10.23.06
Newton’s Apple
A science think-tank with contributors like Bad Science’s Ben Goldacre and the splendidly side-burned Colin Pillinger, you say? Sounds delicious, a permanent link will be forthcoming once NTL stop FUCKING AROUND LIKE A BUNCH OF BASTARDS AND SORT THIS CONNECTION OUT. ‘Dropping packets’, my arse.
In the Bad Science thread where I learned of Newton’s Apple, I rather liked the comment by Mrs Trellis of Commonplace Book.
“I’m now doing an OU degree in Molecular Science, precisely because I agreed with what has been said about shoddy science journalism. I realised that although it might be relatively easy to be a science journalist, it was probably better to actually have a certificate to prove I know what I’m talking about.”
I thought about studying journalism, but ultimately decided I’d rather be able to write a bit but know my subject inside out, than write professionally and be prone to knocking together a bit of copy touting this as genuine science.
Update: for the last week our broadband connection has been running at sub-dialup speed. This morning it’s back to its perky self. Is…is this blog magic?
Another update: No, it is not. Connection is buggered again. Another one in the eye for irrationality, I guess.
10.14.06
“Lalla…call security…”
So. One of your heroes has, to your eternal joy, quoted some of your online mutterings in his latest book. You’ve discovered that he’s doing a reading in a city a short train ride away, and procured tickets. You intend to get the book signed, and introduce yourself as the quotee. The question is this: how the hell do you do that last bit without embarrassing yourself? Whether we were on the train, wandering round Birmingham hoping to stumble across the Library Theatre, or having a quick peri-peri chicken wrap (plus can of drink only 2.95), the thought of what I was going to say was always bouncing around my skull.
“I write for Religion is Bullshit, you quoted me in The God Delusion,” – clumsy.
“I’m the eloquent blogger” – complete arsehole.
“My dad reckons you owe me some money!” – I had to tell Anna that if I gave even the slightest impression of being likely to say this then she was to kick me in the plums, take the book from my hand as I lay weeping, and get it signed for me.
At one point during the reading, I was so lost in my own head trying to formulate an opening sentence that was short, witty, intelligent and likely to earn the reply “Ah, of course! Grab a chair and we’ll sign them together, being co-authors and all,” that Dawkins’ voice receded to a distant whisper. Fortunately, the lady sat behind me had a mobile phone that beeped every five minutes and its perky tone dragged me back into reality (this one lucky occurence may have saved her life, for the mobile was otherwise extremely annoying). Good job it did, too, because Dawkins and Lalla Ward are both excellent public speakers – unsurprising in the case of Ward, of course – and the reading was hugely enjoyable, not only for getting a taste of the bits of The God Delusion that I’ve not yet read (I keep getting stuck on page 134) but also for the experience of hearing it out loud. There’s a sentence at the start of chapter 2 describing the God of the Old Testament as “…a misogynistic, homophobic, racist, infanticidal, genocidal, filicidal, pestilential, megalomaniacal, sadomasochistic, capriciously malevolent bully.” I read it in my copy and didn’t really give it much thought, but when Dawkins said it on Wednesday night he got a thunderous round of applause, and rightly so – heard aloud you can appreciate the building rhythm in that line; it’s almost poetic. It must be a bugger to say, too, so it’s additionally impressive.
After the reading there were some questions, and then the signing.
“Do you know what you’re going to say yet?” asked Anna.
“Haven’t a fucking clue,” I said, then, noticing she’d got pointy shoes on, quickly added “not the money thing though.” I was very nervous, and it wasn’t all testicle anxiety – how the buggering hell was I going to do this without looking like a complete buffoon? To make things worse, Dawkins was a book-signing machine, and the queue was moving at an alarming pace. Soon there were only a couple of people in front of me, one of whom started on about queuing being the English religion (it had the strong whiff of a rehearsed line and he muffed it somewhat, which finally convinced me to wing it).
My turn, then. Up I stepped, and he took my book. As he was signing it, I struck:
“I just wanted to say thanks, as you quoted me in The God Delusion.” This was said in the manner of Squeaky-voiced Teen from the Simpsons.
