I managed to forget completely about this, but early in the year I did an interview with Peter Agre, a lovely man who also happens to be a Nobel Prize winner. (Oh, and the President of the AAAS).
Agre picked up the award in 2003 for his "serendipitous" discovery of aquaporins - water channel proteins in cells - which had far-reaching implications for neuroscience.
Unfortunately, it looks like I don't get a byline (boo!) but here's the pdf - the quality's not the best, mind.
What an honour.
3 November 2009
2 November 2009
Peaches Geldof's shaky grasp of science
Well done Marina Hyde for picking up on Peaches Geldof's shaky grasp of science in the Guardian last week. Not only did Ms Geldof manage to equate quantum physics and the Big Bang with scientology, as Hyde points out, she also claimed that at the Large Hadron Collider "they" (being "the scientists", I guess) are "trying to make a black hole".
Um. I'm not a physicist, but I don't think they're actually trying to make a black hole - or at least, that's not the main aim. The main aim, as Geek Dad rightly points out, is to find the Higg's boson - the subatomic particle, that, if identified, would help fill in the gaps in the Standard Model of the atom.
Unfortunately, presenter Fearne Cotton wasn't equipped to point out her mistakes. Which is fair enough, being a TV presenter and all.
I'm not saying you can't be interested in this stuff if you're not a scientist. But it did seem as though Peaches was far too concerned with showing off her "weird" personality and, presumably, "weird" interests - oh it's so weird to be interested in physics - that she forgot to look up the details.
Given the influence of celebrity, it's vaguely worrying.
Um. I'm not a physicist, but I don't think they're actually trying to make a black hole - or at least, that's not the main aim. The main aim, as Geek Dad rightly points out, is to find the Higg's boson - the subatomic particle, that, if identified, would help fill in the gaps in the Standard Model of the atom.
Unfortunately, presenter Fearne Cotton wasn't equipped to point out her mistakes. Which is fair enough, being a TV presenter and all.
I'm not saying you can't be interested in this stuff if you're not a scientist. But it did seem as though Peaches was far too concerned with showing off her "weird" personality and, presumably, "weird" interests - oh it's so weird to be interested in physics - that she forgot to look up the details.
Given the influence of celebrity, it's vaguely worrying.
28 October 2009
All star turn out (briefly)
Amazing. We (at Sounds of Science) planned a “Night Under the Stars” and, unbelievably, got a clear, dry night – at least until about 9.30pm. Luckily, by this time, most people had managed to get a quick peep through the telescope at the Moon and Jupiter. And thanks to ExplorerDome, we had already been able to entertain our crowd in something resembling a giant womb – check out the picture below. (Actually an inflatable planetarium).
It was good to see so many people turn up who had no prior knowledge of astronomy. And that Jim’s 6am slot on Original 106.5 (there’s a clip here) wasn’t wasted… the one man it attracted said he thoroughly enjoyed himself.
Thanks to IOP for providing the great star guide leaflets, and some rather lovely pin badges, which proved particularly popular. And well done to presenter Matina for successfully creating a comet in her hands-on science demonstration – here’s everyone crowding round to look.
Unfortunately, given the prerequisite of it being dark for the outdoor star spotting, there are no pictures of us all enjoying this part of the show.
Anyone who’s reading this after attending the show should definitely check out the International Year of Astronomy web pages for further info. And if you’re keen to hear more from Jim geeking out about space, he can normally be found doing this at least once a month on the Geek Pop podcast, which straddles science and music, usually with quite a heavy space bias (Pink Floyd’s ‘Eclipse’ etc etc). Or if you want something specifically astronomy based, we recommend the US podcast Astronomy Cast.
16 October 2009
Fringe: minor quibbles
Yeah, so I discovered Fringe, recently... It's not the most scientifically accurate of programmes is it? Nevertheless, I've managed to get ever so slightly hooked.
This is really just to get a few minor annoyances out of the way.
1) Words in title sequence include "nanotechnology". Really? Fringe science? Actually, I'd say nanotech was firmly in the middle of the carpet, but anyhoo.
