A week in my life...

I was recently asked to submit an article about a typical week in my life for the Journal of Physiology quarterly magazine. Apprently, it's regula feature about people of interest to the world of Physiology. As a Neuroscientist and comedian, that sort of makes me interesting. Or so they think.
Anyway, I did what I thought best. The following is the article I put together. Obviously, before anyone points it out, the week detailed never happened for real, it's a composite of interesting things that happened on different days which, had they occurred in succession, would have made a very interesting week. As George from Seinfeld says, "If you take everything I've achieved in my entire life and condense it down to one day, it looks decent".
Any pointers, quips, instructions for better written work are greatly appreciated. I don't think I'm doing too badly for someone who's professional training consisted largely of staring at rats for long periods. But see what you think, on the off chance it does get published I imagine it'll be edited a fair bit.

1 Week in the Life of… A Neuroscientist Comedian

In my experience, if you tell a stranger you’re a Neuroscientist, they react with a mixture of surprise, admiration and suspicion. Tell someone you’re a comedian, they respond in the same way but in a more exaggerated manner. Tell someone you’re a Neuroscientist comedian, they simply dismiss the ludicrous statement and start discussing the weather.

My desire to entertain is something of a family trait, but my skewed world view and overly analytical mind has always resulted in me being drawn to science, which is why I’m completing my PhD in Behavioural Neuroscience. Many comedians started off as scientists (Dara O’Briain, Harry Hill etc.), but very few have tried to combine science and comedy, with (as I’ve discovered) good reason. But I persevere, and slowly, it seems to be working. It’s impossible to describe my experiences and career structure with any accuracy in a short article, so here’s a basic rundown of a typical week in my life.

Monday: Monday usually begins with checking my subjects, if I have any. Weighing, checking health, food levels etc. My family still thinks being a Neuroscientist is some glamorous occupation. If this is the case, a morning being scratched, bitten and defecated on by three dozen rats should keep me grounded. After this, I do more work on my next experimental set-up, performing cutting edge research armed with a large box, some old Christmas decorations and a packet of coco-pops. The glamour is almost intoxicating at this point.

In the evening, I attend a friend’s local gig to try out new material. I mention that I work with animals and another act gets very aggressive and says, I quote, “You’d better not do any of that near me, I’m a vegetarian”. The inanity of this statement leaves me dumbstruck. He then proceeds to do a set about paedophilia, which strikes me as somewhat hypocritical.

Tuesday: Have to go over more data from my previous experiment, trying to find a significant pattern in disappointing data. Before starting my PhD in Behavioural Neuroscience, I had never come across SPSS, and I sometimes long for those days of carefree optimism. For those unfamiliar with the statistics package SPSS, it reminds me of the NHS; we’d be lost without it, but that doesn’t mean we don’t hate it.

That evening I host the regular Student Union comedy night. I mention my comparisons between SPSS and the NHS. Unfortunately, the 30 or so Art and History students in the front don’t know what I’m talking about and assume that SPSS is something to do with the police. Comparing one government institution with another really doesn’t have the same impact, but my wife later points out that the original joke wasn’t funny either, so no real loss there.

Wednesday: Surgery day. It’s an unfortunate aspect of modern science that animal experimentation is still necessary, and that a study of the function of specific brain regions requires lesioning or physical disruption. I’ve had to point out to many anti-vivisectionist ‘friends’ that just because scientists do it, it doesn’t mean we enjoy it in any way, despite their angry implications. This is true, as performing a neuroanatomical lesion with any degree of accuracy takes several hours of concentration at a time. If nothing else, it’s boring. This revelation makes me chuckle, but I decide I really shouldn’t mention it if I’m ever asked to write a magazine article.

No comedy tonight, but I run some new material past my wife. The look she gives me is similar to the one I give a rat that urinates on my sleeve.

Thursday: Receive several replies to job applications for a post-PhD position, all rejections. One rejection is from a job I never applied for, which is does damage the motivation somewhat. After much deliberation, I decide to remove the ‘comedian’ section of my CV. Just doesn’t look right on an academic application. Spend another 8 hours performing brain lesions. My careers advisor told me I’d ‘never be a brain surgeon’. She was half right, I guess.

