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    "It's all to play for" - with Chris Anderson at TED

    With Chris Anderson at TED

    I’ve spent the last year being assailed by new ideas and ways of seeing the world at an unprecedented (for me) rate. The coming revolution in personal genomics, the project to create artificial life, the Transhumanists’ journey to ‘transcend our biology’, robots that get mood swings, machines that demonstrate curiosity, a post-scarcity world promised by atomically precise manufacture, holidays in space and our continued entanglement with the world’s biggest machine (the Internet). All of these are to one degree and another coming down the line, as long as the Maldives (and the rest of us) can stay above water, using our technologies and ingenuity to remove carbon-dioxide from our atmosphere (while simultaneously ushering in an energy revolution). I’ve met scientists, philosophers, gone diving with a president and invented a cocktail on the way. Now as I approach the end of my journey I’m looking for people who can help me make sense of it, to somehow pull all these strands together into a coherent view.

    In his book Engines of Creation: The Coming Era of Nanotechnology Eric Drexler approaches the future by asking three questions – what is possible? what is achievable? and what is desirable? The question of what is possible seems easy to answer. As we learn to control the very atoms of matter, the mechanisms of biology and the power of computation there is, in fact, very little that we can’t do, in a physical (and indeed virtual sense). Solutions to climate change? Already developed. An end to the energy crisis? No sweat, sign on the line. Holiday in space? Why not, join our frequent flyer progamme. World peace even? Seems only reasonable.

    But when we ask what is achievable, well that’s a different story. Because what we achieve will largely be determined by what we collectively decide is desirable. As George Church told me all those months ago at Harvard Medical School as we discussed personal genomics, “The only thing that puts this kind of medicine far away is really will, right? The question is, how motivated are we?” Do we, as a planet, have the will to take the bounty on offer while mitigating the risks? To get the medicine but not the weapons? To enjoy abundant clean energy while dealing with climate change? To use our technologies to bring us closer together, rather than isolate us?

    It’s to ponder questions like these that I’ve come to meet Chris Anderson, the CEO of the TED Talks, the pre-eminent meeting of, as Chris puts it, “people who can offer a lens through which to see the world in a different way.” Every year Chris and his team gather together the world’s leading thinkers from every discipline and give them 18 minutes to tell the rest of the world how they see things. The results can be found on TED.com. Here you can see Ray Kurzweil summarise his law of accelerating returns, or Kevin Kelly talk about his idea of ‘The One Machine’ that the internet will become, or Hod Lipson demonstrate his robots (along with a host of other mind-shifting presentations that make you see things from a different angle). TED tells a different story of our world than the one we’re used to seeing, and it’s the same story I’ve seen on my travels. There is no shortage of fresh ways to see our future. It turns out we’re not necessarily looking at a damage limitation exercise, but a possible renaissance. But first we have to see it. Only then can we have to make it happen.

    Seeing it is a revelation. We’re so used to being told that everything is getting worse, that the planet is doomed or that the next pandemic to finish you off is just around the corner, or that technology will subjugate us. It’s a world where a book called Is it me or is everything a bit shit? becomes a best seller. And it’s not true. Or at least it doesn’t have to be. Klaus Lackner has a machine, that works now, that takes CO2 out the air. George Church has co-developed a process that can take that CO2, mix is with sunlight for pity’s sake! and create gasoline. Thin film solar technologies will soon take power to where there is no grid, while at the same time mobile devices will continue to take the world’s knowledge (accessed on billions of mobile devices) to every corner of the globe. Solar power continues to show exponential rises in efficiency while nanotechnology is already changing the face of manufacturing and will continue to do so. Medicine may soon see an end to a host of the things that kill us. This story is not being told, which is perhaps the biggest threat to our future. Not that it couldn’t be better, but that because we can’t see it, we don’t know it’s an option.

