How to piss off your conference audience

-->  This week, I’m in Cairns at the International Coral Reef Symposium. I’ve seen some inspiring talks and some that made me want to throw a rotten banana at the speaker. If you are a starving student and looking to have some food chucked at you on stage, here are some tips to ensure that happens.

1. Talk about something else. We all know that abstracts had to be submitted months ago, and you really thought you’d finish your project before now, and have nothing to present. Completely changing the focus of your talk wastes my time. If you literally have nothing to present, at least do a nice lit review, or talk about something relevant to your session.

2. Don’t show us any images or data. To really piss people off, put up full paragraphs of text and then read it and/or tell us in other words what it says. This will addle your audience’s tiny minds, because they won’t be able to listen and read at the same time. If you’re lucky, people will come away thinking you are just way smarter than they are and it’s their own fault they didn’t understand a thing. But more likely, they will just be mad at you.

3. When you do show graphs, be sure the axes and other text is much too small to read. This may distract your audience from understanding that what you have plotted is not statistically significant, because they will be absorbed in trying to figure out what the units on the y-axis represent. If you prefer to avoid this faux pas, try reading the text on your powerpoint from a few feet away to simulate sitting in the back of a conference room (because all the cool people sit in the back).

Here's an example of an awesome slide for maximum audience irritation

4. Use lots of technical jargon. This will make it clear that you know your shit, and you only care about other experts in your very small niche field understand what you are talking about. Disseminating your message to a wider audience is for suckers. If you feel like allowing more of your audience members to understand you, use language your mom would understand (provided she is not also an expert in your niche field).

5. Take up more than your allotted time. Everyone knows that people who don’t have much to say at idiots, so it’s best to drone on and on as long as possible about nitpicky methods details. This also shows that you don’t have any respect for your audience’s time, or the other speakers in your session—again proving that you are better than they are. If you prefer to let people get to the coffee break on time, delete some of your crappy slides.

6. Don’t consider the expertise of your audience. It’s totally acceptable to think that other scientists at a coral reef conference will not know what a coral is. Please do explain in excruciating detail. Try to use the same intro slide as the previous four speakers; do not acknowledge that they already beat that topic to death. Instead of this tactic, you might practice being a bit fluid with your speech, and skip over repetitive parts.

Can my baby understand your talk?

Now that you know how to really turn on the boredom switch, go out and waste some of your colleagues’ time!

How to blend in: Kiribati

 

Unlike the majority of my amazing posts, this advice may not be massively useful as few people seem to visit Kiribati. Kiribati (pronounce the “ti” as “s”), is made up of three island chains sprinkled across the equatorial Pacific. All but one of the islands are coral atolls of the sort adorning screensavers and calendars. If you get the chance to visit Kiribati, here are some tips to help you feel less imbecile-like when you arrive.

Why am I not here right now??? Dammit.

1. You may be tempted to go barefoot, as you will notice almost every I-Kiribati (as the locals are called) forgoes the use of shoes. If you like the idea of spending the rest of your visit nursing your infections, go ahead and lacerate the shit out of your soft soles on the razor-sharp coral rubble of which the islands are comprised. But if you’d like to retain the ability to walk, keep those flip-flops on your feet outside—but take them off when you enter someone’s home or your guesthouse.

2. Dress modestly. Missionaries have had a good go in Kiribati, and thus some islanders are offended by seeing too much exposed skin. It may seem insane to cover up in a country not known for refreshing temperatures; but in addition to fitting in better, wearing more clothing will reduce your chances of sunburn and dengue fever. The attire of choice includes oversized t-shirts and shorts, a long skirt, or wrap-around lava-lava. Of course, no one seems to care what you wear if you are a man. But if you are a woman and you attempt not to die of heat-stroke by changing from your modest clothes into your wetsuit quickly on the boat, you may be chastised for briefly flashing your bikini-clad self. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

3. Speaking of missionaries, be respectful of Sundays. Even if you want to continue collecting coral cores, it’s not very nice to expect your I-Kiribati collaborators to want to do the same (guilty as charged).

4. Be very afraid of the dogs. Carrying a heavy rock or five in your pocket is not a bad idea.

I miss this, too!

