(With no disrespect to Orson Scott Card.)
Positive change can come out of any bad or difficult situation, no matter how large or small that change may be. A great deal of changes have been swirling around our fossil friend Tarbosaurus bataar, the skeleton that was set to be auctioned by Heritage Auctions, even though evidence had come to light that the specimen may have been illegally imported from Mongolia by commercial fossil dealer Eric Prokopi. Prokopi has since withdrawn his supposed claim to the specimen, and the specimen is destined to be displayed in Mongolia. Brian Switek gives a detailed assessment of the situation, as well as the price we all pay for the illegal collection and sale of fossils.
Recently, Paige Williams of the New Yorker wrote a lengthy piece on the evolution of Prokopi's current situation, detailing his entrance into the commercial fossil world and his (and his wife's) views on the situation and on fossils in general.
It's not hard to imagine the position put forth by this now confessed fossil smuggler and the people involved with the attempted purchase and sale of the specimen. Here are some of the quotes from the article that raised my ire:
“ 'It can fit in all rooms ten feet high,' the auctioneer added. 'So it’s also a great decorative piece.' Auctioneer for Heritage Auctions."
"Amanda [Prokopi's wife]...jumped in: 'People come around at the shows and want to
trade for stuff, just like baseball cards. So your inventory evolves
that way.' "
" 'There’s always a lot of unprepared stuff available,' Eric said. 'I was
getting better at mounting specimens and doing big projects, and that’s
where a lot of the money is. When you buy it, it’s not necessarily worth
that much. It’s the work that you put into it that creates the value.' "
This is the situation academic paleontologists have to counter: a combination of the people who view fossils as nothing more than a collectable, and the people who justify their actions by claiming paleontology, and the fossils that make up the backbone of the science, are not any more special than a Pokemon card (which are cool in their own right).
There is no way that Prokopi can ever claim he is any kind of paleontologist. He only views fossils as a commodity, as items to be traded, repaired, bought and sold. He may as well describe restoring old cars in his statements to the New Yorker in what I assume is an attempt to defend his actions. Prokopi, the fossil dealers like him, and the people who purchase fossils, do not see how an item can be worth anything other than a dollar value. He does not see fossils as an irreplaceable heritage resource.
This is something we, as paleontologists, hear more than you think we would in a scientifically advanced society. What good are fossils? How does this help society? What's in it for me?
When faced with statements like this, some paleontologists might feel the urge to take the apologetic approach to why paleontology is important. In other words, taking the "OK, so it won't fix the economy/cure disease" approach.
It is quite a sad state of affairs when science is viewed through the filter of profit. This is the unfortunate battle cry that the Canadian government is currently crying in terms of federal funding for sciences: the focus is more on strengthening the economy rather than promoting scientific advancement. When governments make statements such as these, all it does is reinforce the "What's in it for me?" mentality in the non-science public. And here's the kicker: just because someone personally may not see the immediate benefit of a scientific study or discipline does not mean there is no future benefit. Pseudoplocephalus defends why science doesn't have to always be profitable.
This is the base from where people of the likes of Prokopi hope to retain support. Unfortunately, this stance is the classic logical fallacy of Personal Incredulity. It is easy to dismiss a topic with which one is not familiar, but just because one finds it easy to dismiss does not mean one is correct. Prokopi follows his usual pattern (and the one set by his lawyers during his trial) of piling one logical fallacy on another by using Special Pleading and reversing criticism on to the paleontology community. We, apparently, have not done enough to convince fossil smugglers why they shouldn't smuggle fossils.
As was deftly pointed out in the comments section of Pseudoplocephalus (I imagine the intention of the post was to stimulate the discussion), fossils are the only concrete record we have of the ecology and environment of this planet BEFORE scientists were around to collect real-time data. The presence, absence, and abundance of fossil flora and fauna is directly related to the environmental conditions of that time. Fossils provide the baseline data for all of the environmental conditions and changes that would naturally occur on the planet. We can decipher the natural rise and fall of major animal and plant groups. We need a baseline so that scientists can compare what happened then to what is happening NOW with anthropogenic climate change, and what could potentially happen to our species if trends continue the way they are projected to continue.
Any claims that the fossil record is too incomplete to use it for reconstructing paleoenvironmental conditions only serve to support why ALL fossils are important to preserve and have available for science. Not only are they part of the planet's common heritage (which I argue that no one person has the right to buy or sell), scientists need all the data possible to make accurate interpretations of our past ecosystems.
Prokopi will continue to try to defend his position and paint himself as just some poor guy trying to make a living. A subsection of the public will continue to question the "use" of the science whose value they view is only in entertainment.
I will never be apologetic in defending the "use"of paleontology and why fossils are special. I wholly reject the premise of the question, and yet I know I will spend the rest of my career defending this branch of science to funding agencies, government bodies, and the incredulous portion of the general public.
All I or any paleontologist can do is continue to educate the public as much as possible. We are the advocates for the science, and no matter what asinine statements we might hear from the "What's in it for me?" crowd, we cannot waver in our message.
Fossils have no voice. Fossils cannot advocate for their protection or their importance as part of the history of our planet and an invaluable source of information. They represent our past, present, and future. Fossils provide the answers to the questions we ask about the success and extinction of species, including our own species. Fossils have no voice, so we speak on their behalf. We will continue to tell of their successes and failures, their unique nature and their similarities to life today. We reveal these stories because they are the stories of lives worth sharing. In turn, someone will share our story. We are Speakers for the Dead.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Saturday, January 12, 2013
Public Encounters of the Pleasant and Frustrating Kind
I am a nervous public speaker, but I have come to terms with it and use that nervous energy to ramp up before a talk rather than let it reduce me to a puddle of babbling goo. I prefer speaking to small groups or having one-on-one conversations with people. Through my work and being part of a small community, a great deal of my conversations are with people who are not directly involved in the sciences. Most of these follow the usual conversational patterns, but every so often science-related topics come up. This usually starts with someone asking "So, how's work?" I usually reply "Bloody awesome!" (or, "These paper revisions will be the death of me!") and then proceed to regale the person on all the cool paleontology projects on the burners.
My paleontology training means that I am sometimes called on in conversation as the "expert." I can't speak for all scientists, but many of the paleontologists I know are natural educators. We love talking about the latest finds, our own research, and science in general. Paleontology training involves a heck of a lot of training in general science, so paleontologists are fairly well versed in biology, geology, anatomy, physiology, evolution, taxonomy, ecology, geography, and other disciplines depending on that paleontologist's area of specialization. Any time we get to spread some of that information around and increase the general understanding of the natural world is a good time.
However, sometimes these conversations with non-scientists become mind-bending exercises in patience. After many of these interactions, I have started to see groupings into which non-specialists fall. I will be speaking from my personal experiences, although I know from conversations with friends who are also in the sciences that these types of interactions are common. I will list these self-designed categories in the order of pleasant to tearing-my-hair-out frustrating.
Category 1: The Investigator
People in this category provide the most enjoyable experience. In fact, I do them a disservice by even including them in this category scheme, but these interactions deserve special mention because they are what should happen when a specialist and a non-specialist exchange information. The interaction usually begins with someone asking me "Hey, did you see the latest dinosaur show on the Discovery/History/National Geographic Channel?" Then the questions become more specific: "So, do paleontologists really know that dinosaurs could do [INSERT YOUR FAVORITE DINOSAUR BEHAVIOR HERE], or did they just add that for the show?"
I enjoy these questions. They show that a) the Investigator knows there is a difference between data and the speculative padding that is added to many documentertainment programs, b) the person is genuinely curious and wants to add to their knowledge base, and c) they have no problem asking a question. It opens the door for us to talk about all the cool facts we actually DO know about the lives of fossil organisms.
There are side benefits to these conversations. Not only do I get an opportunity to talk about supporting evidence for, say, colors on avian theropod feathers or parental care and group behavior in dinosaurs, I might get an opportunity to explain how the information is collected and analyzed. Documentertainment programs also provide opportunities to point out the differences among speculation, hypotheses, and theories. In short, I get to sneak in an explanation of the scientific method. My educator friends call these events "teachable moments."
Long live the Investigators: their drive to learn fuels our drive to seek and answer!
Category 2: The Fallacy Flinger
Perhaps the Fallacy Flinger is using doctrine, religious faith, conspiracy, or anecdotal stories as their "evidence." Perhaps the Fallacy Flinger believes that dinosaurs did not originate on planet Earth (believe me, THAT was a frustrating conversation). Perhaps the Fallacy Flinger just enjoys an argument. Whatever the motivation, the theme of an interaction between a scientist and a Fallacy Flinger is contradiction. Unlike the Investigator, there is no desire to learn on the part of the Fallacy Flinger. They are not entering the encounter with ANY intention of incorporating new information into their knowledge base. They know ALL the answers. I become the "so-called expert", the "secular scientist", or the "shaman of the atheistic sciences." Any answer or supporting evidence that I provide will not have any impact. The Fallacy Flinger has a misconception about how science operates and does not want to be corrected. Opinion becomes fact in their world. This error is a double-edged sword, because Fallacy Flingers treat scientific data and observations as merely the opinion of the scientist.
Fallacy Flingers rely on the logical fallacies of personal incredulity, black-and-white and false dilemma arguments, cherry-picking, burden of proof, begging the question, and middle ground arguments. If the conversation takes a turn for the worse, the ad hominem attacks come out. The Fallacy Flinger truly believes these fallacious arguments are valid counters to a well supported observation, either due to a lack critical thinking skills, or because of their desire to win the argument at any cost.
