Mojoceratops perifania

I'd argue that as we get better and better data, we recognize more species because there really were a lot of species. As I see it, there were a lot of dinosaurs, because (1) there are lots of species per assemblage (high alpha diversity), (2) there are major differences between assemblages when moving from one area to another (high beta diversity), and (3) species evolve and go extinct rapidly, probably persisting for a million years or less (high turnover). Unquestionably, paleontologists can sometimes be too quick to name new species, but the main culprit here isn't naturalists, it's nature itself, which created this profusion of species.

For names, my initial thought was to name the animal "Lyraceratops". The name sounded pretty, and the New York skull was a very pretty specimen. But later, I found more specimens. These had a different frill structure- rather than delicate frills they were more ostentatious. Particularly compared to Chasmosaurus, which seems rather pedestrian, with it's squarish frill and short horns. This animal, this thing was... funky.

In part, these differences are philosophical: where you draw the line between one species and another is a bit arbitrary, and will depend upon the precise definition of the word "species". But more and more, I'm of the opinion that the lumpers are wrong. The available evidence suggests that there really are a hell of a lot of species out there, both in modern and fossil ecosystems. If your taxonomy doesn't reflect that, you're probably doing it wrong.

After this glint of recognition (or rather, complete lack of recognition) I sat down to look at precisely why it wasn't like anything I'd seen before. The notch on the back of the frill was wrong, and the way the ornament projected back, instead of curving forwards, didn't match either. It struck me that we had something new. Something new that needed a name.

It should be noted that taxonomy is divided between splitters and lumpers. Splitters tend to take existing species and split them ever more finely into more and more species; lumpers tend to take species and lump them together into fewer and fewer species. I am an unrepentant and unapologetic splitter.

And so many times, you know things without being able to define or explain quite how you know them. It doesn't mean you don't know that thing. Instincts are frequently wrong, of course, but they're right surprisingly often. For this reason, I tend to pay attention to them. Malcolm Gladwell has a whole book on this phenomenon, titled "Blink". I actually haven't read it, however, because my instincts suggest that I wouldn't like the book.

This project began with a trip to the American Museum of Natural History in New York. While wandering through the cavernous oversize storage racks in the basement of the museum, I stumbled on a horned dinosaur skull. The first thing that struck me was that this was one of the most gorgeous specimens I'd ever seen: it had beautifully preserved, chocolate-brown bone, with an elegant frill consisting of a graceful latticework of arching struts. The second thing that struck me was that I couldn't tell what species it was. The label said that it came from the Red Deer River Valley in Alberta, but supposedly the only long-frilled dinosaur in these beds is Chasmosaurus.

It didn't look like Chasmosaurus, however. This is a gestalt thing— basic pattern recognition. When you've looked at enough fossils and drawings, you can eventually just look at something and say, "hrm, that's different". You don't even know why at first, you just know. I compare this to a game on the old Sesame Street, "One of these things is not like the other". A lot of science isn't, you know, actually all that scientific when you get down to it. Sometimes our left hemisphere pieces things together logically. But other times, our right hemisphere does it's free-association pattern-recognition thing, which seems almost more like art than our stereotypical view of science.

Anyway, I guess my point is, just because we want to do good science, doesn't mean we can't also do it with a little flair and style.

Now, the frill of horned dinosaurs- and in particular, Mojoceratops- wasn't really very effective as a shield. It's too lightly built, too ornate, and has those big holes in it. More likely, it was used like a peacock's tail, to impress and attract mates. In this, sense, it's the animal's mojo, and the source of the animal's mojo. With that in mind, I felt that incorporating "mojo" into the dinosaur's name was appropriate. Most dinosaur names are derived from Greek, and sometimes Latin, but it's sort of an historical artifact. Time was, people in Europe spoke a lot of different languages, but Greek and Latin were something many educated people knew, so they were a convenient way to communicate with other scholars. I figured, why should Greek and Latin have this special status- why can't American English be used as well, particularly given that English is now the international language of science? With this in mind, I decided to go ahead and incorporate the word into the name. I was honestly a little surprised that I didn't get more flak from the reviewers.

Further scrounging revealed a fairly complete skull at the Royal Tyrrell Museum in Alberta, with only the snout missing. The skull had the base of long horns, which aren't present in Chasmosaurus, generally speaking. The lone exception was a (supposed) Chasmosaurus skull on display in New York (shown to the right). The frill in this skull looked just like Chasmosaurus, but the brow horns were long, which seemed rather odd, considering that in every other case, the distinctive frill of Chasmosaurus is paired with short horns. It complicated things. The insight came when I realized that the frill was too similar to Chasmosaurus. It perfectly matched the Chasmosaurus skull next to it- the way the frill was bent on one side, the way the little scallops on the back were larger on one side than the other, even the little grooves for the blood vessels were the same on both. Frills are like fingerprints, or snowflakes. Finally, it hit me. The frill on the long-horned "Chasmosaurus" was a fake; made out of plaster to resemble Chasmosaurus. Once you took that into consideration, it became clear that it wasn't actually a Chasmosaurus. It was another Mojo.

Back to the name. A funky animal, it seemed, needed a funky name. The animal had mojo, it needed a name with some mojo. It began as a joke made over a beer, after a long day in the field, under a hot sun. Mojoceratops. It was one of those things that come straight from your mouth before the brain has had time to exercise its editorial authority. These verbal improvisations sometimes get me in trouble. In this case, I was being a smartass, but as soon as I said it, I realized that it was actually a great name. Triceratops, Pentaceratops, Protoceratops... why not Mojoceratops?

I thought about it for a while. Looked into the origins of the word. The Austin Powers franchise did a lot to popularize the word mojo. Then there's the Doors ("Mr Mojo Risin' ", an anagram of "Jim Morrison"). The Beatles' song "Come Together" incorporates the lyrics "He got muddy water, he one mojo filter". Which is only slightly less nonsensical when you realize that it refers to the Muddy Waters song "Got My Mojo Working":

Got my mojo working, but it just won't work on you

I wanna love you so bad till I don't know what to do

I'm going down to Louisiana to get me a mojo hand

I'm gonna have all you women right here at my command

Got my mojo working, but it just won't work on you

Researching the etymology, I discovered that "mojo" is a word from the hoodoo tradition of African-American folk magic; probably African in origin. "Mojo" can refer to magic or power, but in the context of the Muddy Waters song, it refers to a charm known as a mojo hand, or simply as a mojo. A mojo hand is a small bag containing various items such as herbs, minerals, animal parts, small animals, and sometimes human bones. A mojo hand is used by a man to gain the affection of a woman, or a woman to gain the affection of a man; a mojo can also be used to gain money or simply for luck.