5. Be respectful of maneabas (meeting houses)—there are complex rules involved with how to enter, where to sit, and how to behave in a maneaba. Your best bet is to wait until someone asks you to visit their maneaba, instead of just barging in. On Sunday, it’s respectful to turn off your motorbike and push it in front of each maneaba you pass. This is inconvenient if your motorbike is unlikely to start again, but you will work up a good sweat.

6. Apparently getting pooped on by a gecko is good luck (maybe my hosts made that up for my benefit, on second thought).

7. If you are invited to share a meal, be prepared to eat first. In western cultures we often ask guests to serve themselves first, but then we also take food and eat at the same time—a totally offensive way to behave to an I-Kiribati. The I-Kiribati take showing respect for visitors to an extreme, and won’t generally eat a morsel until you are full. Try not to feel totally awkward.

Bummer if you have to eat western food. It leaves something to be desired in these parts.

8. The locals tend to know what I-matang (foreigners) can’t eat without becoming ill—so you probably won’t be served mud crabs or well water. Don’t try so hard to blend in that you die of dysentery by joining in when everyone else dips into a delicious cup of algae-laced water.

9. Try to avoid drinking sour toddy. This local alcoholic drink is made mostly by young boys, who climb coconut trees, make special slices into young flower shoots, and collect the resulting juice, sort of like tapping maple trees for syrup. The juices then ferment in the bottle into the most disgusting-tasting beverage known to mankind. It is much, much worse than kava. And, you have a chance of getting a bad batch, which apparently makes urination very unpleasant (according to a half-pantomimed story I was told by someone who had just consumed half a bucket of toddy).

10. Ask questions cleverly. I-Kiribati tend not to give superfluous information, instead answering exactly the question asked.

Example of a poorly worded question: “Do you have a forklift we can use?”

Answer: “Yes.”

Example of a better-worded question: “Do you have a forklift we can use, that works?”

Answer: “No.”

Don’t be offended when you find that even armed with all of these supreme suggestions, children take one look at you and immediately point and yell “I-matang! I-matang! I-matang!” Really, unless you are an I-Kiribati, you have approximately zero chance of blending in. But sometimes it’s more interesting that way.

I-Kiribati! I-Kiribati! I-Kiribati!

How to revise your parenting expectations

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I’m not exactly sure how, given that I have four younger siblings, but I honestly had no idea what having a baby would be like. I was shocked by my friend Carly’s admission that she was quite tired a few months after having given birth. Don’t babies just sleep most of the time, and the rest of the time blithely look around in awe at the world while absorbing language and learning how to use their limbs? Well, no, actually. For those of you who don’t yet have children, let me tell you a few salient points, so that once (if) you do have a baby, I can tell you “hey, I gave you fair warning.”

1. Life as you know it will end. No matter how hard you fight it. We were under the impression that people made the choice to let babies take over their lives, and were determined we would not let that happen to us. No, we would continue doing everything we had before, just with baby in tow. This idea was, of course, idiotic.

Not only do many activities preclude the involvement of babies (surfing, snowboarding, staying out drinking until 2 am), but even seemingly benign activities (going out for dinner) are made unpleasant with an unhappy child squirming in your lap and flinging toys and utensils at other diners. We had the mistaken idea that if we just took baby everywhere from the start, he’d get used to it and we could transcend this unpleasantness. He’d get used to sleeping anywhere and we’d be able to continue our semi-nomadic and active lives. Not so much.

Swimming becomes slightly more contrived with baby in tow

2. Babies do sleep a lot, but generally they wake up every 1-5 hours and need something from you. Hence, you will not experience an uninterrupted stretch of sleep for the foreseeable future. Unless you are the father. And you sleep in a different room. But really, ladies, let me be honest: even if your partner offers to feed and/or change the baby in the middle of the night, you’ll be awake anyways, with your special baby-is-about-to-wake-up-and-start-screaming sensors in full overdrive mode.

3. That advice about sleeping when the baby sleeps is only useful for the first few days. Everyone will tell you, “It’s Ok to let the housework lapse so you can nap when the baby does.” This is crap. Unless they are going to come over and cook and clean and do your laundry, at some point you will have used up all of the clean dishes and clothes, and sadly, there are no Mother’s Helper fairies to come fix everything.

