[ I keep forgetting to do these the day-of. So, at least this one’s the week-of . . . ]
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Category: paleo
Every time I see this, I get excited all over. Because? If a wooly rhino can be frozen in a frozen place for 39,000 years, then . . . so could a Denosivan. I mean, maybe a Neanderthal too, but Denosivans were in the more tundra-ey places, so I think they’re the better bet.
…In June 2007 this remarkably well-preserved woolly rhinoceros carcass was discovered frozen by gold miners in eastern Siberia. It is 39,000 years old. This was the first discovery of an entire woolly rhino p
This is some cool stuff. And, I can see it being used as kind-of support for what I keep hearing: that we sapiens-types evolved not in a single push from heidelbergensis or so, but in both Africa and Asia from erectus. Just, as with these spiders, we ended up so much the same that we then mingled up and became what we are today. Really? I do think we found ourselves in Asia when we came up out of Africa, but I kind of doubt we’d evolved to be that similar—though, yes, with primates, …
In this case, the horse is “Rising Star.”
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I mean, yeah, this is a tough one to crack:
But, I mean, I did kind of offer what I consider a pretty rational solution:
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Which is a good Randy Travis song. But, I’m actually talking about real physical crumbly cool bones, here not metaphorical sad nostalgic bones:
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Not talking about the Jeremy Robert Johnson story, although it’s one of my favorites of his, but the kind of endurance running we hominids used to use (used to use more) to run down prey. I mean, of course we did that—it’s what my “Chapter Six” story argues. Also, I’ve read accounts that, in the Great Plains, long before Kevin Costner got there, it was kind of a Sunday sport for white guys (I specify because in the accounts I know, it’s only e…
Back when The Fast Red Road wasn’t called that—this is late 1997, early 1998—the way I intended to write it was as a series of long answering machine messages left in this one guy’s trailer while he’s off gallivanting around with a carnival or something (he’s got pet jackals—this is the kind cool stuff you think of, first novel out, that you then don’t get to use until, say, you write a novel about a bunnyheaded zombie coyote/smuggler/father). …
is the author of 22 or 23 books, ~300 stories, and all this stuff here. He lives in Boulder, Colorado, and has a few broken-down old trucks, one PhD, and way too many boots