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Theatre, props and explanations, oh my!

A few weeks ago I was part of a crack team of science presenters (James Piercy, Debbie Syrop  and Matt Pritchard) presenting a session at the Science Communication Conference, How not to present science. It consisted of our favourite pet hates, brought to life, and a number of people have asked for notes on the session. I thought I’d provide my ‘script’ on one section, titled The World Cringing Championships.

The premise had my co-presenters on a sofa with ‘buzzers’ commenting on my cringeworthy performance, whilst I attempted to break every ‘rule’ in the science communicators’ handbook. This was very peculiar to put together, as I was deliberately trying to insert comments and foibles that I’ve spent over a decade deliberately minimising, or intentionally inserting comments that don’t come naturally. It was joyfully liberating, however, to know that whatever went wrong on stage I could assert was my intention all along.

Hover over the link text for a note on the ‘mistake’.

Enters stage slowly. Looks around sheepishly. Look back to door, continue to centre stage.

Oh, crap. This is much more intimidating than I thought
Suddenly changes to being a bit too extrovert, but uncertain.

Hello!

OK, so well,

I want to talk about dinosaurs because I really really like dinosaurs, so you should all really really like dinosaurs too. ‘Cause they are really cool and stuff.

In a statistical survey, 73% of Daily Mail readers, said the most important dinosaur was the Tyrannosaurus rex, but I don’t want to talk to you about the T. rex I want to talk about my favourite dinosaur which is the Parasaurolophus.

That’s a funny name, isn’t it? Parasaurolophus. Could you all say it with me,
after three,

One,

Two,

Two and a half,

Three.

Pa-ra-sau-ro-lo-phus

I can’t hear you…

PA-RA-SAU-RO-LO-PHUS!

I’ve got a really funny joke. You’re going to love this.

How did the dinosaur stay dry in the rain? He used a parasololophus.

Ha! I’m so funny.
That’s brilliant, that. It’s a parasol, a bit like an umbrella, but used in the sun.

Do you get it? Parasololophus!

The Parasaurolophus was a dinosaur from the Jurassic period, I think. Maybe it was the Cretaceous. I’m pretty sure it was Jurassic.

At this point I saw a colleague who is knowledgeable about dinosaurs in the audience, so I asked him. He said Cretaceous.

I’ll just check my script.

I was right and you were wrong. indicating to audience member.

The Parasaurolophus was from the Cretaceous.
Just before they all died out. Maybe it was one of those hit on the head by a meteor. I must look that up on Wikipedia.

The Parasaurolophus was a herbivore, so it was just like a cow.

Oh no. I forgot something. OK, just ignore that and I’ll come back to it in a bit What I wanted to say was that the Parasaurolophus was a special dinosaur because they had these special long crests on the back of their special heads.

I should really have brought a photograph for you to see, but you all know the one I mean, don’t you, it’s been in Jurassic Park and everything.

Anyway, Dinosaur scientists worked with other special scientists who did CT scans of the skulls and found that inside there were tubes and passages and hollows. Other scientists thought that maybe these passages were used like a nose trumpet to make noises.

Struggle to pick up, then wear a large ‘parasaurolophus’ skull.

Play badly through trombone mouthpiece.

Jesus Christ. This is harder than it looks.

Do we have any trombonists in the audience who don’t mind sharing my spit?

I think I’m over the worst of my cold last week, I’m probably not contagious anymore, anyhow.

Nobody? I’ll give it another go myself, then.

But that’s just one theory of what the crest might have been for. I have my own ideas.

So, Parasaurolophus was a herbivore, as I mentioned earlier. Just like a cow. And we all know that cows produce a lot of methane gas. Well, imagine if, instead of coming out one way, the gas came out the other. Now, imagine that the crest is full of methane gas. That could be really dangerous if there was a lightning strike nearby.

Safety first. Of course, this is a dangerous experiment , but I’m a qualified professional, it’s not as if I did a humanities degree.

I have taken all the necessary precautions. Does anyone know where the fire extinguishers are?

I burned the risk assessment when I did this last. The venue didn’t ask for one anyway. Some people take this Health and Safety malarkey all too seriously.

Anyway. Who’d like to be my volunteer?

Indicate volunteer from audience,  Jamie Gallagher volunteered, as he was half way to the stage: 

No, not you. I need someone a bit more normal looking.

Jamie then went to sit back down. Unsurprisingly nobody else volunteered. I searched the first few rows for people I recognised that I could pick on. There was nobody, so I called Jamie up after all.