These are the conversations (if you can call them such) that leave me wanting to repeatedly bang my head against the wall. I can't speak for any paleontologist other than myself, but "frustrated" does not begin to describe the feeling I am left with after interacting with a Fallacy Flinger. These interactions always leave me wondering "Is it worth my time interacting with Fallacy Flingers?" As mentally painful as these encounters are, many paleontologists still try to educate the Fallacy Flingers. Many of us are educators at heart: we can't help it. We believe that people want to learn accurate information. I have friends whose natural educator instinct is so strong that they attempt to make logical inroads at every possibility (usually unsuccessfully). I have friends who also enjoy an argument once in awhile: the one benefit of a conversation with a Fallacy Flinger is that it sharpens those critical thinking skills. If there are bystanders, then I will argue until the mountains erode in the hopes that at least someone within earshot will absorb at least one piece of factual information.
Category 3: The Rejector
I will take on an infinite number of Fallacy Flingers before I will willingly enter into a conversation with a Rejector. Rejectors and Fallacy Flingers have one trait in common: they are not willing to take on new information. However, the Rejector does not claim to have all the answers. The Rejector will announce with pride that they neither NEED nor WANT the answers. They have absolutely no use for anything remotely resembling science. It doesn't matter that most of the modern conveniences enjoyed by society are the direct result of science: the Rejector will proclaim that "I made it this far without knowing any science. I have no use for it." Why should anyone take pride in choosing to remain ignorant?
[NOTE: My definition of ignorant is "lacking knowledge or information as to a particular subject or fact." I am not using it in an insulting context. Everyone starts out ignorant until we gain knowledge and information.]
I am faced with this attitude more than I thought would be possible, and I have not yet found a way to make any inroads during these encounters. It is my hope that, over time, the proportion of Rejectors will make up an increasingly reduced part of the population. Attitudes that foster the distrust or dismissal of science (and scientists) are persistent in our culture. We see it at the government level: remember the recent elections in the United States? Several House and Senate candidates were quite open about their views on science-related disciplines, and these views ranged from denying climate change, bat-crap crazy views on reproductive biology, or proclaiming that science was sent from Hell. I felt ridiculous having to write that, but then truth is stranger than fiction as Samuel Clemens/Mark Twain once said. The truth that should have been fiction was that these people had some level of public support.
The United States is not alone in their vocal distrust of all that book-learnin'. As pointed out by Andrew Nikiforuk earlier this year, our current Prime Minister (Stephen Harper) belongs to an organization that practices what Nikiforuk describes as "evangelical religious skepticism." Given the myriad of recent decisions by the Canadian government that seem to fly in the face of logic, reason, and science (including restricting public and media access to Canada's federal scientists), many are wondering if Lawrence Martin hit the nail on the head when postulating that the distrust of science in favor of non-scientific doctrine might not be influencing recent government decisions. Again, this is a government official that was elected by the public.
I do not mean for this post to become a political commentary on the anti-science trend within government. I highlight these two examples because politicians are a subset of (and represent) the general public. The persistence of the anti-science sentiment is so prominent that the UNESCO 1999 World Conference on Science had an entire forum on the public perception of science. Please read the abstracts for a more in-depth look at the findings. In summary, despite the fact that many do view science as useful and beneficial to humanity, there are also many that suffer a type of science disconnect that has many sources (e.g., inefficient transmission of results to the public, lack of a larger context in perceiving results, government influenced trust, folk/religious beliefs, persistence of conspiracy theories, lack of science communication programs, etc.) leading to a portion of the general public rejecting science.
Category 4: The Mocker
This is an interaction that I thought would have been left to rot in the wasteland of high-school stereotypes. On occasion, when I have asked a non-scientist a question on how to do something technical, mechanical, or trades related, my question has been rebutted with "Oh, so the Ph.D. student doesn't know something as simple as X!" or "You're so smart, can't you figure it out?"
Some of my interactions with Mockers have been quite amusing. One person took it upon themselves to give me instructions on how to sweep and mop a floor. Some have expressed verbal astonishment when they learn I can operate a masonry saw. That I can smile at. Mockery I cannot accept, especially when I am going to the Mocker because the Mocker is an authority in their field, whatever that field may be.
I think this reaction stems from the common misconception that scientists a) claim to know EVERYTHING, and b) we hold those that do not enter the sciences in contempt. In short, we scientists are arrogant tools. Sometimes it is easy to mistake confidence for arrogance. I need some level of confidence if I are going to succeed in presenting a new idea to my colleagues. That confidence is provided by the data I collect.
I am not going to say that there are no overly arrogant people in the sciences (scientists are made up of all personality types) but from my encounters those types are the exception. When I was an early undergraduate, I had one acquaintance hand me a bone in front of a crowded booth at my very first professional paleontology meeting and loudly ask me to identify the bone. All I knew was that it was from the leg, and I guessed femur. It turns out it was a large metatarsal. This acquaintance made a big show of demonstrating all the reasons he knew it was a metatarsal and why I was wrong. Damn, was I humiliated! It turns he was an extremely insecure graduate student, and that most people studying paleontology do not feel that they have to humiliate a newcomer to make themselves feel smart.
My point with this anecdote is that if a non-scientist encounters an overly insecure scientist who resorts to the above antics, I can understand why the non-scientist might want to get a little revenge. It is unfair, however, to tar all scientists with the arrogance brush, just as it would be unfair to assume that people who are not in the sciences are not intelligent. I would never make someone feel bad for asking a question, and I expect the same courtesy in return when I ask a question.
I am glad that most of my interactions with non-scientists fall into Category 1. Is there any way to decrease the numbers of categories 2 through 4? I think that the more we engage the public, either by talking to school groups, giving tours, and presenting research updates at local public events, the easier it is to combat the disconnect the public feels towards science.
Never stop learning!
My paleontology training means that I am sometimes called on in conversation as the "expert." I can't speak for all scientists, but many of the paleontologists I know are natural educators. We love talking about the latest finds, our own research, and science in general. Paleontology training involves a heck of a lot of training in general science, so paleontologists are fairly well versed in biology, geology, anatomy, physiology, evolution, taxonomy, ecology, geography, and other disciplines depending on that paleontologist's area of specialization. Any time we get to spread some of that information around and increase the general understanding of the natural world is a good time.
However, sometimes these conversations with non-scientists become mind-bending exercises in patience. After many of these interactions, I have started to see groupings into which non-specialists fall. I will be speaking from my personal experiences, although I know from conversations with friends who are also in the sciences that these types of interactions are common. I will list these self-designed categories in the order of pleasant to tearing-my-hair-out frustrating.
Category 1: The Investigator
People in this category provide the most enjoyable experience. In fact, I do them a disservice by even including them in this category scheme, but these interactions deserve special mention because they are what should happen when a specialist and a non-specialist exchange information. The interaction usually begins with someone asking me "Hey, did you see the latest dinosaur show on the Discovery/History/National Geographic Channel?" Then the questions become more specific: "So, do paleontologists really know that dinosaurs could do [INSERT YOUR FAVORITE DINOSAUR BEHAVIOR HERE], or did they just add that for the show?"
I enjoy these questions. They show that a) the Investigator knows there is a difference between data and the speculative padding that is added to many documentertainment programs, b) the person is genuinely curious and wants to add to their knowledge base, and c) they have no problem asking a question. It opens the door for us to talk about all the cool facts we actually DO know about the lives of fossil organisms.
There are side benefits to these conversations. Not only do I get an opportunity to talk about supporting evidence for, say, colors on avian theropod feathers or parental care and group behavior in dinosaurs, I might get an opportunity to explain how the information is collected and analyzed. Documentertainment programs also provide opportunities to point out the differences among speculation, hypotheses, and theories. In short, I get to sneak in an explanation of the scientific method. My educator friends call these events "teachable moments."
Long live the Investigators: their drive to learn fuels our drive to seek and answer!
Category 2: The Fallacy Flinger
Perhaps the Fallacy Flinger is using doctrine, religious faith, conspiracy, or anecdotal stories as their "evidence." Perhaps the Fallacy Flinger believes that dinosaurs did not originate on planet Earth (believe me, THAT was a frustrating conversation). Perhaps the Fallacy Flinger just enjoys an argument. Whatever the motivation, the theme of an interaction between a scientist and a Fallacy Flinger is contradiction. Unlike the Investigator, there is no desire to learn on the part of the Fallacy Flinger. They are not entering the encounter with ANY intention of incorporating new information into their knowledge base. They know ALL the answers. I become the "so-called expert", the "secular scientist", or the "shaman of the atheistic sciences." Any answer or supporting evidence that I provide will not have any impact. The Fallacy Flinger has a misconception about how science operates and does not want to be corrected. Opinion becomes fact in their world. This error is a double-edged sword, because Fallacy Flingers treat scientific data and observations as merely the opinion of the scientist.
Fallacy Flingers rely on the logical fallacies of personal incredulity, black-and-white and false dilemma arguments, cherry-picking, burden of proof, begging the question, and middle ground arguments. If the conversation takes a turn for the worse, the ad hominem attacks come out. The Fallacy Flinger truly believes these fallacious arguments are valid counters to a well supported observation, either due to a lack critical thinking skills, or because of their desire to win the argument at any cost.