4. Your baby may refuse to be “worn,” thus thwarting all of your hippie ideals and plans to keep your life under control and have a baby at the same time. I had the idea that I would pop the baby in a carrier and then go about my business as usual, occasionally feeding and changing and comforting my otherwise happy or sleeping child. This might be all well and good if your child is small, thus not causing your back to break from wearing him all day, and/or if he actually likes being in the carrier.

This is the kind of mother that I imagined being.

This is the kind of mother I actually am, because this is the kind of baby that I produced.

5. You will do a ridiculous amount of laundry. So buck up and buy a washer, and go ahead and use cloth diapers—it’s cheaper, and better for the planet, and it’s not that much more work. (Extra tip: it may not appeal to you, but it’s even cheaper and greener if you buy used diapers—you can sanitize them before use). Please hang your voluminous laundry to dry—it would be nice to leave the planet semi-intact for that little poo and puke-machine you’ve decided to create.

6. Do not believe TV shows. During our nights in, we now watch quite a bit of TV on Hulu (since we are too brain-dead to do anything productive). These invariably paint the picture of parenthood that I thought was real before giving birth. Most of the time the baby is just conveniently not around, or is happily sitting in its car seat making no noise and demanding no attention (see Weeds, Up All Night, etc…). I suppose the shows would be a bit chaotic and hard to follow if the main character was interrupted every few moments needing to attend to her child, but it’s just cruel to perpetuate the lies.

 
So, there you have it, more or less. Your baby will consume your entire life, and your pastimes will spawn cobwebs. But when you wake up in the morning and he’s smiling at you with the biggest toothless grin possible, it makes it all Ok.

How to take travel advice with a grain of salt

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I recently saw a list of easy ways to be a good traveler posted on National Geographic’s website. While Nat Geo probably has some vetting process, meaning this dude’s advice may be a modicum more accurate than mine, I have concrete evidence that he’s pulling your leg.

Advice point #1: “Stop acting like you know. Taxi drivers and bartenders are your consiglieres, your guides. Don’t tell them where you want to go; ask them to point you where you should be. This also applies at restaurants. I gave up menus...simply ask the experts (i.e. people who work there) what you should be eating.”

Really? I guess you haven’t been where I have. I used this tactic in La Ceiba, Honduras, a somewhat sketchy port city. Having arrived at night without a guidebook, I simply asked my taxi driver to take me and my abundant load of coral-drilling gear to a hotel. He then took me to two “hotels” – the first so frightening that I though I might get shanked just looking at the room, and the second only slightly better (the single window faced indoors to the hallway; but at least there were bars on it to protect me from the proprietors). The upside was that it cost less than $10 for the night, and I had the choice of two single beds, one of which did not have rodent poop on it.

And while it sounds very romantic not to order from the menu, be careful where you do this. There are some local delicacies western palates are just not ready for (follow this link if you dare) . I haven’t been served monkey brains, but my father-in-law has (one thing you should always turn down..also spleen, it appears). Even in the western world, you may end up eating something un-delicious so as not to offend the restaurateur whose advice you took, as in Portugal where we ended up having to eat slimy, off-putting salt cod—twice.  

But I suppose asking for local advice may have prevented me from checking my husband and I into a brothel for the night in Panama…

Feel up for some Octopus jerky? Mmmm.

Advice point #7: “Take chances with conversations.”

Sure, go ahead and chit-chat with your fellow bus-rider. But if you are in a place frequented by missionaries (like, anywhere in the “third world”), be ready to discuss the finer points of Christianity as well as how many children you have. If the answer is zero, and you are mildly attractive, be prepared for your conversation partner to offer up a family member willing to impregnate you.

Advice point #9: “Take people up on their offers. When someone invites you over to their house, or out to dinner, or on a tour — take them up on it.”

Find out what the offer actually is, first. A one-hour ride in a pickup truck is less fun when you are in the back.