Took volunteer name. Stood inappropriately close. Put arm around them. Called him love/darling.

Right, Tristan, I want you to hold this tube.

Placed tube for maximum opportunity for inappropriate banter. Began to blow bubbles into glass. Continued slowly for maximum comedy value. Took a handful of bubbles.

OK, so now I need to light it.

Oh. I can’t find my lighter.

Does anyone have a lighter?

Take lighter from co-presenter.

By now the bubbles have all burst..

Oh cock. This never works for me.

Go back to refill. Smile inappropriately at volunteer. Indicate to gas bladder:

Have you got any more in there?
Attempts to light fail.

Yup. So this never works. But you can all imagine a big flame in my hand, right?

A huge big thank you to my wonderful volunteer Godfrey who has done an amazing job holding that tube. It’s much harder than it looks. Good job!

And there’s so much more I could tell you about the Parasaurolophus, but we’re out of time, so I’ll just remind you that dinosaurs are really really cool, right. And they might have made noises like those funny bagpipe things the Scots like to play when they are not too busy stuffing their pasty faces full of deep fried Mars bars.

Turn to judges:

No, no, I’m not racist, I once had a one-night stand with a Scot.

Jamie, a Scot, still standing on stage starts to shake his head.

She had a thing about deep fried mars bars.

Look around the stage. As if lost.

OK, That’s me done.

Walk off stage leaving volunteer floundering.

Of course, we’ve all been guilty of one or another of these no-nos, sometimes they have even turned out to be the funniest bits. But we should also hold ourselves to higher standards. Consideration and preparation are key in maintaining high production values, which is what science communicators should strive towards, isn’t it?

Clearly, there are very many comments of significant cringeworthiness in this post, so many that I lost patience in highlighting them all. How many did you find?

I’ve just started teaching circular motion to my Year 12s. There are some obvious demonstrations you can do when teaching this topic, such as spinning a bucket of water around your head, but I’m somewhat ashamed to admit that I’ve only just discovered the floating cork accelerometer which can be used to illustrate a key idea for this topic. Watch the video to see what I mean.

Massive thank you to my colleague Ronan McDonald for making the big accelerometer and volunteering to get dizzy.

[Edit 18/6/2013 – this post inspired a lively discussion at the Institute of Physics PTNC mailing list for physics teachers, which is a hidden gem of a community and a list every teacher of physics should at least be aware of. Sign up via the web interface. Thanks to everyone who cross-posted their comments here.

Joe Rowling had a nice blog post a few days before this, too – well worth a look if circular motion is your thing.

—JJS.]

One reason for this site’s very existence is to try to connect the worlds of teaching and science communication. They have different needs and objectives, and they’ll use demos in different ways, but they’ll be the same demos.

So, teachers – here’s something from the world beyond the school lab, Maker Faire UK:

Maker Faire is very much its own brand of lunacy, but it captures something that for a specific type of geek is spectacularly good for the soul. And it turns out that type of geek is everywhere, in every field. The range of disciplines and the way they weave together (sometimes literally) is staggering. This year’s was the biggest UK Faire yet, with 10,000 visitors over the weekend.

I’m a huge fan of Maker Faire, and the softly-spoken, quietly-enthusiastic Dale Dougherty is a wonderful host.

The point of science is to be evidence-based. Teaching science in a non-evidence-based way is a deeply ironic way to miss the point.
— Ian Horsewell.

The Nuffield film (see below) has also been published on the Guardian website, and the comments there are worth reading. Grit your teeth first, but do stay until you read Ian Horsewell’s masterpiece. Of course, the standard of comment on Guardian blog posts is one of those things people on Twitter get angry about. Ahem.

The i-Biology blog writes a terrific response and meditation on the film in our previous post, and also includes this wonderful rant about chemistry demonstrations:

I think chemists have it tough when it comes to demos. Tougher than physicists, but in an odd way tougher than biologists too. Sure, there are precious few well-known biology demos (a subject for future posts, I’m sure), but chemistry is… hmm.

Look, I did a year of degree-level chemistry. I loved IR spectrometers. The only proper research paper to which I contributed was in computational chemistry. But I never really “got” chemistry. I never found that the practical work I did gave me confidence in the models I’d been taught, in part because of the bizarre ‘atomic model of the week’ strategy of late-80s A-levels. You know, the one where you’d just got comfortable with one particular version of How The World Works, only to have it pulled out from under your feet and replaced with something even more implausible. I found my eventual introduction to quantum mechanics a blessed relief, but then I’m weird.

