I Love My Job...But It Comes At A Price

I've been thinking a great deal about my last post, mostly because events in my country have transpired that have crystallized the fact for me that there are some communities in which science is not welcome. Where educated people (who aren't doctors or people who supply medications) are not welcome. These are the communities where the people use the statement "I'm not an educated person" as a boast and a badge of pride. It's fine to admit you don't know something, but a completely different cup of tea to willfully resist any opportunities to learn. These are the cultures in which "college educated" is used as an insult to insinuate a person is isolated from reality and surplus to requirement.

Being one of the useless college educated group and female to boot, there are certain personality traits I am expected to exude in the presence of these cultures. I am supposed to:

• Be quiet when the "real world" people are talking. People look like they've been slapped when they approach me and assume I am the more quiet, soft-spoken version of my husband, and look equally kicked in the nuts when I cut through their language of ignorance.
• Not ever correct misinformation being spewed by the "Real-Worlders." I'm an educator: that's what I do. If someone if making decisions based on faulty information, I will immediately correct them. Does it hurt their egos? Probably, but I'd rather hurt an ego than have a discussion proceed and conclude on a faulty premise.
• Not express any opinion with confidence. I don't do passive-aggressive. I don't fish in muddy waters for compliments. If I know something, I say it. I jump in.
• Respect ALL opinions. Nope, sorry. I can't respect opinions founded on logical fallacies or willful ignorance. Faulty logic leads to faulty solutions. A person has the right to believe whatever they wish, but that right does not protect them from critique. 

My career in science is the result of me having the confidence and the knowledge that I have today, but those benefits come at a price. I will never be viewed as a "regular person." For better or for worse I will always represent the "Ivory Tower", and my point of view will be forever excluded from that of the "average citizen." I accept this, and I also have to accept that because of my educational background I am more likely to be ignored than those of the Fallacy Flingers and Science Rejectors. Oh sure, they will come to me when they want to be entertained: after all, to these groups paleontology is nothing but a source of amusement. However, when it comes down to the cold, hard, and sometimes inconvenient facts, the science viewpoint will be considered less than valid and worthy of scorn.

Knowing this makes me extremely appreciative of the science community. This is the one community in which (close friends, my dojo, and family are the exceptions) where I feel it is perfectly fine for me to be a scientist and a person. It's not a community without its own peculiar faults, but it is one of the few places I feel as though I belong. Perhaps I'll live to see the day when "scientist" isn't a dirty word to the general public, but right now I feel as though I'm experiencing a modern Dark Age. All I can do is science on, and hope that my small efforts will contribute to the little spark of knowledge that will survive these times and shine bright and strong in the future.

SAS

I Love My Job, But It Is Still Work.

Hello, Dear Readers!

I'm having one of those navel-gazing moments, and other than seeing that I have a hole in my shirt, a few things have happened, rather inconsequential things, that have given me pause to think about the state of my life thanks to science and academia.

The main trigger was this article by Miya Tokumitsu called "In the Name of Love." It covers how the mantra "Do what you love [DWYL] and you will never work a day in your life" is a sack of foetid dingoes kidneys. If you're not completely googly-eyed enamored with your job (say, for example, you have a job that you do because there is rent, food, daycare, etc. for which to pay), the DWYL mentality erodes the perceived quality and importance of your work. DWYL is the employment cry of the privileged. I used to buy in to the DWYL mantra, but reading this article has caused me to examine that belief and reclassify it as such.

The section of the article that hit home for me on a personal level was this:

"If DWYL denigrates or makes dangerously invisible vast swaths of labor that allow many of us to live in comfort and to do what we love, it has also caused great damage to the professions it portends to celebrate. Nowhere has the DWYL mantra been more devastating to its adherents than in academia...Few other professions fuse the personal identity of their workers so intimately with the work output. Because academic research should be done out of pure love, the actual conditions of and compensation for this labor become afterthoughts, if they are considered at all."
Being a scientist is a large part of my personal identity. I am a scientist in a time when being part of the "Ivory Tower" is politically and publicly unpopular (as least in Canada and the USA, where the term Ivory Tower is used as the adult version of "doody-head"). In a culture that believes that every opinion is valid, I thrive on logic, data, critical thinking, and knowledge.

Step away from the comments section, Strange Woman...step away. Image source.

In a sense, science saved me emotionally. In elementary and high-school I was the Amy Farrah Fowler. I was very odd, and an easy target. So, I was targeted. There were no anti-bullying campaigns in my day. Science kept me going. Paleontology was my dream, and studying and the good grades on my transcript were my ticket out of that prison of an educational institution. I left home for university with strict instructions to my parents to burn any reunion notices. I also left home with horrendously low self-esteem.

Science changed that for me. It started when my parents (with unwavering support for my career choice) gave me a choice of high-school graduation gifts: financial help on my own vehicle, or two weeks at a paleontology field experience program. I chose the field experience. During those two weeks I met future mentors and like-minded people who were also, by the social standards of my area, odd. They were odd and reveled science, and I reveled in their influence.

I still had a long way to go, and many mistakes to make along the way. I used to be that person who constantly fished in muddy waters for compliments. I used to be that person for whom, when receiving a compliment, would twist it to turn it into an insult. No one could ever say the right thing to cheer me up. I was draining to be around. I was draining myself. I had a lot of emotional scar tissue that was still raw.

Science allowed me the opportunity to rebuild my self-esteem. I realize that is an odd statement, considering academia is chock-full of situations that can make one doubt themselves with Ex-Lax-like regularity. I learned that what matters in science is the quality of the work that I do. As a student that meant grades. That meant volunteering. That meant working. Eventually it dawned on my that I was capable of accomplishing things that mattered, regardless of what anyone else thought or said. It also dawned on my that, no matter what, there is nothing, NOTHING, that someone else could tell me that would make me feel better about myself if I wasn't able to tell myself the same damn thing and bloody well believe it.