2) Exactly what is Walter I-Spent-17-Years-In-A-Psychiatric-Hospital-But-Can-Still-Remember-Where-I-Put-My-Magnetic-Neurostimulator-Which-Incidentally-Still-Works Bishop's area of expertise? "Ah, this reminds me of an experiment I was working on in 1977." Every time. Amazing.
3) Astrid.
4) Um, sorry to get all feminist. BUT. FBI Agent Olivia Dunham climbing "naked" (actually, she wears functional but mildly alluring black underwear) into a tank of... oh, I don't know... so she can "sync" her brain with her dead boyfriend?
So, those (and a few other things) aside, I'm quite enjoying it. Even with Pacey from Dawson's Creek in it.
6 October 2009
NanoMed: hype and healthy imagination
So, this was the scene for the second working group meeting on Communication for the NanoMed project I've been involved in. Idyllic, isn't it?By way of explanation, a group of about 15 of us arrived in Garmisch-Partenkirchen in Germany last week to discuss a set of recommendations for communicating about nanomedicine. The aim is to produce a document, by the end of October, that will inform policymaking in the EU. Our group is one of five - the others are Patient Needs, Ethics and Societal Impact, Economic Impact and Regulation.
Despite the distractions of mountain and lake, we were remarkably productive and have now managed to put together an outline of our recommendations ahead of the final meeting in November. Since they are far from set in stone, I won't hint at what these might be, but something quite interesting that arose from the meeting was the recognition of a kind of tension between hype and healthy imagination surrounding new technologies.
One of the case studies we looked at included a film featuring futuristic notions about nanomedicine applications - in particular, a kind of in-body monitoring system operated by a touchscreen on the back of the user's hand. According to the film, such a system would employ nanotechnology to diagnose and monitor disease and could, for instance, help diabetics to keep tabs on their blood sugar levels.
Whilst the idea generated some degree of merriment and scepticism around the table, there was also very real concern about giving patients false hope. This was countered by two arguments: first, that hope is an important aspect of patient psychology, and secondly, that imagination and creativity are what drive advances in science and technology. (Support for this second argument can be seen in the development of technologies inspired by Star Trek).
Personally, I think it's important to dream, but then I would say that - I'm a "creative". We can't stop people creating these kinds of fantastic visions - how boring would the world of science communication (and the world in general) be if we did? At the same time, it's obviously important to take a measured approach and help people to understand how close to reality these visions actually are. In the end, we all had to agree to disagree and, in fact, I think this is probably the right outcome.
25 August 2009
All greenwashed out
Last weekend I got a phone call that somehow resulted in me agreeing to organise a science/comedy panel show about greenwashing at Green Man Festival - the following weekend. This'll be okay, I thought. I'm a writer. I know about environmental stuff. So I'll just write a bunch of questions, get some comedians along and Bob's your uncle - one science/comedy panel show.Ha.
Thing is, greenwashing isn't innately that funny. If you haven't come across the term, it basically refers to organisations pretending to be green for some sort of benefit, such as more customers, more voters etc. One example that eventually made it into the quiz was the stationer Ryman and its "carbon-neutral paper". Actually, the paper is grown on monoculture eucalyptus plantations on the edge of the Amazon and isn't recycled in any way. (Thanks Fred Pearce of the Guardian). So it's not what you'd call a cheap joke. Which is why co-host Jim and I decided to insert some real cheap jokes. Hoorah!
Yep. Faced with the prospect of a science/comedy panel show containing zero comedy, we resorted to toilet humour. We dreamed up some imaginary companies - so as to avoid getting sued - and fashioned some crude props, resulting in the Green Spin round, in which up-and-coming nerd comedian Chris Dunford was forced to sell giant tissues on the basis of their environmental credentials. So where's the toilet humour? Er. These were Man Sized Tissues... made by the Wan Corporation. Still not getting it? Ask Jim to explain it to you because I'm too polite.
To his credit, Chris' sales pitch was one of the funniest things I've seen in a while, only surpassed by his ad-libbed stand-up routine later that evening, whilst the man from Winter North Atlantic took an extraordinarily long time setting up what was essentially a keyboard.