    “The history of ideas is a really thrilling history,” says Chris, “and ultimately that is what will drive all of our futures. There’s a very boring view of the world which is that ‘things happen’ and you can’t really do much about it.” It’s something he’s experienced himself. “After I left university I became a journalist, then I started a company… and then fifteen years were taken over by all the stress of working. I didn’t have much spare time to think. When the whole ‘dot com’ bust happened the huge gift I got was discovering, holy crap, there’s so much amazing new thinking out there.” I know what he means. Before I decided I actually wanted to answer the question “what next?” I was on the same treadmill, too busy to look up to realise that the story we’re told wasn’t necessarily the only game in town. This book didn’t start off with the word ‘Optimist’ in the title. It was my agent Charlie, who when I told him the sort of thing I was finding out, remarked on how uplifting some of it was and suggested the change.

    We communicate through stories. It is stories that grab us the most and it stories we identify with. Hollywood knows this, political spin doctors know this, newspaper editors know this. “What the story?!” ask editors pointedly when young journalists bring well written pieces that lack a narrative. My own editors were keen to make sure this book had a personal story, and encouraged me to make sure it wasn’t lost in the rush of facts. Chris is very interested in stories, and how the Internet, as it continues its prodigious growth across the globe, can help us, for the first time, tell a story that includes everyone.

    The most memorable thing for Chris about the 2009 TED conference was a dance troupe called The Legion of Extraordinary Dancers. “This troop could not have existed ten years ago. They exist because kids who used to just dance down on the street corner started filming themselves, putting it up on YouTube and suddenly the community that they’re comparing themselves to is a global community. This kid in Tokyo sees a move from Detroit and innovates within hours, puts it online and so on, so the pace of innovation is dramatically increased.” John Chu, who created the troupe from finding the most popular of those YouTube clips says, “Dance has never had a better friend than technology. Online videos and social networking have created a whole global laboratory online for dance.” It’s not just in dance. “This is happening in hundreds of areas of human endeavour,” says Chris. “I’ve started to call it ‘crowd accelerated innovation’ and I find it incredibly exciting.”

    Chris thinks rather than letting go of our humanity, we are re-discovering it. What could be more human than the Legion of Extraordinary Dancers? Kids from diverse backgrounds from across the world, innovating and collaborating to bring a new dimension to an art form as old as society, using technology to help them express themselves and innovate physically with their bodies, to meet, to collaborate, to just dance – and then show the world. Look what we did. Here is something of the exponential growth in wisdom, community, understanding I was looking for to go with Ray Kurzweil’s accelerating technologies.

    “The acceleration of knowledge and ideas made possible by the fact that humanity is connected for the first time is vast,” says Chris. “The re-discovery of the spoken word as a tool for communicating is a big deal. If you think about it we evolved as human-to-human communicators. It was the village camp fire, the elder standing there with his painted face on a starry night, fire crackling, drums beating and telling a story and every eye locked on his and all those mirror-neurons in all those brains syncing up with what he was saying. By the end of this story his whole village would go to war against another village or make peace.”

    “So TED is one of the new storytellers?” I ask

    “It’s one of them. That mode of communication kind of got lost in the print age because it didn’t scale, it was a village-sized technology at best. To me it’s thrilling that it now scales and so one great teacher can inspire many people. One of the things that we see as our role is to try and help nurture that process of re-discovering how to do that, because I think we got to a place where lessons became a person in suit mumbling behind a lectern reading their notes for an hour while a class of people snoozed.” Suddenly, horrifying images of my ‘O’ level economics class come pouring into my brain. I shudder. “It shouldn’t be like that,” says Chris. “So, one of things we see, and this was a big kick for me, is TED speakers competing. An unexpected consequence of putting this stuff online is speakers are looking at what other speakers are doing and are putting in far more preparation time than they ever used to.”

    Just as YouTube became a laboratory for dance, TED is becoming a laboratory for the art of oration. Here you will see a statistician blow your mind and end his talk with some sword swallowing. Here you will find Steven Pinker explain that the world is getting safer, and Robert Wright mix philosophy, sociology and stand-up comedy to give one explanation as to why – a theory he calls ‘the non-zero sum game’. I don’t know about you, but that’s the kind of lesson I can get on board with.