In the evening, I fill in for a last minute drop out at a lovely gig I know. A French woman in the front row looks confused, so I convert all my jokes to metric and she starts laughing. I mention how nonsensical the excuse ‘Big bones’ is for being overweight. A woman laughs and explains she used to be big boned. Reflexively, I ask how long she spent on the International Space Station, then have to spend 5 minutes explaining how prolonged periods of low gravity can lead to bone loss due to calcium depletion. Make a note; it’s important to know your audience, and the people of Abergavenny aren’t really up to speed on the effects of prolonged microgravity on human skeletal structure.

Friday: Today is important, it’s my first ever attempt at a science-themed comedy night. “Humourology”, as I’ve dubbed it (an off the cuff suggestion I don’t like but which seems to have stuck), is a night of as many comics as I can find performing material based on and with reference to complex science, hosted by myself. I manage to focus on my work, but am also illicitly using the photocopier for flyers, which I hope nobody discovers. By the time the show starts, there are over a hundred people in attendance. Science comedy is clearly an untapped niche. The whole thing goes incredibly well, particularly my analysis on the scientific inaccuracies of classical jokes. The night wraps up around 11. After promising to do more Humourology in the near future, I go home and pass out, dreaming of the stardom that is surely to come my way after the success of tonight.

Saturday: Have to go into the lab to start a test session. Luckily, spending several hours staring at rats in a box undermines my delusions of grandeur.

Sunday: Same as Saturday, but with a later start as I forget my lab access card.

Interview

Recently, I was asked to answer some questions for a students dissertation, which I assume is related to science communication or some such. Just in case anyone is interested, here's what was said.

1. How did you get in to science comedy?

I had been doing comedy for 3 years really, not actually thought specifically about doing science comedy. Originally, I noticed that a large number of comics discussed the jobs they have/had to relate to the audience. Being a Neuroscientist, I didn’t think this would really give the typical audience anything to relate to, so if anything I down-played my scientific leanings. But eventually I realised this meant I came across as somewhat ‘false’, and this really made me struggle at a lot of gigs. So eventually, I did start introducing more scientific aspects to my sets. I felt a lot more comfortable and people enjoyed it more as a result. Despite my initial assumptions, a lot of my more science based jokes were getting the best responses, and I realised this made me stand out from a lot of other acts. I wouldn’t say there’s a specific ‘science comedy’ style practiced by acts, but I realised there is a demand that isn’t being satisfied for comedy that relates to the scientific community. So I decided to try and occupy that niche. So far, so good.

2. How complex scientifically do your jokes get?

It varies. Paradoxically, I’ve found the more complex a joke is, the bigger the response it gets, assuming it’s delivered well. People often appreciate being given the credibility to understand concepts beyond the basic sex-drink-reality TV references that are safe bets. I also sense an element that’s the same as when people see someone do a particularly impressive sporting performance, a collective feeling of “I couldn’t do that, well done”. But with comedy, of course. I do try and address high-science concepts some times like Quantum mechanics or statistical analysis. There’s a difference between a complex joke and jokes about a complex subject. The latter isn’t quite so reliable. I once had a bit where I discussed the ‘silly’ names scientists give important discoveries sometimes (e.g. the embryological signalling molecule named after Sonic the Hedgehog, or the fatal side effect of some old antidepressants called ‘Cheese syndrome’). This isn’t the same as doing complex material, it comes across as trying to look clever by making obvious observations about less common subjects, and most people can see through that. It’s like poking fun at someone who runs a marathon; it’s a lot easier to take if you yourself have done the same, otherwise you just look quite pathetic.

3. How do you go about preparing a science joke for the public?

Basically, it’s the same as any other joke, preparation-wise. You find something you want to discuss, think of an angle that makes it amusing, try and articulate it in a way that makes it as efficient and concise as possible, and then try it out. The difference with science based jokes is that the angle you come from can vary beyond the normal variety. For example, many acts have anecdotes about trains being late. Most acts may approach this from the angle of incompetent organisation or mean spirited staff and discussing what happens to make rail staff so useless or petty, whereas I might argue that the trains are too efficient, and that the high speeds they achieve due to their smooth organisation actually approaches relativistic levels, so the time on board the train goes slower and they think they’re arriving on time, whereas to the outside world they’re late. Or something like that. If I’m doing a standard night, I’ll find a way of explaining that as most people may not have a comprehensive appreciation of the time dilation effect caused by the Universal constant of the speed of light, whereas if it’s a science comedy night, I might assume they can keep up. But otherwise, that’s the process for any joke writing.