But what's my point? I guess it comes back to an issue that I touched on in an earlier post. It's difficult to make jokes about science because if they're truly going to be jokes about science you risk alienating half your audience with ideas and terminology they're unfamiliar with. I guess greenwashing isn't such a hard concept to grasp, but some of the bits that made me laugh the hardest weren't exactly grounded in science e.g. comedy poet Nathan Filer in the "Complete the Slogan" round. Question: ______-friendly to ______-free (General Motors). Nathan's answer: "Is it 'Be Friendly to Jeff-free?'" (Real answer: Gas-friendly to gas-free).
All in all, we were pretty happy with how it went. It was like a poorly edited Mock the Week with more obvious cheating. (That sounds like a bad thing, but it's a good thing, I think.) And the audience seemed to enjoy it. I think you just have to realise that you can't crowbar in the science to these things. You have to let everyone do what they do best and if your main aim is comedy then you have to get the best comedians you can find and let them go wild. Any science that stays in is a bonus.
8 August 2009
Why I'm a writer, not a scientist
A scientist told me recently that nothing would ever convince him to leave science - it is, he claimed, the most exciting job in the world. He couldn't understand why, having completed undergraduate studies in biological sciences, I would have wanted to do anything else. When I admitted I had spent a brief spell in a lab and decided it wasn't for me - I quickly turned from research to reporting on it - it filled him with nothing but grief.
It's not that I don't find science interesting (obviously), it's that I find too much of it interesting. Whereas some people get their kicks from learning as much as they can about one particular thing, I get mine from learning as much as I can about lots of different things. Neither is better. I'm just saying: I like writing because I get to explore widely different areas of science.
I'm sure there are plenty of scientists who can't understand the need for science journalists or science communicators at all, who think that scientists themselves would do a better job. Let's get it straight. Science journalists don't necessarily think that they can explain a piece of research better than the scientist who did the research, although in some cases that may be true. Rather, they have (hopefully) an unbiased perspective and an understanding of their audience.
More to the point though: we like doing it. For a scientist trying to juggle research with writing academic papers and supervising PhD students, writing newspaper and magazine articles on the side isn't going to be a lot of fun. (There are some mad people who try to do both and claim to enjoy it, but I can't believe it. Or, at least, something's going to have to give eventually.) But we do it because it's our job and - need I say it again? - we like it. That's not to say anyone who likes writing about science will make a good science writer, but it's pretty much a condition of being one. Because not many of us make our millions this way.
There seems to be a school of thought that says that the best science communicators are scientists - real, in-the-lab, doing experiments, writing academic papers-type scientists. Maybe it's true. But, crucially, not all scientists are great communicators, or even half-decent communicators. And not all scientists want to communicate about their science, however exciting it may be. Most of them probably just want to go down the pub at the end of the day. (See, we do have something in common). Thus, there's an awful lot of science that wouldn't get communicated if someone else didn't do it.
And who's to say that you need to have spent a decade in a lab to make a good science writer? What's wrong with a little perspective? A good grasp on what society thinks is important? The ability to make connections between different areas of research and between different disciplines entirely? All just as important as understanding the scientific process.
Of course, scientists should be wary of bad journalists who don't do their research and twist what has been said, but there are also a lot of good journalists, especially among specialist science writers. And having claimed - very speculatively - that some scientists don't see the point of science writers, most scientists I speak to are very respectful of what I do. That said, for the most part, neither of us would rather be doing the other one's job.
Incidentally, whether or not it's more important to actually do the science or report on it is, I think, a moot point. We each have to do the things that we enjoy, don't we? And no matter how important the science itself may be, it's got to be reported, right? Unless we're living in some sort of crazy-ass society where we put billions of pounds/dollars/[repeat for every currency so as not to offend] into research that nobody ever gets to hear about, I'd say "yes".
I must point out that I'm not trying to drive any sort of a wedge between scientists and the media - as if there wasn't a huge, great doorstep-sized wedge there already - I'm just trying to say that I think we sometimes misunderstand each other. Science writers don't write about science because they're failed scientists. They do it because it's fascinating, because it gives them something different to think about each day, because they get a buzz out of learning something new and telling people about it. Or am I only speaking for myself?
