The tricky business of unblocking your brain

Don’t read this if you’ve got an aneurysm.

Spend 24 hours in the company of a couple of hundred brain surgeons and you’d have a sense of unease too. I’m at a conference where “minimally invasive neurological therapies” are being discussed. My take-home message? No one knows anything for sure. Until it’s too late, that is.

Not that they aren’t good at their job – they’re the best in the world at getting at blockages and other problems inside your brain. But they are here to discuss the things they don’t know. And those are conversations you’d rather not overhear.

The typical presentation goes like this. “So, we went to perform an angioplasty on patient A, who was suffering from acutely reduced vision” (I may be paraphrasing badly). “Here’s the imaging.”

On the screen appears a picture of some loopy, tangled-looking blood vessels. There are murmurs and sharp intakes of breath. A voice just behind me mutters “ay-ay-ay”.

I have no idea what I’m looking at. I’m only here to give a talk about more general issues in scientific research. But I have that sinking feeling, like in the first five minutes of an episode of Casualty, that something bad is about to happen.

“I’d like to know: what would you have done?” the presenter asks. She offers two options. The room votes. The split is even, an observation that makes me hugely uncomfortable. There is no consensus. Why is there no consensus? Surely there’s a right thing to do in any situation? The presenter goes on to explain what she did. There is another round of murmuring in the room. Clearly, many people – approximately half – think this was a very bad idea.

The next presenter describes a surgery that started to go wrong 4 hours into an operation. He talks like it’s Who Wants To Be A Millionaire. “What do you think?” he asks the audience. “Shall I go on or stop now?” A voice from the back shouts, “No, no, no. Stop. You have to stop!”

He did go on, as it happened. He describes how the procedure progressed, blow by blow. “No, no, don’t do that!” comes an anguished shout, like this is Surgery Live. It’s not: this all happened last year. “Yeah,” the presenter mutters. “Thanks, I know that now.”

The next presentation ends with, “Well, I’ll never do that again.” Then comes another: “So, I’d like your opinions – should I treat this? If so, how?” The audience is calling out answers like a classroom full of show-offs. The session chair asks for calm.

Not all the answers are helpful. “If you get bleeding there, that’s going to be catastrophic.” The presenter furrows his brow. “I know,” he says. “That’s why I’m asking.”

This one is not a done deal, as it turns out. “Thanks,” the presenter says as the deluge of conflicting answers abates. “I’m due to see her again in ten days, so that’s really helpful.”

Here’s hoping she’s not reading this.

 

A patient prepped for surgery. Photograph: Getty Images

Michael Brooks holds a PhD in quantum physics. He writes a weekly science column for the New Statesman, and his most recent book is At the Edge of Uncertainty: 11 Discoveries Taking Science by Surprise.

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The art of the YouTube Poop

What are YouTube Poops and why do we need them now, more than ever?

“The world today doesn't make sense, so why should I paint pictures that do?”

So, allegedly, said Pablo Picasso in a shrewd attempt to justify his love of putting noses where noses don’t actually go. It is imperative that you now hold this profound quotation firmly in your mind whilst you watch this four minutes and 57 second long clip of Arthur – the cartoon aardvark – being tormented by squirrels.

What you have just seen is an example of the art form primarily known as “YouTube Poop” (YTP). Beginning in the early Noughties, this cultural movement is characterised by confusing and shocking edits of Saturday-morning cartoons, video games, and viral videos. Though the Tens have seen the genre decline in popularity, the YTP is, nonetheless, one of the defining innovations of our era.

Those in the Poop community don’t actually like being labelled as artists, as one Yale student found out when he attempted to define them as such on the University’s technology blog. Though they have been compared to Dadaism, YTPs are more vile, violent, and most importantly, nonsensical than most artworks, but this is precisely why they are an asset to our age. In a world where – sorry Pablo, you got nothing on us – absolutely zero things makes sense, it is time for the YTP to have a comeback.

Despite its seeming randomness, the world of YTP is not without its rules. “Poopisms” are the common techniques and tricks used in videos to ensure they qualify as a true Poop. They include “stutter loops” (the repetition of clips over and over), “staredowns” (freezing the frame on a particular facial expression), and the questionably-named “ear rape” (suddenly increasing the volume to shock the viewer). One of the most humorous techniques is “sentence mixing”: forcing characters to say new sentences by cutting and splicing things they have said.

There are also firm rules about what not to do. Panning across a clip without adding another Poopism at the same time is considered boring, whilst using your own voice to dub clips is seen as amateur. By far the biggest barrier that Poopers* face in creating their videos, however, is the law.

Despite what many eight-year-olds on YouTube think, declaring that something is a “parody” in the description of a video does not make it exempt from copyright laws. The video below – regarded by at least two commenters as “the best YouTube Poop” ever – is missing audio 20 minutes in, as the creator was hit by a copyright claim.

Yet even the iron fist of the law cannot truly stop Poopers, who are still going (relatively) strong after the first YTP was created in 2004. YouTube Poops now even have their own Wikipedia page, as well as a page on TV Tropes and a WikiHow guide on how to create them, and for good measure, avoid them.

YouTube Poops have therefore undoubtedly secured their place in history, and whilst you might wander into a comment section to declare “What have I just watched?”, remember that Pablo Picasso once said: “The purpose of art is washing the dust of daily life off our souls.” He almost definitely wasn’t talking about “You are a Sad Strange Little Man” by cartoonlover98, but still.

* The term “Poopists” was rejected by the community for being “too arty”.

 

Amelia Tait is a technology and digital culture writer at the New Statesman.