DIY Alien Contact

Published with Guerilla Science  following the Astronomers’ Ball at the Royal Observatory.

The first message bashed out on our vintage Underwood typewriter, pinned to the sparkly silver message board, set the tone:

“Beware of bears. Send food and supplies. Xo”

Most that followed struck the same chord.

“We are here and we are having fun. Come and join us, come and join us, now.”

“So here we are, trying to talk to you, but you never call or write, what is that all about?”

Some chimed more in tune with current Zeitgeist.

“Are there any jobs out in space??? I am looking for work.”

Quite a few discussed (and apologised for) what’s on the telly.

“Hullo, Hope you’re well. Maybe you’ve seen some previous transmissions from our planet. Just to say, please don’t judge us too harshly for Hollyoaks. Many of us hate it. Ta muchly. Jim.”

“If Jeremy Kyle is your first experience of Earth, I am not sorry! We are not all crazy, I promise! ☺”

And a few were far from frivolous.

“Mum. I hope you are looking down on me.”

Each of the 47 messages left by our guests at the Astronomers’ Ball at the Royal Observatory in Greenwich said something, in its way, about the very odd thing that is the human condition. And every one will be sent into deep space from a parabolic dish antenna in Cape Canaveral, Florida. Using satellite broadcasting equipment with redundant high-powered klystron amplifiers connected by a traveling wave-guide to a five-meter parabolic dish antenna, owned and operated by the Deep Space Communications Network, these messages will travel for four years from Earth at a frequency of around 6,250 MHz.

WALL OF DEATH

WALL OF DEATH. WALL OF DEATH. WALL OF DEATH.

The first time I glimpsed the Wall Of Death, it was packed down and bundled up into the back of a flat bed truck, heading out slowly through a parking lot (field) at Glastonbury, my first festival of the season. A group of random people, lying on the grass by their car, exhausted, hungover and delaying the drive home (as you do), immediately leapt to their feet and began chanting its name.

WALL OF DEATH. WALL OF DEATH. WALL OF DEATH.

The truck honked in response, and the entire field sent up a roaring cheer.

Shivers of goosebumps crossed my skin. Why – why oh why? – had I not seen it when I had the chance? This is what Entertainment is all about: irrational, hazardous spectacles combining modern engineering with physical prowess.

Little did I know I would have another opportunity, at Bestival three months later, my last festival of the season.

Best moment: When the leader of the troupe explains that they rely on coin donations to pay for their operations (and attendant medical costs) because no insurance company will cover them.

My favourite touch: The demure looks of the girls. With simple bangs (that’s “fringe” to you Brits), unadorned faces and modest clothes, they don’t look anything like you’d expect acrobatic, death-defying, motorcycle stunt chicks to. Somehow, it renders them even more badass.

The Quantum Parallelograph

I hate quantum physics.

My colleague and friend Steve Mould – who is a professional physics communicator and thinks our understanding of quantum processes is one of humanity’s greatest achievements – astutely observed that I hate it because I don’t understand it.

This is absolutely true. Quantum physics defies the conceptual limits of the human brain and our capacity to understand our universe. It hurts my head. The science that sets my soul on fire is biological: genetics, cellular biology, anatomy, and the like. Though staggeringly complex, the machinations of the cell are not conceptually challenging to comprehend: if you can understand Lego, you can basically grasp how DNA works. We can even make pretty animations like this rad one by PBS to illustrate the process of DNA transcription, though it boggles the mind to hold all the thousands of molecular players in our mental frame at once.

But quantum physics is an all together different beast. It defies comprehension, and messes with all our cognitive norms. It makes me dizzy. I’m sorry – what was that? Light is both a particle and a wave? That does not make sense. Jerk.

Steve tried to explain Schroedinger’s Cat, one of the most famous ideas in quantum mechanics, to a psychiatrist at one of our Guerilla Science events. “What, that stupid dead cat in a box thing?” I asked. Upon reflection, I’m very fond of this definition.

Despite all my prejudices and fears however, I could not help but find myself utterly charmed last night at a London Design Festival event by The Quantum Parallelograph, a piece of art described by its designer Patrick Stevenson-Keating as “an exploratory public engagement project examining the scientific and philosophical ideas surrounding the theory of quantum physics and multiple universes”. Keating is a designer, but (like the best designers) has based his work on the research of scientists – Professor David Deutsch of Oxford University, and before him, Professor Hugh Everett.

Photo courtesy of Patrick Stevenson-Keating.

The idea: use the machine for a quick glimpse at what another you is doing, right this moment, in a parallel universe.

The process: type your name into the attached computer (not pictured), and tell it how you are feeling right now. Then use the Search Intensity Field dial on the Parallelograph to determine how far from our current reality you would like to peer – would you like to see a world in which your life is very similar to the one you live now, or very different?

Photo courtesy of Patrick Stevenson-Keating.