So, in a round about sort of way, I'm trying to explain that I won't be leaving science writing for science - ever. As far as I'm concerned, it's the most exciting job in the world.
It's not that I don't find science interesting (obviously), it's that I find too much of it interesting. Whereas some people get their kicks from learning as much as they can about one particular thing, I get mine from learning as much as I can about lots of different things. Neither is better. I'm just saying: I like writing because I get to explore widely different areas of science.
I'm sure there are plenty of scientists who can't understand the need for science journalists or science communicators at all, who think that scientists themselves would do a better job. Let's get it straight. Science journalists don't necessarily think that they can explain a piece of research better than the scientist who did the research, although in some cases that may be true. Rather, they have (hopefully) an unbiased perspective and an understanding of their audience.
More to the point though: we like doing it. For a scientist trying to juggle research with writing academic papers and supervising PhD students, writing newspaper and magazine articles on the side isn't going to be a lot of fun. (There are some mad people who try to do both and claim to enjoy it, but I can't believe it. Or, at least, something's going to have to give eventually.) But we do it because it's our job and - need I say it again? - we like it. That's not to say anyone who likes writing about science will make a good science writer, but it's pretty much a condition of being one. Because not many of us make our millions this way.
There seems to be a school of thought that says that the best science communicators are scientists - real, in-the-lab, doing experiments, writing academic papers-type scientists. Maybe it's true. But, crucially, not all scientists are great communicators, or even half-decent communicators. And not all scientists want to communicate about their science, however exciting it may be. Most of them probably just want to go down the pub at the end of the day. (See, we do have something in common). Thus, there's an awful lot of science that wouldn't get communicated if someone else didn't do it.
And who's to say that you need to have spent a decade in a lab to make a good science writer? What's wrong with a little perspective? A good grasp on what society thinks is important? The ability to make connections between different areas of research and between different disciplines entirely? All just as important as understanding the scientific process.
Of course, scientists should be wary of bad journalists who don't do their research and twist what has been said, but there are also a lot of good journalists, especially among specialist science writers. And having claimed - very speculatively - that some scientists don't see the point of science writers, most scientists I speak to are very respectful of what I do. That said, for the most part, neither of us would rather be doing the other one's job.
Incidentally, whether or not it's more important to actually do the science or report on it is, I think, a moot point. We each have to do the things that we enjoy, don't we? And no matter how important the science itself may be, it's got to be reported, right? Unless we're living in some sort of crazy-ass society where we put billions of pounds/dollars/[repeat for every currency so as not to offend] into research that nobody ever gets to hear about, I'd say "yes".
I must point out that I'm not trying to drive any sort of a wedge between scientists and the media - as if there wasn't a huge, great doorstep-sized wedge there already - I'm just trying to say that I think we sometimes misunderstand each other. Science writers don't write about science because they're failed scientists. They do it because it's fascinating, because it gives them something different to think about each day, because they get a buzz out of learning something new and telling people about it. Or am I only speaking for myself?
So, in a round about sort of way, I'm trying to explain that I won't be leaving science writing for science - ever. As far as I'm concerned, it's the most exciting job in the world.
17 July 2009
The quest for The Ultimate Button (not the sort you wear, the sort you click)
A friend of mine, who may be found under the guise of @LovelyButtons on Twitter, is desperately seeking The Ultimate Button - or set of. As I have known this friend for many years (more than 20, actually), I have decided to do my best to help her in her quest. These (click) rather sleek-looking Apple Mac keyboard buttons are some of @LovelyButtons' most wanted, but are they really The Ultimate Buttons? Hmmm.
It all started with cash registers. As a child, @LovelyButtons had grand aspirations of becoming a shop assistant one day, so she could take charge of one of these glorious button machines. As it happened, @LovelyButtons turned out to be something of a maths whizz and is currently en route to a career as an accountant. This is not surprising - I suspect it might not be unrelated to her love of calculator buttons, in fact.
Anyway, to cut a long story short, the best part of last night was spent drawing up plans for a fantastic button experiment, which would determine once and for all the nature of The Ultimate Button. Of course, what with me being of a scientific mind, it couldn't just be a simple "Do you like this button? No? What about this one?" type of experiment...
