How I Learned to Stop Worrying

After a long bout of laziness and transport hang-ups I finally started attending Skeptics in the Pub again. For anyone unfamiliar with these types of event they are casual / enjoyable / laid back lectures and presentations on a variety of science and sceptical-based topics, the ones I previously attended discussed alternative medicine and psychic conmen.

The talk on Monday was titled ‘Progress in Astronomy’s Big Questions or How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the 21st Century’ and was presented by Chris Lintott, an astronomer who works on the BBC’s Sky at Night. Chris was personable and engaging, and made what could possibly be very tricky information understandable and clear. The talk touched on a lot of topics within astronomy, which was great for an astropleb like me, though anyone more familiar with the subject may not have learned much, but that is the risk with any talk, I suppose.

Physics, with astronomy in particular, have a weird effect on me. This effect is characterised by i) existential dread, which then morphs slowly into being ii) seriously chilled out. Had I gone expecting this ‘drop tower’-style ride of emotion, I would not have been disappointed.

Some of the current theories and hypotheses of astronomy seem custom made to blow minds. The observation that only around 4% of the Universe is made from regular matter is deeply, deeply odd. It also suggests that use of the term ‘regular matter’ is ill-advised, given that since it’s in the minority that kind of matter is actually highly irregular. It is currently thought that 23% of all stuff in the Universe is dark matter, which is stuff that we cannot see, but whose effect is observable on ‘regular matter’. That is to say if a certain planet should be moving in a perfectly circular orbit (illustrated here O) and it isn’t, it follows that there is some invisible matter whose gravity is affecting it. Having climbed up to this level of understanding, it is then necessary to make another difficult clinb. We have matter: stuff we can see, dark matter: stuff we can’t see, and then in order to make calculations work in simulations, we get dark energy. We cannot directly observe dark matter, and from my understanding we don’t even know where or what dark energy is, how it works or where it’s coming from. However, when factored into calculations, we end up with models that correlate almost entirely with the Universe we see, which strongly suggests that dark energy is in fact there, and it makes up over 70% of what makes up the Universe.

It is this sort of information that leads to what I mentioned in point i). How am I meant to shield myself from complete intellectual meltdown when the vast majority of the Universe is made from something no one understands? I dabbed at my ears with a kerchief to stem the flow of brain (there’s little more embarrassing than rogue brain matter in a beard) and continued to listen as the topic changed.

So, according to Google the speed of light is 299 792 458 m / s, and I have no reason to distrust Google, after all it knows everything, and is my friend. And, of course, as we all know, nothing can go faster than the speed of light, right? Wrong, apparently. By this time my poor kerchief is aflood with grey matter, so fully has my brain been blown. According to observations, distant galaxies are moving away from us very fast indeed, of this much I was aware. However, I was informed, these distant galaxies are in fact moving away from us at around 40 times faster than the speed of light. I would have thought this would have been a problematic observation, but the solution to it is akin to stepping outside of the Matrix. The speed of light is not the fastest that anything can travel. The speed of light is the fastest that anything can travel THROUGH SPACE. The answer is that because space itself is expanding, this is contributing to the speed at which those distant galaxies are moving away. The speed at which space is expanding is not subject to the same limitations as are things moving through space, so it seems that it can expand however fast it bloody well wants to. At this point I’ve run out of brains and it is the actual structure of my skull that is now crumbling.

So with all the factors contributing to seemingly insurmountable levels of i), how does astronomy bring it back around?

The answer is stunning pictures and videos. Since Chris is a working astronomer, some of the talk was able to focus on very recent research, footage and images. He talked of the Sloan Survey Telescope in New Mexico which created a 3D map of large tracts of the local areas of the Universe, and we were also treated to images from the Hubble Deep Field telescope, which are always a delight. It is in these images that I find myself becoming ii). Such a simple technique, a pull back and reveal, applied to these pictures of such enormous complexity and depth, is so immeasurably soothing. As the picture pulls out, revealing layer upon layer of blips, swirls and clouds of light, each individually a galaxy, and as you focus on the foreground all the galaxies we have previously passed form a majestic, near infinite cloudscape in the background. Stunningly, stunningly beautiful. So, why does this in particular chill me out so much?

