Doing the Math - Week Ten

Although Psychology was never my first choice of majors, it was ultimately my final choice. I was one of the many who chose the field of study in order to fix myself rather than others, and to a greater extent it has been helpful. I mean, at least I can identify my faults if I still can't fix them. While Abnormal Psych was fun, and Behavioral Stats met some inner math addiction, I really enjoyed Social Psych the most out of all the coursework required for the major. It may have been the background in Theater or the recognition that I was not alone in the universe that contributed to this enjoyment, but whatever the source, I discovered that Social Psychology tickled my fancy in a way that almost made me seriously consider going into the field. Go figure.

A prime contribution to this strange twist of thinking was my exposure to the work of Stanley Milgram. You know, the we-do-what-we-are-told guy. The person who showed the world that if one put on a lab coat, carried a clipboard, and had an air of authority, one could make others do things they would not normally do. A rather, ahem, shocking disclosure, and one that our global society still has yet to fully fathom. Just look at current events and you'll see continued proof of this concept. Milgram also worked on another social phenomenon known as the Small World Phenomenon, perhaps more known by a popular moniker, Six Degrees of Separation. People in theater circles may recognize this as John Guare's play, or as that game involving Kevin Bacon. People in mathematical circles may associate Paul Erdös and collaborative distance with the concept. In any case, the idea is that the entire world is just a few people away. What does this have to do with doing the math? It's simple, Pinky; this is yet another plan I have for taking over the world. OK, maybe not taking it over, as that is just too complicated, but becoming exposed to the world is closer to the true goal of my devious plot.

Here is how it works. I have a nuclear family, an immediate family, an extended family, a modicum of friends, and a vast number of acquaintances. All told, a healthy number of first level contacts. A numerical breakdown would follow:

Nuclear = 4 (spouse, children)
Immediate = 10 (parents, in-law parents, siblings, in-law siblings, in-law offspring)
Extended = X (nuclear and immediate of above)
Friends = Y (varies by day, event, and liquid assets)
Acquaintances = Z (varies by day, event, and mood)

Obviously, the last three categories involve messy numbers, and since I don't feel like messing with messy numbers at the moment, I'll just use the first two more finite categories. That leaves me with 14 primary first level contacts, or "hugables" as I shall call them. If each of my hugables were to tell one other person who is not in the primary set (that is, get your own damn hugable, don't use one of mine) about the One Room project of which I have so enthusiastically informed them, then I would have 28 points of exposure, right?

14+(14*1) = 28

Let's say that all of my hugables are highly motivated and tell, say, three other unique members of the global population. The potential audience doubles:

14+(14*3) = 56

Now, if each of those new followers of the One Room project were to share this discovery with three other unique members, things get interesting:

14+(3*(14*3)) = 140

Becoming overwhelmingly impressed, these new converts then tell three others:

14+(3*(3*(14*3))) = 392

Word spreads like wildfire, and three others are told by each member of this group:

14+(3*(3*(3*(14*3)))) = 1148

This continues on in simplistic fashion for one week:

14+(3*(3*(3*(3*(3*(14*3)))))) = 10220

It would seem that I could make a small dent in the daily conscious dealings of the global society, with only the slightest of effort. Sadly, mathematics and reality part from each other at times, as might be the case with the popularity of this project when one considers how many people view this blog with any frequency. There seems to be a great difference between 10220 and 4. Yes, I said 4. That is how many hits the blog had yesterday, and one of them was me.

So, Pinky, we go back to the drawing board and do what we do every night…

Don't Trust A Dead Man

For those who read this and don't know it, my late father was a model train guy. It was one of his interests, and like most things in which he developed an interest, he spent a good deal of money on developing it. Upon his death, and Mom's moving, I inherited the train stuff. Mind you, I like model trains, but not to the extent that I would ever give my house over to it, even if I did have the approval of the Mrs. to set everything up in any available space. This is why I have been selling off the G-scale items on eBay™ recently. With only one or two mistakes of identifying things, I have had no problems with finding new homes for it, as Dad did pass on a few explanations of what he had accumulated. In fact, I generally accepted that his stuff was what it was, and ignored my ignorance of the hobby.

That was fine until today.

I was checking the eBay™ account as I usually do at least fifty times a day, and I found I had a message. A message from a buyer. A buyer of one of Dad's trains, one that had been shipped last week. It seems there was damage to the train, damage of which I was not aware. Damage which devalues things a bit. Damage which might require a full refund. This is a sad situation. I can't sell something as new or nearly new if I have to open it, but I can't sell something as new if it is damaged, even if the damage is hidden.

I have a rule when I sell things on eBay™ or at yard sales. If it doesn't work, I say so and sell it cheap. If it does work, I say so and ask a fair price. The only things I have ever sold that I neglected to mention the possibility of malfunctions are a few automobiles I have traded in to get different cars in the past. I suppose this is karma.

Thanks, Earl, and thanks, Dad.

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