We have so far determined a number of possible variables that could be important in button pressability:
@LovelyButtons was content to be the chief button presser in all of this, but, sticking to my scientific guns, I pointed out that we would need a fairly large sample size if we were going to create some half-decent graphs. The only problem being, of course, that all of these button pressers could have different button use histories - we would have to segment the population into plastic button users, rubber button users, and so on...
Finally it dawned on us that all of this button pressing experimentation was going to take years of work and at the end of it what would we have gained? Even if you were presented with a button purporting to be The Ultimate Button, I asked @LovelyButtons, how would you truly know that it was? Mmm? Wouldn't you wonder if, somewhere out there, a better button existed?
And yet again, here I am posting useless rubbish when I probably should be doing something far more important. But if anyone does happen to have any button-depressing measurement-type equipment, or the patience to carry out several years worth of scientific experiments involving keyboards, do let me know. Or maybe you'd like to post pictures of your favourite buttons below. Probably just as useful.
It all started with cash registers. As a child, @LovelyButtons had grand aspirations of becoming a shop assistant one day, so she could take charge of one of these glorious button machines. As it happened, @LovelyButtons turned out to be something of a maths whizz and is currently en route to a career as an accountant. This is not surprising - I suspect it might not be unrelated to her love of calculator buttons, in fact.Anyway, to cut a long story short, the best part of last night was spent drawing up plans for a fantastic button experiment, which would determine once and for all the nature of The Ultimate Button. Of course, what with me being of a scientific mind, it couldn't just be a simple "Do you like this button? No? What about this one?" type of experiment...
We have so far determined a number of possible variables that could be important in button pressability:
- Surface feel/material e.g. plastic, rubbery
- Surface shape e.g. concave, flat
- Force required to completely depress button
- Height of button
- Button-pressing noise
- Button use history/current status of presser e.g. have they always used/are they currently using a keyboard with outrageously clicky buttons?
@LovelyButtons was content to be the chief button presser in all of this, but, sticking to my scientific guns, I pointed out that we would need a fairly large sample size if we were going to create some half-decent graphs. The only problem being, of course, that all of these button pressers could have different button use histories - we would have to segment the population into plastic button users, rubber button users, and so on...
Finally it dawned on us that all of this button pressing experimentation was going to take years of work and at the end of it what would we have gained? Even if you were presented with a button purporting to be The Ultimate Button, I asked @LovelyButtons, how would you truly know that it was? Mmm? Wouldn't you wonder if, somewhere out there, a better button existed?
And yet again, here I am posting useless rubbish when I probably should be doing something far more important. But if anyone does happen to have any button-depressing measurement-type equipment, or the patience to carry out several years worth of scientific experiments involving keyboards, do let me know. Or maybe you'd like to post pictures of your favourite buttons below. Probably just as useful.
10 July 2009
Torchwood co-blog: part V, in which there are no jokes or smutty remarks
FYI, this has been a collaborative blogging effort bought to you by @Captain_Doug and @gingerbreadlady (me).
Catch-up:
Part I (by me)
Part II (by Doug)
Part III (by me)
Part IV (by Doug)
Wow.
If there are witty remarks to be made about this episode, I'm sure I don't know what they are. Words that spring immediately to mind are: dark, harrowing, bleak, depressing...
To recap, at the end of Episode III, planet Earth was ordered to surrender 10% of its children to an alien race. (Or all would perish.) We didn't know what, exactly, they were intending to do to them, but we knew it wasn't going to be all candy bars and dominoes. Today, we learn that the kids are to be kept alive to produce chemicals that make the aliens "feel good" - drugs.
So, to cut a long story short, the Government caves in and agrees to do the aliens' bidding, covering up the whole miserable affair with a rubbish and unforgivable lie about the kids being taken to have inoculations that will stop them doing the evil, scary chanting thing.
There's about three seconds when we think (hope) everything's going to fine and dandy - ten minutes from the end, when Captain Jack rips off his coat and proclaims, "Let's get to work." Then everything gets much, much darker.