    “We’ve actually got to bring back real creativity and find a way of nurturing that in the education process,” says Chris. “In the age of Google the notion of having to cram all these little brains with facts is bonkers. What’s needed is to build skills like how do you stimulate people to ask the right questions? how do you stimulate people to have a meaningful conversation? to think critically? What are lenses you give people to think about the world? I mean, if I’d have been taught Robert Wright’s non-zero view of history that would have had tremendously more value to me than endless facts about French kings.” It seems that the two things Artificial Intelligence needs the most if it’s ever to stop playing chess and start playing Madlibs, are the two things we need the most too: curiosity and creativity.

    What is our collective story today and who tells it? The storytellers of our day-to-day lives used to be the press and our politicians. Like all good storytellers they used emotion to hook us into one of two, on the face of it, very uninspiring, dull stories. Story one: life happens to you, the future is not going to be very good (especially if you vote for that guy), it was better in the old days, you’ve got to look after yourself, the world is violent and unsafe, your job is at risk, the generation below you are feral and dangerous, things are changing too fast and you can’t trust those immigrants/ scientists/ left-wingers/ right-wingers/ nerds/ geeks/ religious people/ atheists/ football fans/ the rich/ the poor/ what you eat/ your neighbour. You are alone. Make the best of it. Vote for me. Buy my paper. I understand. (Story two is, in summary: ‘Shock! People have sex.’)

    It’s hardly inspiring is it?

    But the story is beginning to be told by other people now, by the Legion of Extraordinary Dancers, by speakers at TED talks, by Mohamed Nasheed who battled dictatorship to the brink of his own death and then got on with battling climate change, by Cynthia Breazeal who wants to build robots that help children learn, by Vicki Buck who quit government to create jobs to take on global warming, by George Church who wants you to stay healthy longer, by Eric Drexler who wants to usher in a post-scarcity world using technology on the nanoscale, by the good people at Konarka who take electricity out the sky and give to the developing world. A story being told by the curious and the smart, that inspires the curious and the smart in all of us, by people who wonder and ask the kind of questions that haven’t been asked before. Crucially, none of them wait for permission to ask those questions, or then to find the answers. It is being told through writers who find themselves traveling across America and readers of blogs who might say in the pub, “did you know the technology exists to make petrol out of the air?” It is being told by the cult of the possible, who seek to achieve, to bring us what we desire. Peace. Understanding. Space to love each other. People who encourage us to evolve.

    Eric Drexler has written, “As the Web becomes more comprehensive and searchable, it helps us see what’s missing in the world. The emergence of more effective ways to detect the absence of a piece of knowledge is a subtle and slowly emerging contribution of the Web, yet important to the growth of human knowledge.”

    I think we’re beginning to see, collectively, what’s missing, and crucially we’re now able to do something about it. Technology doesn’t give you permission like your teachers did. It gives you agency – to ask, to learn, to connect, to do. It says, “go on then, show me what you’ve got”.

    “I don’t know that the future’s going to be better,” says Chris. “But I think there’s a very good chance that it will be and I think that’s something that everyone can do to further increase that chance. There are several quite profound and inspiring ways of thinking about the world that suggest there are these trends that have the potential to drive a better future and I think there is such a thing as moral progress, driven not by any difference in the DNA kids are born with, but just driven by what they see, and seeing more of humanity just naturally flicks on certain switches that make people more empathetic. Of course, the future might well be truly horrible. I think it’s all to play for and I think everyone of sound mind and conscience should be in the game, trying to shape it in the right way. It’s a very false and shallow view of history to say that it’s just one thing after another. Ultimately though our history is the history of ideas. It’s a really thrilling history and ultimately that is what will drive all of our futures.”

