On the evening of March 3, 2013, a young paleontologist named Nizar Ibrahim was sitting in a street-front café in Erfoud, Morocco, watching the daylight fade and feeling his hopes fade with it. Along with two colleagues, Ibrahim had come to Erfoud three days earlier to track down a man who could solve a mystery that had obsessed Ibrahim since he was a child. The man Ibrahim was looking for was a fouilleur — a local fossil hunter who sells his wares to shops and dealers.
Among the most valued of the finds are dinosaur bones from the Kem Kem beds, a 150-mile-long escarpment harboring deposits dating from the middle of the Cretaceous period, 100 to 94 million years ago.
After searching for days among the excavation sites near the village of El Begaa, the three scientists had resorted to wandering the streets of the town in hopes of running into the man. Finally, weary and depressed, they had retired to a café to drink mint tea and commiserate. “Everything I’d dreamed of seemed to be draining away,” Ibrahim remembers.
Ibrahim’s dreams were inextricably entangled with those of another paleontologist who had ventured into the desert a century earlier. Between 1910 and 1914 Ernst Freiherr Stromer von Reichenbach, a Bavarian aristocrat, and his team made several lengthy expeditions into the Egyptian Sahara, at the eastern edge of the ancient riverine system of which the Kem Kem forms the western boundary.
Despite illness, desert hardships, and the gathering upheaval of World War I, Stromer found some 45 different taxa of dinosaurs, crocodiles, turtles, and fish. Among his finds were two partial skeletons of a remarkable new dinosaur, a gigantic predator with yard-long jaws bristling with interlocking conical teeth. Its most extraordinary feature, however, was the six-foot sail-like structure that it sported on its back, supported by distinctive struts, or spines. Stromer named the animal Spinosaurus aegyptiacus.
Stromer’s discoveries, prominently displayed in the Bavarian State Collection for Paleontology and Geology in central Munich, made him famous. During World War II he tried desperately to have his collection removed from Munich, out of range of Allied bombers.
But the museum director, an ardent Nazi who disliked Stromer for his outspoken criticism of the Nazi regime, refused. In April 1944 the museum and nearly all of Stromer’s fossils were destroyed in an Allied air raid. All that was left of Spinosaurus were field notes, drawings, and sepia-toned photographs. Stromer’s name gradually faded from the academic literature.
Read more! Source: ngm.nationalgeographic.com
I’ve always been fascinated by dinosaurs. This is a fantastic find. I thought maybe you would find it fascinating too.
Overload Alert - “Everybody gets so much information all day long that they lose their common sense.” — Gertrude Stein
There is a lot of noise out there in the world. Television, radio, social media, newspapers.
Thing is, you don’t have to pay it any mind. I don’t. Much — most — of what passes for “information” barely fits the criteria for gossip, much less news. It’s ranting. Bullshit.
Facebook especially is full of unfounded opinions, innuendos, stuff that has been passed around so much everyone assumes it must be true, but hardly anyone bothers to check if it is fact or nonsense.
When I’ve taken the time to track down these Internet “stories,” I’ve found them to be without basis in fact. If there are facts in the mix, they are out of context and liberally mixed with someone’s opinion. The most lethal kind of misinformation is a mix of fact and fiction which sounds authoritative, but is all smoke and mirrors.
I don’t watch the news. Really, I don’t. Unless there’s something specific going on that I need to know about. It has to be important: a hurricane coming our way, a natural disaster, a major political or international event, a war. I don’t need to know about the “crime du jour” or the latest celebrity scandal. I read book reviews. Movie reviews. When there’s a big election, I like to know the positions of the candidates. We watch at least one presidential debate every four years. And we vote.
Otherwise, if someone wants to tell me what’s going on in their life or wants to know about mine? They can call me, email me. Read my blog.
I am retired. Truly retired. I don’t want to know about, worry about, deal with all the crap in the world. If I don’t turn on the TV or follow it in social media, I don’t need to know. The crisis can proceed without me.
Life is far more relaxing without the constant hysteria of media.
Try it. It’s amazing how peaceful life can be if you don’t pay attention to the nonsense spouted and touted on the airwaves and Internet.
A Pulitzer-winning reporter is writing an in-depth piece – about you. What are the three questions you really hope she doesn’t ask you?
This must be the interview which celebrates my having won the Blogging Pulitzer, right? No? Has there been a mass shooting in town — and I’m the shooter? The Blackstone has angrily overflowed and washed my house away?
The aliens have landed and are shacking up in the guest room? The aliens tried to land, but couldn’t find a suitable spot to set down, the driveway being full of cars?
The President is visiting us because he’s run out of foreign countries with which the U.S. is, was or will be at war?
Really — I’m past the age where I have anything left to hide. What could anyone ask about which I haven’t already written and published in a post?
So bring it on. We are media savvy in this household. Ain’t nothin’ you can ask that we can’t answer!
If you were one part human, two parts something else — another animal, a plant, an inanimate object — what would the other two parts be?
WEDNESDAY, MAY 28, 2014 – DATELINE WASHINGTON D.C.
Those who recall the furor over Gay marriage should probably have expected the hysteria over the legalized joining of humans with their favorite technology, animal, mineral or plant.
As millions of teenagers race to fuse with their cell phones, nerds with their computers, aviators with fighter planes, animal rights activists with their favorite vanishing species (leading some to wonder if this will not signal the death knell for many species) and tree huggers with large forests, fundamentalist Christian groups — never imagining the far-reaching implications of this law — scramble to get out of church and on the street.
“Clearly,” stated the Reverend Righteous P. Indignation, spokesman for the Church of the Ridiculous Assumption, “This is not what God had in mind. Although the Bible does not specifically mention marriage — or fusion — with non-human things, this can’t be right in His eyes.” Indignation’s statement was greeted by catcalls, neighing, bleats, beeps and a goodly amount of shrill ringing.