Whether Jack's twisted plan makes any scientific sense, I've no idea, but I've stopped paying any attention to the physics by this point. The Captain channels a "constructive wave" (a genuine scientific term, by the seem of it, but who cares?) through his grandson, cycling the aliens' death wavelength back at them and killing his own flesh and blood in the process.
It's an extremely hard-to-watch finale, particularly as we know Jack is fully aware of what will happen. Even Mr Hayley, who never flinches at this sort of thing, is fidgety throughout.
Well, it does the trick alright - the aliens beat a hasty retreat - but we're left with a bitter taste in our mouths. And worst of all, the hateful Prime Minister seems to think it's all been a bit of a lark. He feels "lucky", apparently.
I have to say, it did make me wonder (seriously) what the Government would actually do if we were invaded by child-chemical dependent aliens... blimey, must be good storytelling.
I suppose I should take back everything I said before about predictable endings, particularly with regard to Jack's redemption. In the final scene, with only one member of the Torchwood team left alive to see him on his way, he exits Earth for a "cold fusion carrier" somewhere out in space and we're left wondering: is this the end for Torchwood? Surely not...
Catch-up:
Part I (by me)
Part II (by Doug)
Part III (by me)
Part IV (by Doug)
Wow.
If there are witty remarks to be made about this episode, I'm sure I don't know what they are. Words that spring immediately to mind are: dark, harrowing, bleak, depressing...
To recap, at the end of Episode III, planet Earth was ordered to surrender 10% of its children to an alien race. (Or all would perish.) We didn't know what, exactly, they were intending to do to them, but we knew it wasn't going to be all candy bars and dominoes. Today, we learn that the kids are to be kept alive to produce chemicals that make the aliens "feel good" - drugs.
So, to cut a long story short, the Government caves in and agrees to do the aliens' bidding, covering up the whole miserable affair with a rubbish and unforgivable lie about the kids being taken to have inoculations that will stop them doing the evil, scary chanting thing.
There's about three seconds when we think (hope) everything's going to fine and dandy - ten minutes from the end, when Captain Jack rips off his coat and proclaims, "Let's get to work." Then everything gets much, much darker.
Whether Jack's twisted plan makes any scientific sense, I've no idea, but I've stopped paying any attention to the physics by this point. The Captain channels a "constructive wave" (a genuine scientific term, by the seem of it, but who cares?) through his grandson, cycling the aliens' death wavelength back at them and killing his own flesh and blood in the process.
It's an extremely hard-to-watch finale, particularly as we know Jack is fully aware of what will happen. Even Mr Hayley, who never flinches at this sort of thing, is fidgety throughout.
Well, it does the trick alright - the aliens beat a hasty retreat - but we're left with a bitter taste in our mouths. And worst of all, the hateful Prime Minister seems to think it's all been a bit of a lark. He feels "lucky", apparently.
I have to say, it did make me wonder (seriously) what the Government would actually do if we were invaded by child-chemical dependent aliens... blimey, must be good storytelling.
I suppose I should take back everything I said before about predictable endings, particularly with regard to Jack's redemption. In the final scene, with only one member of the Torchwood team left alive to see him on his way, he exits Earth for a "cold fusion carrier" somewhere out in space and we're left wondering: is this the end for Torchwood? Surely not...
8 July 2009
Torchwood co-blog: part III, in which it all kicks off... a bit more
FYI, this is a collaborative blogging effort bought to you by @Captain_Doug and @gingerbreadlady (me). Check out Doug's blog tomorrow for the penultimate installment...
Catch-up:
Part I (by me)
Part II (by Doug)
Well, there's one thing to be glad about after Episode III - no more scary chanting children. The aliens (the "456") have finally arrived and agreed to stop using them as communication tools. Goody.
Oh, but they want some kids giftwrapped to take home with them - 10%, in fact. How rude. We build them a nice, comfy little glass box full of poisonous gases to land in and how do they repay us? Make off with our children. Tuh.
Actually, this leads quite well into a discussion of overpopulation issues, which I won't go into in detail here, but as population control measures go, mass alien abduction ain't a bad solution. Depending on the motives of the particular aliens in question, it could be preferable to, say, a horrible flesh-eating infectious disease or some sort of Logan's Run type scenario. At least you get to see space before you die.