4. Have you ever told a science joke that the public failed to understand?

I have been battling a dual problem of talking too fast and mumbling a lot for most of my adult life, so there’s been many jokes my audience hasn’t understood purely because I haven’t been articulate enough. But a failure to understand caused by complexity? I did a science comedy night in Bath Central Library once. I included a joke/theory about how the inefficient layout of the human retina (it’s back to front, logically), coupled with the potential for rising sea levels caused by global warming, would inevitably result in the conquering of humans by the cephalopods (‘correct’ eye structure, water based creatures, quite smart). It didn’t go well, a lot of blank stares. This joke worked in the previous gig, but then I remembered this was a gig for a gathering of optometrists, who loved any eyeball references. Although after that gig someone did threaten to sue me, so maybe it wasn’t so good.

5. What would you consider your most successful science joke.

I have quite a few I can rely on. At present, one of my bankers (comedy term for joke you use that is almost guaranteed to work) is about how I passed my driving test thanks to my knowledge of the uncertainty theory of quantum mechanics and the related observer effect. During a specific science comedy night, where I may have a projector, one of the more reliable sections is where I answer the question “why did the chicken cross the road” with a full analysis of the motivational factors governing the behaviour of a simple bird and the illogical nature of assuming a chicken has any concept of roads. This lasts about 5 minutes, gets a good response. One of my more reliable routines is also about a statistical analysis disproving a well known theory about sharks. It really depends on the audience which is more successful. They could all crash and burn some times.

6. How long do you think the public would watch a strictly science joke only show?

The question there is a bit misleading. A ‘science joke only’ show would be impractical. Comedy isn’t something that can be so rigidly structured. Themes are fine, but imposing rules like that is impractical. A lot of comedy nights have themes, but they don’t stick rigidly too them. A comedy show about politics wouldn’t work if it was only about politics and nothing else. Although science journals have to exclude it by necessity, a comedy night without general opinions, perspective and illogical interpretations wouldn’t work. Science themed, yes, science only, no. However, with that in mind, I’ve run and performed in several science-themed comedy nights, with an emphasis on as much science as possible, and they’ve gone on for over 3 hours with little or no complaints. In fact people voluntarily said they really enjoyed, so will assume they did.

7. Have you ever "watered down" a science joke for the public?

I’ve sometimes not taken a joke to what is, for me, its logical conclusion scientifically for fear of alienating the audience as a result. This is more a judgement call than anything. I try to explain things in a easily understood terms as possible. It’s important to keep in mind that, if lecturing, your purpose is to educate. If gigging, the purpose is to entertain. You can push an audience into listening to concepts and ideas they don’t usually experience, but you’re there to amuse them, they aren’t there to be educated by you. A lot of acts I’ve seen have the habit, which I personally don’t agree with, of demonstrating to the audience how much more intelligent they are than everyone else. If pulled off it can work, but can often be seen as arrogant and patronising, and I always try to give my audience the credibility I think they deserve. It tends to be appreciated. I have discussed some things that have been over the heads of some people so have subsequently kept it simple (largely brain related jokes, as I can go on for hours about my chosen subject). One thing I won’t do is be scientifically inaccurate. So you can guess that pseudoscience doesn’t get much mercy from me if it comes up.

8. Do you think there is a limit to what science comedy can talk about/explain and why?

There is a limit, but it’s not a rigid one. It depends on the act, audience and situation. A typical comedy audience only has a finite amount of patience, and this alters if alcohol is involved. There are many ways to explain a subject which is outside the ‘normal’ arena of general understanding, but this can be said for any subject. A 15 minute set about the metaphorical underpinnings of a classic poem such as Beowulf can easily be as complex as a science based set, but if addressed with patience and a consistent level of humour there’s no reason why it won’t work. If a complex science subject is explained by an act that can maintain attention and make it entertaining then it shouldn’t be a problem. People are willing to listen to anything they enjoy, so making science enjoyable is one of the main reasons I do Science comedy. One thing I would advise anyone attempting to do the same is that, in science comedy, the comedy comes first. It needs to be funny, and then it can accommodate as much science as it can take before it stops being funny. Being educational is fine, but that isn’t the point of a comedy gigs, and the audience knows that very well.