brains in the elevator: notes from CNS 2007, pt. I
I’m in New York for the 2007 annual meeting of the Cognitive Neuroscience Society. CNS alternates between San Francisco and New York; this year it’s in the latter city. I suppose if you have to pick two cities to have a conference in, those are pretty good ones. Still, one of the things I like best about going to conferences is getting to explore cities I haven’t spent time in. Not so much of that this year. On the other hand, having less inclination to sightsee leaves more time for posters, talks, and socializing, and that’s not a bad thing either.
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As always, there are too many posters to see. The CNS schedule of events doesn’t begin to approach SFN standards–the latter consisting of a CD’s worth of fully indexed and searchable abstracts, and five different books (one per day)–but if you do any sort of neuroimaging work, a much higher proportion of the abstracts are likely to interest you. I start every conference I go to by spending half an hour meticulously checking off all the posters I want to see at the next session. Then when that session rolls around I promptly discard my notes and drift aimlessly from aisle to aisle.
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There are a lot of complaints this year about the quality of the poster halls here at the Sheraton New York. The halls are (a) maze-like; (b) dark; and (c) warm. It’s a safe bet that some small proportion of attendees enjoys this environment, but for those of us who (a) don’t have an exquisitely-tuned spatial navigation system, (b) aren’t vampires, or (c) don’t suffer from hyperthyroidism, it’s a little bit uncomfortable.
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The drinks last night at the welcome reception started at $6.50 for a soft drink. $11.50 for a beer. When I asked the bartender why I couldn’t just have a cup of tap water for free, he shrugged in antipathy. I suppose it was more polite than saying “because it would undercut our bottom line, schmuck.” So I went down the street, bought a bucket, filled it with ice and water, and gave away free refreshments to all the thirsty neuroscientists. No, just kidding. I bent over and took it just like everyone else.
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Memo to presenters: that signup sheet next to your poster isn’t real. Etiquette requires that after someone’s finished being bored by the intimate details of your presentation for fifteen minutes, they be provided with some way of expressing their joy and gratitude to you for furnishing them with a life-changing experience. They do this by signing up to receive a second iteration of your treatment in written form. Putting their name on your form completes all contractual obligations. There’s no requirement that you actually follow up and email them your poster. In fact, doing so only inconveniences your audience. Last time I came back from CNS I spent an entire morning hitting the ‘delete’ button. I could have been doing much more productive things, like brushing my teeth.
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I’m slowly realizing that New York is an expensive place with terrible service. Take for instance this morning. I was standing on the corner outside the hotel when a nice man approached me and said he was an artist and that he could put a beautiful glossy sheen on my poster for just $80. So I gave him my poster and $80, and he said he’d be back in twenty minutes. Well it’s been 3 hours and I haven’t heard anything. When he comes back, I’m going to be very angry with him. Just wait till he sees what kind of customer evaluation I give him at the information desk.
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Auditory perception, memory systems, emotion, and numerical processing. These are all important areas of research, and certainly worthy of inclusion in the poster sessions. But there’s no reason to be elitist. Cognitive neuroscience is a diverse field. I’ve been emailing the poster committee my suggestions for topics for several years, and I’ve yet to see any follow-through or receive a reply. What’s wrong, people? Too creative? Too novel? Don’t envy me just because I thought of having a symposium on brick-selective cortex and you didn’t. It’s not my fault you lack vision.
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There’s a lot of talk at this conference about how the brain is this wonderfully clever device that lets us project ourselves effortlessly into the past and future, move forwards and backwards in time, etc. etc. It’s not entirely unlike that other device that smoothly whisks you from the seventeenth floor down to the atrium while you’re busy placing mental bets on the length of the coffee line. Between your brain and the elevator, there’s no dimension you can’t conquer! You’re a master of time and space! Then the doors open up and someone jams your shoulder into the wall as they rush by you. Looks like you’re a lowly grad student again, grasshopper.
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After a long day spent milling around hundreds of posters made by hundreds of scientists, all as smart and creative as you, all working on equally interesting problems, it’s easy to get a little down on yourself. What’s the point, you might ask yourself. Why bother participating in science if the best any of us can ever hope for is to make a tiny, insignificant contribution to that great puzzle that is the human mind. And what’s so great about the human mind anyway, if it’s just the temporal analog of an elevator. You might as well be studying dirt. Dirt is less dynamic than the mind, but more tractorable.
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If a neuroscientist gives a great keynote address at a conference and no one hears it because they’ve all skipped the morning session to go roam around lower manhattan, does she still get to put it on her vita?