Last week, I got seriously obsessed with what, at first glance, looks like a really daft question:
What does the Internet actually *look* like?
All the ways to answer this are fascinating and full of surprises. Here are some in a thread:
1/
Here is the simplest, most straightforward and wrongest answer.
It looks like the box in the corner of your room that you sit in front of every day, "enjoying" its contents.
Devoid of context, that's what my senses tell me. But obviously this is absurd. Let's move on.
2/
If "the Internet" is the signal, all that data flying around, then in a sense it looks like this.
99%+ all international data races along sea floors at around 16 mill. times the force of a home Internet connection, through cables roughly the width of a can of Coke.
3/
Incredibly, the first colossal undersea cable was laid back in 1858, when two steam-powered (!) battleships met mid-Atlantic to connect together two pieces of a telegraph cable running for over *2,500 miles*.
Or maybe the Internet is where data *stops* moving, in the data centres and other machine-holding architecture.
Photographer Dave Greer got curious about this, with oddly beautiful results (in a Simon Stålenhag sort of way): qz.com/770849/these-b…
5/
Or maybe our best way to see "the Internet" is indirectly, to trace its passing - like this mesmerising datavis of geotagged tweets using the hashtag #sunrise one day in 2014, showing a spluttering blaze of yellow marking dawn:
(I can find my old blog on it. It's tiny but it's there. Had a website for more than a decade? Go searching. I bet you'll find it.)
9/
But maybe the only maps that fit here are abstract, subjective and virtual. Maybe you have to be *inside* to map it properly.
Kevin Kelly's Internet Mapping Project asked people to draw what they thought the Internet looked & felt like: kk.org/ct2/the-intern…
10/
"The internet is intangible, like spirits and angels. The web is an immense ghost land of disembodied places....Yet everyday we navigate through this ethereal realm for hours on end and return alive. We must have some map in our head." - Kevin Kelly (brainpickings.org/2009/06/08/int…)
11/
I'm writing more about all this soon, first for paying subscribers & later for everyone, in my @SubstackInc newsletter, Everything Is Amazing:
And if all that has left you feeling a overwhelmed and a bit lost, don't worry! Here's the end of the Internet, so you at least know where one of the edges or corners is:
This week, after a lifetime of unwavering loyalty to Metric, I dug in - & now my mind’s blown. Now I get why folk cling to Imperial.
(And also why Napoleon was taller than he’s given credit for.)
Get comfy. It’s a long one.
(1/)
First, let’s call Metric what it was: a sensible act of revolutionary rationalism.
Europe before the French Revolution was a pig's ear of measurement systems: at least 250,000 (!) in France alone. Every region of every country used something a bit different.
Carnage.
(2/)
This new system, first proposed in 1790, would rely on unchanging laws of Nature, the kind that everyone could agree upon.
Good plan, right?
Yes and no. First they had to measure Nature with late 18thC technology - and that proved *maddeningly* hard.
Thanks to the first volume of Michael Palin's diaries, I've just discovered the glory of one of the greatest travel pieces in British publishing history.
In early April 1977, The Guardian published a 7-page travel supplement on this "little-known" island nation:
(1/)
Great attention should be paid to the place names being used here.
Also that this is 1977, and web design wasn't a thing yet.
(2/)
The accompanying adverts were impressive - especially if you took the time to read them closely.
One thing a life in the UK poorly prepares you for: when Autumn turns to Winter in the Mediterranean, it generally does so with a BANG. Last night here in Corfu, a storm punched through, and I lost a table and nearly all my underwear.
(1/)
At 5am I wake. The house is vibrating like the god-emperor of all washing machines is on spin in the basement. Something smashes outside in a twinkly way. I peer through the curtains. Rain howls past my face. Then the balcony table flips past, hits the railing and explodes.
(2/)
It's closely followed by the metal laundry rack that currently has all my pants drying on it. It somersaults, then wedges between the wall and the railing, right on the brink. All my underwear is about to be scattered across Corfu and maybe mainland Greece. I must act.
(3/)