Dino Hunting!

[As originally posted on the MTGN forums at "http://forums.mtgnews.com/showpost.php?p=1642424&postcount=439".]

For nearly two weeks, from June fifth to June eighteenth, I experienced a trip very unlike anything that I'd ever enountered before.

I went dinosaur hunting.

I had never before done anything truly paleontological, though when I was younger I did do a short archaeological stunt in Pensacola, FL, where in the course of building a new highway, they inadvertently dug up an old spanish fort site as well. But that was just kids' stuff; nothing fancy, and nothing major.

But dino hunting? Now this was major hardcore stuff.

Pleasantly, I packed my bags, looking forward to what I thought would be the vacation of a lifetime. This was the real deal: true field work experience, albeit in a field somewhat divergent from my theoretical physics and fundamental mathematical background. To think of it! Actual unadulterated field experience! It was an experience beyond what I had ever accomplished before.

I mean, I've published in a national magazine. I've had a few poems printed in amateur poetry books. I even had done a little prep work for an old professor's then unpublished findings (though my name was not put on the published material, since I had not contributed much to the experimental findings). But I'd never before done anything truly intellectual, that I might be published on, or even that might further the advance of science itself. Instead, all I had done are things that I cannot help but to view as second tier: bland advertisement, perfunctory immature poetry, and 'rip-offs' that deserve no better than a cursory glance by any intelligent reader.

But this... This was the chance of a lifetime. To think of all those preadolescent days when I dreamed of going into xenomacropaleontology (don't ask), and to realize as to just how few people actually get to accomplish those dreams held to them as a child...

Alas! Dreams, like shadows and heroes, diminish the closer one appears.

This is not to say that all dreams are bad in any sense more than shadows or heroes might be considered bad. But it does, in some senses, remain quite true. (Of course, this leads into the argument that any categorical distinction is as true as it is untrue; whereas the ends do not justify the means, you also can't make an omellete without breaking a few eggs.) And in that sense, at least, I found out a great lesson in my dino hunting trip. A great lesson indeed.

Inasmuch as my enjoyment went, I had an absolutely glorious time. I found a triceratops (my personal favorite dinosaur, due to a mid-eighties trike craze I experienced in my childhood), minus the skull and limbs, but with at least one intact vertebra and multiple ribs and tendons. The specimen was not articulate, unfortunately, but the spread of the bones did indicate that it had been killed by a neotyrannosaur, and later scavenged by some form of cretaceous raptor that we couldn't identify. Teeth marks were found on the bone, but no teeth were imbedded within the bone itself. All in all, it was a fairly average find, with nothing of particular scientific interest. But to me, it was wonderful. Exhilirating. Delightful. Enjoyable.

But there remained that voice in the back of my head, understanding what was to become of these bones after they were fully prepped. They would be sold, I came to understand, and the profits would remain with Dr. Garstka, the paleontologist of the group.

But then again, he wasn't really a paleontologist. And there, I think, is where it all came out wrong.

Bill, you see, had his training in biology, specifically in snakes and lizards. Of course, his education came from the Vietnam era, so the biology he learned is now horrendously outdated, though he still works his day job teaching the stuff at a mid-sized 'government' (his description) university. He used to do research on specimens, but when the animal rights activists got a whole bunch of government regulations on cage size, feeding habits, and the like, he found that he was unable to cope with any of it, and switched over to field work in a national preserve instead.

The preserve at that time was headed by a country boy, very unlike today's common park ranger head honchos who come from more of a law enforcement background. Accordingly, Bill was allowed considerable leeway in his field experiments; this all changed once the leadership changed, and suddenly Bill found himself unable to conduct useful research without first leaving the country.

It was at this point that he turned to paleontology. "Surely," said he, "there will be no such restrictions on animals that have been dead for sixty-five million years!"

But, as he isn't a paleontologist by training, his research could not be funded by the university he was employed at, and instead he got his funding through the selling of dinosaur bones to the general public.

Now, I don't want to go into all that this means, though I'm sure most of my readers can glean exactly what a pothole of philosophical questions this opens up, especially in the field of a historical science like paleontology. Remember: once it's dug out, it can never be dug out again. And once it's sold to the general public, it would take a hell of a time to get it back into a museum in even the worst of conditions.