My point is: I love chemistry demonstrations as theatre, but I’m squarely in the camp of not being able to remember any of the chemistry involved. What I think of as a ‘good’ physics demo reinforces or challenges my understanding of the principle behind it, but I rarely find the same sense of satisfaction in chemistry demos.

Is that because I’m a physicist; because chemistry demos are often used inappropriately; or because chemistry is somehow different?

Answers on the back of a £50 note to the usual address. Oh, and do check out the post at iBiology.

Alom and I made this film for the Nuffield Foundation’s new Practical Work for Learning website, which they’ve recently launched and are building up into a sizeable resource. The film tries to point up some of the pitfalls of practical work in the classroom context, and suggest approaches for improvement.

My problem with the film – and I write this as its director – is that I think it’s dull. Which I believe reduces its effectiveness, ironically. So it’s something of a relief to read comments like this:

Watching this video has definitely made me think and reflect on my own practice and I am looking forward to exploring the readings and resources on the Nuffield Foundation website

…from teacher Nicole Hinton’s blog.

Alom and I come at practical work from opposite directions, almost at opposite ends of the ‘exciting’/'educational’ spectrum. One of the things we hope to hash out on ScienceDemo.org is why we agree on so much – including, for example, how ludicrous it is to present ‘exciting’ and ‘educational’ as somehow mutually exclusive.

Science communication legend Ben Craven was in London over the weekend, giving me the chance to grab a quick bite with him while he waited for his train at King’s Cross. It also gave him time to show me a surprising demo related to his love of arches and for me to try out filming on my new iPhone 5. The picture quality is way better than my crappy old iPhone 3GS but the sound is problematic for doing something like this. Might need to invest in a lavalier mic of some sort…

[Oh, I see: requisitioning equipment via the blog. That's your game, is it? Tsk. – Ed.]

This is a lovely demo shown to me by Andreas Tober, the Physics technician at Alleyn’s School in Dulwich, London (which also happens to be the secondary school I attended. I left shortly before Andreas started, but we’ve somehow managed to become friends anyway. Gotta love the internet). I think this is a lovely, simple way to introduce the idea of absorption spectra. I will definitely be using it in my physics teaching next year.

Speaking of Michael de Podesta (see comments on previous post. Also: autocorrect wants to transmogricate ‘Podesta’ to ‘Pedestal’), he’s blogging the development of the NPL’s stand for the Royal Society Summer Exhibition. Well worth keeping an eye on for some background about what goes into a good demo. Knowing Michael, there’ll be some extremely subtle and smart thinking involved.

(Michael presented some of our physics demo films, shot in one of the archive rooms at the NPL‘s kind invitation.)

jellybaby wave machine

I would really like to take credit for “The Alom Shaha Motor” and “Alom Shaha’s jellybaby wave machine” because they’re two of my favorite demonstrations to use in class, but I can only wish that I had had the ingenuity to devise either of them. I’ve put my own spin on a few demos but the only thing I think I’ve invented from scratch was something to illustrate how the Mercator map projection works for an Adam Hart-Davis TV programme.

I’ve no idea who invented the simple electric motor demo, so that person is not credited in the film Jonathan and I made for our series of physics demonstration films for the National STEM Centre and IOP. But we do know who invented the jelly babywave machine… well, kind-of.

The first jellybaby wave machine was built for the Children’s ITV series The Big Bang, produced by Jonathan back in 2004. Whilst working at the Royal Institution years earlier, he’d seen a wave machine made of wood and metal. He’d wanted to recreate it in a way that children watching the show could build, and with his colleagues David Pitt and Luke Donnellan, came up with the now-famous jellybaby version. 150,000 or so young TV viewers would have seen it when that particular episode of The Big Bang was broadcast.

Surprisingly – perhaps because it was only shown on children’s TV in the days before YouTube – it didn’t become widely used by science teachers, even though it really is a fantastic way of introducing wave phenomena in the classroom. So Jonathan and I are delighted that the more recent film we made seems to have taken it into classrooms all over the world. Videos are a great way of sharing science demonstrations and it’s wonderful that the internet allows teachers and science communicators to find ones that are new to them, but I think it’s a bit of a shame that we rarely acknowledge the originators of these wonderful things we call demos. So, two questions to you, dear reader:

  1. Can you name any classic demonstrations for which you know the inventor?
  2. Do you claim to have invented any demo yourself?