I do love my work. I have the opportunity to see things that haven't seen the light of day for millions of years. I take the impressions of past life and translate their stories. There are days when I think it could not possibly get better than this. That does not mean that the work is not oftentimes frustrating, tedious, exasperating, and actual hard work. Hard physically, hard mentally, and hard emotionally. The problem with the DWYL mantra is that a person who has a job they love cannot express frustration without being countered with such pablum as "Well, at least you get to do what you love." It sounds like a math-based platitude: X is difficult, but since the love (Y) is greater, the result comes out positive! YAY! Problems all solved, right?


No. Just no. Love of a job does not cancel out or erase the negative aspects. The DWYL mantra does not negate difficulties. There is no fix for those days that make you think "Why do I bother?" My friend Jenny, who is living her dream by running a school in Tanzania, said it best: "People confuse living your passion with living in a 5 star resort vacation! They are NOT the same thing!"

This is a dangerous mindset, especially if we insist on it to younger people entering the workforce. DWYL carries with it the expectation that it's all so damn easy to do what you love. Of course, one of the interpretations of "easy" is "I can just sit back and sip my wine, and it will all work out. No effort required!" The sooner that insinuation is challenged, the better.

At least there is some interesting ichnology happening during this particular head in the sand episode.

A job in academia comes with a myriad of costs. There is no guaranteed employment. There is little financial stability. There is little locational stability. Life milestones that non-academic friends celebrate become foreign concepts, such as starting a family, building a dream house, or going on regular vacations. There is no 9am-5pm: if I'm not doing something related to my thesis or work, I get antsy and refer to my down time as "being lazy." [Note: now that the thesis is done, I've purged that feeling.]

I love what I do, and I've had to realize that loving my job does not mean it is stress-free, problem-free, or even doubt-free. There are costs. Thanks to my job and the path that I took to get here, I feel like I have the emotional resilience to pick up the bill for those costs and work out a reasonable payment plan. [UPDATE: But it's STILL WORK. Hard. Bloody. Work.] The love of the job gives me the mental armor to wade into battle and slog through the difficult times. Do what you love, and you'll work harder for it than you ever thought you would or could.

Strange Woman

What to Wear, What to Wear? A Woman in Science Packs a Field Work - Conference Bag.

An interesting article popped up in my Twitter feed a few days ago, rather whimsically titled "Why Women Have So Many Clothes." The image in the article is no where approaching whimsical: it shows a woman's leg, and drawn on said leg are the labels given to various hemlines (current style and perception dependent.) That in of itself is worth a post or two, but the first thing that popped into my mind was "Oh, don't get me started on packing for both a conference AND field work!"

Whether I like it or not, people (the public, colleagues, potential collaborators or consultees, conference coordinators, committees, students, prospective employers, etc.) are going to judge me to some extent on my appearance, and specifically on my manner of dress and personal presentation. Everyone has their own interpretation of professional style: it's normal at a paleontology conference to see someone in a suit and tie having a conversation with someone in khaki shorts and a T-shirt. From wool pants to sandals with socks, it's a matter of personal taste and comfort. Through many trials and countless errors, I've finally found what (I think) works for me in terms of conference-wear. Of course, just because I'm comfortable with it does not mean my style is immune to criticism: by dressing my body type and wearing skirts, am I trying to "use" my femininity? I like a nice pump: am I trying to get attention? There's a trace of make-up: just who am I trying to impress? Well, me, to be perfectly honest.

My personal philosophy on professional wear (conference, meetings, etc.) is that people are only going to respect me as seriously as I respect myself. I make sure I'm clean. I make sure my clothes are clean. I run a brush through my hair and over my teeth (not the same brush). For me, there are situations that are not appropriate for clothing that is stained, doesn't fit properly, or shows off Krakatoa.

Yes, Krakatoa is a euphemism. Image source.

I don't shy away from what are considered feminine styles, and I don't view looking feminine as a weakness: how others may view it depends on their own biases. I feel that I don't need to neuter myself to be a scientist, and I respect my colleagues and supervisors enough to know that they would never stoop so low as to give me an opportunity because they think I look "hot", or some other such drivel. That concept is (or should be) offensive to everyone. (Note: I'm not saying that situation doesn't happen in a professional setting. It does. If we've learned anything from the #ripplesofdoubt hashtag started by Karen James, we have learned that science and science communication is not immune from this kind of misogyny and the damage it causes. I'm only saying that, to the best of my knowledge, it has not happened to me.)

I dress at conferences to best represent my institution and my profession: in short, to best represent Strange Woman the Professional. None of these considerations come into play with my field clothing. Stains, mismatched colors, baggy, torn...anything goes. I wear what it takes to get the job done, and get the job done safely. That is how I dress the Strange Woman of the Field.

I love attending conferences for which there is a field work component. The insights that exploring a new area can add to your observations of your home localities just cannot be beat. However, it does make packing (for me) a bit of a pain in the ass. Strange Woman of the Field and Strange Woman the Professional have two completely different clothing needs.

My first experience with packing for an international combined field trip and conference was Turkmenistan. Both Rich and I admittedly over packed because we had no idea exactly what type of field work would be expected of us. Turns out it was hiking to see sites and no rigorous field documentation, so we didn't need half of the equipment we brought. We have since learned how to better streamline our suitcases, but Rich admits that he is glad he is not a woman when he sees the "extras" that I feel I have to bring.