As a historical example, allow me to cite the old westerns that Hollywood did back in the day. Remember all of those headresses and teepees and stuff they used as props? Those were all real. They went out into the poor parts of native american land and bought out all of the old stuff, merely to be used as props in movies. Because of that, there are no old headresses anymore. They were all destroyed and thrown away by old movie actors who ruined them. Nowadays, all there is access to is fifty year old and younger artifacts from Native American land, excepting what is found in archaeological dig sites.

So it bothered me somewhat when I came to find out that Bill funded his bone-digging by selling his bones. It turned a scientific escapade into a lesson in marketing. I could see no difference between digging up these bones and selling them at inflated prices than I see in the raping of the earth for natural resources like oil and gold, and selling them for a profit as well. Hell, I can even see an argument for why oil must be drilled for and sold, whereas there is absolutely no reason why dinosaur bones should be sold to the public, especially at the loss of museum pieces that is sustained because of it.

Do you realize that there have only been twenty-eight complete Tyrannosaurus Rex skeletons dug up in the entire history of paleontology, and, of these, only half of them are in actual museums? And only one of the articulate ones is in a museum, where it rightly belongs! And for that matter, most museums have mere plasters of skeletons, and few actual bones to speak of. All because of money-grubbing entrepeneural 'pseudo-paleontologists', who pervert the science of paleontology into mere profiteering.

As you can see, my comfort level of working with Dr. Bill Garstka dropped tremendously almost from the very beginning.

But I tried not to let it get to me. I tried not to think about what would happen after the entire process of prepping the bones had been finished. Instead, I concentrated on the thrill of finding a Trike vertebra in the flaky North Dakota rock, and of the beauty unraveled before me as I swept the dust away with a paintbrush.

Truly, it was an amazing adventure for me, despite all of the conceptual problems I had with the whole situation.

But, I suppose my disagreement with the situation became quite apparent with Bill. I kept noticing the local scientist types bothering him, circling planes above him with the intention of pure annoyance, and driving up to a far-off butte, sitting and watching as Bill dug into the rock below. I realized: they had no way of stopping Bill from doing what he was doing in any legal manner whatsoever, and yet the cared enough for the sanctity of pure, profitless science that they took time away from their day specifically in order to try and intimidate him from digging there.

But truly, what could they do? What can they do? They talk with the local ranchers, trying to persuade them to not lease out the dinosaur digging rights to anyone other than a university, but there aren't enough universities sponsoring such digs, and besides: profiteers like Bill give huge handouts monetarily in order to keep their leases current. And how can you ever convince a rancher not to take huge sums of money that is offered to him, even if it is in the name of science to turn profiteers down?

I read B. F. Skinner's Walden II while I was there. It turned out to be a most appropriate book to be reading for the occasion.

I had planned on staying there longer. But, after nearly two weeks, I was asked to leave. Not just because of my views, but for a number of other things. Bill, ironically enough, was just too damned objectivist for me.

But irregardless (i.e., with regard) of my misgivings after the fact, I still think that this trip of mine, above all other trips, has been the one where I not only learned the most, but also got the most experience, and best of all, became cognizant of certain ideas and thoughts that I hadn't fully understood before now...

All in all, I had a most rewarding trip, and I am very, very glad that I took it.




PS:
If you haven't read Skinner's Walden II, go read it. Now. I'm serious. I picked it up on accident, thinking it was Thoreau's Walden, and I'm glad I did. What a find!

Read it.

JAM on Phoe

I talked to Jason earlier tonight, and we talked at length on many things. Anyway, I figure a few highlights would be worth taking a look at...

---begin copied text---
Jam37wcc: Greg got that security job
Jam37wcc: But he quit
---end copied text---

Yeah, that sounds like Greg, alright.

---begin copied text---
Jam37wcc: Nick told me Casey just cut Greg's hand earlier tonight
Eric J Herboso: With what?
Jam37wcc: Greg was asleep and Casey got a metal pizza cutter and put it on his hand like brass knuckles and held it to his throat
Eric J Herboso: You're not serious, are you?
Jam37wcc: He woke Greg up and I geuss it startled Greg and he took his hands and pushed it out of the way and sliced his hand open
Jam37wcc: Yes
Eric J Herboso: And why is it that Greg still hangs out with Casey?
Jam37wcc: I don't know
---end copied text---

You'd think Greg would have learned better by now...

