Curators: not just for museums anymore?

"The promise of the Internet-as-Alexandria is more than the rolling plenitude of information. It’s the ability of individuals to choreograph that information in idiosyncratic ways, the hope that individuals might feel invited by the gravitational pull of a broad and open commons to “rip, mix, and burn” — to curate." — Gideon Lewis-Kraus, 2007 [emphasis mine; paywall to original quote]

The internet is a very big place, and it can be exceptionally tough to keep track of everything that's of interest. A typical reader randomly browsing a topic ends up with a fair number of dead-end clicks—articles that just aren't that relevant or important. Fortunately, some individuals out there collate the best stuff, remix it, and push it to the outside world through blogs, news sites, Twitter, Facebook, Google+, and other venues. In a formal sense, these individuals are often termed "web curators" or "content curators".

In a nutshell, the web curator is not necessarily a content creator, but a content editor. I mean "editor" in the broad sense, of course—someone who selects interesting pieces and places them with other interesting pieces in new and meaningful ways. This is similar to what editors of magazines or anthologies do.

Museum Curators
Of course, the term "curator" was around well before the internet -- most notably in the museum profession (Wikipedia provides a pretty good summary, as does the US Bureau of Labor Statistics). In fact, my official job title is curator, so I can speak from some personal, professional experience. What exactly do curators do, then?

• Direct the overall collection strategies for an institution. What to collect, what to deaccession, what to devote resources towards, etc.
• Ensure the long-term survival of the collections.
• Engage in original research (often using museum collections).
• Present the collections to a broad audience, often through physical exhibits but also through various other media.

Depending on the type of institution and the field of study, a curator's duties may vary. For instance, a curator at an art museum may have slightly different tasks from that at a natural history museum, and collections managers may do some of the routine maintenance and preservation stuff at large museums. In any case, curation is a complex job.

Note that there is some overlap between the goals of a typical web curator and a museum curator. Both select and present collections of objects (fossils, or artwork, or blog posts) to a broad audience, but here the resemblance ends.

The British Museum - where curators reside. Image by awv, cc-by-2.0.

Why So Annoyed?
The contemporary usage of "web curator" is fundamentally misleading, at least judging from the above job description of a museum curator. Web curators collect, winnow, repackage, and disseminate information; they may have little role in content creation, and often have no concern for content longevity or archival. By the very nature of the internet, a web curator's work may be ephemeral (but not always). I would argue that this typical absence of the long view is a fundamental difference between most web curators and most museum curators.

Usage of the term "web curator" also muddies the waters around genuine digital curators. These are archivists, preservationists, and conservationists who work to ensure our digital heritage will be extant for the long haul. Digital curators in the pure sense aren't just repackaging links; these individuals ensure that the linked content will be around in 200 years. Calling yourself a curator doesn't mean you are one (similar to how not all museums are really museums, and loose applications of the term paleontologist, no matter how well-intentioned).

In part, I admit that some of my objections to the new usage of curator are a knee-jerk turf defense. I paid my dues, got my Ph.D., have an office in a museum basement. . .what have these internet upstarts done? I recognize this, and realize that such feelings are somewhat irrational. The English language changes constantly, and old words are often repurposed. After all, the web used to be just a product of a spider's backside. I just have to deal, right? On some level yes, but it still doesn't mean I have to like it! Nor does it mean I'm wrong.

The Most Important Objection
Admitting that definitions expand and contract, the fundamental issue here is that the phrase "web curator" is still basically meaningless. It serves to obfuscate, implying some kind of profundity where there may be none. In short, "web curator" is a buzzword.

A buzzword is corporate-speak that gussies up an otherwise mundane concept and makes it more intriguing (and profitable). Consider some examples. Value-added. Holistic. Accountability. All perfectly nice terms whose vague usage gives me a headache.

The big problem here—and a key quality that makes "curator" such a great buzzword—is that most people have no clue what a curator does. At best, folks have some vague notion of a curator as a person with a fancy degree and hipster glasses who hangs paintings on a wall and maybe writes some label copy. "Web curation" fits this stereotype and thus is a masterfully empty use of an important-sounding term (see these links for some choice, typical usages).

A solution?
I'm a big fan of calling a spade a spade. "Web curators" provide a valuable service, but the title unfortunately misleads. Just read the phrase "Real-time curators need to add participation widgets", and tell me it's not slightly silly! Were this statement not from a rather well-known blogger, the phrase could just as easily have originated in the Web Economy Bullsh*t Generator. In fact, the cited example is the perfect storm* of all that is wrong with buzzword-led thinking. 