But forget the serious issues for a minute... GADGETS! Yay! The BBC, which has obviously spared no expense in creating its aliens (glass box full of smoke and the occasional squelchy sound/Jurassic Park-style screech or splatter of vomit-like liquid), is really spoiling us with its lip-reading software and high-tech contact lenses. Weeeeell, the lenses are kind of cool, I suppose - basically, they give the wearer cameras for eyes, allowing them to transmit pictures of aliens back to Torchwood HQ. Although they come in fairly disappointing white plastic cases, like normal contact lenses.
Where was I? Ah, yes. 10% of the children. Now, as we've known since Episode I, these aliens have a taste for kids. (Just a thought, but perhaps they're actually eating them? Or do we need a more sophisticated reason for monsters stealing children these days?) A few were harvested when the 456 showed up back in the sixties.
But. Shock! Horror! Guess who handed them over before? Why, none other than our hero Captain Jack Harkness! My, what a lot of gasping this caused on Twitter. Come on guys, he only gave them 12 - not so much of a sacrifice really. Especially compared to 10% of all the kids. Luckily, @Blue_Chameleon has a solution: "Easy. Send the dumbest, chavviest 10%." (And, adds @duckorange, "They can have my two if it helps.")
So, what next? Round up all the poor numpties no one wants and wave them off... or... two days of alien ass-kicking punctuated by smutty references to what Captain Jack and Ianto get up to in their tea breaks, a "surprise" late arrival by UNIT's Dr Martha Jones, some tears over Gwen's (probably alien) baby, Jack's absolution for his prior sins and the safe return of all the children to Earth. I dunno, it's a close call.
And it's back to you, Doug.
Catch-up:
Part I (by me)
Part II (by Doug)
Well, there's one thing to be glad about after Episode III - no more scary chanting children. The aliens (the "456") have finally arrived and agreed to stop using them as communication tools. Goody.
Oh, but they want some kids giftwrapped to take home with them - 10%, in fact. How rude. We build them a nice, comfy little glass box full of poisonous gases to land in and how do they repay us? Make off with our children. Tuh.
Actually, this leads quite well into a discussion of overpopulation issues, which I won't go into in detail here, but as population control measures go, mass alien abduction ain't a bad solution. Depending on the motives of the particular aliens in question, it could be preferable to, say, a horrible flesh-eating infectious disease or some sort of Logan's Run type scenario. At least you get to see space before you die.
But forget the serious issues for a minute... GADGETS! Yay! The BBC, which has obviously spared no expense in creating its aliens (glass box full of smoke and the occasional squelchy sound/Jurassic Park-style screech or splatter of vomit-like liquid), is really spoiling us with its lip-reading software and high-tech contact lenses. Weeeeell, the lenses are kind of cool, I suppose - basically, they give the wearer cameras for eyes, allowing them to transmit pictures of aliens back to Torchwood HQ. Although they come in fairly disappointing white plastic cases, like normal contact lenses.
Where was I? Ah, yes. 10% of the children. Now, as we've known since Episode I, these aliens have a taste for kids. (Just a thought, but perhaps they're actually eating them? Or do we need a more sophisticated reason for monsters stealing children these days?) A few were harvested when the 456 showed up back in the sixties.But. Shock! Horror! Guess who handed them over before? Why, none other than our hero Captain Jack Harkness! My, what a lot of gasping this caused on Twitter. Come on guys, he only gave them 12 - not so much of a sacrifice really. Especially compared to 10% of all the kids. Luckily, @Blue_Chameleon has a solution: "Easy. Send the dumbest, chavviest 10%." (And, adds @duckorange, "They can have my two if it helps.")
So, what next? Round up all the poor numpties no one wants and wave them off... or... two days of alien ass-kicking punctuated by smutty references to what Captain Jack and Ianto get up to in their tea breaks, a "surprise" late arrival by UNIT's Dr Martha Jones, some tears over Gwen's (probably alien) baby, Jack's absolution for his prior sins and the safe return of all the children to Earth. I dunno, it's a close call.
And it's back to you, Doug.
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