But be ready for some real awkwardness, if you do. When a friend and I traveled to Spain and France, we took this advice to heart. We stayed in the miniature apartment of a friend of a friend of my boyfriend-later-husband, a thirty-something professional dude who really did not have any interest in two college girls sleeping on his couch when he was trying to woo some ladies home from the bar that night. But Paris is expensive, and he suggested the next morning we get out of his apartment and go to the Sacre-Coeur, which was rather breathtaking.

We were quite glad to take up my dad’s coworker’s sister on her offer to call if we ran into trouble in Barcelona, when we arrived at 2 am to find our hotel had given away our room and the entire city was booked out for the holiday weekend. The awesomeness of Spaniards? They had just arrived home from dinner when we called. And they let us sleep until noon, and then fed us Sunday lunch with the entire extended family.

This welcoming attitude is in complete contrast to that of two American girls we encountered before calling the sister—explaining our situation, and asking to crash on their floor, they suggested instead we sleep at the train station. Way to look out for each other, ladies.

So, there you go. You may have better luck than I have following this advice for an authentic travel experience. Or you may end up eating a cup of butter because you didn’t know what it was and having a discussion about dairy farming via charades. But I guess that’s what makes for fun memories.

How to be plastic-paranoid with panache

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Plastic! 

It has revolutionized our world, but perhaps in ways we didn’t expect. Along with tons of mostly microscopic plastic particles accumulating in the oceans, evidence is accumulating that chemicals which leach from plastics are bad for us.

Since I recently had a baby, I became hyper-aware of what I was putting into my body and what that might do to my child, both when he was in the womb and now that I’m breastfeeding him. I knew that there were concerns about not eating too much high-mercury fish, and this lead me to think about other chemicals I might be inadvertently exposed to, like BPA, pthalates, and other plasticizers. Plastics ending up in the oceans is extremely worrisome to me, but this post will be about plastics and human health.

Most plastics leach chemicals into liquids with which they come in contact. Using plastic containers instead of the glass my protocol called for, I unwittingly contaminated my coral samples with hydrocarbons during a lab procedure. Granted, I had filled the container with chloroform, which is generally a substance I avoid drinking, but it brought the message home: glass is inert and safe as long as it isn’t shattered on the floor.

Before you follow me down plastic-paranoia lane, there are a few things to keep in mind.

  

BPA acts like a hormone. We have hormones in our bodies. Pthalates may be carcinogenic, but it's not yet clear if so. These substances therefore aren’t obviously toxic, like cyanide or lead; their inclusion in food containers isn’t actually some evil plot to poison us all. Plastic is useful, so that’s why it’s everywhere. The National Institutes of Health isn’t even all that worried about BPA in adults, though they do express “some concern” over what exposure to hormone-mimicking substances might do to developing fetuses and babies.

We do have organs to eliminate chemicals. That’s the whole point of the liver, for instance—how else do you think we get rid of all the alcohol we drink? We can, obviously, deal with some amount of chemical ingestion without immediately dying, so some exposure is probably Ok. Mind you, I kind of like saving my liver for alcohol-processing, so if that means reducing plastic intake, so be it.

This bower-bird has switched from using blue flowers and beetles to attract mates, to discarded straws and drink caps.

Now that I’ve shown some amount of scientific level-headedness, let me be honest. Plastic scares the absolute crap out of me. What bothers me most is that one of the chemicals which has been the most studied, BPA, was shown to be possibly dangerous, and removed from many products—which have now replaced it with something else to perform BPA’s function. Those chemicals generally haven’t yet been tested for health effects. These other compounds could possibly be more harmful, but we won’t know until studies are done, by which time we will have been merrily ingesting them for years.

Awesome.

So, if you want to go all precautionary-principle with me, here are some changes I have made to reduce my plastic-chemical-intake:

Drinking and eating

·      Stainless steel or glass refillable water bottles instead of single-use plastic

·      Stainless steel or ceramic reusable coffee cups instead of (plastic lined) paper cups

·      Eat-in on plates rather than take-out in plastic (not so easy with 7-month old)

·      Metal instead of plastic for camping and baby-plates

Cooking

·      Stainless steel pans instead of non-stick (all of which are now black on the bottom because I suck at not burning shit)

·      For eggs, expensive ceramic-titanium non-stick pan, which is supposed to not flake off into food like cheap non-stick

Shopping

·      Go for glass, or dry goods—essentially all (plastic-lined) canned or plastic-packaged foods can be made from scratch or found in glass jars

·      Buy fresh, cold milk or soymilk instead of the ultra-heat-treated boxes on the shelf. I have no data on this, but I reckon UHT treatment and extra time sitting around increases leaching.