Mike Taylor has pressed me on my objections to the term "web curator," asking for an alternative. I see nothing wrong with "editor". As outlined above, it's a much more accurate description of what "web curators" do. An editor is a skilled person who practices the art of identifying relevance and distributing the results. At its core, curated content on the web is part of a web anthology, just like an anthology of prose or poetry. The only difference is the digital format. Could we ever find a better, more descriptive term than "editor" for this role? In the digital realm, "curator" should be reserved for those who go beyond a primarily editorial role, to preservation, archival, and conservation.
 
So, ditch the web curator. Web editor, please.

-------------

*perfect storm = buzzword. Yes, I was being ironic by using it. Very meta, huh??
Thanks to Bora Zivkovic, Mike Taylor, Mike Keesey, Tori Herridge, and others for stimulating discussion and feedback that led to this post.

How do you read the literature? Thoughts on academic maturation

How much should you trust the scientific literature? Reflecting on my own academic maturation, as well as observing on-line discussions of dinosaur paleontology for over 15 years (yikes, I'm getting old!), I have concluded that most of us pass through three stages: 1) Credulity; 2) Cynicism; and 3) Maturity.

Credulity
This is inevitably one's first stop on the journey through the scientific literature: accepting everything that's published at face value. Credulity is also paired with the assumption that the most recent publication must be the most conclusive. For instance, let's say Dr. X described a new species in 2001. Dr. Y published a new paper in 2010, saying that the new species is invalid. Dr. Y must be correct, because she had the last word, right?

Another symptom of this stage is fanboy(girl)-ism. Anything published by Dr. Glamour is the bee's knees (it's widely featured in the news media, so it must be true)! Wow, Dr. Glamour published a new theory on the dinosaur extinction - it will revolutionize the science! Any nay-sayers are just jealous, or afraid of change.

I hit this stage during high school and college.

Cynicism
Suddenly, everything comes crashing down. You talk to another paleontologist, who tells you that Dr. Glamour's work isn't actually that highly regarded. Maybe he has a reputation for massaging his data just a little too much, or conveniently omits contradictory evidence in his papers. Then you find out that Dr. Z has just published a paper saying that Dr. X was actually correct in the first place, and Dr. Y's synonymization was a little too hasty. Your obvious conclusion: the scientific literature is untrustworthy. Everything ever written is a steaming pile of unreliable ramblings.

Most people don't go through a full-blown case of cynicism, of course. Usually we just get an incomplete case. Everything written by Dr. Glamour (but only some of the stuff by Dr. Y) is untrustworthy, etc. A related syndrome focuses on the methodology; a paper is considered horrible because it used or didn't use a particular technique.

I hit this stage between the end of my undergrad and the early to middle parts of my graduate career.

Maturity
Most of us reach this stage only after a lengthy amount of time in the field (or the end of our graduate student career). Our BS detectors are honed to an appropriate level, and we accept that many of the papers out there aren't half-bad, and a minor mistake or two isn't enough to relegate research to the dustbin.

For my part, I still occasionally waver between cynicism and maturity; I might cast an exceptionally suspicious eye on research coming from certain researchers or using certain techniques (even if it's not necessarily warranted). Maybe I even have a little credulity at first, if it's a technique or area of science I'm not yet completely familiar with. At the same time, having been around the block a few times as a scientist, I am a little more understanding when it comes to the perceived shortcomings of a paper. As long as the basic science is still good, live and let live. A paper can have a fantastic morphological description, but a pretty weak discussion. With a little practice reading the literature, it's becoming easier and easier to pick up on the high and low points of a publication.

Summing it up
We all relate to the academic literature in different ways, depending on our life experience, scientific goals, and "academic maturity." It's up to us - with the help of trusted friends and colleagues - to continually work to improve our own approaches.

How to Inspire a Future Paleontologist

I was sorting through some files today, and found this. Back when I was 10 years old, I knew I wanted to devote my life to paleontology, and paleontology research would be even better. So, I started writing letters to researchers I had read about in books and magazines. Some didn't respond (everyone is busy, so I can't fault them too much), and some sent really nice replies. It's those replies that propelled me into a serious career as a paleontologist. Thank you, to those who wrote back.

