Guglielmo Marconi, speaking on the shrinking globe and growing interconnectedness among people.
Incidentally, this was probably the most original thing that the radio-promoter said or did, as Marconi rarely acknowledged the significant contributions of his fellow researchers and was very parsimonious about crediting other innovators. The Small World tracer experiments of psychologist Stanley Milgram also helped fix the notions of virality and algorithmic exploration in the public imagination: seeing if letters from geo-social endpoints could research their targets through a chain of casually acquainted couriers alone. Perhaps until the ice-breaker Six Degree of Kevin Bacon emerged, Milgram was best known for his controversial Obedience Experiments, wherein test-subject became acclimated to the idea of administering electric shocks to another individual as corrective-reinforcement to demonstrate how just following orders leads to dehumanisation and catastrophic collapse of perspective—that most would choose to be one the right side of authority, even if that meant inflicting pain on others. Another sort of hybrid experiment between these two extremes of connectedness and detachment involved stand-in actors dubbed cyranoids, after Cyrano de Bergerac’s device to woo Roxane through a more handsome interlocutor. As another heuristic tool, Milgram hoped that the understudies whispered their lines might open up insights about bias and stereotypes and self-perception too. I wonder if there are cyranoids for ghost-writers at large.

magicking or the jack parsons‘ project

One of the pioneering rocketry engineers outside of the German camp (corresponding with many of the scientists who would comprise Operation Paperclip) was an individual named Marvel Whiteside (Jack) Parsons, who inspired by science fiction went on invent jet fuel and various techniques for improving thrust and guidance that solidified America’s standing in aerospace industry and helped the nation realise better the potential of the applications, was a founding member of the Jet Propulsion Laboratories (JPL) after the Great Depression subsided.
Parsons’ interest in science fiction also made him impressionable to the useful imaginations of others, and after a brief stint as a devoted Marxist (which might have proven highly-suspect later on), Parsons turned to the new occult religion Thelema, dicated a few decades earlier by British philosopher and prestidigitator Aleister Crowley, having received these revelations whilst vacationing in Cairo from a præter-human law-giver. In the tradition of humanist writer François Rabelais’ Gargantua and Pantagruel, Thelema maintains that man was the measure of all things through tantric sacraments and magick (the Force explained in terms of the new Quantum Mechanics) admits of a complex cosmology and ritual acts, including one which Parsons and his friend L Ron Hubbard (who, cogently I suppose, later went on to found the Church of Scientology) performed in order to summon one goddess known as the Mother of Abominations. Ever the champion of research and space exploration, Parsons continued his aerospace experiments undeterred, offering free-lance services to Mexico and Israel, after he was dismissed from JPL for his infamous behaviour and accused of un-American activities. Under somewhat mysterious circumstances, Parsons died working on some pyrotechnic special effects for an upcoming Hollywood film in his home laboratory—the Parsonage. Though Parsons did not live to see the Space Race that he enabled and some miraculous achievements in exploration and understanding of the Cosmos, his legacy, despite how it might have been deprecated and over-shadowed, remains undeniable.

three-ring or alas and alack

Atlas Obscura has an interesting, involved biography of the complicated and convoluted live of Mad Monk Rasputin’s daughter, Maria.

The entire article is a rewarding read and not to reveal too many spoilers, after being transplanted from rural Siberia to Saint Petersburg for cultural refinement and fleeing the Revolution after her father’s mysterious assassination, Rasputina first found work in a cabaret act in Bucharest, all the while continuing a rapport with her murdered father through séances—who apparently offered dubious romantic advice, carrying on with a confidence-trickster who impersonated an impoverished Romanov family member. In the mid 1930s, Rasputina immigrated to America and worked as a lion-tamer, until being mauled by a bear put an end to that career-path. Afterward, she worked as a riveter in a Los Angeles shipyard during World War II while publishing her life story until compelled to retire due to her age, though still hale and hearty. Throughout the 1960s and 1970s Rasputina supplemented her pension by giving psychic-readings, complete with trance visitations of candid First Lady Betty Ford.

bellhop or to infinity and beyond

Gizmodo offers a challenging but rather intriguing primer on the nature of infinity—which is not a number itself or some threshold, unless posited as the point at which parallel lines verge together, and the idea that infinity is amenable to being doubled or tripled through a quantum mechanical demonstration that makes a classic thought experiment seem not so rarefied or cheeky.  In 1925, mathematician David Hilbert pondered the following brain-teaser: supposing there is a grand hotel with an infinite number of rooms which is always booked and has no vacancies, but a guest desperately begs in the lobby for a room for the night. The hotel staff can still oblige, despite the occupancy and the infinite inconvenience, since in a countable infinity, there is always a +1, by have the guest in room number one move into room number two, and so on. By a countable infinity, and there are several different types of infinities, Hilbert means an enumerated set, that one could walk the corridors counting off room after room—though one might never reach the end—and also room-service is not logically bamboozled as they know the new whereabouts of every visitor and N+1. Then suppose an infinitely large tour bus with an infinite number of guests pulls up in the parking lot. No problem still, says management, as everyone in an odd numbered could move to an even numbered one and the vacated rooms—bogglingly, free up accommodations for the infinite number of new arrivals. This shifting works, logically and in quantum states where vacancies are created, because the countable infinity—once taking on more guests, while still assigned to a numbered room, Hilbert’s Hotel becomes another sort of infinity—the kind that is innumerable, something that can’t be counted in a discrete way because there always room in between—like the number of points on a line—being infinite and a point being that which has no part, something dimensionless. Paradoxical things may appear only academic when first puzzled to their conclusions but it is pretty astounding and reassuring to find that there is potentially real application for these concepts.

peacock throne

Dangerous Minds has a very nice tribute to the the flaired back wicker peacock chair—known as the Philippine or Manila but originating in China, that was reserved for the select and makes an appreciable seat of authority and smartly frames the subject. Popular from the mid-twentieth century onwards, the exotic chair was part of the furniture for the parlours and studios of American celebrities and public-figures—perpetuated by iconic photographs of the owners sitting—as if commissioning for a portrait. Though not a wicker peacock chair—relatives and neighbours had them, I do remember growing up with a papasan in the living room—which was just as brilliant, classic and more comfortable, I imagine.