Saturday, April 19, 2014

The Novel of the White Powder

1. US Patent 3956511, from 1976, is for a way of preparing glucose polymer (dextrin) particles that can absorb about their own weight in grain alcohol, the resulting powder to be dissolved in water on such occasions as when you want a sugary alcoholic concoction and New Zealand draft beer is not available.
2. The patent apparently expired in 1991. But at last there is a commercial application for the technology:

3. Here as in so many other ways, Nature is imitating a Keats-and-Chapman joke.

Craft Corner #2 -- Easter Edition

UPDATED (belatedly, because Doktorling Sonja is all about deferred gratification and has only just unwrapped the reaped bunny to find the evidence of decapitation).

It's got a basket, a bell that rings and things to make it look good

The client's brief was clear enough: "Predict coming trends in personal transport". Any of us who invested heavily in the flying car industry, only to lose our stake due to lack of consumer demand for the product, can sympathise with the client's desires.

One thing we have learned in the past is not to heed predictions from Space-Time Eddie, no matter how confidently he couches them in a sepia cloud of bafflegab about 'nostalgia for infancy". "The future lies with the Perambulance", sez Eddie -- "the merging of the tricycle and the rubber baby buggy bumpers". He is too easily led astray by his own nostalgia for his career as a stunt baby.*

Another Kiwi and I maintain that Eddie should not have left his blueprints overnight filed next to a copy of L. P. Hartley's "The Travelling Grave", and the resulting conceptual bleed-through and morphogenic crossover is entirely his own fault.

Certainly he should not blame us and our corner-paring, cheese-cutting preoccupation with cost reduction for the disappearance from his design of useful but expensive fripperies such as "wheels" and "front window".

At least tigris has taken the certainty of rising sea levels into account for her scenario.

Another thing we have learned is not to describe the Riddled Futurology and Life-Styles Working Group as a "think tank". To do so is to exert a strong influence -- not necessarily a benign one -- upon the design of the Working Group's offices.

The members do not need roof-top landing strips for personal jets and Another Kiwi is adamant that they must move back to the old premises. It may have had its drawbacks (like being lowered into a well as the only way to enter or leave), and contemporary architects will sneer at the feather-waving gargoyles, but just look at the state-of-the-art flying envelope e-mail protocol!
* Stunt baby.

Monday, April 14, 2014

Pigments of imagination: Think Blue, Count Two

Underground transport network: Doin it rong
"What happens if we treat colour words in a language as the stations of an underground train network?" This is the kind of question which often arises after one or two pints of Old Shearing Shed Bière en garde. "You could ask lots of people to list all the colours they can think of, and treat those lists as itineraries through the network, and reconstruct the tube map."

"The maze of his infinity," said the smoko-room radio, which we keep tuned to the Synchronicity Channel broadcasting from Serendip. "The buried city. In the stars."

"Or you could just look it up in the appendices of the Metronomicon, the Book of Naming of Stations," tigris pointed out.
Multiple appendices
Tigris is of course correct. Very few things of import are not covered somewhere in the Book's Appendices, which proliferate and pullulate in such profligate profusion that they are not numbered, nor even lettered, but are identified instead by symbols in the corners of each page. It even shows how tube maps of major cities will appear when they are reproduced after the fall of civilisation, on palimpsestic parchment, limned with gold and foliage and marginalia by monks in future scriptoria.
Left: John Coulthart doin it rite

But I digress. Here without further ado is the tube map for Spanish colour terms, copied from a page in the Metronomicon identified by an anchor drawn with pen and ink as if by a schoolboy's clumsy hand.

Data courtesy of Dr Mari Uusküla of
the Institute of the Estonian Language
If everyone listed terms in the same order then a simple one-dimensional labyrinth trunk line would suffice, but fortunately for those of us with research careers to consider, it is not so straightforward. Many people begin with rojo or azul, these being somehow more colourish than other terms, prototypal exemplars of the concept of colour. But others begin with blanco or negro, which are perfectly cromulent colour names apart from their absence of colour.

Those who begin with one of the 'cardinal direction' primary names find it easy to go on to the other three. Together they form an interlinked chunk of semantic memory. Then people might proceed to the secondary terms like violeta and naranja which form a separate chunk, or to the achromatic basics -- from where there is a stronger link to gris and rosa, terms for which relative brightness dominates chromatic content in their conceptual classification. Those listers might continue to beige or turquesa.