Little did I know that I would be visiting those collections as a researcher, only 10 years later

Citation Format Wars

Over at SV-POW!, Mike Taylor recently addressed the issue of how to format in-text citations. Writing in his inimitable style, he makes the case that PLoS ONE is simply doing it all wrong; the majority of commenters there have agreed. I posted a lengthy comment there, but realized that it would be appropriate to revise and republish those thoughts here too.

First off, let's have a quick recap of the issue. When writing a scientific paper (or any paper, for that matter), it is essential to credit the sources of information and ideas. Not only does it allow the reader to learn more about the topic, it's the ethical thing to do. Rather than a simple reference listing at the end of the paper, most scholarly works also reference the relevant works within the text. This is called an in-text citation, and allows the reader to know precisely which information was associated with which author.

Two Worlds
Two styles of in-text citation dominate the scientific literature. The first of these is author-year, which looks something like this: (Farke, 2010). The second is numbered, which looks like this: [1]. This number then refers to a specific bibliographic entry at the end of the paper. Many variants of each style exist.

PLoS ONE uses numbered citations, in common with many other high profile journals (such as Nature), and in marked contrast to most of the paleontological, geological, and anatomical literature (such as Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology, The Anatomical Record, Geology, and others). The SV-PoW! post, of course, argues that the numbered format is vastly inferior to the author-year format. Let's boil the argument down to its essentials, and delve into the pros and cons of both formats in more detail.

Two essential reasons are given for why the author-date format are preferable: 1) ease of reading for authors familiar with the literature; 2) paleontologists don't like it. PLoS ONE thus chose a numbered reference format simply because they wanted to copy the glamour magazines. Do any of these arguments hold up?

Advantages of Author-Year (and disadvantages of Numbered)
Of course, there are some significant advantages to the author-year format. These include:

1. It's easy for readers who are familiar with the literature to know exactly what's being discussed. If I quote from my 2010 JVP paper on ceratopsian sinuses, "Less detailed descriptions have been published for other chasmosaurine and some centrosaurine ceratopsids (e.g., Gilmore, 1917; Lehman, 1990; Sampson, 1995; Sampson et al., 1997)," a long-time ceratopsian worker will know right off the top of her or his head that I'm talking about the Gilmore Brachyceratops monograph, Tom Lehman's paper in the Dinosaur Systematics volume, Scott Sampson's description of the Two Medicine centrosaurines in JVP, and the ZJLS paper with Scott, Michael, and Darren. I see pages from those papers when I close my eyes, and I could almost write the citation for each of them off the top of my head.
2. You don't have to flip back and forth between the main text and the reference list. For the ceratopsian expert described above, there's no need to waste time skipping around the paper (or PDF). It's just easier.
   
3. It helps readers new to the field to become familiar with the major names and papers. See the names "Wedel," "Taylor," "Wilson," "Curry-Rogers," and others often enough, and you probably have a good picture of a few of the major recent workers in sauropods.
   
4. It's easier for authors to keep their references straight. When writing and revising without use of a citation manager, the numbered system can get very unwieldy. If you add a reference in the middle of the paper, you not only have to renumber the entire bibliography after that reference, you also have to change the numbers within the manuscript itself. Miss one, and your readers are going to be grumpy when the number and citation don't match up.
5. It's familiar to the paleontological community. As mentioned above, "It's Got What Paleontologists Crave."
   

Disadvantages of Author-Year (and Advantages of Numbered References)
As you might have guessed, there are some disadvantages, too:

1. The author-year format is helpful only if you are already familiar with the relevant literature. Otherwise, you're still in the game of flipping back and forth to the reference section. Anticipating that most of my readers are savvy to vertebrate paleontology, but not to the latest in tectonics, contrast my above example in point 1 with this example (Najman et al., 1997, Geology 25:535-538): "Why is this so, as crustal thickening and metamorphism are thought to have occurred by this time (Frank et al., 1977; P. Zeitler in Hodges and Silverberg, 1988; Inger and Harris, 1992; Searle, 1996, and references therein; Vanny and Hodges, 1996)?" Although I understand the meaning of the sentence, the names and dates have absolutely no meaning to me, other than to help me find the appropriate citation in the back. I'm not familiar with that literature, so I'm annoyed by the extra text.
   