These are the conversations (if you can call them such) that leave me wanting to repeatedly bang my head against the wall. I can't speak for any paleontologist other than myself, but "frustrated" does not begin to describe the feeling I am left with after interacting with a Fallacy Flinger. These interactions always leave me wondering "Is it worth my time interacting with Fallacy Flingers?" As mentally painful as these encounters are, many paleontologists still try to educate the Fallacy Flingers. Many of us are educators at heart: we can't help it. We believe that people want to learn accurate information. I have friends whose natural educator instinct is so strong that they attempt to make logical inroads at every possibility (usually unsuccessfully). I have friends who also enjoy an argument once in awhile: the one benefit of a conversation with a Fallacy Flinger is that it sharpens those critical thinking skills. If there are bystanders, then I will argue until the mountains erode in the hopes that at least someone within earshot will absorb at least one piece of factual information.
Category 3: The Rejector
I will take on an infinite number of Fallacy Flingers before I will willingly enter into a conversation with a Rejector. Rejectors and Fallacy Flingers have one trait in common: they are not willing to take on new information. However, the Rejector does not claim to have all the answers. The Rejector will announce with pride that they neither NEED nor WANT the answers. They have absolutely no use for anything remotely resembling science. It doesn't matter that most of the modern conveniences enjoyed by society are the direct result of science: the Rejector will proclaim that "I made it this far without knowing any science. I have no use for it." Why should anyone take pride in choosing to remain ignorant?
[NOTE: My definition of ignorant is "lacking knowledge or information as to a particular subject or fact." I am not using it in an insulting context. Everyone starts out ignorant until we gain knowledge and information.]
I am faced with this attitude more than I thought would be possible, and I have not yet found a way to make any inroads during these encounters. It is my hope that, over time, the proportion of Rejectors will make up an increasingly reduced part of the population. Attitudes that foster the distrust or dismissal of science (and scientists) are persistent in our culture. We see it at the government level: remember the recent elections in the United States? Several House and Senate candidates were quite open about their views on science-related disciplines, and these views ranged from denying climate change, bat-crap crazy views on reproductive biology, or proclaiming that science was sent from Hell. I felt ridiculous having to write that, but then truth is stranger than fiction as Samuel Clemens/Mark Twain once said. The truth that should have been fiction was that these people had some level of public support.
The United States is not alone in their vocal distrust of all that book-learnin'. As pointed out by Andrew Nikiforuk earlier this year, our current Prime Minister (Stephen Harper) belongs to an organization that practices what Nikiforuk describes as "evangelical religious skepticism." Given the myriad of recent decisions by the Canadian government that seem to fly in the face of logic, reason, and science (including restricting public and media access to Canada's federal scientists), many are wondering if Lawrence Martin hit the nail on the head when postulating that the distrust of science in favor of non-scientific doctrine might not be influencing recent government decisions. Again, this is a government official that was elected by the public.
I do not mean for this post to become a political commentary on the anti-science trend within government. I highlight these two examples because politicians are a subset of (and represent) the general public. The persistence of the anti-science sentiment is so prominent that the UNESCO 1999 World Conference on Science had an entire forum on the public perception of science. Please read the abstracts for a more in-depth look at the findings. In summary, despite the fact that many do view science as useful and beneficial to humanity, there are also many that suffer a type of science disconnect that has many sources (e.g., inefficient transmission of results to the public, lack of a larger context in perceiving results, government influenced trust, folk/religious beliefs, persistence of conspiracy theories, lack of science communication programs, etc.) leading to a portion of the general public rejecting science.
Category 4: The Mocker
This is an interaction that I thought would have been left to rot in the wasteland of high-school stereotypes. On occasion, when I have asked a non-scientist a question on how to do something technical, mechanical, or trades related, my question has been rebutted with "Oh, so the Ph.D. student doesn't know something as simple as X!" or "You're so smart, can't you figure it out?"
Some of my interactions with Mockers have been quite amusing. One person took it upon themselves to give me instructions on how to sweep and mop a floor. Some have expressed verbal astonishment when they learn I can operate a masonry saw. That I can smile at. Mockery I cannot accept, especially when I am going to the Mocker because the Mocker is an authority in their field, whatever that field may be.
I think this reaction stems from the common misconception that scientists a) claim to know EVERYTHING, and b) we hold those that do not enter the sciences in contempt. In short, we scientists are arrogant tools. Sometimes it is easy to mistake confidence for arrogance. I need some level of confidence if I are going to succeed in presenting a new idea to my colleagues. That confidence is provided by the data I collect.
I am not going to say that there are no overly arrogant people in the sciences (scientists are made up of all personality types) but from my encounters those types are the exception. When I was an early undergraduate, I had one acquaintance hand me a bone in front of a crowded booth at my very first professional paleontology meeting and loudly ask me to identify the bone. All I knew was that it was from the leg, and I guessed femur. It turns out it was a large metatarsal. This acquaintance made a big show of demonstrating all the reasons he knew it was a metatarsal and why I was wrong. Damn, was I humiliated! It turns he was an extremely insecure graduate student, and that most people studying paleontology do not feel that they have to humiliate a newcomer to make themselves feel smart.
My point with this anecdote is that if a non-scientist encounters an overly insecure scientist who resorts to the above antics, I can understand why the non-scientist might want to get a little revenge. It is unfair, however, to tar all scientists with the arrogance brush, just as it would be unfair to assume that people who are not in the sciences are not intelligent. I would never make someone feel bad for asking a question, and I expect the same courtesy in return when I ask a question.
I am glad that most of my interactions with non-scientists fall into Category 1. Is there any way to decrease the numbers of categories 2 through 4? I think that the more we engage the public, either by talking to school groups, giving tours, and presenting research updates at local public events, the easier it is to combat the disconnect the public feels towards science.
Never stop learning!
Thursday, January 3, 2013
The 2013 To Do List
Happy New Year!
Our New Year's festivities are usually low key. We give the Gods of the Old Year one last chance to finish us off by feasting upon the most evil of all dishes: homemade alfredo sauce and bread sticks. We only do this once a year because a good alfredo sauce is made with heavy cream, egg yolk, and copious amounts of hard cheese. I doubt that the six cloves of garlic do much to counteract the aorta-clogging madness that is alfredo sauce. Eating this dish more than once a year would inevitably bring about an apocalypse of the circulatory system.
This Feast to end all Feasts results in one or more people joking "That's it. Tomorrow I begin my New Year's diet." At least, those not already in a cheese-coma make that joke. Those of us existing in a state of semi-sentience merely digest and exude garlic. If we live to see tomorrow we count ourselves as among the fortunate. Take that, Gods of the Old Year!
New Year's Day is the time for making resolutions. We see the date of 01/01 as a fresh start. We want to make lifestyle changes that are dramatic enough to make an obvious positive difference in our lives, yet not so dramatic as to be unattainable. Let's be serious: I am not going to wake up on 01/01 and immediately run 15K if I have never laced up a pair of running shoes in my life. I am not going to write and submit 20 papers in a month. Attaining my black belt by October? I don't think so. There is nothing wrong with having big dreams and large goals. We just need to remember, when making our Grand New Year's Eve Proclamations, not to automatically set ourselves up for failure. Keep those goals realistic: all that matters is that the change you want to make is meaningful to you.
With that in mind, I have completed my 2013 To Do List. I plan to attack each item on this list with great resolve.
A. Academic
1. Publish those papers, dammit!
I know I am not the only paleontologist with a folder on my hard drive named "Papers In Progress". This folder is both my ally and my nemesis. It contains "manuscripts" consisting of merely a title and a few disjointed thoughts. However, this folder also contains several projects that are near completion...or they would be if I would just make myself sit down and put them out of their academic misery. These are the projects that Andy, when blogging at the Open Source Paleontologist (Andy now blogs at the Integrative Paleontologists), would prompt the paleontology community to excavate from the trenches of the "Papers in Progress" folders, dust off, and expel from Publication Purgatory.
In total, I have four ichnology papers, two tooth papers, and one osteology paper that I can realistically finish in 2013. The "last modified on" descriptors for some of these documents is embarrassing (the most shameful one is 2008), but there is nothing stopping me (except me) from graduating these manuscripts into my small (but growing) "Papers Submitted" folder.
2. Complete several thesis chapters!
It is not just a happy coincidence that at least 3/4 of the papers in my "Papers in Progress" folder are thesis-related. I love interconnected resolutions!
B. Athletic
3. Be in the best shape I can be for the 11th ICKF 2013 Soke Cup.
I may have mentioned before that I am in karate. This year is the 11th International Chito-ryu Karate-Do Federation Soke Cup, an international tournament for those who study Chito-ryu karate-do. This year the tournament will be held in Hong Kong, and I will be able to participate. This means that I have to be in great shape. I don't want to embarrass my Sensei, the dojo, and the country by being the flabby Canuck who gets winded and passes out in the middle of a match. I am not in poor physical shape, but there are parts of my current diet and exercise routine that need improvement. One, I am a notorious snooze-button junkie. This has derailed more workouts than I care to remember. Two, I am a sugar junkie. Chocolate and fancy coffee drinks are to me as the calcaneum and astragulus were to Achilles. Three, thanks to years of university life, I have trained myself to be a night owl. Heck, it's 2:00am and I am updating this post! So, in the interest of my training, I am resolved to (from this post forward) get to bed at a reasonable hour, use any form of training instead of a snooze button, and use alternatives to sugar snacks while I am working on resolutions #1 and #2.
Resolutions are promises to replace bad habits (i.e. staying up until 2am while eating a Rice Crispy bar) with good habits (i.e. getting up early to take advantage of the many cross country ski trails in this area). The only way we can form good habits is to choose to do the good habit so many times that it becomes part of our daily routine. We simultaneously have to choose to reject bad habits until we forget that we ever did them in the first place. Good habits have to be repeated until they become regular habits.
