{"id":15,"date":"2005-10-18T15:19:00","date_gmt":"2005-10-18T15:19:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/scottaaronson.blog\/?p=15"},"modified":"2005-10-18T15:19:00","modified_gmt":"2005-10-18T15:19:00","slug":"climbing-mount-boredom","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/scottaaronson.blog\/?p=15","title":{"rendered":"Climbing Mount Boredom"},"content":{"rendered":"

Two weeks ago, I argued that scientific papers are basically a waste of time<\/a>. Today I’d like to generalize the results of that earlier post, by explaining why scientific talks are also a waste of time.<\/p>\n

Let me set the scene for you. You arrive at the weekly colloquium eager to learn, like a cargo cult member who’s sure that this time the planes are going to land. But then, about fifteen minutes after the PowerPoint train has left the station, you start to get nervous: “Why are we stopping at all these unfamiliar little hamlets? Are we really headed for the place mentioned in the abstract?” You glance at your fellow passengers: are they as confused as you are? (You’d ask the guy sitting next to you, but he’s sound asleep.) Eventually the announcer comes on and … uh-oh! It seems the train is about to begin its long ascent up Mount Boredom, and you don’t have the prerequisites for this leg of the trip. Can you dodge the ticket collector? Too stressful! You get off, and the train roars past you, never to return.<\/p>\n

Such was my experience again and again until three years ago, when I finally gave up on talks as a medium for scientific communication. These days, whenever I have to sit through one, I treat the speaker’s words as background music for my private fantasies and daydreams, unless the speaker chooses to interrupt with a novel idea.<\/p>\n

But what about when I have to talk? To be honest, I haven’t intentionally perpetrated a research talk in years. Instead I do a stand-up comedy routine where you have to be a quantum computing expert to get the jokes. It’s like Seinfeld, except not that funny. So why does it work? Simple: because the crowd that expects to be bored is the easiest crowd on Earth.<\/p>\n

Now one could argue that, by stuffing my talks with flying pigs<\/a> and slide-eating black holes<\/a>, I’ve been setting back the cause of scientific knowledge. But I don’t think so. See, the basic problem with talks is that they have no anti-boredom escape hatch. I mean, if you were chatting with a colleague who droned on for too long, you’d have several options:<\/p>\n