I realize that all this could be avoided by just saying  "I don't give a Flying Spaghetti Monster what people think of my clothes" and just wear my stained field shirts, latex and silicone coated pants, and dusty old hiking boots for every occasion. I'm a field person, after all! Strange Woman of the Field and Strange Woman the Professional are both part of what I do as a scientist. Both do what they do best when they feel (and that's the key word - feel) appropriately attired. Would I show up to a job interview in a sweat-stained tank top and my clunky logging boots? No more than I would hang off of ropes on a vertical tracksite wearing my Fluevogs and a pencil skirt.

The perfect footwear for scaling a 50 degree slope 60m off of the ground, right? Nope. Conference shoes are not field work shoes.

Both Strange Woman of the Field and Strange Woman the Professional have to make separate packing lists. Unfortunately they also have to share a suitcase, but they both use the same plane ticket, so there is an upside.

Strange Woman the Professional/Shaman of the Field, the Carry-On Bag:
My carry-on bag contains all of those items that would physically stop (or at least delay) my being able to hit the ground running with field research or conference activities. This is where the two Strange Women share the packing duties. The carry-on bag doubles as my day pack for the field.

• Computer and computer cord, with power cord in an easy to access section of the bag (for airport security)
• Travel external hard drive
• Wireless mouse
• Digital camera
• Hand held GPS
• Digital calipers or measuring tape (Side note: when flying through the US, I was pulled aside at security because of the digital calipers and was asked if they were a dangerous weapon. I responded with "Only if I can measure something to death." Not smart. Don't sass airport security. My only excuse was that I was tired after a long flight and my mental filters were not working as they should.)
• Rite-in-the-Rain field book with writing instrument (I doubt that I will ever give up hand-written notes)
• Plumber's soapstone pen and soapstone sticks
• Brunton compass
• Photo scales
• Angle-o-meter (my name for the device that takes any angle data on tracks)
• Mini flashlight (once the paper on this site is out, I have a lovely story on how, for the lack of one flashlight, I did an unplanned overnight in the field in November)
• Cell phone
• Travel medicines, travel documents, toothbrush, one change of base layers, sunglasses, headphones, neck pillow

You can imagine that airport security just loves it when I join the queue, but I'll be damned if my research electronics and tools leave my side during travel. That bag becomes my mobile office.

The checked luggage is where the different research needs become the most obvious.

Strange Woman of the Field, the Suitcase:
This half of the suitcase is reserved for all the field gear that I would need for a week to a month or more of continuous field work. Most of this clothing also doubles as tourism clothing (except for my pants - I'm hard on pants).

• Two pairs of synthetic fabric pants (wear one, wash one)
• If it's the right season, two sets of thermal undies (one washed, one being worn)
• One pair of non-field pants/capris
• Two to three light, long-sleeved button shirts
• Four sets of synthetic base layers, including socks (one washed, one drying, one being worn, and a spare - the spare is very important)
• Two wide-strapped tank tops (for under the long sleeved shirts)
• One wide-brimmed hat
• Two bandanas
• Small binoculars
• Toilet paper (I learned this one the hard way)
• Rain gear
• Field knife
• Hand lens
• First aid kit
• Gloves
• Personal grooming items
• Sunscreen

It seems pretty light up until now, doesn't it? Shove the clothing items into a compression sack and there is still loads of room in the suitcase! Then I come to this item:

• One pair of steel-toed, Kevlar woven logging boots, or for non rugged terrain, non-TSA friendly hiking boots.

Damn boots. Field boots are a very personal item. They can also be an expensive item (for a student), if you want to make sure they will 1) fit (my sister-in-law jokes that my shoes should come with a full compliment of life rafts), 2)  protect my arch and ankle, and 3) not fall apart after the first day. I am as hard on boots as I am on pants. Perhaps one day I'll just throw caution to the wind and risk buying boots at my destination and leave them there after the trip.

Strange Woman the Professional, the Suitcase
Conference and business meeting clothing. Mix and match is the key for me, and nothing that would have caused my Granny and Aunt Molly comment "Hello, Sailor!" This is for a four-day conference, plus any unexpected side meetings. For only one or two professional meetings, one outfit plus an extra shirt would suffice.

• One pair nice shoes (either the shoes pictured above or the ones I show in this post)
• One knee-length skirt and/or one pair of dress pants
• Two to three lace shells that can go under dress shirts
• Two dress shirts
• One suit jacket
• A couple of finishing pieces (a bold pendant, a silk scarf, etc.)
• Make-up
• Hair clips

Most of these are soft, squishy items that can also be packed into a compression sack. I manage to cram all of this into something smaller than a steamer trunk. This is assuming there is no camping involved with the field work: that would require bringing a sleeping bag, an sleeping pad, and a possibly a tent and an actual expedition-size field backpack (which then becomes my suitcase). Also, this packing list only concerns personal field and conference gear and does not include any specialized research equipment. Before leaving for the airport I have to find out the logistics of obtaining these items at my destination (or the logistics for shipping these items if needed):

• Heavy tracing plastic and permanent markers
• Duct tape
• Archive-grade, low ammonia latex, or, platinum-cure silicone
• Fiberglass and resins (or plaster) for mould support jackets
• Chalk (for outlining footprints)
• Brushes, for cleaning a track surface and for making moulds
• Hammers, chisels, and other digging tools
• Climbing gear and rope
• Bulk food and water for the crew

Every year I try to remove one or two extra items from my personal packing list, or to replace two or three items with one multipurpose item. I'll be interested to compare my 2013 packing list with the one I make a few years from now.

If you have any clever travel hacks to share (or horror stories), I'd love to hear them!

Back to being desk-bound: paper reviews, proofs, and revisions all decided to appear in my inbox this week.

SW

The Science Professional vs. The Person

Happy New Year, Dear Readers!