    Ideas, creativity, curiosity – and dancing. Now there’s a mix.

    More of my talk with Chris, will of course, make it into the book…

  • March30th

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    I arrive in New York after a long and slow train from Boston to Penn Station (surely a place specifically designed to confuse foreign travelers?) The constant rains have hit the trains hard and I was lucky to make it. (The rain kept coming putting large parts of the east coast under water and the service was later suspended due to flooding.) The delays mean I hit the New York rush hour carrying my luggage, which is about as much fun as gallstones. I make it to Lounge 47 in Long Island City to meet gent and scholar Adrian Mukasa, the wise-cracking videographer I met in this bar during my last visit and who has generously found me an apartment in Queens for my stay. We catch up over some beers before I head to the apartment. It’s blissfully quiet, which is just about the most important thing anywhere I sleep needs to be (and completely unlike my flat in London which is assailed from all sides by the lives and loves of my neighbours).

    Today I meet my editor at Penguin Avery, the quietly formidable Rachel Holtzman. We have lunch at the swanky Marea restaurant bordering Central Park. Rachel has a kind of steely-softness that New York specialises in. She’s got a kind heart, but I suspect suffers fools about as gladly as the Vatican would respond to public conversion to catholicism by Gary Glitter right now. I’m glad to hear she’s happy with the four chapters I’ve delivered so far, and that the publicity and sales people at Penguin have responded well to the book (indeed, I’m to meet them, and the publisher Bill next Tuesday). Talking to Rachel also helps me begin to pull together some ideas about how the book’s narrative will play out. Most exciting however is that she’s brought a mock up of a front cover, and it’s brilliant. It’s simple but has a New Yorker kind of vibe. As soon as it’s finalised (we discussed a few tweaks) I hope to post it up here.

    I spend the afternoon in the main branch of the New York public library preparing for tomorrow’s interview with Chris Anderson, CEO of the mighty TED talks. I’m hoping Chris will help me pull together some of the threads and trends I’ve been battling with, in short, to help me make sense of everything. Given that the TED talks are a nexus for the presentation and discussion of new ideas and ways of seeing the world Chris is probably in the top ten people assailed by the most new ideas on a regular basis on the planet – and so, I hope, has managed to develop a way of bringing them all together into a coherent world view, or (more likely), a coherent attitude to approaching the future.

    After all, on one side you have James Lovelock who says, there’s no way to save the planet and on the other you have Ray Kurzweil who, as I reported in a recent post, says ‘Malthusian concerns’ about us using up the world’s resources are facile because they assume nothing in technology changes (i.e. we can engineer ourselves out of the climate crisis – and indeed just about anything else we care to think of). Meanwhile, in the middle you have eco-pragmatists like Stewart Brand (who I hope to interview in a couple of weeks) whose Whole Earth Discipline is described as ‘an eco-pragmatist manifesto’. (You can see Stewart talk about ‘four environmental heresis’ here.

    Tomorrow’s going to be an interesting day…

  • September21st

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    I wake with a not insubstantial hangover. Colin’s tiny shower offers little solace for my aching head, but slowly I return to normality and head into Manhattan to meet Rachel Holtzman, my US publisher at Penguin Avery for lunch. This is the first time I’ve met Rachel in person, although we’ve had many phone conversations since she bought the American rights for the book (demonstrating her obvious good taste and intelligence).

    There’s an easy, but steely calm to Rachel. If she were an animal she’d be a swan, a powerful grace that I suspect, if necessary, could quite quickly become formidable, but rarely has a need to. “I don’t have trouble with many authors,” she says, “but some do turn out to be stealth assholes.” I laugh. I’m looking forward to working with her. She just seems, well, solid.

    I’m full of excitement about the book and talk hurriedly and a little disconnectedly about everything I’ve been discovering (there is so much in my head it’s still a little jumbled up). It’s pouring out of me in a less than coherent fashion, not helped I’m sure by the bath of red wine and beer I subjected my neurons to the previous evening. On the basis of this I suspect Rachel may be thinking ‘If he talks like this, then God alone knows how much editing his writing will need.’