2. Not every reader wants to become an expert on a given subspecialty. Believe it or not, I may not be reading a plate on Indian tectonics (or sauropod vertebrae) because I want to become an expert on said subject. Let's say that I'm chasing the above-mentioned example from Najman because I want to know the context for some fossils I found in a format described in that paper. I just want the bare minimum of info, and I don't care about Frank, or Zeitler, or Hodges, or Silverberg, or Inger, or Harris, or Searle, or Vanny. Sure, maybe I'll chase some of those references for alternate opinions, but once that's done the names will probably never cross my mind again. This leads to the next point. . .
3. The author-year format clutters the text. I'm not the first person to state this, and I'm not the last. By editing my ceratopsian quote above, you now get: "Less detailed descriptions have been published for other chasmosaurine and some centrosaurine ceratopsids [1-4]." Try the same with the Najman quote. Much shorter and more easily readable. A comment on the SV-POW! post by Zen Faulkes gives some more nice supporting opinions.
4. Most of the rest of the scientific world uses numbered citations. I think people are giving Science and Nature a little too much credit for driving the numbered citation game. Yes, they certainly are the most visible journals to those of us in paleo/geo/zoological sciences, but that's a rather myopic view. I did a quick survey of the other 99 percent of the scientific literature, and numbered citations simply dominate. Even arXiv - the epitome of digital presentation with no real standard format - has a vast majority of papers with the [1,2,3] style (in fact, the only counterexamples I found were in a handful of biologically-oriented papers). The medical literature (medically oriented papers are the great majority of PLoS ONE submissions), computing literature, physics literature, etc., most often use numbered citations. Let's face it - paleontologists are not the biggest fish in the sea. It doesn't mean we're wrong or can't change things, just that it's a very uphill battle.

Closing Words
So, I have to say that the arguments for author-year and against numbered references are not as simple as one might hope. Major advantages and disadvantages characterize both formats. In the end, I suspect much of it comes down to "what we were born into." I like the author-year format because that's all I've ever known. My spouse, who is a physicist, surely thinks otherwise, but then again all she has ever known is the numbered format. She also thinks paleontologists are silly because we don't use LaTeX (and good luck getting that instituted, no matter how easy it would make things for us).

Interestingly, I came into this with a strong preference towards the author-year citation format, but after thinking about it I'm not sure that numbered citations are the Great Evil that they have been made out to be. What are your thoughts?

Update: The above-mentioned Zen Faulkes has a post strongly coming down on the side of numbered references. He argues that numbered references decrease overall manuscript length, greatly improve readability, and level the playing field for both readers and cited authors. The last argument is particularly novel, and strikes at the heart of the true purposes of citations. I'm not sure I totally agree, but it's definitely food for thought. [12 January 2011]

(As an interesting side-note, the author-year referencing style may be so common in the paleontological and zoological literature because of a historical accident - the format was apparently invented by a Harvard zoologist, and spread throughout the zoological part of the literature. I suspect the weight of the Harvard name didn't hurt.)

Disclaimer: Although I am a volunteer editor at PLoS ONE, this posting is written strictly as my private opinion.

Thank you to the many commenters at the SV-POW! blog, whose thoughts inspired this post.

Common Mistakes in Scientific Writing [or, A Pedant's Paradise]

In scientific writing, proper terminology is everything. I learned early on that many of my favorite turns of phrase were technically incorrect - and I have been working to improve my writing and editing ever since. Below, I've included some of my "favorite" stylistic oddities. . .hopefully this is useful for at least a few readers! This may be old hat for some of you - in that case, please post a comment with your own grammatical grumblings.

"Outcrops" as a verb

Despite rampant misuse, there is no verb form of "outcrop."

Incorrect: "The Barstow Formation outcrops in southern California."

Correct: "The Barstow Formation crops out in southern California."

"Monophyletic clade"

A clade is, by definition, monophyletic. So, save your space and only use one of the two words!

Incorrect: "Dinosauria is a monophyletic clade."

Correct 1: "Dinosauria is monophyletic."

Correct 2: "Dinosauria is a clade."

"Data is. . ."

The word "data" is plural; "datum" is the singular. You're bucking against popular culture, but think of how delightfully smug you can feel whenever you use the words correctly.

Incorrect: "The data is overwhelming."

Correct 1: "The data are overwhelming."

Correct 2: "The datum is overwhelming, which is odd because it's only a single measurement."

"e.g." and "i.e."