---begin copied text---
Jam37wcc: You know where th airport is don't you
Eric J Herboso: Yeah. [note: it's about a forty-five minute drive from Saraland]
Jam37wcc: Do you think driving about 2 or 3 miles passed that is worth $5.50 an hr if you live in saraland
Eric J Herboso: No, of course not.
Jam37wcc: That is where Casey works and Greg thought it was a good job so he applied there
---end copied text---

I wonder what Greg's excuse for this one is... Greg always seems to have an excuse, whether it's valid or not.

---begin copied text---
Jam37wcc: Greg said but it's a permanent job
---end copied text---

A permanent job at $5.50 an hour? My, but Greg surely is dense.

---begin copied text---
Jam37wcc: Clay is going to buy a new Trans Am
Eric J Herboso: Again?
Jam37wcc: And I wouldn't be surprised if Greg wants to also
Jam37wcc: This time he is going to get a new one not used
Eric J Herboso: Brand new?
Jam37wcc: Yep
Jam37wcc: That is what Nick told me
Eric J Herboso: Did Clay say that this time he would wait a few months before he wrecked the car?
Jam37wcc: Not that I know of
---end copied text---

In the past, Greg has done his best to keep up with Clay car-wise. When Clay bought his last Trans-Am, Greg bought one just like it but of a different color on the same day. That same month, Clay wrecked his car. Greg did the same two months later.

---begin copied text---
Jam37wcc: You know what Greg is doing for a job now
Eric J Herboso: Asking his mom for money?
Jam37wcc: He works for his mom three nights a week
Jam37wcc: He watches the exit doors at the theater so no one sneaks in
Jam37wcc: So pretty much is mom is paying for his car and insurance
Jam37wcc: If it wasn't for Greg no one would be watch those doors that closely
---end copied text---

Okay, I know this sounds bad, but I've got to give Greg the benefit of the doubt. Maybe the job has a little more to it than Jason thinks...

---begin copied text---
Jam37wcc : If Greg whines enough he doesn't even have to go to theater and work
---end copied text---

... ... Never mind. Forget I said anything.

---begin copied text---
Jam37wcc: He has another girlfriend
Jam37wcc: Guess where she stays
Eric J Herboso: In Pensacola?
Jam37wcc: At his house
---end copied text---

I said Pensacola because it's an hour away, and I figured he'd be the kind of person who'd drive for an hour just to see some girlfriend for five minutes. But no, she actually lives with him. I wonder what she's like...

---begin copied text---
Eric J Herboso: Have you met her?
Jam37wcc: Yeah
Eric J Herboso: What's she like?
Jam37wcc: She didn't say much but
---end copied text---

Okay, here it comes... I wonder what Jason's opinion of her could possibly be...

---begin copied text---
Jam37wcc: She is very controlling
Jam37wcc: She doesn't have a job
Jam37wcc: She dropped out of school
Jam37wcc: Isn't going to get her GED
Jam37wcc: Nick, Greg, and me went to mobile one day and stayed out there for most of the day
Jam37wcc: When we got back she was standing in the front yard cussing Greg out because he wasn't there to get up and get her food
Jam37wcc: Because she felt sick
---end copied text---

You know, I was expecting him to say she's a bitch, or maybe a bad choice, but no, Jason didn't even utter a single opinion that he had about this girl. Instead, he gave facts, and left it to me to decide what kind of girl she is. My opinion: She's a bitch.
Surely he wouldn't be putting up with her just for the sex... He can get it elsewhere so easily. My only guess is that she must look really good, and even then, I can't comprehend Greg's stupidity in putting up with that kind of shit.