    One thing that does concern me is the proposed publication date for the book, a whole 18 months after I’m due to deliver my manuscript. I’m worried this may compromise its grasp of the zeitgeist. For instance, there’s a very high possibility that synthetic life will have been created by the time the book hits the stores, yet my manuscript will read as if it hasn’t happened. Sub-orbital tourists will likely be in space by the time you can buy a book that describes them as a near-future possibility. Advances in machine learning (already moving faster than I had expected) may have delivered headlines in the time between the delivery of my manuscript and publication that will make my work seem, well, behind the curve (hardly good for a book about the future). I’m struck by how fast everything I am investigating is moving, and how slow book publishing seems in comparison.

    Ideally I’d like the book out before Christmas 2010 but both Penguin and Profile (my publishers outside the US) are talking of mid-late 2011. It seems impossibly far away, but there are a number of good reasons for the delay. There is the process of working with my editors to hone the manuscript – an experience I’m rather looking forward too (I tend to work better with a sounding board). There is the need to consider marketing strategies, design book covers, and schedule promotional activities. The various TV, radio shows, book fairs etc that will form part of my promotional duties need to be approached and slots booked well in advance. In the end, the speed of publication is largely dependent on the quality of my initial manuscript. The closer it is to the mark, the easier it is for Rachel and Mark (Ellingham, my publisher at Profile) to expedite its route to market.

    All that said, I’m feeling that the book will be a lot more about ethics, attitudes and moral frameworks than I had previously thought. These themes are perennial, and if I weave them well into the text, it should remain ‘current’ whatever the publication date. Indeed, Juan Enriquez’s As the Future Catches You is largely out of date, in terms of the statistics and studies he quotes, but the intellectual and moral issues he asks us to consider have a ongoing resonance. Perhaps I’m worrying too much…

    I spend the early part of the afternoon walking down the west side of Manhattan spending time in Rockefeller Park and watching yachts sail up the Hudson. On one I see an advert for ‘America’s only gay sailing tea dance’ – surely one of the few businesses where a single supplier can saturate the market. Seriously, how many gay sailing tea dances can one economy support? Wandering into the island I hit a sea of humanity, a wall of intent. Everyone has something to do in New York, somewhere to go, someone to see, something to be getting on with. I too have an appointment, with neuroscientist René Hen.

    René is the head of Colin’s neuroscience lab at Columbia University Hospital where his team research Stem Cell Biology and the ‘Neurobiology of Learning and Memory’. He’s also incredibly French. Immediately you know you’re in the presence of someone with a wildly playful spirit. It goes beyond the kind of comic book Gaelic exuberance you might imagine (although he has this in abundance). It’s a look in his eyes. They’re bright from deep within as if little pinpricks of pure inspiration are burning somewhere behind the retina. He smiles easily, laughs easier. He wears his brains like a great musician wears his instrument, not as a badge of honour, or a mark of their profession – but as something they just have a great deal of fun with.

    René Hen - impossibly French

    René Hen - impossibly French

    I ask René how he got into neuroscience. He laughs. “Um… it was my experience with magic mushrooms a long time ago. The idea a tiny amount of this discrete compound could have such a powerful behavioural effect was interesting. You take half of a mushroom and you get effects that are pretty profound and last for hours…”

    “In fact they’ll turn you into a neuroscientist,” I say.

    “Yes! But beyond that I thought that a lot of the mystery had gone out of biology and immunology. Then, and now, the biggest mysteries lie in the brain. That was the other attraction.”

    The problem with neuroscience, to put it bluntly, is it’s bloody complicated. One of the reasons ‘the biggest mysteries lie in the brain’ is that it is an inordinately complex piece of kit. There are, for instance, 400 miles of blood vessels and100 billion nerve cells in that jellylike mass of fat and protein sat inside your head (that’s approximately the same as the number of stars in the galaxy). Trying to understand the interplay of all that cognitive wetware is a mammoth task. Isolating and studying specific in-brain systems or processes is hard to do, akin to trying to concentrate on a single shade of blue throughout a picture of the entire ocean.