"E.g." is an abbreviation from the Latin "exempli gratia", basically translating as "for example." "I.e." is the abbreviated form of the Latin "id est", translating as "that is." The meaning for the former should be pretty clear; the latter is used when one wishes to provide further clarification of a point.

Incorrect 1: "Many dinosaurs are found in the Hell Creek Formation (i.e., Triceratops and Tyrannosaurus)."

Correct 1: "Many dinosaurs are found in the Hell Creek Formation (e.g., Triceratops and Tyrannosaurus).

Incorrect 2: "Bird skeletons are pneumatized; e.g., they are filled with air sacs."

Correct 2: "Bird skeletons are pneumatized; i.e., they are filled with air sacs."

Lower/Upper vs. Early/Late

Unless you have had a solid introduction to geology (and even then, it's easy to forget), most people probably don't know that there is a major nitpicky difference between Upper Cretaceous and Late Cretaceous. The Upper/Lower designation refers to lithostratigraphic divisions of rocks; they are not the same as the geochronologic ages of the rocks. In other words - Upper Cretaceous refers to a physical lump of sedimentary rocks; Late Cretaceous refers to the age of these rocks. Whenever I try to figure out which word to use, I concentrate on whether I'm talking about time (Early/Late) or position in the rock column (Lower/Upper).

Incorrect 1: These Early Cretaceous rocks are full of fossils.

Correct 1: These Lower Cretaceous rocks are full of fossils.

Incorrect 2: Tyrannosaurus is Upper Cretaceous in age.

Correct 2: Tyrannosaurus is Late Cretaceous in age.

Want some more? The style guide for Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology (available in PDF format) has lots more great hints and tips!

The Decline of Documentation

I'm a huge fan of Matt Wedel's "Measure Your Damned Dinosaur" philosophy. For those of you who aren't familiar with his post on the topic (and seriously, it's probably one of the best pieces of research blogging from 2009), the title is pretty self-explanatory. Despite scads of new techniques, a bloatload of journal options, and the rise of endless supplementary data files, we paleontologists just ain't doing our job anymore when it comes to publishing measurements of specimens. As Wedel said,

"It blows my damn mind that a century ago people like Charles Whitney Gilmore and John Bell Hatcher could measure a dinosaur to within an inch of its life, and publish all of those measurements in their descriptions, and lots of folks did this and it was just part of being a competent scientist and doing your damn job. And here we are in the 21st century with CT machines, laser surface scanners, ion reflux pronabulators and the like, and using a narf-blappin’ TAPE MEASURE is apparently a lost art."

Just for giggles, I decided to find out if things really were better in the past, or if we're just waxing nostalgic for a golden age of documentation that never existed. Being someone who is number-inclined, I grabbed a bunch of ornithischian data from The Open Dinosaur Project. Using some handy-dandy spreadsheet functions, I extracted data for the year of publication for a series of measurements as well as the number of relevant limb bone measurements for that paper that made it into our database.

Then, it was time to run statistics! I wanted to see if there was a correlation between year of publication for a specimen's measurement and the number of measurements published for each specimen. So, I ran a non-parametric test of correlation (Spearman's rho, or ρ). Care to guess what I found?

Sadly, Wedel is right. There is a negative correlation between year of publication and number of measurements: ρ = -0.44, P less than 0.0001.

So then I thought, there are a lot of papers that have just published a single measurement of an isolated bone, or a whole table of single element specimen measurements (e.g., femur length for 20 different species). Maybe that was biasing the dataset. Thus, I trimmed out all of the entries that had only one measurement. Still, there was a significant negative correlation (ρ = -0.27, P less than 0.0001). The average paper published between 1920 and 1930 had 18.5 measurements; between 2000 and 2009, 14 measurements.

Have our dinosaur skeletons gotten less complete? Or have we given in to the need to squeeze less information in less space, and perhaps a little laziness on the side? What will it take to change this trend? It's all food for thought.

Caveat: This is a highly unscientific, probably very non-random sample. Oh well.

The End of the Internet Mailing List?

No doubt, the internet has changed the way we do paleontology. Email allows faster collaborations among workers at widespread institutions, and sometimes continents. Open access journals and PDFs from "closed access" publications allow virtually instantaneous distribution of peer reviewed research. And, internet mailing lists, forums, social networking sites, and blogs allow a whole new dimension of discussion and dissemination of research results.