I'll keep you posted on the progress of establishing my resolved good habits as part of my regular life, and I'd love to hear about the good habits you resolve to develop! Good night...good morning...oh, heck, good 2am!
SAS
Our New Year's festivities are usually low key. We give the Gods of the Old Year one last chance to finish us off by feasting upon the most evil of all dishes: homemade alfredo sauce and bread sticks. We only do this once a year because a good alfredo sauce is made with heavy cream, egg yolk, and copious amounts of hard cheese. I doubt that the six cloves of garlic do much to counteract the aorta-clogging madness that is alfredo sauce. Eating this dish more than once a year would inevitably bring about an apocalypse of the circulatory system.
This Feast to end all Feasts results in one or more people joking "That's it. Tomorrow I begin my New Year's diet." At least, those not already in a cheese-coma make that joke. Those of us existing in a state of semi-sentience merely digest and exude garlic. If we live to see tomorrow we count ourselves as among the fortunate. Take that, Gods of the Old Year!
New Year's Day is the time for making resolutions. We see the date of 01/01 as a fresh start. We want to make lifestyle changes that are dramatic enough to make an obvious positive difference in our lives, yet not so dramatic as to be unattainable. Let's be serious: I am not going to wake up on 01/01 and immediately run 15K if I have never laced up a pair of running shoes in my life. I am not going to write and submit 20 papers in a month. Attaining my black belt by October? I don't think so. There is nothing wrong with having big dreams and large goals. We just need to remember, when making our Grand New Year's Eve Proclamations, not to automatically set ourselves up for failure. Keep those goals realistic: all that matters is that the change you want to make is meaningful to you.
With that in mind, I have completed my 2013 To Do List. I plan to attack each item on this list with great resolve.
THE 2013 TO DO LIST
A. Academic
1. Publish those papers, dammit!
I know I am not the only paleontologist with a folder on my hard drive named "Papers In Progress". This folder is both my ally and my nemesis. It contains "manuscripts" consisting of merely a title and a few disjointed thoughts. However, this folder also contains several projects that are near completion...or they would be if I would just make myself sit down and put them out of their academic misery. These are the projects that Andy, when blogging at the Open Source Paleontologist (Andy now blogs at the Integrative Paleontologists), would prompt the paleontology community to excavate from the trenches of the "Papers in Progress" folders, dust off, and expel from Publication Purgatory.
In total, I have four ichnology papers, two tooth papers, and one osteology paper that I can realistically finish in 2013. The "last modified on" descriptors for some of these documents is embarrassing (the most shameful one is 2008), but there is nothing stopping me (except me) from graduating these manuscripts into my small (but growing) "Papers Submitted" folder.
2. Complete several thesis chapters!
It is not just a happy coincidence that at least 3/4 of the papers in my "Papers in Progress" folder are thesis-related. I love interconnected resolutions!
B. Athletic
3. Be in the best shape I can be for the 11th ICKF 2013 Soke Cup.
I may have mentioned before that I am in karate. This year is the 11th International Chito-ryu Karate-Do Federation Soke Cup, an international tournament for those who study Chito-ryu karate-do. This year the tournament will be held in Hong Kong, and I will be able to participate. This means that I have to be in great shape. I don't want to embarrass my Sensei, the dojo, and the country by being the flabby Canuck who gets winded and passes out in the middle of a match. I am not in poor physical shape, but there are parts of my current diet and exercise routine that need improvement. One, I am a notorious snooze-button junkie. This has derailed more workouts than I care to remember. Two, I am a sugar junkie. Chocolate and fancy coffee drinks are to me as the calcaneum and astragulus were to Achilles. Three, thanks to years of university life, I have trained myself to be a night owl. Heck, it's 2:00am and I am updating this post! So, in the interest of my training, I am resolved to (from this post forward) get to bed at a reasonable hour, use any form of training instead of a snooze button, and use alternatives to sugar snacks while I am working on resolutions #1 and #2.
Resolutions are promises to replace bad habits (i.e. staying up until 2am while eating a Rice Crispy bar) with good habits (i.e. getting up early to take advantage of the many cross country ski trails in this area). The only way we can form good habits is to choose to do the good habit so many times that it becomes part of our daily routine. We simultaneously have to choose to reject bad habits until we forget that we ever did them in the first place. Good habits have to be repeated until they become regular habits.
I'll keep you posted on the progress of establishing my resolved good habits as part of my regular life, and I'd love to hear about the good habits you resolve to develop! Good night...good morning...oh, heck, good 2am!
SAS
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Eye Taste Something A Bit Odd.
Happy Holidays, Dear Readers! I hope everyone is recovering from the Bacchanalia of holiday cheer and an (over) abundance of food. I ate more gingerbread cookies than I care to admit.
While I am organizing my notes on my recent ichnology fieldwork and conference in China and while I am both taking and editing pictures of theropod teeth with the frenzy of an obsessed woman, I thought I would include a food-related adventure from China. [NOTE: Technically I am re-taking these photos. Somehow my entire folder of 300+ images became corrupt, and I can no longer access the images I had already edited. A back-up, you say? I wish I had thought of it sooner. I will never put my trust solely in one external hard drive again. The hurt is still too fresh. Will I learn to love again?]
Fieldwork and conference travel in other countries often involves a crash-course in foreign cuisine. You have absolutely no choice but to dig in unless you have a satchel full of granola bars, which would become tedious after two meals. Also, if you are an invited guest, your hosts will have gone to great effort to feed you. And do they ever feed you! We did field work in multiple regions, and at every dinner we were treated to special regional dishes. One of the first phrases I had to learn in Mandarin was "I'm full!"
I love international travel, and one of the reasons is the opportunity to experience different foods the way they are actually cooked, rather than the North American version of that particular cuisine. I usually do not hesitate to try something that is new to me or that "looks different." I was prepared for a completely different food experience, but I don't think that anything could have prepared me for THIS particular experience.
WARNING: For those of you with a squeamish stomach, I recommend not reading this post. Certain parts of invertebrate and vertebrate anatomy are consumed that would not normally be consumed, at least in westernized North America. Thanks for stopping by, though. I'll have something a bit less bizarre on the China trip in the New Year. For those of you who have not traveled to China and are leery about the cuisine, please do not worry. This Fear Factor-esque story is not indicative of the cuisine we experienced in China. I enjoyed 99.9% of what I ate while in China.
This foodie adventure takes place after a successful week of field work in various regions and a spectacular conference in Chongqing, China. We spent a few days in Beijing with our host Lida, who did a great job showing us around the city. He also showed us all of the great restaurants at which to eat. The food was fantastic. We sampled countless vegetarian dishes, several regional seafood dishes, beef, pork, and various steamed buns. I have a new appreciation for the multiple ways that tofu can be cooked and actually taste good. We even went to a specialty vegetarian restaurant where the tofu was prepared to look, feel, and taste exactly like fish.
Lida, like me, is a fan of sushi. Lida and his wife took us to one of his favorite sushi restaurants in Beijing and ordered us the V.I.P. menu. If you've never had one of these types of sushi meals, this means that (with a few exceptions) the sushi chef decides what you will be eating that evening. We were in luck, because we were treated to extremely fresh tuna sashimi. Each part of the fish produces a slightly different texture and flavor of sashimi, and we get to sample each of the parts.
Meanwhile, Lida ordered one of his favorite dishes: octopus tentacles. The tentacles are so fresh that they are still moving. The tentacles are not technically alive, but the nerve impulses are still firing, which means the tentacles wriggle and writhe on the plate like some vermiform nightmare.
How bad could it be? Just watch!
That is me talking in the background. The pauses you hear indicate when I am trying not to gag. Everyone has food preferences and aversions. My food aversions include gelatin-based or items with a gelatin-like consistency, and things shaped like worms. Gummi-worms are near the top of the list, or at least they were until I sampled octopus. Octopus, right then and there, moved to the top of my list.
I did not judge octopus on its plate-appeal alone. I listened to the voice in my head that said "Woman up!" and tried a tentacle. This is not an experience I will be looking to repeat. First, I like octopi as whole, living animals. Octopi are intelligent invertebrates, and if a large invertebrate came at me with a cleaver to dine upon my freshly severed limbs, I'd be a bit miffed.
I also did not enjoy the texture. It was too chewy. And, believe me, I chewed like there was no tomorrow for fear of feeling the tentacle move. I wasn't fast enough.
We moved on to dishes that included more tuna sashimi, tempura, shellfish, and soup. Everything was delicious. I temporarily forgot the excitement of the tentacles, assuming that was the odd food highlight of the evening.
I could not have been more wrong.
The chef wheeled the frozen head of the tuna on which we had been feasting in to the dining room on a carving trolley.
The chef started carving the head in front of us, removing the choice cuts of meat from the head and serving them to us immediately. I learned that many people consider the meat on the head to be the most flavorful part of a fish. I can't disagree: the sashimi was excellent.
Now we come to the part of the story where my brain divides into two entities: Practical Woman and Timid Woman. What prompted this mental fission was that the chef, while carving up the fish head, took great pains to extract the eye intact. This back-and-forth happened completely in my head: how much of this played out in my facial expressions I cannot say. Hopefully I looked as if I was intrigued by the chef's carving skills.
"You do know what this means, don't you?" Practical Woman said. "He wouldn't be so careful with that eye if it was not going to be used."