    For many years neuroscience made use of those unfortunate enough to have suffered a brain injury or ‘lesion’ as a way to try and understand how the whole system worked, the method of deduction roughly being, ‘well it seems if you take that chunk of the brain out then the patient loses the ability understand basic social etiquette’ (this is actually a direct quote from a physician looking at a brain scan of Boris Johnson).  The brain is not divided into neat departments. As René says, “you can lesion many parts of the brain and get similar behavioural deficits, say in memory or mood. Or, you can lesion one part of the brain and get a particular behavioural outcome, but there could be 50 reasons for it.” Similarly, even though the genetic mutations that are related to diseases like Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s or Huntington’s are long identified we still don’t understand how these mutations eventually lead to behaviour we see in patients. There’s just too many variables to consider in the way the brain develops and compensates for us to have a model of how these diseases develop. “If you have a mutation early on, you have the whole cascade of developmental compensations, re-wiring afterwards, and at the end there is no way to trace it back to the mutation,” says René. At least not yet.

    Trying to ask specific questions about brain chemistry and physiology is a bit like asking my mum about whether she enjoyed her dinner. “Well, I had fish, which reminds me that there was a great deal on fish at Sainsburies this Saturday, which I found out from talking to Beryl, you remember Beryl? we met her on holiday in Greece and it turned out she lived just down the road in Dunchurch, where by the way the statue in the square was hit by a car, it was in the paper, front page, did you know your brother’s bought a new car…?” (My mum does an amazing thing. She will eventually tell you if she enjoyed her dinner and in the process of getting there will tie up any loose ends she’s left hanging during her tangential asides. It all comes together like the video of an explosion being played in reverse.)

    Because the physiology of the brain is not unlike my mum’s method of answering a questions (everything is related to everything else) isolating useful lines of enquiry is quite hard. You need to get rid of a lot of ‘noise’. This is why when I visit Colin’s bit of the lab (which I have to say needs a damn good tidy up!) he is peering at individual rat neurons under his microscope. Neuroscience is now a largely ‘bottom up’ profession. When neuroscientists therefore find a system that seems to behave in a predictable way within the brain they get excited. Neurogenesis – the ability of the brain to generate new neurons is one such system.

    That our brains generate new brain cells still comes as a surprise to a lot of people, even though it’s been 20 years since neurogenesis was discovered occurring in the hippocampus (a part of the brain associated with long term memory and spatial awareness).  “The dogma was that no new neurons are added in the mature brain,” says René..

    (Another popular myth is that alcohol kills brains cells. Roberta Pentney, professor of anatomy and cell biology at the University at Buffalo concluded it doesn’t, but it does hamper the ability of your brain cells to communicate – although the effects are not permanent. René, I notice has a fine selection of beers and spirits sat on his desk).

    “For some reason we still don’t understand anti-depressants stimulate the production of young neurons – neurogenesis – in the hippocampus,” says René. “So here we have a form of brain plasticity that’s very easy to manipulate, it’s a cell type that’s very unique, you only find it in the hippocampus and maybe one other area. So it’s a window into a brain function. In a sense nature gave us a tool here.”

    “Almost a little laboratory in the brain?” I ask

    “Exactly.”

    You can stimulate neurogenesis yourself. Exercise, learn something new. ‘Enrichment’ says René is good for your brain. “It’s probably a good idea to have more of these neurons,” he says. “We actually don’t know for sure how much more is good though”.

    The discovery and understanding of neurogenesis offers hope to those battling neurodegenerative disorders. If we can learn to switch on the process, coaxing stem cells in the brain to become neurons then we may be able to reverse the damage done to memory by Alzheimer’s, or to repair brain damage caused by more direct means (say a head injury or listening to James Blunt).