When a photon of light from a laser is shone through a pair of slits, research apparently suggests that it can travel through both openings – and thus perform some kind of quantum malarky, interacting with its parallel photonic self in another universe, forging a connection between worlds. The result: a fleeting glimpse at what another you is up to, printed out on a friendly piece of pink receipt paper (complete with classic courier font).

Photo courtesy of Patrick Stevenson-Keating.

My own self, somewhere in another universe, as predicted by the Parallelograph when set to Search Intensity Level 5:

The parallel lives of: Zoe Cormier

Authorised by: PSK

Date in current universe: 21/09/2011

Connection opened at: Wed 21:00:18

Disconnected at: Wed 21:00:18 +0.00021sec

Observe your life in Universe No: 22860

Disciplinary action is being taken against Zoe Cormier 
after accidentally destroying Pluto. Although an easy 
mistake to make, a fine is the most likely outcome.

That’s a relief then – wouldn’t want to be incarcerated for blowing up what is, after all, not even a planet.

What would I be doing then in a universe similar to this one? I set the Intensity Level to 1:

Zoe Cormier is a middle management employee at Suds 
and Co. soap company. Zoe Cormier enjoys their work, 
especially the free samples of their new products.

I couldn’t even make reading aloud through the whole word “management” without laughing, by the by. The banality of this prediction is somehow sublime.

Many of us, like me, find quantum mechanics intimidating not because we find it conceptually challenging, but because it poses “the uneasy question of our own uniqueness”, thinks PSK.

“How far from your current reality do you risk going? When you use the quantum  parallelograph to glimpse your many worlds, you may not always like what you see.” True say. When my friend, a solar panel installation engineer, found that in another universe he has been locked up for theft, we all agreed: that’s not surprising. Our reaction in itself may have been illuminating.

This comes to another reason I’m not fond of quantum mechanics: the implications are terrifying. An infinite number of possible universes? Egad. I’m finding one universe hard enough to contemplate, let alone several (and don’t get me started on how much I hate the concept of infinity – it scares the bejesus out of me). PSK has thoughts on this too:

“Curiosity can be a dangerously obsessive trait – do not get lost in the multiverse.”

The Quantum Parallelograph from Patrick Stevenson-Keating on Vimeo.

The Board Room

 

Get to work.

Burning Man is crawling with “art cars”, or “mutant vehicles” – autos and trucks transformed into fish, robots and pirate ships. Some of them are pretty fucking impressive – giant two-storey crawling Pez dispensers (yes really) would astound the crap out of anyone.

But, after a while, the neon lights and the fairy dust do become a bit much – you get a bit tired of pink fluffy cat-unicorns.

Maybe it’s the heat and the sleep deprivation making you a bit crabby. Maybe it’s the sensory overload, and the desire for something achingly normal.

Whatever it is, there is a hefty dose of sheer genius in Driven By Profit – a mobile boardroom for all your corporate conference needs. A white board, overhead projector, chintzy mugs, official company logo and strict dress code made for an irrefutably brilliant result.

Plus, of course, megaphones.

Make me some coffee.

“Mushrooms are up, dignity is down – buy low sell high.”

“How is the blinky lights versus baby wipes index doing?”

“Hey sugar tits, get me some coffee.”

“Time is money – get a shirt, get a job.”

“Can somebody turn up the air con please.”

Perhaps most sublime was the reactions of the hippies who didn’t get the satire. “Hey man, this isn’t what the Burn is about – go back to babylon.”

A few, I’m told, even picked fights. Genius.

I never wanted to get off.

Working overtime.

Orangutan > Zoe

I expected to smell better than two boys who had not washed for 40 days.

I did not expect to be deemed less attractive than an orang-utan.

“You will never live this down,” my best friend grinned.

The things we do for science.

At the Feast of Stenches at the Secret Garden Party with my side project Guerilla Science this past July, we presented our audience with an array of human scents for them to sample, judge and rate: two boys, a woman (myself), and an ape (Hannah, a female orang-utan, only revealed to be non-human after the judging).

More than 50 eager noses took turns sniffing our Smell Stations, plastic boxes containing ripped shreds of fabric from t-shirts worn by our four research subjects.

This was a Guerilla Science take on the famous t-shirt experiments, which investigate the molecular basis of attraction and by examining how humans preferentially rate the smells of other people.

Glastonbury Almost Broke Me

If you ran into me at Glastonbury, I may have looked a bit frazzled. Don’t mind me – I was just a bit broken.

The Decontamination Unit inside Shangri La – Glastonbury’s two-storey after-hours pleasure city of sin and sleaze – was by far the most ambitious event my side project Guerilla Science had ever attempted, and definitely the most experimental.

Hundreds of unwitting punters found themselves face-to-face with a zoo of their own bacteria.

Then counseled by a team of bona fide psychiatrists. It was intense.

Read more about the Unit in my post for The Guardian, see more pics on the Guerilla Science flickr site, and get a feel for what it was like in this video by Oscar Sharpe for GS.