"Be quiet, you!" Timid Woman squeaked. "Maybe this is to show us how fresh this fish is."
P.W. insists "I tell you that eye is destined for your plate. And really, how bad could it be? It's just as edible as most other parts of a fish."
"It's a GIANT EYE. Need I say more? How can they expect us to eat a frozen eye that measures in at about a cup?" T.W. had a false sense of security at this point.
"Oh really? Did you not see the giant cleaver? You are going to know what eye tastes like."
Here is what we saw:
The chef then took the frozen eye and started finely chopping it into snow cone consistency, or the consistency of ice in a blended drink. Once the surface area of the eye chunks was increased, the pieces started to thaw. I could see gelatinous strands of liquid clinging to the knife. I felt my stomach lurch and try to exit my body in protest.
The chef then carefully scooped the shaved ice (or, in this case eye-ce) into four large shot glasses. The glasses are about 2/3 full at this point. He topped each glass with a serving of white wine, and oh-so-carefully used a toothpick to place a single flake of gold leaf on the top of the floating eye-ce. He handed us each a glass. And then he stood there, waiting.
"This has to be a joke!" T.W. mentally gasps. "There is a hidden camera somewhere. I can't do this!"
"Don't be silly, and don't be rude. You will drink this special creation. You are a guest." P.W. admonishes. "Oh, and the longer you hesitate, that frozen eye-ice is just going to become more slimy." Sometimes I think P.W. takes great pleasure in providing uncomfortable observations.
That was it. I was a guest and a representative of my country: I had to do my duty as a gracious Canadian visitor and drink that eye.
I had only enough culinary fortitude to do this in one gulp. Yes, I felt the gooey melting eye pieces in my mouth, and there was a faint fish flavor, but down it went, gold flake and all.
I DID IT!!! I ATE (well, drank) AN EYE!!!
We had a great deal of fun teasing each other about this later, and, as Lida said "You'll never forget this meal!" If I had to choose between the two bizarre (to me) food items of that evening, I would pick the eye over the octopus tentacles. I didn't have to chew the eye, and the eye didn't come from an animal that was still alive. The eye also didn't move (and didn't come from an animal that was still alive when it was removed). That being said, I am not going to seek out eye for my next dinner party.
I'm sure that this isn't the strangest food item people have sampled in the name of international research. I'd love to hear some stories!
I think it's time for lunch!
Happy New Year!
Strange Woman.
While I am organizing my notes on my recent ichnology fieldwork and conference in China and while I am both taking and editing pictures of theropod teeth with the frenzy of an obsessed woman, I thought I would include a food-related adventure from China. [NOTE: Technically I am re-taking these photos. Somehow my entire folder of 300+ images became corrupt, and I can no longer access the images I had already edited. A back-up, you say? I wish I had thought of it sooner. I will never put my trust solely in one external hard drive again. The hurt is still too fresh. Will I learn to love again?]
Fieldwork and conference travel in other countries often involves a crash-course in foreign cuisine. You have absolutely no choice but to dig in unless you have a satchel full of granola bars, which would become tedious after two meals. Also, if you are an invited guest, your hosts will have gone to great effort to feed you. And do they ever feed you! We did field work in multiple regions, and at every dinner we were treated to special regional dishes. One of the first phrases I had to learn in Mandarin was "I'm full!"
I love international travel, and one of the reasons is the opportunity to experience different foods the way they are actually cooked, rather than the North American version of that particular cuisine. I usually do not hesitate to try something that is new to me or that "looks different." I was prepared for a completely different food experience, but I don't think that anything could have prepared me for THIS particular experience.
WARNING: For those of you with a squeamish stomach, I recommend not reading this post. Certain parts of invertebrate and vertebrate anatomy are consumed that would not normally be consumed, at least in westernized North America. Thanks for stopping by, though. I'll have something a bit less bizarre on the China trip in the New Year. For those of you who have not traveled to China and are leery about the cuisine, please do not worry. This Fear Factor-esque story is not indicative of the cuisine we experienced in China. I enjoyed 99.9% of what I ate while in China.
This foodie adventure takes place after a successful week of field work in various regions and a spectacular conference in Chongqing, China. We spent a few days in Beijing with our host Lida, who did a great job showing us around the city. He also showed us all of the great restaurants at which to eat. The food was fantastic. We sampled countless vegetarian dishes, several regional seafood dishes, beef, pork, and various steamed buns. I have a new appreciation for the multiple ways that tofu can be cooked and actually taste good. We even went to a specialty vegetarian restaurant where the tofu was prepared to look, feel, and taste exactly like fish.
Lida, like me, is a fan of sushi. Lida and his wife took us to one of his favorite sushi restaurants in Beijing and ordered us the V.I.P. menu. If you've never had one of these types of sushi meals, this means that (with a few exceptions) the sushi chef decides what you will be eating that evening. We were in luck, because we were treated to extremely fresh tuna sashimi. Each part of the fish produces a slightly different texture and flavor of sashimi, and we get to sample each of the parts.
Meanwhile, Lida ordered one of his favorite dishes: octopus tentacles. The tentacles are so fresh that they are still moving. The tentacles are not technically alive, but the nerve impulses are still firing, which means the tentacles wriggle and writhe on the plate like some vermiform nightmare.
How bad could it be? Just watch!
That is me talking in the background. The pauses you hear indicate when I am trying not to gag. Everyone has food preferences and aversions. My food aversions include gelatin-based or items with a gelatin-like consistency, and things shaped like worms. Gummi-worms are near the top of the list, or at least they were until I sampled octopus. Octopus, right then and there, moved to the top of my list.
I did not judge octopus on its plate-appeal alone. I listened to the voice in my head that said "Woman up!" and tried a tentacle. This is not an experience I will be looking to repeat. First, I like octopi as whole, living animals. Octopi are intelligent invertebrates, and if a large invertebrate came at me with a cleaver to dine upon my freshly severed limbs, I'd be a bit miffed.
 | ||
| Pronouncing this correctly will not save me from his wrath. http://www.thelovecraftsman.com/2011/03/youtube-video-tells-you-how-to.html |
We moved on to dishes that included more tuna sashimi, tempura, shellfish, and soup. Everything was delicious. I temporarily forgot the excitement of the tentacles, assuming that was the odd food highlight of the evening.
I could not have been more wrong.
The chef wheeled the frozen head of the tuna on which we had been feasting in to the dining room on a carving trolley.
 |
| "Fish heads, fish heads, roly-poly fish heads. Fish heads, fish heads, eat them up, Yum!" |
The chef started carving the head in front of us, removing the choice cuts of meat from the head and serving them to us immediately. I learned that many people consider the meat on the head to be the most flavorful part of a fish. I can't disagree: the sashimi was excellent.
Now we come to the part of the story where my brain divides into two entities: Practical Woman and Timid Woman. What prompted this mental fission was that the chef, while carving up the fish head, took great pains to extract the eye intact. This back-and-forth happened completely in my head: how much of this played out in my facial expressions I cannot say. Hopefully I looked as if I was intrigued by the chef's carving skills.
"You do know what this means, don't you?" Practical Woman said. "He wouldn't be so careful with that eye if it was not going to be used."
"Be quiet, you!" Timid Woman squeaked. "Maybe this is to show us how fresh this fish is."
P.W. insists "I tell you that eye is destined for your plate. And really, how bad could it be? It's just as edible as most other parts of a fish."
"It's a GIANT EYE. Need I say more? How can they expect us to eat a frozen eye that measures in at about a cup?" T.W. had a false sense of security at this point.
"Oh really? Did you not see the giant cleaver? You are going to know what eye tastes like."
Here is what we saw:
 |
| From right to left: tuna head, sashimi, A CUP OF EYE. |
The chef then carefully scooped the shaved ice (or, in this case eye-ce) into four large shot glasses. The glasses are about 2/3 full at this point. He topped each glass with a serving of white wine, and oh-so-carefully used a toothpick to place a single flake of gold leaf on the top of the floating eye-ce. He handed us each a glass. And then he stood there, waiting.
"This has to be a joke!" T.W. mentally gasps. "There is a hidden camera somewhere. I can't do this!"
"Don't be silly, and don't be rude. You will drink this special creation. You are a guest." P.W. admonishes. "Oh, and the longer you hesitate, that frozen eye-ice is just going to become more slimy." Sometimes I think P.W. takes great pleasure in providing uncomfortable observations.
That was it. I was a guest and a representative of my country: I had to do my duty as a gracious Canadian visitor and drink that eye.
I had only enough culinary fortitude to do this in one gulp. Yes, I felt the gooey melting eye pieces in my mouth, and there was a faint fish flavor, but down it went, gold flake and all.
I DID IT!!! I ATE (well, drank) AN EYE!!!
We had a great deal of fun teasing each other about this later, and, as Lida said "You'll never forget this meal!" If I had to choose between the two bizarre (to me) food items of that evening, I would pick the eye over the octopus tentacles. I didn't have to chew the eye, and the eye didn't come from an animal that was still alive. The eye also didn't move (and didn't come from an animal that was still alive when it was removed). That being said, I am not going to seek out eye for my next dinner party.
I'm sure that this isn't the strangest food item people have sampled in the name of international research. I'd love to hear some stories!
I think it's time for lunch!
Happy New Year!
Strange Woman.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Science: It's Getting Closer to Being a Girl Thing.