·      Bring your own cloth bags

Baby stuff

·      Glass and silicone baby bottles

·      Stainless steel and silicone sippy cups

·      There are heaps of toys available not made of plastic. Wooden toys may hurt more when the babies chuck them at one another, but I’m hoping they outgrow the throwing phase. I chose silicone teethers instead of plastic.

·      Cook your own baby food

Not sure if this flip-flop is good for him, but he sure is into it!

p.s. Plastics are made mostly from fossil fuels.

p.p.s. Even plastics made from plants use chemicals to turn the plant products into plastic, and they are typically combined with fossil-fuel-derived hydrocarbons as well.

p.p.p.s. As my mom always reminds me, stress hormones are probably worse than all of this. So try to stay relaxed while eliminating plastic.

How to blend in: Australia

 When I was in the most painful of the teenage-angst years, my mom took me and my blue and black hair to Italy on a business trip. I was so worried about the random Italian strangers knowing we were tourists that I prevented her from taking almost any photographs. I was ecstatic when I was strolling through the Piazza Navona (in a very casual way, making sure not to actually look at anything lest it be obvious I didn't belong), and a group of teenagers passing by asked me for cigarettes in Italian. Clearly my 25% Italian blood and uber-cool attitude were paying off and I had blended in! Until I tried to respond.

If you, too, are filled with trepidation over sticking out in a foreign country, here is the first of a series of posts on secrets for blending in.

How to play it cool in Australia:

Forget Crocodile Dundee. Quite a few Australians do not carry around gigantic knives, wear hats decorated with crocodile teeth, or hideous croc-leather vests. To look like you belong, your best bet is to dress all in black, or in neon-hued surf-wear. Shoes are optional.

Don't wear your Uggs around town. They are like slippers. It took me more than 2 years to learn this, but now I understand why my co-workers made fun of me in wintertime.

Order your coffee properly. It is impossible to find American-style gallon-sized containers of cheap coffee in Australia. Instead, you will get to spend most of your income on some variation of espresso-based drinks. Short and long blacks refer to espresso straight up or diluted with hot water. If you want milk, you have 3 main choices: flat white, latte, or cappuccino. They claim these all have different ratios of coffee:milk:foam, but really they are all identical but presented differently: a latte comes in a water glass instead of a mug (so you can burn your hands more easily) and a cappuccino has chocolate sprinkled on top (clearly the best choice). 

Hot tip: if you try to go American-style and order a coffee with cream, you will be laughed at. Cream is a thick topping for dessert, not something you add to coffee.

Shoes optional for the pubwoman as well.

Don't order your beer properly. Actually, just don't bother--most of the beer on tap tastes like old shoes boiled in water. If you really feel the need, just point at something and ask for one of those. There are too many permutations of different sized-glasses (schooners, midis, pots, etc.) and truncated names for the beers (old, new, gold, etc.) that invariably, whatever you request will be wrong and embarrassing.

When hitchiking, point your index finger towards the wheels of the cars whizzing by instead of hooking your thumb out.

Eat large quantities of cakes and savory pies.

Do not suggest to anyone that you "throw a shrimp on the barbie." It would be more accurate to ask them to "chuck a prawn on the barbie," though I have yet to see anyone barbequing invertebrates. Better to stick to cooking up the lamb you won in the meat raffle at the pub (apparently you should bring your "eskie"--or cooler--with you in case you are the lucky recipient of a large tray of raw meat during your night out).

To speak Australian (don't attempt the accent), you can just drop the second half of most words, and generally add "ie." Bikers becomes "bikies" (the Hell's Angels sound much less intimidating here), wetsuit becomes "wettie," sunglasses becomes "sunnies." Then just say "yeah" a lot in a nasal tone.