Many, mirroring the human yearning for the freedom of flight have chosen to become two-thirds bird. Racing enthusiasts have become mostly horse, often with the rear end as the dominant segment while their bookies have chosen chainsaws and jack hammers.
While corporations hustle to reinvent themselves in light of a weirdly altered target audience, communications providers from television to Hollywood try to reconfigure everything from seating in stadiums to snacks at movie kiosks.
The potential impact on major sports has not yet been calculated. Some prefer to be a ball and others a bat, so to speak. Simultaneously, the IRS is — at long last — revising the tax code before everyone gallops, flies, beeps, whirs and chirps him or herself forever out of reach of tax collection.
Only Walmart, ever sanguine, merely widened the aisles in their super-stores.
“We never care what customers look like,” said a spokesman. “If they look or behave like sheep or cattle, as long as they pay at the register, everyone is welcome at Wally World.”
MacDonald’s had no comment.
I woke up this morning to the sound of the phone ringing. It was the hospital. Just as well since I had to call them anyway.
“How are you?” asked the Lisa, the nurse for the unit.
“Swimming in a world of mucous,” I said. “But I don’t think it’s pneumonia. It doesn’t feel like pneumonia.”
“Not much, but I’m sneezing a lot.” I’m an epic sneezer. I put my heart and soul into my sneezes. They echo through the house. I’ve been known to sneeze 8 or 9 times in a row and throw my back out at the same time.
“That’s not good. After surgery, sneezing or coughing can be really painful.”
I could only imagine. The image it conjured was all too graphic. Ouch!
I called my friend to tell her surgery was postponed.
“Garry says he won’t drive me there. He says he has a bad feeling about this.”
“Me too,” she said. Me three, I thought.
Next call, the doctor. Chest x-rays all around. I don’t have pneumonia, but Garry does. I’m about 4 or 5 days behind him in this particular viral infection, but hopefully I won’t go the same route. I don’t believe in prophylactic antibiotics and neither does my doctor, but Garry is now on what have to be the most expensive antibiotics on the market. Usually, antibiotics are free or really cheap, but these were worth two weeks of groceries. Impressive. I hope they are as effective as they are costly.
Presumably Garry is now on the way to getting better. He’s not there yet, still pretty miserable.
Meanwhile, my surgery is postponed until I can breathe, no coughing or sneezing. The new date will depend on how long this cold takes to go away. If I’m lucky, a week. Unlucky, longer. At this point, I want to get this show on the road, get to the other side and start the healing process.
A thought for us all. With all the research and advances in medicine, there is still virtually nothing to be done about The Common Cold. I doubt they are any closer to a cure (or prevention) now than ever.
So where’s the silver lining?
I won’t be in the hospital for my birthday. Good. I’ve spent two birthdays in the hospital. Maybe this time, I will celebrate with Garry in our favorite Japanese restaurant. Overeating on sushi and other good stuff.
Even if we wind up eating breakfast sandwiches in front of the TV, it beats out hospital food with a side order of morphine drip.
Garry got sick a few days ago and this morning, I woke up full of gunk. I called the hospital. They said unless I had a fever or a cough, the show goes on. But hey, wait a minute. I can’t breathe … I’m wheezing and sniffling and choking … and I’m going to have hours and hours of anesthesia? No, I don’t think so.
This is all going to get delayed a few days, at least until I can breathe without the weird gurgling sound my bronchial tubes are making. (Take a breath or try, anyhow. Gurgle. Whistle. Wheeze. Sniff.) I don’t think I’m well enough for a trip to the grocery store. An asthmatic with a chest cold going in for heart surgery? I think that’s not such a good idea. I understand about schedules, but I’m not going to die to avoid inconveniencing the hospital.
We’ll see where I’m at tomorrow, but my husband is firmly against major surgery while I’m having trouble breathing. I’m inclined to agree with him. Stay tuned for more ongoing drama.
Marijuana advocates eye legalization in Mass.
An effort has been launched to both get a question calling for the drug’s legalization on the 2016 ballot and to raise enough money for victory.
I kind of wondered what happened. I mean we passed a referendum making medical marijuana legal more than a year ago. We passed it, we talked about it and as happens to much legislation and good intentions in this commonwealth, it was never heard from again. I think we could legalize it and have an equally impressive result, that is to say, nothing. Nada. The good news would be that there would be no more busting people for smoking a joint at a concert … or would it? I suppose it would depend on how the law was worded. But I somehow doubt it would make it more available to most people. Or cheaper. Or better quality.
Why not? Because this is Massachusetts. Not only (to quote Tip O’Neill) is all politics local, but all politics is more than slightly corrupted by a long history of entrenched political chicanery. Boston has the original party machine. Okay, maybe we share the honor with New York, assuming you consider it an honor.
So they can eye legalization, but that won’t do me or my baby boomer buddies much good. Even if they pass it, they will find a way to keep it from being easy to buy or even moderately available. By the time they finish with the legal mumbo jumbo, it will be easier to go find the original illegal sources and buy some there. Because otherwise, it will be just like trying to get MassHealth. You’ll fill out a thousand page form, send it in, and they will lose it. You will fill in another form, send it and they will tell you it’s too late to meet the deadline (because they lost the first one). Eventually, they will — with snail-like slowness — start to process the application. If you don’t die first, a year or two later, you’ll get some fantastic medical benefits, or in this case, weed. Except the price will be so high you’ll realize the illegal stuff was a bargain in comparison. The taxes alone will exceed the original non-legal price by hundreds of percent.
Dream on, you aging hippies. It aint’ gonna happen here in our lifetime.
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