I am experiencing a form of deja-vu: I am sitting in the same chair, drinking an inhuman amount of Earl Grey tea, and watching (and re-watching) recruitment videos designed to inspire today's young women to choose science as a career. There is one important difference: this time I am not completely disgusted and insulted by the mere existence of these videos.
Let's recap: the European Commission had produced and distributed a video that they, in a Cosmo-Girl-esque attitude towards women, thought would appeal to young women and encourage them to consider a science career. All the European Commission managed to inspire was outrage: the ad (and I think I am safe calling that pandering bit of runway nonsense an ad rather than a recruitment video) spent more time featuring girls sashaying than girls titrating. I don't know how many of the links are still operational for the original video, but if you can stomach it, check out the video here. There were several parody videos created by women in science that highlighted the stereotypes of women in the academics that the EC used as A-reel.
The European Commission had little choice but to pull the original video and come up with a strategy to create a new, less insulting version. Perhaps they were impressed by the parodies, because they created a video contest and a jury chose two winners and a People's Choice out of the submissions. Let's watch, shall we?
Here is Winner #1, a submission from France:
My first viewing of this video left me slightly uneasy, but I could not immediately identify the source of my discomfort. Then, after two more viewings, I could pinpoint the source of my unease. The creators of this video were not using the love of science and exploration as inspiration: they are relying on indignation at science being a male-dominated career to motivate young women to enter the sciences.
I can see what they were trying to get at: the adage "Decisions are made by those who show up" is as true in science as it is in other aspects of life. I hope this was the central message this video was trying to inspire in young women, but the leech-like message that followed was "Science has a male agenda that must be countered."
When I hear these sentiments from a few of my female peers, I do feel indignation, but not at "those evil sexist men." I feel like I'm being asked to choose sides in a boys vs. girls game in physical education class. Gender teams have never appealed to me, either in sports sports or in arguments. Just because I have XX chromosomes does not mean that I will automatically agree with a stance taken by another person with XX chromosomes. I am capable of looking at the data and making my own decisions.
My mentors have been and are mostly men. My colleagues in vertebrate ichnology are predominantly men. I couldn't ask for a better group of people with whom to work. I have never once felt like they looked down on me or my abilities, or (worse) thought that I needed extra help because I am a woman. Maybe my experience is not the same as that of other women in science: I can't speak of their experiences. However, when I hear people say that men are pushing their agenda in the sciences to the detriment of women, I think of the great men with whom I work and feel as though they are the ones being stereotyped. Stereotypes are dangerous tools on which to rely when making career decisions. Yes, there are inequalities that exist in science. They do need to be addressed. Decisions are made by those who show up, but WHY you show up is just as important as walking through the door. Indignation and anger at inequality are not going to be enough motivation to sustain you through a scientific career. The drive must run deeper than activism.
Here is Winner #2, a submission from Australia:
The opening amused me. Apparently, you don't have to be limited to a desk job if you are in science. I'm chuckling because for the past nine days I've been Super-Glued to my desk working on a paper. I would conservatively guess that over 70% of my duties as a curator and collections manager are administrative. Most researchers I know have to wear the Administrator Hat more often than not when applying for grants, working out budgets for their research labs, and serving on committees. Anyone who believes a scientific career frees them from the shackles of filling out forms in triplicate is going to be in for quite the rude awakening on Day 1 of their position.
I digress. This video is a bit more traditional in its approach: it shows young women having fun in a traditional chemistry lab setting. That left me with a "ho-hum" feeling. It was the last segment of the video that I found the most interesting. It showed images of real women scientists and their scientific fields. THAT is more like it! I believe the key to inspiration is to lead by example, showing a real female scientist getting down and dirty in science (with me that's a literal statement: part of my project involves stalking birds in marshlands, and during excavation I wield a pick-ax and shovel) highlights that anyone with a scientific passion can and should explore their interests as a career. I would have preferred the video focus more on examples of real women scientists than the smoking beakers.
Here is the People's Choice runner-up, a submission from the States:
I like this video. It showed real young women talking about scientific achievements they want to be a part of. They were determined to send the message that they did not consider gender to be a barrier to them entering, and succeeding in, the sciences. The focus was on their drive and their goals.
The European Commission had no where to go but up in terms of producing a better recruitment video, and I think they learned that women in the scientific community have strong ideas about what they want to see for promotion.
I found myself asking "What would my ideal recruitment video look like?", especially since I was unsettled by the first video. My ideal video would be a combination of videos #2 and the People's Choice. I envision young women talking about their specific scientific goals and dreams, and pairing them with women scientists who are working in those specific fields. A link between the now and the future, and an emphasis on how today's women scientists are the leaders and the mentors for the future women researchers. Decisions are made by those who show up: we should be there to give meaningful directions.
Back to editing figure captions.
SAS out.
Let's recap: the European Commission had produced and distributed a video that they, in a Cosmo-Girl-esque attitude towards women, thought would appeal to young women and encourage them to consider a science career. All the European Commission managed to inspire was outrage: the ad (and I think I am safe calling that pandering bit of runway nonsense an ad rather than a recruitment video) spent more time featuring girls sashaying than girls titrating. I don't know how many of the links are still operational for the original video, but if you can stomach it, check out the video here. There were several parody videos created by women in science that highlighted the stereotypes of women in the academics that the EC used as A-reel.
The European Commission had little choice but to pull the original video and come up with a strategy to create a new, less insulting version. Perhaps they were impressed by the parodies, because they created a video contest and a jury chose two winners and a People's Choice out of the submissions. Let's watch, shall we?
Here is Winner #1, a submission from France:
My first viewing of this video left me slightly uneasy, but I could not immediately identify the source of my discomfort. Then, after two more viewings, I could pinpoint the source of my unease. The creators of this video were not using the love of science and exploration as inspiration: they are relying on indignation at science being a male-dominated career to motivate young women to enter the sciences.
I can see what they were trying to get at: the adage "Decisions are made by those who show up" is as true in science as it is in other aspects of life. I hope this was the central message this video was trying to inspire in young women, but the leech-like message that followed was "Science has a male agenda that must be countered."
When I hear these sentiments from a few of my female peers, I do feel indignation, but not at "those evil sexist men." I feel like I'm being asked to choose sides in a boys vs. girls game in physical education class. Gender teams have never appealed to me, either in sports sports or in arguments. Just because I have XX chromosomes does not mean that I will automatically agree with a stance taken by another person with XX chromosomes. I am capable of looking at the data and making my own decisions.
My mentors have been and are mostly men. My colleagues in vertebrate ichnology are predominantly men. I couldn't ask for a better group of people with whom to work. I have never once felt like they looked down on me or my abilities, or (worse) thought that I needed extra help because I am a woman. Maybe my experience is not the same as that of other women in science: I can't speak of their experiences. However, when I hear people say that men are pushing their agenda in the sciences to the detriment of women, I think of the great men with whom I work and feel as though they are the ones being stereotyped. Stereotypes are dangerous tools on which to rely when making career decisions. Yes, there are inequalities that exist in science. They do need to be addressed. Decisions are made by those who show up, but WHY you show up is just as important as walking through the door. Indignation and anger at inequality are not going to be enough motivation to sustain you through a scientific career. The drive must run deeper than activism.
Here is Winner #2, a submission from Australia:
The opening amused me. Apparently, you don't have to be limited to a desk job if you are in science. I'm chuckling because for the past nine days I've been Super-Glued to my desk working on a paper. I would conservatively guess that over 70% of my duties as a curator and collections manager are administrative. Most researchers I know have to wear the Administrator Hat more often than not when applying for grants, working out budgets for their research labs, and serving on committees. Anyone who believes a scientific career frees them from the shackles of filling out forms in triplicate is going to be in for quite the rude awakening on Day 1 of their position.
I digress. This video is a bit more traditional in its approach: it shows young women having fun in a traditional chemistry lab setting. That left me with a "ho-hum" feeling. It was the last segment of the video that I found the most interesting. It showed images of real women scientists and their scientific fields. THAT is more like it! I believe the key to inspiration is to lead by example, showing a real female scientist getting down and dirty in science (with me that's a literal statement: part of my project involves stalking birds in marshlands, and during excavation I wield a pick-ax and shovel) highlights that anyone with a scientific passion can and should explore their interests as a career. I would have preferred the video focus more on examples of real women scientists than the smoking beakers.
Here is the People's Choice runner-up, a submission from the States:
I like this video. It showed real young women talking about scientific achievements they want to be a part of. They were determined to send the message that they did not consider gender to be a barrier to them entering, and succeeding in, the sciences. The focus was on their drive and their goals.
The European Commission had no where to go but up in terms of producing a better recruitment video, and I think they learned that women in the scientific community have strong ideas about what they want to see for promotion.
I found myself asking "What would my ideal recruitment video look like?", especially since I was unsettled by the first video. My ideal video would be a combination of videos #2 and the People's Choice. I envision young women talking about their specific scientific goals and dreams, and pairing them with women scientists who are working in those specific fields. A link between the now and the future, and an emphasis on how today's women scientists are the leaders and the mentors for the future women researchers. Decisions are made by those who show up: we should be there to give meaningful directions.
Back to editing figure captions.
SAS out.
Friday, December 14, 2012
It's 3am...Don't Step on the Hairball
I am a deep sleeper. While living with my sister-in-law, she would joke about checking to make sure I was still breathing. I don't just sleep: I go into torpor.
Despite my corpse-like repose, there are some events that will wake me out of a dead sleep. A mouse gnawing on something in the field trailer. The occasional clap of thunder. A house exploding. And, my all-time favorite, my cat Maia retching up a hairball at 3am. If I was serious about waking up on time in the morning, I would record that sound for my alarm.