Unfortunately, the Australians have also developed their own take on English, and use many words in totally different fashions than Americans. How irritating. Here are a few examples:
Hearing these words may seem scandalous, but they mean something quite inert in Australia:
Thongs          just means           Flip-flops (not tiny undies)
Skivvies        just means           Turtlenecks (not undies, either)
Rubber          just means           Eraser (not a baby-preventer)
On the other hand, here are some American words that are rude in Australian English, and the alternative you can use:
Don't say Root for a team    say    Barrack for them instead
Don't say Fanny Pack      say        Bum Bag (but really, why on earth do you still have one?)

Confusingly, some terms are the same as in the US. Try not to get tripped up and do things like grab a zucchini and ask the shop keeper "what is this thing called?" You will be told that it is a zucchini and look like an idiot.

Finally, come to terms with the sad fact that you will not see a Koala, unless it is in a zoo. Then you can stop breaking your neck and wandering off cliffs while staring into the trees wherever you go.

You may not see koalas, but while trying, you can acquire leeches!

How to chose an ill-fitting profession

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I essentially stumbled into being a coral reef scientist. If I had properly thought about things ahead of time, I would never have ended up here. Why am I an unlikely candidate for this job? Why, I’m glad you asked!

I get horribly, horribly seasick. As an undergraduate, I had the opportunity to travel on an oceanographic research vessel from Hawaii to San Diego on a fieldtrip. According to the crew, it was the smoothest crossing they had ever experienced. I spent the first 5 days puking my guts out until the medic gave me a scopalomine patch. (I was too ill to learn much on that trip, but I somehow managed to snare myself a husband).

Stop moving, ocean!

Sadly, over time “the patch” has lost its effectiveness, and I spent my last expedition both stoned from the scopalomine and seasick for a glorious 5 weeks. The only way I survive is that a few minutes after being underwater on SCUBA, I feel fine. The major downside: when perusing the (painfully bleak) job listings for marine scientists, I have to veto any jobs that require time at sea. This is, unsurprisingly, rather hindering my job hunt.

I am afraid of sharks, poisonous creatures and slimy things. This covers quite a lot of marine life. I intellectually know that my fears are unfounded—people purposefullykill more than 70 million sharks a year while sharks accidentally kill about 10 people. Poisonous things tend to advertise themselves as such (like the lion fish) so can be avoided, and sea slime is really quite clever and useful. But I still get a jolt of nerves before a dive.

Too close, buddy.

So long as someone else jumps in the water first (unless they are being too slow and my seasickness above water overwhelms my fear of being alone underwater), I can buck up and get to work. Once underwater, I remember why the ocean fascinates me, and I get down to business. I have even been known to do things, in the name of science, that no right-minded person would: shove my feet into crevices (potentially housing sharp-toothed eels) to gain traction against the current, dutifully turn my back on a swarm of 15 nosy reef sharks to inspect and identify corals along a 20-m long measuring tape, and even “boot and rally” for the afternoon’s dive.

  

There are 13 sharks in this view. It was slightly difficult to focus on the reef with these guys around.

I am not naturally meticulous. I am a horrible baker; I refuse to measure accurately and I usually have to substitute for ingredients because I didn’t make a list, forgot something, and don’t feel like going back to the store. I usually don’t plan things out ahead of time: I often start driving before I realize I have no idea where I’m going. I have booked flights for the wrong month. I have flown to Canada without a passport.

This is not a good way to do science, but the first step is acceptance, right? I accept that I’m supposed to be meticulous and that I suck at it. But really, I’m getting better. You should check out the amazing spreadsheets I’ve been producing lately. They even have metadata and everything! Hot damn. 

Despite all of this, I love my job. It is difficult, can be either tedious or dangerous, and the career prospects make me cry; but it is intellectually stimulating, often fun, always surprising, and I feel like I might be making oh-so-small of a positive difference in this great big world.

A big THANK YOU to everyone who has helped me sustain this crazy and exciting career path (there are a lot of you). I’m going to keep on trucking along it as far as it goes, which might be, if Adam gets his way, to an organic farm on an abandoned stretch of coastline swarming with dengue mosquitoes. But hopefully not.

Ok, this is pretty rad. The essentially untouched Kingman Reef, one of the more ridiculously amazing places on earth.