Sad to say, one term is nowhere to be found:
At least there are gaps to show where room might be found for a fictitious term. Pigments of imagination and Colours out of Space fall within the ambit of Riddled Research laboratory. Another Kiwi informs me that an Ambit is what you get from crossing an agenbite with an inwit, but he might have made that up, as any fule kno that 'agenbite' is a semi-precious mineral often found with malachite.

In Turkish, 'dark blue' (lacivert) and 'blue' (mavi) are separate colours at the basic level of naming, and the English habit of stretching a single word to cover both seems as odd as applying a single name to 'red' and 'pink'. This time the trails of word-association-foopball producing these lists included 'brown' among the achromatic terms. This is the norm (for languages converge on a single conceptual map) from which Spanish has departed because reasons.
Russian is another 'two blues' language, as regular subscribers to the Riddled Weekly Encyclopedia of World Knolege are already aware. See the nice rainbow sequence in the tube map, from red to purple, with goluboj or 'light blue' beside sinij 'blue'? Russian children learn the rainbow with a Roy G. Biv mnemonic.*
See too the big gap in the middle of the language, suggesting that Russian is the place to hunt around for missing colour words like Ulfire and Jale.**
We are not having much luck with Fuligin and Argent, but Estonian looks promising.

"How about other semantic domains?" Another Kiwi vouchsafed. "Is there an Appendix for swearing?"
"It's worth a try," I said.
Data from Steven Borgatti
1. Invent new obscenity, tucked into the gaps between existing ones.
2. ?????
* Каждый Охотник Желает Знать' Где Сидит Фазан.

** Missing from the Impossible & Imaginary Colour List: the two new primary colours that the Second Men will experience in the distant future when Homo sapiens is extinct. This is NOT GOOD ENOUGH, Internet, and I want my money back.

Thursday, April 10, 2014

In Orthodox Church, paintings weep at you

Alternative title: Lonely Teardrops

Two cats moved to tears by ash-based sculpture 
"Why are you loonies trying to instil artworks with the ability to make people weep?" This is a question we are often asked at Riddled Research Laboratory, for values of 'often' which include 'never'.
The short answer is that a reliable source of tears would provide useful insurance against triffids and alien invasions, both known for their vulnerability to salt water. Not to mention the food value for lacrymophagic moths.

Tear-based defeat of invading midget ninja

Central to our research is James Elkin's book on the topic of people who cry at paintings. Unfortunately no one single painting seems to be particularly lacrymergic, and the book is a series of N=1 anecdotes involving Rothko, Caravaggio, Bellini, Caspar David Friedrich and Greuze, noodling around for 270 pages without ever really coming to a point, or even making a joke about "Giving water to the Met, Stilgar".

Unaccountably, and also, it omits the best-known report:
The most plausible explanation for this omission is that the black-clad emissaries of Tristero paid Elkins a visit and reminded him with signifying gestures about the life-preserving virtues of silence.*

Anyway, not easily daunted or deterred, we are looking into more reliable means of stimulating art-related glandular secretions through the acetylcholinergic pathways of the sympathetic system. Possibly involving pheromones or subliminal photic driving.
Research with infrasonic vibrations from concealed speakers behind the canvasses has not been entirely rewarding, and Greenish Hue is now permanently banned from the Art Museum after one or two episodes of involuntary deliquescence. This is a small price to pay for scientific progress, and offers Elkins a theme for his next book. Also it has deepened our appreciation of the wisdom of Snappy Sammy Smoot's advice.
* A similarly conspicuous absence appears in another of Elkins' essays -- an in-depth inquiry into the artistic conventions of postage stamps.
Despite illustrating at length his instructions for looking at stamps, he somehow manages not to mention the unique subject-matter of Lot 49. Just coincidence?

Wait, someone at the door, BRB.

Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Even Mother Hitton had to start small

Littul Kitton / LOLcat mash-ups.You know you want them.

... Before checking the goofle for "Mother Hitton's Littul Kittons", be aware that
The odd spelling of the "Littul Kittons" is intentional, as research into the term would act as a tripwire, alerting the Norstrilian defenses to potential hostile activity.