My family has been a family of cat people for as long as I can remember. Both my Granny and Great-Aunt had cats, and growing up there were always two to three cats in the house at any one time. Some of my earliest memories involve the family cats.
When I first started university I did not have an opportunity to have a mammalian pet, and I also thought I wouldn't have one for some time due to an inconsistent schedule and near-constant moving student. A pet was something that Future Lisa would get to have.
I was not even thinking of a pet when I came across a black and white kitten in the bushes outside of my apartment one December ten years ago. It was bloody cold, and I was just getting ready to undertake yet another big move. I thought "If this little guy is still here when I get home, I'll let it inside." I didn't want to let the kitten into the wrong apartment building if its owners were one of those people who let their cats outside.
I will never, ever understand why people let their cats outside in the city, or even in a small town. Check out the Indoor Cat Initiative - cats that remain indoors (or in cat-specific outdoor enclosed patios) live longer, healthier lives because they won't get run over, attacked by another animal, pick up some nasty disease, or get lost. Outdoor cats are also one of the primary predators for local wildlife, such as birds. In urban areas, cats are Public Enemy #1. Maia is a happy indoor cat that gets supervised outside time, and is merely content to make high-pitched squeaky noises at the birds visiting my feeders. Meanwhile, the neighborhood cats that are let outside to roam free by their careless owners have created a larder of sparrow corpses next to my mint patch.
Anyway, when I returned home that evening, I saw that the kitten was walking down the hallway like it owned the place. I picked it up (learned it was a her), and began knocking on doors. She had several mats in the fur around her neck that needed to be cut out. No, no one knew anything about this kitten. No, no one wanted a cat. I was beginning to feel a little desperate. I was moving across the country in a few days and had an orphan on my hands. I made inquiries at shelters, and then felt like the world's biggest turd right after. Shelters were accepting cats, alright, but they were putting them down as fast as they were letting them in.
That was it. I was a cat owner. Maia was named, and my parents (who were down to help with the move) lost no time in outfitting the "grand-cat" with all of the gear necessary for her new life.
Now all I had to do was move her. Anyone out there who has had to move a cat, or take one to the vet, is familiar with the following scenario: cat goes into carrier, carrier goes into car, car moves, soul-ripping yowls of anger and despair emit from carrier, driver goes insane and drives off road. Hyperbole and a Half describes the horror of moving pets more succinctly than I ever could.
Other than a rocky period where I had to leave grad school to work and I wasn't sure where I was going to live (Maia bunked with a couple of friends for the few months it took us to secure a place), Maia has been with me for 10 years.
I can't say that she particularly enjoys it when we travel. She has to go to our friend's house, and our friend has two cats of their own. Maia, you see, is an only child, and is not well socialized with other cats. I've watched her in action. At best she learns to tolerate the presence of another cat. Do not even ask about dogs.
If co-authorships were granted just on the amount of time a person or object spent with you while working on the project, all of my papers would be co-authored by Maia the Cat and Earl Grey Tea. Maia's favorite time of the day is Writing Time. Wherever I happen to be working, Maia will be there with me, either snoozing on the seat next to me, or helping me hold my books open by lying on them.
Time to get back to formatting figures for a rather large review paper. Maia is doing her part: she is lying of the dining room furnace register, making sure the dining room doesn't receive too much heat.
Until next time,
Strange Woman.
Despite my corpse-like repose, there are some events that will wake me out of a dead sleep. A mouse gnawing on something in the field trailer. The occasional clap of thunder. A house exploding. And, my all-time favorite, my cat Maia retching up a hairball at 3am. If I was serious about waking up on time in the morning, I would record that sound for my alarm.
 |
| Yes, you. Don't look so content. I stepped in that hairball! |
When I first started university I did not have an opportunity to have a mammalian pet, and I also thought I wouldn't have one for some time due to an inconsistent schedule and near-constant moving student. A pet was something that Future Lisa would get to have.
I was not even thinking of a pet when I came across a black and white kitten in the bushes outside of my apartment one December ten years ago. It was bloody cold, and I was just getting ready to undertake yet another big move. I thought "If this little guy is still here when I get home, I'll let it inside." I didn't want to let the kitten into the wrong apartment building if its owners were one of those people who let their cats outside.
I will never, ever understand why people let their cats outside in the city, or even in a small town. Check out the Indoor Cat Initiative - cats that remain indoors (or in cat-specific outdoor enclosed patios) live longer, healthier lives because they won't get run over, attacked by another animal, pick up some nasty disease, or get lost. Outdoor cats are also one of the primary predators for local wildlife, such as birds. In urban areas, cats are Public Enemy #1. Maia is a happy indoor cat that gets supervised outside time, and is merely content to make high-pitched squeaky noises at the birds visiting my feeders. Meanwhile, the neighborhood cats that are let outside to roam free by their careless owners have created a larder of sparrow corpses next to my mint patch.
Anyway, when I returned home that evening, I saw that the kitten was walking down the hallway like it owned the place. I picked it up (learned it was a her), and began knocking on doors. She had several mats in the fur around her neck that needed to be cut out. No, no one knew anything about this kitten. No, no one wanted a cat. I was beginning to feel a little desperate. I was moving across the country in a few days and had an orphan on my hands. I made inquiries at shelters, and then felt like the world's biggest turd right after. Shelters were accepting cats, alright, but they were putting them down as fast as they were letting them in.
That was it. I was a cat owner. Maia was named, and my parents (who were down to help with the move) lost no time in outfitting the "grand-cat" with all of the gear necessary for her new life.
Now all I had to do was move her. Anyone out there who has had to move a cat, or take one to the vet, is familiar with the following scenario: cat goes into carrier, carrier goes into car, car moves, soul-ripping yowls of anger and despair emit from carrier, driver goes insane and drives off road. Hyperbole and a Half describes the horror of moving pets more succinctly than I ever could.
Other than a rocky period where I had to leave grad school to work and I wasn't sure where I was going to live (Maia bunked with a couple of friends for the few months it took us to secure a place), Maia has been with me for 10 years.
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| The Queen. |
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| Didn't you hear me? I said, "Don't ask!" |
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| This pose is most conducive to detecting Type II errors. |
Until next time,
Strange Woman.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Strange Woman Abroad: Turkmenistan - Vulture Food
Despite my misadventures from the previous day, I was refreshed and eager to participate in the scheduled canyon hike. The canyon boasts of a lush green ecosystem within the fairly arid landscape of Turkmenistan. I was looking forward to all the birding opportunities I would have.
I was still a bit dehydrated, so I made sure to stock up on bottled water in my CamelPak, and to bring a bandanna to keep the sun off of the back of my neck. I also resolved to take it slow - one great part about birding is that no one expects you to keep up with the crowd when your face is glued to binoculars.
We pulled into the mouth of the canyon and dismounted. Right away we noticed a group of large, soaring birds circling far overhead. Our presence had disturbed a large colony of Griffon Vultures!
I should probably mention my undying adoration of vultures. I have been fascinated by these carrion eaters ever since I was a child. Growing up in southern BC I saw a great many Turkey Vultures in my rural community. One of my favorite hikes was to the offal dump in the mountains behind the local farm. If I was very quiet, I could sneak up on the Turkey Vultures feasting on the remains of the most recent slaughter. Their appearance is what initially attracted me, but as I learned more about them, the deeper my fascination grew. I tried in vain to convince the adults in my life (it was a small circle, but I tried) that vultures are beautiful birds that deserve respect. Sadly, vultures in Asia are on a frightening decline towards extinction, but thanks to the efforts of organizations such as the RSPB, there is a plan in place to reverse this trend.
I digress. We began our hike up the canyon. Even if I was separated from the group, there was no way I could have become lost: a pipe carrying fresh water ran along the entire length of our trail. It was also leaking in many places (I was told that local people punch holes in the pipe to access the water) so there was also no way I would die of thirst.
It was an extremely hot day. I paused frequently to look at the scenery, and noticed that the Griffon Vultures were still following us after almost a kilometer. One of the UNESCO committee members was hiking with me and Rich, and she and I took an opportunity to use one of the puncture holes in the water pipe to soak our bandannas. As we were bending down, I hear Rich scrambling to get the video camera out. I looked up to see what all the fuss was, and saw the most amazing sight: a Griffon Vulture, on seeing us bend down, had descended into the canyon to investigate the situation. We were being selected by the vultures as one selects a lobster from a tank.
If only I had been carrying any form of food that a vulture would have found palatable, I would have stayed crouched to see if it would have landed: I wouldn't want a vulture to go to all the trouble of landing if it was not going to get a good meal out of it. After we stood up (and made quite a few Monty Python jokes about not being dead yet), our opportunistic Griffon Vulture made a couple more passes and ascended out of the canyon.
This was the highlight of the canyon trip for me. The flora in the cool confines of the canyon was lovely, but my interest in botany was waning with my energy. My body was telling me to give it a rest. I sat out the rest of the hike at one of the many tables set out for our catered lunch. Complete with circling vultures.
The next day (May 27th) we traveled back via train to Turkmenabat to attend the international conference. I was looking forward to this with some trepidation: no one on the Expedition had any idea what the schedule was for the talks, or how long each speaker had for their talk. We knew there were the plenary speakers (Rich, Federico, and Martin were among those), and regular speakers (my category). We figured that we would get the information when we needed it.
May 28th was the first day of the conference, and the rest of the international and national attendees had arrived in Turkmenabat.