I can say without a moment’s hesitation that no group of scientists have ever attempted anything like this before.

A Walking Electroencephalogram (AKA The Mobile Cyborg)

To get a better look at the electricity inside my head, and more precisely, the “jagged waves” emanating from my right temporal lobe (which as I’ve always said, is rather a rock and roll way to describe a neurological condition), I was sent for a 36 hour EEG to get a sense for how my brain waves change over day and night.

I went out to Chiltern to have the kit put on, and then was sent back to London. I was not comfortable. The electrodes were secured to my head with firm glue. I looked a bit cyborgish. No fun

So I figured – why not make an outing of it so all my friends could come and marvel at my freakish state? Being English, of course they suggested we meet at the pub.

Measure this.

(And yes MOM, I asked the neurologist if it was ok – he said a few pints was fine, but not to get smashed.

Sitting outside the pub with this shit strapped to my head, my friends tittered and marveled. Then a bum came to ask for change. But when he saw the wires, he could only stare, and said “Oh my god… your head… do you need help?”

“Ah, no, I’m fine.”

“Really? Can I help you?”

“Ah no that’s kind, I have my friends with me.”

He wandered off, sad and confused.

In a way, it was incredibly touching.

Not Bad With Words

If you’re not my friend on Facebook (and you only are if you have met me in person), then you won’t have seen my list of favourite quotes. Which is a shame – it’s not a bad list. I’ve gardened it carefully. And it’s not the standard ones you get from the Dalai Lama, Noam Chomsky and inspirational calendars. I’ve got some good ones in there from some smart people you haven’t heard of (such as “Biology is art,” my first year bio prof at university, Dr Spencer Barrett) and some you have (“Never pick a fight with a man who buys ink by the barrel,” Mark Twain).

Some of the most interesting ones come from my nutty family and my almost-as-nutty friends. For those of you unfortunate enough not to be my friend, here I re-post for your delectation.

“You fucking brat. You must have been an ugly, blind nun in your previous life.” Kelley Harron, my aunt, when I landed an awesome new gig

“Monogamy is my favourite form of sexual perversion.” Daniel Farrel, my friend

“You can’t give up drinking, Zoe, you’re a journalist – you’d be letting down your entire profession.” Peter Farrel, Daniel’s brother and also my friend

“If you don’t talk back to your parents they’ll never learn anything.” Martha Harron, my mother

“Reproduction is overrated.” Jordan Heath-Rawlings, my first love

“I’m sorry, but I just can’t fall in love with somebody who can’t write.” Marianne Vizinczey, my aunt

“All men are cowards.” Rory O’Brien, my friend

“Many of the best things I did in my life came from the spirit of “‘I’ll show you.’” Mary Harron, my aunt

“If you can make a modest living at something you love to do, you are one of the luckiest people in the world.” Don Harron, actor, writer, comedian, and my grandpa

“If smart women never slept with stupid assholes, half the planet wouldn’t be here.” Me, Zoe Cormier (Take that for good or bad, you pick.)

“From my own life what I most regret is the time I wasted giving in to despair. You are not entitled to despair.” Stephen Vizenczey, my step-grandfather

“One should never be afraid of being ridiculous – it is the only way to be free.” Stephen Vizinczey

Crazy House

Crazy house, crazy house, this is the awesome, mysterious crazy house.

It’s not far from the house where I grew up, but bizarrely, I didn’t discover it until a few years ago.

It is most sublime.

I’m not sure what the deal with it is – why? when? and for god’s sake, WHY?

I do know one thing: they cannot possibly be popular with the neighbours.

Surgery of the Soul

For two weeks this November as part of the Secret Cinema’s rendition of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, I played the role of a physician instructing her students in the fine art of the transorbital lobotomy.

Over the eyeball, under the eyelid, and straight on till morning.

The London-based Secret Cinema creates homages to classic films: they take over abandoned buildings (in this case, a disused hospital) and recreate the set, with actors playing the roles, art installations celebrating the plot, live bands, bars and food. Punters spend two hours scrambling around the space getting sauced and getting in the spirit, before sitting down to watch the film.

My side project Guerilla Science, which brings scientific events into cultural spaces, hosted the Experimental Ward: psychiatric assessments, electroconvulsive treatments, and lobotomy lectures. Read more on our website in two extensive posts I wrote about the history and theory behind electroconvulsive therapy and the transorbital lobotomy – Neural Renovation and a kind of Surgery for the Soul, one could say.

Taking our place alongside bona fide actors and artists, we try to bring content with real historical and scientific meaning into what is essentially a theatrical performance. We think we don’t do too badly – our performances with OFOTCN saw us broadcast on Russian television. Not bad.

Truth be told, the whole experience made me lose my marbles just a little bit. Thinking about invasive and debilitating brain surgery inside an unheated building surrounded by dozens of actors playing mental patients can do that to a girl.