I survived my New Year's party indulgence of mulled wine and homemade alfredo sauce. I started writing this yesterday, and then started editing when I returned home last night, admittedly under the influence of a bit of mulled wine. I broke a rule of wisdom:

Don't drink and edit a blog post, or, don't mull over mulled wine. It makes navel-gazing seem insightful.

More detrimental than drinking and dialing? Based on all of the shirts for sale expressing this sentiment...oh bloody hell, there's actually an app for that! #ClutchesPearls

Here is what triggered my mulling. I received what would be normally considered a pretty uneventful email a few days ago. Without getting into specifics, it was a very small professional request for a very small amount of assistance. It was not the request that made me do a double check (and a Google search to ensure that I wasn't making assumptions): it was the requester. See, this person is someone who's personal character I would call into question on my most charitable days. They are not someone with whom I would want to associate on a personal level. As the request was small (and really, it was a standard request), I obliged and moved on, at least physically. Mentally, though, I was still troubled, and the trouble had to do with how I was perceiving the situation.

This was the first time that I have had to seriously make a distinction between the Science Professional and the Person. Let me explain a bit. I work with a great group of ichnologists. They are professional and respectful, and bloody good at what they do. We are also good friends. I may have met them through my professional life, but these are people with whom I would want to be friends if we had met under non-professional circumstances. They are great scientists who are great people.

Here is where my personal, completely illogical bias comes in: if someone is a good scientist, I also expect them to be what I consider is a good person. More specifically, I automatically expect them to be the kind of good person with whom I would want to associate on a personal basis. I did not consciously realize this bias in myself until this email. As all biases do, it was lurking in the corners, influencing my judgement of situations, silently mouthing approvals or condemnations based on what I hear.

What traits fall under my definition of "good"? It's a fairly broad list, and there are many different interpretations of honest, respectful, considerate, sympathetic, empathetic, and ethical/strong sense of personal responsibility. For example, I have my own ethical interpretation of the sale of vertebrate fossils. There are others who have a completely different set of what they view as ethical in the sale of vertebrate fossils. The chances of me working professionally with person who has a professional ethical interpretation that is counter to my own will be tempered by that ethical interpretation, but I wouldn't shun them as a person. This isn't some "Oh, how big of me to let them in my life" thing, but just one of the realities of Science Professionals: you can disagree professionally with a person yet, after a vigorous debate, head to the local pub and grab a few drinks together and talk about everything else. Perhaps this is because I know so many great Science Professionals who are great People.

Now how about the person who is a good Science Professional, yet whose personal actions make you want to roast them with the Glare of Doom?

The Eye of Sauron does not hold a candle to the Glare of Doom. Your personal safety prevents me from showing images of the Glare of Doom. Image source here.

That type of professional-personal interaction I find the most difficult with which to deal, and that's the source of my mulling. Sometimes you have to separate the science from the person. A good scientist does not necessarily have to be (what I consider, at least) good person. That bugs me as a person, because I truly believe that being a good person helps you be a good scientist, because these personality traits are not those that I feel one just shuts off when you leave the lab. Here that? Those are my biases mouthing off once again, because these traits can be applied to a professional life yet be missing in a personal life.

The boiled-down point is this: I don't have to personally like someone in order to interact with them on a professional level. I don't have to like a person to agree with their body of work. Again, just one of the realities of being a Science Professional: just as you don't personally like everyone you meet, you are not necessarily going to like every Science Professional you meet. You may want to, but it's not guaranteed.

However, being a Science Professional does mean behaving ethically. It does mean being honest in your work and in anything that can have an impact on your work-related life. Professional courtesy is an old term for a good reason: you can't be a jerk to your colleagues and/or students and then expect them to want to work with you. Respect is a two-way street. There is a certain standard to which a Science Professional should hold themselves (and others.) Bad situations arise when these professional standards are violated. Since work is such a large part of a Science Professional's life, a professional faux pas has a good chance of having a negative impact on their personal life, and it's a two-way street. What goes around doesn't necessarily always come around, but the possibility lurks.



This likely won't be the only time I have a professional interaction where I will have to make this distinction, and I'm sure I am not the only one in science who has had to mull this over. There are still a few questions related to this issue that I have asked myself for which I have no answers. I'm sure I will find them as my mind free-associates during a run or a ski, which sounds like a good idea after the epic amounts of food that were consumed last night.

Here's to a Happy and Productive 2014!

SAS
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3:34pm Update: I think the only way I can deal with making the distinction between the Science Professional and the Person is on a case-by-case basis, and this is a personal call. If I feel that their personal bad behavior is in any way related to their professional life, there is very little chance that I would want to be either personally or professionally associated with that person. I realize that, fair or not, this is the standard to which I hold Science Professionals. This will likely evolve with time (and experience.)

How This Scientist Reviews a Paper.

Hello, Dear Readers!

I am feeling particularly less annoyed than in my last post. There have been a few posts written that thoroughly describe why the pig-chimp hybrid idea is NOT science: check out Donald Prothero's post, and this article by Henry Gee, which also includes what has to be the most disturbing image of a pig-primate merger that I have had the displeasure to see. (Thanks, Guardian. Now my subconscious has new fodder with which to replace the spiders that usually invade my nightmares.)

Nope, I decided that I can't be the only one who has to live with this image. You're welcome.

All of the criticisms of the idea are consistent, but the take-home for non-scientists should be this: the hybrid idea is not science because there is nothing that has been peer-reviewed and published. As I detailed in my last post, throwing information up on the Internet is not the same as publishing a peer-reviewed paper in a scientific journal. There is no credibility in such a website because there has been no fact-checking. That's what the peer-review process is: scientific fact and logic checking by other scientists. Plain and simple.

What exactly is involved with peer-reviewing a paper?