Perhaps the most fallacious component in the human psyche is our own inflated sense of self importance. It is very difficult for us to view any state of affairs from anything other than an anthropocentric vantage point. This is where all religion comes from in my opinion. We look at the world and from our observations we see a world, and in fact a universe, that doesn’t care about us at all. Humans indiscriminately die for no moral reason, simply due to the chaotic nature of things. This is an unpleasant situation to consider, and so there is no end of imagination and wish-thinking that we will go to in order to convince ourselves that this isn’t the case. For me, the deep field astronomical images are the perfect remedy for this problem. When confronted with this reality, it is impossible to countenance our wishful thinking. It isn’t negative to be freed from our fantasy in this case, for while it strips us of the false comfort of eternity and supernatural protection, the simple vastness of the scope of the Universe, for me at least, is an incredibly comforting thing. In my life I worry about a lot of things. Some of these things it makes sense to worry about: whether there is enough food to eat, a place to sleep, people around that I can rely on and whose company I enjoy. However, there are a large number of things I worry about that aren’t of any use. Wandering around alone in public I find myself very self-conscious, though in attempting to define the exact nature of that anxiety I find it difficult to actually explain. Am I anxious about people watching me, judging me? I think that is part of it. Also, days are filled with numerous unimportant encounters which, if you allow them to, can colour your life, bogging you down in petty concerns. These are the anchors which those images cut loose, for me anyway. I am vastly cheered by those pictures, because I can go about my business far happier, for a short while at least I am possessed of a fresh perspective which allows me to discount events and concerns for which there is no reason or function in allotting any importance.

I have been really cheerful ever since Monday, because I spent some time bathing in images of other galaxies.

Also I learned a little about the Universe where we live, in the company of pleasant people, and it only cost £3. All in all, time, money and effort well spent.

I believe a talk is planned for December if possible, though none is currently booked in. The next talk on the books of Cardiff Skeptics in the Pub is on Monday, February the 20th and is titled ‘Why Nothing Matters’. That sounds like I’ll be so chilled out afterwards I might need assistance leaving the building.

http://cardiff.skepticsinthepub.org/
http://www.facebook.com/groups/123642454331540/

Here Is What I Have Been Doing In Far Too Much Detail

Busy, busy, busy. Ish.

Due to my few-hours afternoon job, I am usually free to lollop around and sleep through the morning every day, but it seems as though the fates have conspired to ensure that this week my mornings have been booked, forcing me out of my lazy stupor. Properly booked in as well, I have a diary and everything. And I wrote the stuff in there to be sure I remembered. I was proud of how grown up I am become but then I remembered that I turn 22 next week so perhaps my pride is more than slightly hubristic. I have far more of a tee-hee-hee mentality than my age can honestly justify. Although I have to counter that by saying I also have a streak of bleak cynicism also. This is now turning into a sell-yourself love ad, which is depressing for many reasons which I have no vested interest in pursuing.

My Monday morning enforced wake-up was due to more training I (and my broadcompadre) was undertaking in order to be fighting fit when the station goes live. I have chosen this phraseology as I enjoy the image of a radio station coming to life and rearing up like the Megazord, from off’ve the Power Rangers (Mighty Morphin’). I have a similar lexical imaginings when it comes to the line “The hills are alive” which conjures up visions of a golem terrorising Austrians, though this is ruined by the arrival of the line “with the sound of music”.

What I have learnt from my two radio training sessions is that people who are in the business of training are cruel people indeed. There is a definite method to the training process, which is to shock and frighten the trainees initially, and then eventually tell them they are great and their show will be brilliant. I resent this emotionally trying method, where the anally retentive radio schedule must be adhered to SIEG HEIL! but then also make sure to be yourself in the show, whilst not forgetting to cater for the community, and for god’s sake don’t forget to press the button when its time for the news and for god’s sake don’t say for god’s sake on the air because people complain more about blasphemy than swearing. Whether that last fact is true across the entire country I’m not sure, but it certainly is the case that in South Wales at least, the people with Ofcom on speed dial are the aged religious watchdogs, quick to do some stomping on any anti-religious broadcast. Jordi Cruijff! It is likely our show may not become a fast favourite among the religious contingent, as every pre-record so far contains off-hand bashing of christian rock (whose initial c was automatically capitalised, but I have gone back to make it lower case, because I am subversive as a U-boat).