The role of the latter venues has had no small level of controversy, ever since their beginnings. Some professionals grumbled over the way any person with an internet connection could flood mailing lists with intellectual garbage. In relatively rare cases, this has happened. Some avocational and non-degreed paleontologists grumbled over real and perceived slights from the "Ivory Tower." This too on occasion has happened, but rather rarely (despite frequent accusations from some quarters). Despite these misgivings, the new modes of scientific communication and discourse are here to stay. But, like all new technologies, the situation is evolving rapidly.

As someone who remembers the days before the Internet, and during the early days of Internet access (for me, beginning around 1997 when the first connections were available at my school), it has been very interesting to follow (and participate in) the trends on-line. In this series of posts, I'll be addressing the past, present, and future of informal electronic communication. This is part of a broader discussion that has been happening throughout the blogosphere recently, particularly at SVP-POW!

The Glory Days of the Internet Mailing List
One of the earliest thrills in my initial exploration of the internet was something called the "Dinosaur Mailing List." Here was a fantastic place where seemingly unfettered discussion of all things dinosaurian took place. New discoveries - including the first inklings of amazing feathered(!) theropods from China - were announced on a seemingly daily basis. Reports from SVP filtered out, and were eagerly read by those of us who couldn't attend the meetings. Acknowledged experts--such as Tom Holtz, Jim Farlow, Darren Tanke, and Ralph Chapman--rubbed elbows and shared discussions with neophytes, fans, and future paleontologists alike. The DML was the place to be for anyone interested in dinosaur paleontology, at any level. You just had to sign up, in order to receive a steady stream of interesting and insightful communications direct to your email inbox.

In the 12 years that I have belonged to the DML, something has changed. The change has been subtle, slow, and creeping, but it has certainly been happening. Fewer professionals are making fewer postings (although many still follow the list). I find myself skipping or deleting 95 percent of the list's messages. Although there are some delightful exceptions, less real scientific discussion is happening here (beyond the perennial topics of the origins of bird flight and theropod systematics). I have seen similar shifts on other mailing lists and internet forums that I belong to, so it is not limited strictly to the DML, nor is it the fault of the hard-working moderaters. What, then, has happened?

Coming Up. . .Shifting Sands of Communication

Paleo List Etiquette

I've been a member of the Dinosaur Mailing List (DML) and VRTPALEO internet mailing lists for over 10 years. They're fantastic resources, both for learning about the latest news in paleontology as well as a means to get connected with colleagues in far-off locales. In addition to being a fantastic resource, the lists are also a fantastic opportunity for people to make a big fool of themselves (however inadvertantly). Not that it will do any good, but this post is devoted to a discussion of recommended "do's and don't's" on these lists. Maybe I'm just old and crotchety, but here goes. . .

PDF Requests: Half of the traffic on the lists these days are requests for this or that PDF. It's easy to sympathize with the requests - after all, many of us work under library limitations of one sort or another. But. . .why not just write the author? It gives him or her a big ego boost, and it doesn't clutter up the list. As for requests for some obscure German monograph from 1903 on emu ovarian histology. . .if it's not findable on Google, there probably isn't a PDF available. How about trying a library?

Proofreading: it looks r3ally unprofesionil 2 send messages like this to a mailing list. You never know who is reading - or what they think of you based on your emails. Keep your correspondence professional - in content, grammar, and capitalization.

"Me too": If you agree with someone's post, let them know in a private email. Don't tell the rest of the world - it clutters the inbox!

Inane speculation: I know, I'm a fun-killer--This problem is particularly prevalent on the DML. But I really don't care to see a debate about whether or not Chuck Norris could beat Velociraptor in a cage match. In fact, discussion of theropods should pretty much be banned in general. Ornithischians (and sauropod vertebrae), please.

Not checking the reply address: I've done this more than once, to my embarrassment. VRTPALEO automatically replies to the list - not the sender. It happens to all of us!

What to do, then?
Exhaust other options first. Of course the lists are for finding information - but the members won't do the research for you. Make a good-faith effort to research your topic before making a request! People are really helpful, especially for those who have clearly done a little background reading.

Be part of the community. The neat thing about VRTPALEO and DML is that anyone can make a contribution. It's fun to know the answer to someone's question, and learn that your reply was really useful.

Check the reply address in your email program. Did I mention this already? Man, I'm embarrassed by that time I didn't. . .

And I'm off to the field tomorrow!