I can describe the process I go through when I review a paper that has been submitted for scientific publication. In fact, I'm reviewing an ichnology paper right now, so I can outline what I do and in what order I do it.

Note: I will not be divulging the authors, contents, or my comments of said paper. That behavior would be the weakest of weak tea. One of my specialties is ichnology, so it stands to reason that I will be asked to review ichnology papers. The first people who get to see the detailed comments and recommendations are the authors themselves and the editor of the scientific journal. Actually, the ONLY people who get to see my comments are the paper authors and the editors. Confidentiality in this part of the review process is important for maintaining objectivity. The only person I will have direct contact with will be the editor. Once the paper is published, its data and interpretations are then open to the scientific community as a whole for comment and critique, but only the finished product: even then my comments and recommendations remain confidential.

First, I have to actually agree to review a paper. I am given a choice whether I want to review, but am under no specific obligation to review a paper. I do not get paid for the time it takes to review papers (there is no financial reasons involved in accepting or rejecting a paper.) There is nothing in my job description that states "Thou shalt review thy colleague's papers!" While there is no specific obligation, the expectation is still there to review. Why? Well, for many reasons:
- I have accumulated knowledge and experience, and can make constructive comments that will hopefully improve the content and/or presentation a paper,
- Part of contributing to science is to make sure that shoddy science (i.e. interpretations that are not supported by the available data) are corrected and do not make it into official publications,
- Papers cannot be published in scientific journals unless they are reviewed. If people don't review papers, the process is stalled, and it slows down spreading the scientific love,
- I also publish papers, and someone in my field took the time to review and improve my papers. This is a science version of "paying it forward."

Second, I have to agree to the time limit for the review. These can range from a couple of weeks to a couple of months. The idea is that I will get the review completed in a timely enough fashion so that the paper can be published in a timely fashion.

OK. I've accepted the review request and the editor has sent the PDFs of all of the files that have been submitted by the authors. These include the text of the paper, all of the images and their captions, all of the data tables and their captions, and all of the supplementary information.

The first official step that I take is I read the abstract. Yup, just like reading a paper for my own research project, I read the abstract to see what sort of paper I will be reviewing. Is it an systematic paper, where new ichnotaxa will be named? Is it a first occurrence (or earliest occurrence, or youngest occurrence) of tracks an area? Is it a ichnofaunal paper? Each type of paper has its own specific rules for presenting that specific information, so I make a mental check list of what I want to see in such a paper. I also make a mental check list of what reasons I would accept for certain bits of information not being presented. Heck, I'm a field person, so I know that the realities of collecting data in the field will trump the ideals. I just want to see that the authors have made an effort to not only collect all the information that they need, but to account for information they wanted to collect but couldn't because the site was unexpectedly flooded, or a tornado hit, or it just wouldn't stop raining, or the site was vandalized, or they lost funding and couldn't continue the work....you get the idea.

If there are certain track types or ichnofossils mentioned in the abstract, I make note of those, because the next step for me is to actually read the key papers that have been previously published on those specific trace fossils. Oh yes, Dear Reader. This paper reviewer does her homework. I don't get to just sit back with a cup of tea (OK, the tea part I do get to do), whip out the Red Pen of Dashed Hopes and arbitrarily cross out paragraphs whilst yelling "Rubbish!"

My ideal Red Pen of Dashed Hopes would have feathers on it. Grading and reviewing papers is more fun when the cat that is physically sitting on said papers is entertained. Priorities. Image from froggooseandbear.blogspot.com

There is no way I can retain all of the relevant details of every ichnotaxon ever described in my tea-soaked noggin. I don't assume that I know (or can remember) everything. I read up on the original descriptions of the ichnotaxa in question, as well as the key interpretations that have been previously made about said ichnotaxa. I want this information fresh in my head going into the review. I also review any of the debates or alternate interpretations regarding some ichnotaxa and the evidence to support said arguments. I also make a mental check of my own stances on certain arguments. I've been around the outcrop a few times, so I have my own opinions on what interpretations the available data does and doesn't support.

My background reading is complete, but the materials are close at hand in case I need a refresher, or to make sure that the authors are interpreting previous works accurately, or are at least not stretching an interpretation too far. One item I always have at hand is the International Code of Zoological Nomenclature. Yup, ichnologists must follow the Code for the naming of new ichnospecies, ichnogenera, and ichnofamilies, just like any other taxonomist. If the paper I'm reviewing is naming, renaming, or reorganizing the systematics of a certain ichnogroup, it's my job as Reviewer to make sure the rules of the Code are followed.

I've gone through the paper and have highlighted areas that I find either need correcting (grammar, typos, etc.) or more work (examining alternate interpretations, more data, better figures, and in the name of the Flying Spaghetti Monster include a data table if there are measurements collected!) It's not just my job to say "This isn't good enough," or "NO!" [That "NO!" was an actual review comment received by a colleague.] Those are examples of general negative comments at don't actually help the author improve the paper. I have to qualify what kind of work is needed to get me from a "No!" to a "Yes!" If there are other papers that the authors need to use in certain sections, I list those. If I find the figures uninformative, I suggest what would need to change to make the figures useful. If there are alternate interpretations that need consideration, I state those. Review comments should always be constructive.

After my comments are all sorted out, I check the reference list. I go through each in-text citation and make sure that it occurs in the reference list. This is a long but necessary process. The reference list is a useful tool for people reading the paper. It contains all the sources of information used by the authors to arrive at their current interpretations. If the reference list is not complete or is full of errors, the reader of the finished product does not have all of the information.

Let's say you get your paper back, and it has a big ol' "NO!" written on one of the pages, or all of your great insights were met with harsh criticism by your peer reviewers. Yes, you might receive negative comments. Are you unpleasantly surprised? A bit pissed off? A little hurt? A lot hurt? You might be: you're also a human being.

