Editorial – The Scientific Issue

I’m gonna be real here: I don’t know much about
science. My sea monkeys died on their second day
in my care. I haven’t taken a real science class since
high school (sorry, Natty D). Until recently, I thought
ionic bonding was when you built your columns too
close together. I don’t even understand the processes
of fermentation and inebriation properly (sorry, Natty
Light). Suffice to say that when The Record decided
that we should take a field trip together, my vote was
for us to visit the natural history jewel of New Haven,
the Peabody Museum. I polled the staff and tallied
the results.

“The Peabody it is!” I said triumphantly.

“But… thirteen of us voted for FroyoWorld!” said
Emily, who is very good at math.

“Well, my vote actually counts for 13.2 votes.
That’s just what happens when your title has “Chief”
in it.”

Jack scoffed. “Well, I finally understand why you
changed my title from ‘pants-wearer-in-chief’.”

“I swear to god it was because it seemed sexist!” I
replied, wounded.

Scott crossed his arms. “Well, I’m not going to a
natural history museum. It doesn’t hit my America
quota.”

”Sure it will!” I exclaimed, feigning enthusiasm.

“Liar…next thing I know, you’re going to try to
convince me we evolved from monkeys or something.”

“Ummm…” said Emily.

“Let’s not get into that right now!” I said. “Come
along everyone!” They followed, grumbling.

When we got to the museum, the staff took off
like a Mento in Diet Coke. “Wait for me, guys!” I
called to empty air, then wandered dejectedly into the
Great Hall of Dinosaurs. I stopped short in my tracks
and gasped. “Ethan! What are you doing with those
dinosaur bones!?”

He giggled from within the rib cage of an
Apatosaurus. “Look, Sydney! It’s a xylophone!”
He ran what looked like a dinosaur femur along the
rib cage, making a sound that was decidedly unlike a
xylophone.

“Get down from there!” I looked over to the side
and saw Mitchell watching him. “Okay, legal counsel.
Aren’t you supposed to keep us from getting sued?
Couldn’t this get us in trouble?”

He paused for a moment, deep in thought. “Nope,”
he finally said. “In fact, if he falls, we could sue the
Peabody. The barrier they put up is tall enough to stop
four-year-olds, but not Ethan.”

“But he’s disobeying the signs!” I panicked.

“Yes, but for the purposes of our impending
lawsuit,” Mitchell replied as the Apatosaurus teetered
precariously on its remaining three legs, “Ethan only
understands hieroglyphs. I mean, he is a linguistics
major, so that’s feasible.”

“Aaaarghhh! Well, just get him down and meet me
upstairs. I’m gonna go round up the others.”

I ran through the museum collecting everyone else.
This was just too disorganized. I found Jack angrily
trying to convince the elderly volunteer bouncer at the
Discovery Room that he was definitely under the height
limit. Scott was vandalizing the evolution exhibit. In the
Egyptian section, Zach, Nick, and Ben had shut Allie
into a sarcophagus with a scarab beetle. Eventually I
found Aaron, who had accidentally hypnotized himself
with a particularly shiny geode in the Minerals Room.
Everybody else was lost in the second floor men’s
bathroom, which they mistakenly thought was an exhibit
on modern plumbing and/or modern art.

As we were walking back to the entrance, Becky
jumped out of a room ahead of us labelled “Birds of
Connecticut.” She was so excited she could barely
squeak out her words. “Guys…look!”

We turned the corner and there it was. The Holy
Grail of the Peabody Museum.

“That’s it… I’ve seen everything that is important in
life,” said Nick, eyes shining.

“It’s… it’s beautiful.” Ben added between sobs.

“Evolution MUST be real.” Scott said, awestruck.
It stood before us, serene and majestic, the king of
the bird world, the embodiment of our grand, age-old
mascot and slightly sozzled caregiver – a taxidermied
Great Horned Owl. We all looked at each other. We
had to have it.

Fifteen minutes and a lot of frenzied shoving later,
we were finally ready to leave. The security guard didn’t
even ask how I had miraculously gotten pregnant with a
great-horned-owl-shaped baby in our two hours in the
museum.

Compared to past Record excursions, I deemed the
Peabody a successful field trip – just behind playing
strip charades with Jon Stewart but leagues ahead of
losing two and a half staff members to the crocodile in
the steam tunnels. If you ever want to join in, just drop
by Room 305 305 Crown on Thursday evenings. Just
don’t ask where we got the owl.

—S. Shea
The Yale Record
February 2014