My Tuesday was spent taking the puppy to the vet for routine jabs and flea spraying, where he was incredibly well behaved, and if I was a less staunchly serious individual I would describe his conduct as ‘brave’. I was later messed around by the clinic, who arranged an appointment for me to fill out some forms for criminal compensation, sat me in the waiting room, only to tell me 10 minutes later that the doctor wouldn’t be in today. Which I was pleased with, obviously. The meeting was rearranged for Wednesday, and the doctor was stand-offish and unnecessarily curt, harrumph. I am easily displeased.

Today I was awake in order to attend a corporate welcome, where I was reassured I was important, before I was able to grab as many free pens and key-rings as I clandestinely could, before slipping away without anyone noticing. Because I am important.

I was actually in something of a grump as I sat myself at an empty table, only to have the table sporadically and systematically fill up with each new arrival picking the seat furthest away from me. It was then that I fully realised that I can be quite inapproachable, decorated as I am with an intimidating beard and an automatic vacant grimace. The man stood behind the pensions stall seemed to appreciate my social awkwardness, just as I appreciated that he looked like a stretched Gordon Brown (stretched upwards) though I’m sure he realised my tenuous and superficial questioning about pensions was actually a wafer-thin premise to help myself to free pens. It takes a significant amount of social awkwardness to keep me away from free pens.

By my own introspective reckoning I am a social dualist, where, depending on my mood, I can be either Jekyll or Hyde. Although more accurately, I can be either extremely socially confident, or a complete hide-away. Last Friday I managed both within the space of a few hours.

I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to talk about it for fear of looking like a self-aggrandising hubristic tool, but I did an open spot in Cardiff, and it went really well. However it was a prime example of the awkwardness I am capable of.

The Chapter Arts Centre has been recently refurbished, but some sections of it are still being renovated, which is why there was a section just off the room where the comedy was being held that was pitched in complete darkness. After saying a stilted awkward hello to the organiser and noting to myself the good omen that was the opening strains of Desmond Dekker’s 007 (Shanty Town) drifting from the room, I retired to the dark place to wait, which must have looked like a creepy weirdo attempting to be tortured and artistic. It wasn’t. I felt as though since I hadn’t offered to help set up the room during the initial meeting, doing so now would look like a limp gesture, so I hid away. And instead of talking to other human beings, I decided to wait in the dark wrestling with my imagined faux pas. Or my faux-faux pas if you please.

Later I decided to loiter awkwardly just inside the door, where I failed to talk to Iszi Lawrence because the opening gambit that came to mind was “I follow you on twitter” and I decided it would be better just to look suspicious in the corner. Suspicious in the corner is a look, I discovered, I was born to wear, as my thought process of: “she’s tall, I wonder if she’s wearing heels, no she’s wearing two-tone shoes, two-tone shoes are cool, let’s look a the two-tone shoes for a bit” actually left me with a bowed head looking as though I was unashamedly ogling. I would like to take this opportunity to exclaim that I was not. I strive to do my level best never to ogle, and in situations where there are instances of ogling, there is always an abundance of shame.

When stood at the front of the room being funny, a situation where ogling is encouraged (hypocrisy), I was equally enthralled, although the compliment that you are at least as amusing/interesting as your shoes is probably not the sort of praise anyone wants. Some consolation can be taken in the fact that she is being compared to very engrossing shoes, and also in the fact that this entire mess of a paragraph exists only because I can’t find an interesting way to say: “Iszi Lawrence did some jokes, she was really funny”.

She mentioned her podcast at the end of her set (the self-publicising random insult!), which I was glad of because now I have 60+ episodes with which to block out the inane warblings of 11-year-olds choking each other. I think that was the exact reason those podcasts were recorded, and if at the end of my life I have created something that can be used in order to drown out children, then I will be able to donate my usable organs and have the rest of me cremated a happy corpse.

First prize for funny goes to Ben Partridge who doused himself violently with water in order to rouse a reticent crowd, stipulating that if they were unable to laugh at a sodden man, they wouldn’t laugh at anything. They laughed.

Also, my set went really well, did I mention that?