I was teaching university-level science writing seminars, the inevitable writing assignment always created a lot of stress among the students, especially around the time when the first drafts were returned. I was fortunate in that, by the time I was teaching those writing seminars, I had already received a fairly damning review of one of my papers. I knew what it felt like to construct what I thought was a flawless piece of scientific brilliance only to have it crawl back from gaping maw of review, leaving a trail of smeared bloody red ink on the floor to mark its passing.

I was brutally honest with my students. I told them exactly what I thought and felt when receiving that review. I told them about all that personal gooshy feely stuff that us robotic scientists aren't supposed to experience. Then I told them how I proceeded from the raw emotion stage to the "making it better" stage.

I felt the feels, and then let them pass. After a couple of days, I picked up the review and looked at it again, this time with a critical eye. Well, darn it if my reviewers weren't quite correct in all of their comments and critiques! I found that two day cool-off period essential. I even implemented it for my students: they had to wait 48 hours before contacting me with questions about their papers. When they finally did contact me, I received less emotional responses and more constructive advice-seeking. At the end of the semester I even had a couple of students thank me for telling them the story of my first negative review and for making them wait a couple of days before coming to see me. The two days gave them time to see that my comments were there to help, not hurt.

How did my colleague deal with the "NO!" written across one of their pages? After setting it aside for a couple of days, they realized that something was striking the reviewer as "off" about the interpretations made in that section. They realized that perhaps they didn't provide enough background information to logically support the interpretations. Two pages of detailed explanation and support later, that "NO!"disappeared, and the interpretation was well supported. Even negative reviews can be helpful if you choose to see them in that light.

Time to switch from reviewing mode to paper-writing mode! Let's see if I can get one last paper submitted before the end of 2013.

SAS.

Strange Woman Abroad: Chongqing Ichnology Conference - The Lotus Tracksite

Well, Dear Readers, it's time to resume the saga of our 2012 Chongqing Ichnology Conference and related field trips. We visited the Yangqing National Geopark Tracksite (we made a return trip in September 2013, but that is a story for another time), and the Shandong area tracksites within the quarries. Now we were whisked away from the cool dry climate of north-central China to the southern coastal region of Chongqing. This would be the last field work we did before the conference on November 29.

In northeastern BC I've had the privilege of working on some spectacular paleontology sites with glamorous scenery that inspires one to run through alpine meadows singing. The Lotus Tracksite is one of those sites. Situated outside of the city of Chongqing, it gives off a sense of idyllic rural peacefulness.

"The hills are alive with the sound of footprints! Lalalalaaaahaaaa!" (This is why I am a scientist and not a singer.) Mountain scenery of the Lotus Stockade Tracksite.

For the next four days, the bus would drive us to the rural center, and then we would walk along a path that went over brook and field.

We followed the path to the farmhouse in the upper right corner of the photo.

Laura Pinuela and Martin Lockley.

Lovely terraced farms.

Babbling brook with sediment from a recent rain.

A completely different style of growing crops than I was used to seeing growing up in southern British Columbia farm country.

I was not brave enough to try one of the fresh spicy peppers seen on this pepper plant. I hang my head in shame. (No one else tried one either, so I am in good company!)

Our party reached the farmhouse, but that was not the end of the trek. Oh no: we had to transport ourselves (and our field gear) from the base of the cliff to a natural fissure using a cement stairway.

Daniel Marty and the resident farm ducks. These ducks spent a great deal of time free-ranging in the fields. They are also a possible modern analog for a webbed bird footprint from the Cretaceous, named Uhangrichnus.

Our brief reprieve at the farmhouse. Lida Xing (left), Martin Lockley (right).

Can you see the tracksite from here? If I were going to hide from raiders, this would be the place.

Martin actually counted the steps: there are approximately 900 steps in the staircase. This is where I experienced a slight ping of culture shock, because around noon and in the afternoons we would see elderly people slowly walking up and down the entire stairway. They were doing this for exercise. Coming from a culture where everything is in walking distance yet people drive less than a kilometer to get a bag of potato chips, this impressed me.

So many steps...

The Lotus Tracksite from the stairs. Almost there!

If it wasn't for the staircase, I could not see any easy egress or regress to the Stockade. It was a perfect defensive post against raiders.

As the Lotus Stockade is now a heritage tourism destination (thanks to the work of Lida Xing), there were visitor friendly additions to the actual site (including the stairs). Wooden boardwalks are installed so that people can view the tracks without stepping on them. As the derelicts that ichnologists are, the first thing we did was physically explore the track surface.

Approaching the tracksite.

Wooden barricades keep distracted paleontologists corralled.

The Lotus Stockade has a fascinating history. The people who took shelter there 700 years ago noticed the large ornithopod tracks and the large-scale dessication features. They arrived a very astute explanation for the presence of these odd shapes: the ornithopod tracks were described as preserved impressions of lotus blossoms. One of the fascinating parts of ichnology is discovering all of the cultural explanations for footprints, and this is one of my favorites. Lida did a wonderful artistic interpretation of the story, and it became one of the logos for the Ichnology Conference.

The interpretation of ornithopod tracks as preserved lotus impressions does not require a large leap in imagination. Check out the original image here.

Now it was time to get to work. As these tracks are currently the subject of in-progress and in-press papers, I won't show too many of the details that are going to occur in said papers. However, there are two surfaces that we had to document in three days: the upper ornithopod track layer, and the lower bird layer.

The upper ornithopod surface, viewable through a plexiglass floor. Us delinquent ichnologists had special permission to crawl all over the surface.