    Warning. May contain Andrew Lloyd Webber.

    Warning. May contain Andrew Lloyd Webber.

    “There are stem cells all over the brain,” says Rene. “So even though there are only two niches where neurogenesis is taking place in normal conditions you could wake them up in other parts of the brain. We know that they are elsewhere because if you lesion other parts of the brain, you can get neurogenesis there. So clearly the stem cells are there or are recruited from outside. Theoretically you could treat any neurodegenerative disease. Or a spinal cord injury. Or a cortical injury. That’s something that’s still science fiction but I would not be surprised if we can achieve that.”

    “That’s an incredibly exciting proposition?”

    “Yes, it is very exciting. The interest in this area is enormous.”

    My time with René is up, but I’ve been invigorated by talking to him. He’s like a cross between Winnie the Pooh, Jean Reno and Albert Einstein. That’s a compliment.

    Colin takes me to the pub with another neuroscientist, Clay, who I am reliably informed is ‘beyond clever’. We drink Guinness and talk about girls.

  • September20th

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    New York. It’s not the architecture, or the hustle, or even the simple excitement of being somewhere different than home, it’s a feeling. To quote Billy Joel, I’m in a New York State of Mind. London, Paris, Swindon, New York. They’re all the kind of cities that feel like the penultimate chapter in a epic narrative, a story that somehow never ends but is always heading somewhere. (OK, I was joking about Swindon.)

    I sit in a park on the East bank of the East River directly opposite the United Nations, where this Wednesday president Mohamed Nasheed of the Maldives (one of my upcoming interviewees) will deliver a speech about the need for action on climate change. Not one of the 1190 islands that make up the Maldives is more than six feet above sea level. So as the planet warms and the seas expand the risk is that they’ll be less and less of the Maldives to see.

    Colin and I talk about his work as a neuroscientist and for the first time since I’ve known him I actually understand a lot of what he is taking about. All the research I’ve been doing for my interviews with George Church and Juan Enriquez has given me a small window into Colin’s world, and I like him even more. Colin is trying to get to the bottom of how memory works, and specifically how to cure or prevent diseases that affect our ability to recall things, notably Alzheimer’s. That makes him a hero in my world. He offers to introduce me to the head of his laboratory, René Hen, and I eagerly accept.

    NY city hero - Colin O'Carrol

    NY city hero - Colin O'Carrol

    Sunday evening and New York comes up trumps in the form of Lounge 47, a bar in Long Island I take myself to while Colin is trying (and so nearly succeeding) to get laid. I get chatting to the bar staff and clientele. Allie, who pours my pints turns, out to be a contemporary dancer and reminds me strongly of a significant ex – the same quiet intelligence and elegant poise. Caitlin (or ‘Sudsy’ as everyone seems to call her) is a sociologist. Allie’s boyfriend, Maurycy Banaszek joins us and turns out to be a charming and brilliant Viola player. The clients include Adrian, a videographer and one of the funniest men I’ve met in any city. It’s not that he cracks gags, he just talks like a good observational comic. “I still do a double take when I see Obama and I’m black, right? You know, it’s like seeing a woman cab driver. It’s not wrong, it’s just unusual”.

    ‘You should do stand-up,’ I suggest.

    ‘Too scary,’ he says.

    ‘That’s a reason to do it,’ I argue.

    Another customer Roland, a local entrepreneur, is deeply interested in the book and we have a long chat about the interplay of government and society. “Congress should review the constitution every year as their first action,” he says. “It’d keep their minds on the big picture and keep our politics fresh.” It’s not a bad idea in principle.

    This is New York, where you can walk into a regular bar and find a dancer, a musician, a stand-up in waiting and conversation enough for a month. I have a brilliant evening with a bunch of strangers. Allie, ever the diligent barwoman, makes sure my glass never runs dry. By the time I leave Lounge 47 I doubt I could even count to 47.