Word: dinosaures
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...Planning a family vacation is a matter of infinite negotiations as the head of the household attempts to accommodate everyone's tastes and whims. Naturally he whims some, loses some, in an effort to schedule the Cooperstown baseball shrine, an art gallery, an antique market and a genuine prehistoric dinosaur park and rock garden all in one fractious, febrile day. Still, it might be instructive to conjure Dickens, Trollope and Twain on the road in '76, launched in their camper in the northeastern corner of the U.S. for a swift, spirited, perforce highly selective, swing through the nation. Twain, naturally...
...Cold. Desmond bases his argument on a comparison of dinosaurs and modern-day reptiles like the lizard. Cold-blooded animals, whose bodies are small by comparison with most mammals, control their body temperatures by moving into or out of the sun. If dinosaurs were coldblooded, maintains Desmond, they would not have been able to do this because of their size (a brontosaur, for example, weighed around 30 tons); a dinosaur whose body temperature dropped just one degree below the warmth necessary for it to be active would have to bask in the sun for at least several hours to bring...
...England Dinosaur, May 8 and 9, 6 p.m., First Congregational Church, 11 Garden St., Cambridge. Tickets...
...English play and numerous divertissements: dancing, pantomimes, circustype acts. The 1790 Federal Street Theater held two to three thousand spectators and offered a new billing every three or four nights--all for a city of 20,000 inhabitants! This sense of spirited theater is what New England Dinosaur intends to rekindle Saturday and Sunday nights at First Congregational Church, Cambridge. The event begins at 6 p.m. with dance works by Toby Armour, founder of the Boston troupe, Jean Churchill, its current director, and New York avant-gardists Trisha Brown and James Waring; a play, "Gutta Dance", follows. A dinner break...
...putter up to Yellowstone, across the Wyoming desert. Between the sear, hard-sapped breasts of the Wind River Indian Reservation we tourist, listening to the sweet harmonies of Judith Collins over the sagebrush-bearded grandmother's chest of the land. Black pumps tap reservoir's of crude, titting the dinosaur-jawed, stone-ribbed poundings of the earth. A few junkyards--abundant with rotting cars--decorated the roadside, but no Indians...