We split into two teams. Rich, Martin, Laura, and I took the lead on the bird layer, while Daniel, Matteo, Hendrik, and Julien worked on the ornithopod layer. The two teams had slightly different procedures, but both ended with two large plastic tracings that matched up between the layers beautifully. Lida bounced between Team Ornithopod and Team Bird (my affectionate names for the groups - we were all one happy ichnology team) making sure that we had everything we needed for a three-day session of mass data collection. He also made sure we were fed: a constant supply of snacks were made available.

Here's how Team Bird tackled a several square meter surface that contains over 200 footprints (218 according to my field notes.) First, we found a very distinct footprint with a clear digit III preserved. The end of digit III was the anchor point for the next step. Second, we established a 1 meter by 1 meter grid system along the surface. We established the grid using fairly old-school techniques: a compass, a meter stick, and chalk.

Next, we physically gridded the entire track-bearing surface. We went through a great deal of chalk! We saved our welder's soapstone pens for the next step of physically outlining each and every footprint we could see on the surface. Establishing the physical grid took about half a day (we checked, double-checked, and triple-checked for repeatability) while the outlining of the prints took about another half of a day. It is a long process, but it makes the data collection all the more simple.

Next, we labeled each footprint according to the grid square in which it occurred (e.g. track B10-1, A2-7, etc.) Each print was photographed from multiple angles for future digitizing work, as well as each individual grid square. After the tracks were labeled and individually photographed, physical measurements were collected (I rarely collect data from photographs if I have the original specimens at hand.)

Rich McCrea (foreground) of Team Bird photographing gridded squares while Martin Lockley paints latex on a specimen for replication. Team Ornithopod is in the background.

Team Ornithopod tracing the upper surface.

We were all quite amazed when we found out that we didn't have to hike all the way back down to farmhouse for lunch. A hot lunch was brought up to us! Salted pork, cabbage and hot peppers, rice, and stewed pumpkin! You can see from the photos that we are all in our cold weather gear, and a hot lunch was most welcome.

A hot lunch at the Lotus Tracksite.

Team Bird spent the bulk of their time physically measuring prints and taking photos. It wasn't until November 28 that we joined the tracing party.

The final step: tracing the surface onto plastic sheets. Not only did we trace on the prints on the plastic map, but we traced on the corners of the grid squares for reference.

Other researchers and conference attendees arrived during our three day session at the Lotus Track, which allowed for more eyes on the surface.

Team Bird was finished the documentation of the lower surface late in the afternoon of the 28th. It's an odd feeling to be finished documenting a surface. I always feel as though I should be doing something else, but we had done everything we could do in the time frame available. We were done. Team Ornithopod continued into the evening, but they too were finished on the 28th. Now all we had to do was to put our finishing touches on our presentations and switch to conference mode! The conference was fascinating, and I am pleased to say that my presentation on the multivariate analysis of Mesozoic bird footprints was very well received.

The traced plastic maps, all bundled up and ready to head to the lab for interpretation.

My patience was well rewarded! I had finally seen and documented bird footprints! Not only that, but I had seen bird footprints in an area steeped with history. My co-authors and I are working on getting the paper that analyzes these prints ready for submission. Stay tuned!

That's it for now!

SW out.

Public Service Science Announcement (PScA): Posted Online Does Not Mean Scientifically Published.

Good Morning, Dear Readers!

I'm feeling annoyed with the Internet right now. Perhaps I woke up cranky. Perhaps I haven't had my usual dose of Earl Grey tea. Or perhaps it's all these tweets I've been seeing over the past couple of weeks. I don't feel right posting a link or showing a screen capture of just one tweet as an example, because it seems that my Twitter feed is filled with retweets from multiple people sharing this news article. I wouldn't want to seem as though I was singling out one re-Tweeter.

The subject of said article: humans originated from a pig-chimpanzee hybridization.

"Holy Flying Spaghetti Monster! Which journal is this published in?" was my reaction when I first saw the links.

I may be incorrect, but there does not appear to be any scientific journal in which this research appears. The documentation for this idea comes from the researcher's own website.

My reaction when from "Holy Cthulhu!" to "I'll wait for the paper."

Science literacy and atrophied critical thinking skills are not new topics. We have the cringe-worthy "It's just a theory" phrase when someone wants to discredit an idea without themselves having any knowledge or data to support said discrediting. We have several cryptozoology websites whose contributors have boarded the Circular Reasoning Merry-Go-Round and present only data that supports their claims (Bigfoot/Sasquatch is my favorite example because of the strong ichnology influence.)

Topical to this is my all-time favorite, the Pacific Tree Octopus, a seemingly well-researched website that decries the decline of an endangered species, but was really a social science experiment to test the online academic critical thinking skills of students. Turns out that we as a society are a bunch of suckers when it comes to information presented online.

This is a definite PR problem when it comes to science publication. We (as scientists) call for open-access to published research while simultaneously seeming to denounce those that are sharing their own work for the world to see. The big difference between open-access of published data and these "open science" websites is that the published data has been officially published. This is not a smart-ass comment. When the results of a research project are published by a scientific journal, it means there is a history of critical work that went into getting those results to a certain scientific standard. This is called the peer-review process. First (there are variations of this process), the editor of the journal to which the paper was submitted would send the paper to two or three experts in the field of that particular research. These would be experts who were not directly involved with the research.

Second, the experts would go over the results with a critical eye. When I review papers, these are the questions I ask myself (and I assume that researchers reviewing my papers ask themselves):
- Were the data collected carefully? Were enough data collected?
- Does the subject matter (e.g. a fossil footprint) show to me what the researcher says that it shows?
- What are alternative interpretations that I can come up with before I reach the interpretations and conclusions section of the paper?
- Did the researcher address all the possible alternative interpretations? In the case of identifying a fossil, did the author examine all the possible identities of said fossil before settling on an identification?
- Did the researcher thoroughly check all of the previous work and interpretations that have been done on the subject?
- Are the interpretations and the conclusions in proportion to the data presented? In other words, are the authors stretching an interpretation over too little data?

