I know pickings have been a bit slim here over the past few days; I’ve been in a bit of an intellectual funk (especially yesterday) and have been wrapped up with the beginning of the semester. Still, I am still writing, and I’ve got something good cooking that I think many of my readers will enjoy quite a bit. Here’s the preliminary introductoray paragraph from a forthcoming monster post about one of my most favorite Cretaceous carnivores;
Never has there been a more frightening visage to grace the hallowed halls of the 4th floor of the American Museum of Natural History than that of Tyrannosaurus rex. I could not help but be awed and terrified by the post mortem articulation of bones of the what seemed to be the apex of dinosaur evolution during my first visit to the great fossil gallery. It didn’t matter that the monster was standing upright, dragging its tail along the ground and dangling its dainty arms feebly in the air, the long-dead dinosaur seemed as alert and ferocious as it must have been in life, as if it was rearing up to its full height in search of small, warm-blooded, 10-year-old Homo sapiens for a snack. Mouth agape, serrated fangs glistening in the sunlight filtering in through the dusty windows, it was hard to turn away from the remains of the last great predator of the Mesozoic, partially out of awe, partially out of an overactive imagination that saw the bones removing themselves from their metal supports to start stomping down the walkway towards scores of hapless visitors. Staring at the magnificently grotesque form I realized that my parents had lied to me; monsters were real, even if the gulf of time kept me safe from their bone-crunching maws.