---begin copied text---
Jam37wcc: Did I tell you he got some more tatoos
Eric J Herboso: [sigh - not again] What did he get this time?
Jam37wcc: A dragon, a sword, and a man with wings not an angel
Jam37wcc: Guess where
Eric J Herboso: Knowing Greg, it's probably his forehead.
Jam37wcc: You think he would be at least smart enough where you could cover it up with a short sleeve shirt
Jam37wcc: He has to wear a long sleeve shirt to cover it up
Jam37wcc: It is on his right fore arm
Jam37wcc: I asked him why he didn't get it higher on his arm so a short sleeve shirt would cover it he told me he had a brain fart
---end copied text---

Damn, he's stupid as fuck... God only knows why a person as good-natured, honest, and good looking as him has to be that fucking retarded. I guess there's some universal constant out there that states no person can have all the good qualities all rolled up in one.
I blame it on Casey, though... You know how bad company acts on one's personality.

---begin copied text---
Jam37wcc: Did Casey have his car before you left
Eric J Herboso: What kind of car does he have?
Jam37wcc: A firebird
Jam37wcc: the small Trams Am
Jam37wcc: He traded his trans am for it
Jam37wcc: It is red and Casey thought it would be cool to paint the rims red
Jam37wcc: When he decided he didn't like it he was going to use gas to get it off
Jam37wcc: Which is pretty smart
Jam37wcc: Guess what he did
---end copied text---

Umm... I don't know, but I'm hoping it's not what I'm thinking in my head...

---begin copied text---
Jam37wcc: He poured gas on them and set them on fire
Eric J Herboso: On fire?
Jam37wcc: Yeah
Eric J Herboso: Are you serious?
Jam37wcc: Very
---end copied text---

My AIM Profile

As copied from my AIM profile at this date.

Likes: physics, Tae Kwon Do, books, Magic: The Gathering, big band, Command & Conquer, Final Fantasy VI, Geico commercials, drum corps, first dates, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, composing

Dislikes: stupidity, indecisiveness, laziness, unassertiveness, Dr. Laura, raw oysters, & retards.

"Only 3 things can stop TRIX from winning. And they are BAD player, BAD construction, and BAD consult." -Warren Malsh

"Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind." -Dr. Seuss

" 'Nice' bears little relationship to 'kind'; it's simply the path of least resistance for those with so lttle confidence in their real talents, intellect, and power of discernment they cannot support or even question their own ideas and convictions."

Wasted Time

The following entry was written in the very early morning of January 8, 2003, while I was taking a break from moving into my new dormitory.

Well, here I am. How do I feel about this new change? At first, when I started college, I held on to my apartment, since it was the last remnant of specialty left to me. But now, even that is gone. Now, I am no better off than any others here...

I'm twenty-one years old now, and am very rapidly approaching twenty-two. But I only just started college earlier last year; this is only my second semester here at Spring Hill. I am the oldest freshman here; the next oldest only just recently turned twenty. Even he was only nineteen when he started here -- I, on the otherhand, was twenty-one.

I guess one could say I am finaly getting my life back on track... Strange how it derailed quite some time ago. Has it really taken me this long to recover? And yet, I still am not fully healed. I have lost every benefit I gained from my obtuse choices of years back... I no longer have a family, I lost my talent of music through years of misuse, I stopped going to Tae Kwon Do classes regularly, I stopped playing soccer, I no longer have my house, or even my apartment anymore, and I am really no better off monetarily than I was four years ago.

In short, I am like every other freshman here, except I am three years older.

Dr. Allin said that I had life experience, and that is a priceless thing tohave. He said that at least I appreciate being at college, whereas most other students simply do not care.

At the time, I agreed with him, but now I am not so sure. I mean, I know that I do appreciate being here, unlike most of the other students here. But do I appreciate it because of my life experience? Or would I have appreciated it just as well years ago if I had started college then, instead?

It is true that I did indeed start college for a short semester, subsequently dropping out after only a few classes. But this was quite some time ago, and circumstances were very different back then. It was at that time of my life that I first got off track... Dropping out of high school depressed me, even though I didn't admit it at the time. I can remember saying that I wanted to drop out, but the real truth is that I didn't. I felt as though I were forced out. I wasn't ready to grow up. Hell, I'm still not ready to grow up. I liked being on the drum line and the soccer team and just living the life of a high school kid. I didn't want to quit. I didn't want to enroll in college early; everybody at college was old, and I was still young. How old was I? 16? 17? Hell, I don't even remember off the top of my head. I was living in a nightmare that wouldn't end. But the worst part was that part of me actually enjoyed the nightmare... I liked the idea of college; I just didn't feel ready yet. No, that's not quite right... I felt ready, but I didn't want to be forced. I hated being forced. I felt like I had no choice; I absolutely had to grow up right then, and I had no say in the matter. It was horrible. I couldn't function like that. Not back then. Now, years later, were I in the same predicament, I might be able to handle it. But I must stress the word "might". After all, I may be a very different person now, but I no more wish to be forced into a situation now than I did back then.