Third, the experts would write up their comments and recommendations for the paper. Their recommendation options run from "Accept with no changes" to "Accept with minor/major changes" to "Accept with major changes and re-review" or "Reject/Not acceptable for publication." In my experience, the information and/or interpretations presented in a paper have to be pretty shoddy to warrant a "Reject." My philosophy with reviewing papers is to help the researchers present the most sound interpretation based on the data available. A rejected paper is not meant to be a personal attack: it simply means that the researcher did not convince their fellow researchers of their interpretations. It means they need to go back to the drawing board (or the lab, or the field, etc.) and do more work.

Fourth, the editor for the journal reads these recommendations, adds some of their own, and then notifies the researcher about the decision. If the paper is accepted with any type of revision recommended, the researcher must address those recommendations before sending in the corrected copy (or provide a darn good reason why they are not applying said recommendations.) The version of the paper that is originally submitted is the equivalent of a first draft of an essay, and the revised version is the second draft, ideally with all the corrections made. The peer-review process can be long, complicated, and sometimes arduous, but it is the most thorough way the scientific community has of fact-checking research.

Here's the peer-review process for posting your unpublished work online. First, do your work. Second, acquire internet access and design a website. Third, post said work. [Note: there is a big difference between posting unpublished research and posting about research that has already been published.]

This is why I always lectured my students in any writing classes I taught on the pitfalls of relying solely on the Internet for researching scientific writing assignments. There is no peer-review of the Internet. If I want to create a website that states Tyrannosaurus rex is a 40 meter long fish, I can do that. I can make it look official. I can present realistic looking data. Sure, I would be open to the mocking of my peers, but that website would remain up for as long as I wanted it to, and students everywhere could write about the wonders of an aquatic T. rex.

The fact that an image of an aquatic T. rex exists does make me less cranky. Image source: http://inveeous.blogspot.ca/

A less hyperbolic example of this is the discussion around the website ReptileEvolution.com: it is presented in such a way that the layperson or student would not be able to distinguish its information from peer-reviewed sources. Darren Naish at Tetrapod Zoology does a thorough examination of the site: it's a lengthy read, but worth every word. It is critical without being personal. Another example is seazoria.com: despite being told by countless paleontologists that the specimens in question are in fact glacial erratics with no bones in them whatsoever, the person who made the website insists that they represent the remains of a frozen "Sea Dragon."

This is why websites like the pig-chimp hypothesis, ReptileEvolution.com, and seazoria.com annoy me. Regardless of the intent of the authors of such "open science" websites, they do take advantage of a society that is hungry for scientific information but has atrophied critical thinking skills. The authors of these sites are already convinced of their ideas, but have not convinced their research peers. What are almost never presented on these sites are the rebuttals to these ideas, which only serves to make the ideas seem accepted by the scientific community.


Back to the chimp-pig topic. I don't think that I can do a better dissection than PZ Meyers on Pharyngula (who does poke fun, but also presents thorough counters), but from what I have read of the Macroevolution website, there is one misperception that I know for a fact is not accurate, and has the effect of making the lay-person reader more accepting of the hypothesis. [Note: I have to hat-tip the Macroevolution site here. They do not say this is a theory, but a hypothesis. The science-reporting world is the culprit for attaching the ever-misused "theory" moniker to the stories.]

This misconception is the non-acceptance of hybridization in tetrapods by the scientific community. At least in the avian world, there are several examples of hybridization that are not only accepted, but are the focus of scientific research. My favorite examples come from Dr. Darren Irwin's website on his lab's research at the University of British Columbia Department of Zoology (complete with links to published papers).

"You'll do." MacGillivray's Warbler (Geothlypis tolmiei) to the Mourning Warbler (Geothlypis philadelphia) during breeding season, producing the "MacMourning Warbler" above. Image source.

Not only do some bird species within the same genus interbreed, but they also produce fertile offspring. This is why there is such consternation among conservationalists regarding the Spotted Owl (Strix occidentalis): those darn endangered owls are known to get freaky with a closely related competitor species, the Barred Owl (Strix varia), which makes their conservation even more frustrating.

"Owl just have to settle for a Barred Owl" said the punny Spotted Owl during breeding season. Image source.

While this topic does give me an excuse to post bird (and specifically owl) images, there is a point: hybridization is not a verboten topic in biology. Hybrids can happen between closely related species. In other words, hybridization is not unheard of between species whose genetic lines have had only a short (few million years) amount of time to accumulate differences. As PZ Meyers details, approximately 80 million years worth of accumulated genetic differences is a different hybridization hurdle to overcome. This is just the one example that stuck in my mind. Other scientists with different research foci will likely find others.

Why this Public Service Science Announcement (PScA)? Unfortunate for the pig-chimp hypothesis and other sites like it, it has received a great deal of attention before receiving the "SCIENCE" stamp. For this idea to break into actual science, it has to go past a compilation of literature review and comparisons to a peer-reviewed published paper. All of the supporting data have to be critically viewed by other geneticists and evolutionary biologists, specifically those that have familiarity with the evolutionary history of the subjects in question. Both the argument and the data have to be convincing.

This is a PScA for students. If you plan to use an online source when doing research for your school projects (or even for your academic work if you are a grad student), please check with your teaching assistant or your professor. Chances are they have a list of sources that contain peer-reviewed information that will not lead you astray, and can also warn you about sites that seem legit but actually do not contain peer-reviewed information.

Always remember: just because the nice website offers you the intellectual version of candy doesn't mean that you should get into the vehicle with it.

Shaman out.