Fairy tales redux

Education is a battleground where the future of our society is being determined. Scientists are there in the trenches fighting for the minds of the new generation. It is clear that in this fight, kindergarten emerges as a strategically important position of crucial significance. The scientific community established itself there early on (in part because so many of its members have never moved past these first attempts at socialization),  but in hindsight these efforts were too subtle. While every child knows the story of  Red Riding Hood, only a handful of them know that the story depicts the troubled history of how the Superconducting Super Collider  was wolfed down by the  US Congress. How many of you know that the  story of Rapunzel is part of an effort to make children aware of the  amazing physical properties of carbon nanotubes?  and what about Snow White and crystallography? Examples abound, but it is safe to say that literary connections with science are not always straightforward, and others have appropriated and twisted fairy tales for their not always pure needs.

Consequently, scientists needs to retell these folk tales in a more direct manner, and with a clear goal of delivering an uncluttered message. To illustrate, I will lead with  a new version of The Three Little Pigs. The message of the story is simple - life without science is not worth living, and science without external funding is not worth doing. A strong message, a modern setting, good character development and an early introduction to the vocabulary of funding agencies and proposal writing will channel children's thinking in the correct direction. Without further ado, let's begin!

Three Little Pigs apply for a grant

Scene: a well lit living room. Bookshelves in the background, issues of Scientific American and New Yorker lying around. An old copy of Feynman's lectures in physics and a Rubik's cube on the coffee table. In one word - a pigsty. The three little pigs repose and chew on acorns.

But wait a moment! they are not that little anymore … they are big, raging with hormones and restless.

Blimpie, the oldest,  jumps up and down and tries to do somersaults. "We've got to get our research funded!" he yells way too loudly. Tummy glances at him and murmurs "Yeah, the tenure clock is ticking," and Plumpie, the youngest, as usual does not say anything. The die is cast: the pigs are stuck in an academic rut, and struggling. Their research is moderately successful, but without external funding they will soon find themselves working at a state school or even a community college. Furthermore, Plumpie suffers from Swineburger Syndrome - absent mindedness and aloofness combined with acute fear of cookbooks.   He was like that from the day he was born but it has gotten  worse since their parents went to a Korean restaurant and never came back. Blimpie and Tummy are worried about Plumpie's teaching evaluations, of which he is blissfully unaware. Yet, as is often the case in the pig family, it is Plumpie who sets things in motion, "Call the wizard," he says.

"What a great idea!" exclaims Tummy, the most level-headed of the lot, and goes looking for the phone.

A week later the wizard appears at the doorstep. He is a young strapping lad covered in tattoos. A tat on his left bicep says "Moo" and one on the right  "Oink," and this makes Plumpie nervous. But otherwise the wizard is a charmer who knows his job. He plops on the couch and explains that he will begin with a simple aptitude test. At this point Blimpie starts jumping up and down yelling "Aptitude, altitude, test, test, test" louder and louder. "He needs Ritalin," says the wizard to nobody in particular, and  pulls from his bag a small container with a little plant and presents it to the pigs. "Plant it in the yard and take a good care of it. In a month's time I will come and we will talk again." And in a blink he is gone.

The plant does not look like anything although it must have some magical properties. For the next month, the pigs check on it several times a day and try not to pee in the vicinity. The plant first sprouts a lot of green leaves and then produces pale white flowers. The end of semester is coming, the tenure clock is ticking and there is a lot of anxiety in the air.

The wizard comes one month later. He has a new shiny truck and a fresh suntan. "Overhead," he says somewhat cryptically.

The fam sits in the living room in a circle looking at the wizard. Blimpie is gnawing on his hooves and brimming with excitement, Tummy has a notebook in his hand and a printout of all active solicitations of GSF (Government Science Foundation) by his side and Plumpie's mind is thousands of miles away.

"I will start with you" says the wizard pointing at Blimpie, "what part of the plant do you like the best?" Blimpie is so psyched that he looks like he is going to have a coronary in a second. He takes a big breath and roars "Flowers, FLOWERS!!!! preeetttty" while jumping at least three feet in the air.

The wizard is pleased, "I have something just for you," he says. "GSF has a new program called ASPIRE, all you need is a lot of ideas and two pairs of friendly ears." Blimpie's excitement is overflowing, he starts chanting rapidly "aspire, inspire, aspire, inspire" while running around, and then he suddenly changes the direction, exclaims "I am Schroedinger's cat!" and runs full speed into the closed door. Apparently he is trying  to demonstrate the quantum tunneling effect but it is not successful because  the value of Planck's constant is at least twenty orders of magnitude smaller than what he thought.  It is a neat idea though, and as if for a consolation the lock breaks and he rolls outside half conscious  "He definitely needs Ritalin," murmurs the wizard and turns his attention to Tummy.

"How about you? Which part of the plant do you like best?" Tummy puts on his glasses and opens a PowerPoint presentation on his laptop. He has accumulated a lot of data, rate of growth and such, taken pictures, and surreptitiously biopsied the plant on few occasions. In the end he concludes that "the plant's leaves offer useful biomass and have tremendous utility value. This is what I like best."

The wizard is very pleased. "Engineering" he pronounces, "this is where you apply for your grant!" "Your colleagues will not be the coolest or the brightest but you will fit in just fine and you will be doing useful things." Tummy, who already knows the GSF's administrative layout by heart, is pleased with the choice, but a bit taken aback by the wizard's condescending attitude towards his future colleagues and collaborators. Furthermore, he thinks that there is a great deal more to his ideas of biomass than just being useful. He also feels that the hours that he spent plant watching have not been fully appreciated. His ego is buoyed by these self-promotional thoughts and he decides to become a computer scientist. A tad cooler than an engineer and you get to publish every paper twice!

At this moment the door bursts open and Blimpie runs in. He jumps on the sofa, yells "watch me now" and tries to paint Maxwell equations on his belly using mud that covers most of his body. "You forgot the speed of light constant" mumbles Tummy, irritated by his brother's attention-grabbing attitude.

"It is time for you Plumpie, what part of the plant you like best?" asks the wizard rather hopelessly as it is clear that Plumpie's mind is  drifting on the outskirts of the solar system. Luckily at this moment Blimpie bites his leg ferociously and for a second Plumpie focuses on the wizard's question. He pauses awkwardly and says in a Yoda-like voice, "good is hidden. What is seen is not important."  As often, neither Blimpie nor Tummy have the faintest idea what  their brother is trying to communicate, but the wizard seems to be in heaven. "Yes, the Force is strong with with you" he answers trying to impersonate Obi-Wan Kenobi, "this is a potato plant and the best part of it are the tubers deep underground. The leaves and flowers do not make sense without the tubers, which are hidden out of view." The wizard smiles happily and  says "you are a mathematician and should apply to the Division of Mathematical Sciences of the GSF, to the purest and deepest of the programs that they have." "The name starts with F" he adds sensing lack of enthusiasm.  Yet Plumpie is back to counting his hooves, and  the prospects of submitting grant application are dim.  The wizard leaves and there is a lingering taste of disappointment. But then the dark clouds are gone when Plumpie utters one of his half-sentences - "Check discovery". All of them run to the yard and rip the plant out. Indeed, three nice  looking potatoes hang there at the bottom projecting image of deliciousness and accumulated wisdom. Blimpie starts devouring one right there and then, Tummy grabs the other and yells "I want it cooked and mashed" and,  invisible to others,  a rough surface of the third potato channels Plumpie's thoughts into  interactions between geodesics and singularities.