So it is no surprise that I dropped out back then. But if we were to rewind time to a happier period in my life, to a time before that nightmare began, I think that I would have appreciated college. Sure, it would be a different appreciation from what I have now, but it would still be there just the same. Maybe I wasn't ready for college when I was 17, but back when I was fifteen, I was definitely ready. I'm glad I didn't drop out that early, of course, but this has nothing to do with my ability or anything similar; it is just that I prefer having had the experiences that I had in high school, right up to when that nightmare first began.

But ever since that derailment nightmare occurred, my life has been nowhere near where I wished it to be. What makes me feel so bad and depressed about it all is that I went through all of that derailment crap and I have nothing to show for it. Dr. Allin was wrong: I haven't gained appreciation; I had appreciation before I screwed my life up. No... I have nothing to show for it. Nothing.

What have I gained since then? A PS2, some power nine, and a discovery of Milton. But beyond that? Nothing.

Sure, I now have two very nice rocking chairs and an excellent TV, but this is immaterial. Even the soft sheets on my bed aren't that important. No, all I have is a PS2, which I would have bought anyway, some power nine, which I would have gotten anyway, and a discovery of Milton, which I would have discovered eventually anyway.

To think... All of these years of pain, and I have nothing to show for it. Everything I gained is crap.

Fuck life experience. I'm not happy for having had the experience that I had. The knowledge of how fucked up life can be is not worth experiencing how badly life might fuck you up.

Please excuse my language today. Writing this entry has not made me very happy, nor calm.

... I'd write more, but my hand hurts. Damn you, hand.

A Nightmare To Remember

I had to have been less than seven at the time, though I don't recall exactly what age I was. All I remember is that I was quite young -- maybe four or five years old.

I had just woken up, and the house was flooded. Water surrounded me, and I felt scared. The water was rising, slowly and methodically. Soon, it was high enough to lift my bed, and I found myself floating upon my bed through water that was freezing to the touch. 

I grabbed something nearby to use as an oar, and I rowed outside of my room. It was then that I saw both my father and my mother floating in separate pieces of furniture, being pulled faster and faster by the current beneath the waves. They were asleep, supposedly unaware of the danger they were in, and I felt it to be my duty to save them. I began rowing in their direction as hard as I could. 

Soon, I saw a third piece of furniture graced by my uncle Mike -- no sweeter sight had I by then seen! -- and he rowed toward my parents and I, intent upon saving us all. 

But then, unexpectedly, my father and my mother started to drift in opposite directions. My uncle and I would have to split up in order to save them from impending doom. "I will go after your father, Eric!" Mike called out to me. "Row as hard as you can to save your mother!" 

I nodded to him, strangely unable to speak at the moment(because of fear, perhaps?), and I put my utmost effort into catching up to my mother, who still was beyond my reach by some two or three meters yet. 

But then (oh! the agony of retelling it!), without logic and devoid of all sanity, my mother started to drift into a women's restroom! I was horrified! Oh, how I hurried to catch her before she entered, but alas, I was too slow. ... I was too late. 

How could I save her now? She had gone into that ultimate of all no-man's lands: the lady's restroom. I was heartbroken. I tried screaming for help, but it was to no avail. Not only did my voice not work, but whom could come even if I did cry out? She was the only female in the house. 

I wanted to wail with despair, but the tears would not come, and my voice remained silent. I cried internally until the nightmare was over and I woke up. 

I can remember how scared I was, sitting up in my bed that night, thinking upon the horrifying dream I had just had. I can recall wondering why I had not awoken at the scariest part -- why did I have to wait until I had tried to cry but couldn't before I left that dream world? 

I was scared, and I was sad. 

Since that time, I've had scarier thoughts, and I've had sadder thoughts. But I never again had a nightmare of that intensity. 

It was a nightmare that I will never forget.