Our entourage had swelled to three buses for the conference attendees and several police and security vehicles for escort. We did not stop for one red light the entire time the conference was running. One person counted at least 50 officers stopping traffic We were shuttled from our hotel to one of the national theaters for Day 1 of the Conference.
After the welcome ceremony we were escorted to the main theater. The Expedition Members were ushered into the first two rows. Rich went with me to the front row, but I had noticed something he had not: he was not going to be sitting in the front row. I pointed to the stage, and pointed at his name placard on the stage. He was going to be part of this morning's show.
The plenary speakers found out that morning they had 20 minutes to give their presentations, and that had to include translation time. Rich gives very slide-rich presentations: a 30 minute presentation might contain anywhere from 60 - 100 slides. He also has an organic presentation style that often includes many jokes. I do not know how he did it, but he managed to give a great presentation of 60 slides in 17 minutes including translation. I would later that day have cause to perform a similar feat, but at that time I was naively sitting in the front row enjoying the show.
After the plenary session concluded it was time for lunch. We were shuttled to the Hippodrome for a huge banquet lunch.
A very touching event happened to me after lunch. When we entered the banquet hall we were greeted by a long line of holy men, whose hands we shook as we passed. These same holy men were also waiting in the line as we left the hall. A few of us felt that it would be very polite if we shook their hands again and say thanks. As I made my way down the line I saw there was a group of elderly ladies in traditional costume waiting at the end. When I reached the end of the line I was instantly surrounded by the ladies, and they all wanted to hug and kiss me. It was very sweet. Their affection reminded me of my Granny, who had past away only two years ago.
By this time the rest of us speakers had figured out when we were to present. I had a major problem: my jump drive containing my presentation was back at the hotel. Another presenter had a similar presentation conundrum: there were images he wanted to add to his presentation. I also wanted to add a few more images. We agreed to be a united front in needing to return to the hotel. We flagged down Dr. Poladov and asked if we could get a ride to the hotel and from the hotel to the theater. We were, and we quickly put the last minute tweaks on our presentations and made it back to the theater with time to spare. I was feeling quite proud of myself for being able to improve my talk on such short notice. That feeling was not going to last.
I get to my session, sit down, and Rich whispers to me "Five minutes."
"Wow," I replied, "I made it back just in time!"
"No," said Rich, "that's how long you have to give your presentation. Including translation." He smiled that smile that said "Now it's your turn."
Five minutes. Oh crap. Where are the Griffon Vultures when you need them?
I had prepared my presentation (challenges in preserving and protecting large intact track surfaces) using the typical international conference formatting: a presentation with images and data that can be delivered in 12 minutes with a couple of minutes for questions. I had (after my sneaky editing session) a grand total of 17 slides.
I sat there with a stunned look on my face. I watched the presenters from Turkmenistan give their talks. Their presentation style was to deliver a monologue with little to no images and sparse (from what I could tell) supporting data.
I am a nervous public speaker. I have given numerous public presentations, several professional talks, and have taught multiple labs, but before every presentation a knot of anxiety tightens in my chest and stomach. I have been presenting for more than a decade, and I think this is a reaction to public speaking that I will always have. This time felt completely different. A surreal calm washed over me. It was a different feeling than not caring, but I felt as though a lot of pressure had been relieved. This was the most relaxed I had ever been for a presentation. I think it was because I knew I had no time whatsoever to say anything ridiculous or make any mistakes. I had to keep my blather on a leash. I even threw in a joke that translated well. At the break I received a lot of compliments on my talk.
I won't go into the 20 minute long closing ceremony speech to the President about the conference and about all the wonderful successes for which the President can take credit (this was the style of official meetings in Turkmenistan: the President receives long and detailed praise for all accomplishments).
That concludes the memorable (for me) parts of my trip to Turkmenistan.
This trip was definitely a cultural experience. Will I ever go back to Turkmenistan for more paleontology related work? I can honestly say I do not know. Dr. Poladov, the Turkmenistan researcher who succeeded in the monumental task of organizing, coordinating, and executing the Expedition and Conference, has not responded to my emails, nor has he responded to the emails of the other paleontologists who I know have tried to contact him. I wish Dr. Poladov all the best: he did a fantastic job coordinating such an event and should be commended. Maybe we will hear from him someday soon.
Strange Woman out.
I was still a bit dehydrated, so I made sure to stock up on bottled water in my CamelPak, and to bring a bandanna to keep the sun off of the back of my neck. I also resolved to take it slow - one great part about birding is that no one expects you to keep up with the crowd when your face is glued to binoculars.
We pulled into the mouth of the canyon and dismounted. Right away we noticed a group of large, soaring birds circling far overhead. Our presence had disturbed a large colony of Griffon Vultures!
 |
| When I die, I hope I am eaten by vultures. (Wikipedia.org) |
I digress. We began our hike up the canyon. Even if I was separated from the group, there was no way I could have become lost: a pipe carrying fresh water ran along the entire length of our trail. It was also leaking in many places (I was told that local people punch holes in the pipe to access the water) so there was also no way I would die of thirst.
 |
| You can picture the vultures circling patiently overhead... |
If only I had been carrying any form of food that a vulture would have found palatable, I would have stayed crouched to see if it would have landed: I wouldn't want a vulture to go to all the trouble of landing if it was not going to get a good meal out of it. After we stood up (and made quite a few Monty Python jokes about not being dead yet), our opportunistic Griffon Vulture made a couple more passes and ascended out of the canyon.
This was the highlight of the canyon trip for me. The flora in the cool confines of the canyon was lovely, but my interest in botany was waning with my energy. My body was telling me to give it a rest. I sat out the rest of the hike at one of the many tables set out for our catered lunch. Complete with circling vultures.
 |
| One of the several prayer cairns set up along the canyon. |
The next day (May 27th) we traveled back via train to Turkmenabat to attend the international conference. I was looking forward to this with some trepidation: no one on the Expedition had any idea what the schedule was for the talks, or how long each speaker had for their talk. We knew there were the plenary speakers (Rich, Federico, and Martin were among those), and regular speakers (my category). We figured that we would get the information when we needed it.
May 28th was the first day of the conference, and the rest of the international and national attendees had arrived in Turkmenabat.
 | |
| The Expedition and Conference were the big news item in Turkmenistan that week. |
 | |
| This was the largest performance we had seen to date. |
 |
| This performance focused on the national treasures of the country. |
 |
| EVERYTHING we did was recorded. Our track site interviews were being played over and over on Turkmenistan TV that week. |
 |
| No pressure. That gentleman in the back is the current President of Turkmenistan. That screen was not used for any of the presentations. It displayed this image for the entire plenary session. |
After the plenary session concluded it was time for lunch. We were shuttled to the Hippodrome for a huge banquet lunch.
 | ||
| The Hippodrome. I didn't get to see any of the famous horses of Turkmenistan. |
By this time the rest of us speakers had figured out when we were to present. I had a major problem: my jump drive containing my presentation was back at the hotel. Another presenter had a similar presentation conundrum: there were images he wanted to add to his presentation. I also wanted to add a few more images. We agreed to be a united front in needing to return to the hotel. We flagged down Dr. Poladov and asked if we could get a ride to the hotel and from the hotel to the theater. We were, and we quickly put the last minute tweaks on our presentations and made it back to the theater with time to spare. I was feeling quite proud of myself for being able to improve my talk on such short notice. That feeling was not going to last.
I get to my session, sit down, and Rich whispers to me "Five minutes."
"Wow," I replied, "I made it back just in time!"
"No," said Rich, "that's how long you have to give your presentation. Including translation." He smiled that smile that said "Now it's your turn."
Five minutes. Oh crap. Where are the Griffon Vultures when you need them?
I had prepared my presentation (challenges in preserving and protecting large intact track surfaces) using the typical international conference formatting: a presentation with images and data that can be delivered in 12 minutes with a couple of minutes for questions. I had (after my sneaky editing session) a grand total of 17 slides.
I sat there with a stunned look on my face. I watched the presenters from Turkmenistan give their talks. Their presentation style was to deliver a monologue with little to no images and sparse (from what I could tell) supporting data.
I am a nervous public speaker. I have given numerous public presentations, several professional talks, and have taught multiple labs, but before every presentation a knot of anxiety tightens in my chest and stomach. I have been presenting for more than a decade, and I think this is a reaction to public speaking that I will always have. This time felt completely different. A surreal calm washed over me. It was a different feeling than not caring, but I felt as though a lot of pressure had been relieved. This was the most relaxed I had ever been for a presentation. I think it was because I knew I had no time whatsoever to say anything ridiculous or make any mistakes. I had to keep my blather on a leash. I even threw in a joke that translated well. At the break I received a lot of compliments on my talk.
I won't go into the 20 minute long closing ceremony speech to the President about the conference and about all the wonderful successes for which the President can take credit (this was the style of official meetings in Turkmenistan: the President receives long and detailed praise for all accomplishments).
That concludes the memorable (for me) parts of my trip to Turkmenistan.
This trip was definitely a cultural experience. Will I ever go back to Turkmenistan for more paleontology related work? I can honestly say I do not know. Dr. Poladov, the Turkmenistan researcher who succeeded in the monumental task of organizing, coordinating, and executing the Expedition and Conference, has not responded to my emails, nor has he responded to the emails of the other paleontologists who I know have tried to contact him. I wish Dr. Poladov all the best: he did a fantastic job coordinating such an event and should be commended. Maybe we will hear from him someday soon.
Strange Woman out.
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