“Oh?” Slight air of puzzlement
“Yeah, my name’s Ben, I write for a website called Religion is Bullshit.” The air of puzzlement grows. Think man, think. He’s quoted hundreds of people in that book, how’s he going to remember some obscure blogger? Aaargh, he’s frowning slightly! The article, mention the article! “I wrote a comment on an article about Intelligent Design by you and Jerry Coyne, it was in The Guardian?”
“Oh, right!” This, at least, rings a bell. Phew. However I’m now feverishly aware of one hundred people behind me waiting to get their book signed, and it’s been such a shambolic performance that Anna will probably strike me in the nuts regardless, so I wrap it up.
“Yes, and I just wanted to say that it was a huge thrill, and thanks.”
“No problem,” he says, smiling, and hands back my book. I thank him again and scuttle away, and we all toddle off for a beer before the last train.
Whether or not it was the actual quote he remembered or just the article, I dunno. I describe the reaction to others as “very politely drawing a blank”. Still, it was a huge thrill, and it was great to meet the bloke that inspired me to study biology. So thanks, Richard.
10.09.06
Ignorance is bliss
As has been mentioned elsewhere, before I applied for this course I had a chat with the degree co-ordinator. My impressive list of “popular science books I’ve read and even understood a fair bit of” having left him momentarily lost for words, I took the opportunity to ask if there was anything I should read up on before the start of term. Rising from his dazed admiration at my having read The Selfish Gene twice, he suggested that I might want to complement my mighty knowledge by reading an A-level chemistry book, without which preparation I would struggle mightily (“some fucking biology might help, too,” he failed to add, though I believe this took considerable restraint). Silently adding the poltroon to my list of enemies, I thanked him for his time and not long afterwards sent off the mere formality that was my application. Alas, the fix was in, and I soon received a letter offering a place on the biology course upon completion of a Foundation Year, during which time I would receive schooling in biology, chemistry, statistics and “study skills” to set me up for the degree proper. I was so upset I even forgot to add the admission secretary’s name to the list.
Ye gods were they right though. In the last week, I’ve circled ‘No idea’ on every bleedin’ question of a chemistry multiple choice test; I’ve utterly failed to contribute a single word to a discussion on what defines if something is a plant or an animal; feeling in need of redemption, I’ve offered “frogs breathe through their skin” to explain why their blood cells have a nucleus, and got “it’s a good answer, it’s not right” in reply, delivered in textbook Roy Walker; I’ve suggested that histology is the study of allergic reactions. I am, in short, as thick as pigshit. And it’s absolutely brilliant. Christ, I love learning, even if it’s accompanied by a healthy dose of humiliation.
In other news, I am off to see Richard Dawkins read from The God Delusion in Birmingham this Wednesday (ooh, this feels like one of those insufferable Guardian column addendums – “this week, Madeleine wore a burkha and proclaimed it the most liberating experience of her life. She also saw Talledega Nights, which was good but not as good as Anchorman, but then what is?”). I will report back, even if the madness takes me and I implore him to sign my breasts. Halfway through the reading.
10.01.06
They’ve got these real chewy pretzels here…
Being a not-yet-scientist isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, you know. There are drawbacks – the long hours and tricky equations; the far-too-common response of “what do you wanna study that for?” when you tell someone what you do; the constant lemur bites. There’s also the fact that when someone in your social circle wants to know something even vaguely sciencey, you’re the first port of call.
That was sitting on voicemail waiting for me to switch my phone on this morning; left at 2.44am, apparently. Fortunately someone was on hand to take the phone off him before he hurt himself, and explained that what young Con (happy birthday geez!) would like to know is why you can’t fold a piece of paper more than 8 times. Of course.
Well mate, as you are no doubt aware, I don’t take the Paper Folding module until my third year, but I did manage to find this for you on t’interweb. Quickly summarised, you can fold a piece of paper more than 8 times, but it has to be a very large piece – your common or garden piece of A4 gets too thick around the 8 mark, but there’s nothing magical about that number.
