Mushroom Clouds Over Haarlem, Holland

On the morning of August 16, this ominous mushroom cloud appeared over the sky of Haarlem, Holland. Most meteorologists suggest that it was caused by a temperature inversion, where there is a derision from normal temperature changes in any atmospheric properties with altitude.

Basic temperatures are warmer the closer they get to the ground, colder the higher up they go; however, the warmer temperatures in this cloud are at the top.

Such a wicked visual. Boise, Idaho had a similar incident earlier this month.

Evolution is a Funny Business

Bad placenta! Shame on you!

"Brave Megan Stewart is also at risk if she wears polyester clothing and can't touch balloons at parties as static electricity could cause her brain to shut down.
The 13-year-old suffers from an extremely rare condition called hair brushing syndrome."

Sometimes, scientists need to just let some things slide.

"Scientists have undone the progress made by evolution by altering chicken DNA to create embryos with alligator-like snouts instead of beaks."

If it ain't broke, don't fix it.

"A new species of eel has been discovered which is so old that it retains its dinosaur-era characteristics and has been branded a 'living fossil'."

Sharks Being Sharks and a True Hero

I think this shark has dealt with humans before.

Ian Redmond, 30, was attacked by a shark in the Seychelles early this week, according to media reports. He was on his honeymoon.

Michel Gardette, a Praslin development official told the news source, "I have been diving for the last 40 years and I have never encountered any problems. Sharks are actually very rare because they are hunted for their meat and fins."

Good people exist.

"The man came running to us and said, `They stole a little girl.'"
Phillip Garcia, 29, had snatched the girl moments earlier on Monday afternoon in Albuquerque, taking her away in a blue van, police said.
Diaz's husband, Antonio Diaz Chacon, jumped in his black pickup and gave chase.

Alone with Essence

Walking nature's lane, which mirrors the night,
Which mirrors my steps;
A long, lonely session defines this insightful trek.

Around tree and stone,
A fragrance curls itself along the color-colliding, dusky horizon's mist.
A harmonious brew
Concocted by nature's own appetite for a sensually scented delight.

An exciting urge untapped by a lady's fingers.
A relaxing sense of a little death that starts with a little kiss.
A feral soul where wild pleasure's linger.

Now, campfire spreads,
The moon bedazzles,
As the essence of night begins to unravel.
This is how I am alone with her along my lonesome travels.

News & Such

Breastfeed them until their fifteen while you're at it. The White House's Office of Management and Budget have been using these laws as gootch warmers for the past nine months because that's how far below the ladder this thing is. Child labor laws need to start being rescinded.

Accidents happen because of personal neglect and completely unforseeable circumstances, such as the tragedy at the Rangers game, but there are signs posted throughout the seating area advising the fans to never lean over the rails. Accidents and farms are synonymous with one another. These are high-industrial pieces of equipment meant to do things only a few of today's animals and more of prehistory's creatures are capable of, but they are under human supervision. Accidents are inevitable.

Dumbest question of the day - "Could U.K.-Style Destruction Happen in America?"

And history repeats itself. We are due for something doomy. Enjoy the ride.

Cemetery Ballroom (polished)

Ethan’s family buried Gran Fern only three weeks ago. He didn’t mind passing through, though. Dorado Middle School was in the same direction down the winding portion of Lionel Lee road as the cemetery. Ethan always bid salutations to the peacefully cryptic residents, and about half after three, the ice cream van passed down winding Lionel Lee to catch customers from Port Fern Elementary getting dropped off by the busses. On Saturdays it wouldn’t cruise by until around five. Ethan would hum that ice cream song until he got home almost daily. It reminded him of the calmness found only in a cemetery.

When Ethan began ninth grade, he began forgetting that song.  High School’s direction was opposite Shady Luxuries Cemetery. There were no tunes to recognize in that direction. There were no winding roads.

Novembers were numbingly cold, a beautiful blister representing the positively frantic local spirit – We’re here; deal with it, man and weather united.  The weather started suiting Ethan’s personal favor near Halloween, representing Stage 1 – Heavier Winds.

A week before Thanksgiving, walking home from a perky evening at some suburban darlings’ parent-less house party  in Thorn corner, known as such because within that neighborhood bore the only homes  where thorns grew naturally in the greenery. If you didn’t know where to turn, it’d be an instant miss, but Ethan stood every elementary school morning at the graveyard’s edge and was dropped of f there accordingly with Thorn Corner only a hidden block away. The road turned only east, a tree’s limb obstructed the sign naming the street, but no one ever complained about it. The people in Thorn Corner were often considered different by the other folks in town. It was an upscale community, but that was never an issue; the fragment of tension between the people went deeper, into the soil and the soul of the town where it seemed like the tension boiled into hatred.

Yet, all of that tension eased once Ethan reached the chain marking the start of cemetery ground. He was able to step over it now since his growth spurt, planting his feet on the docile territory he felt all of that uneasiness shed like a mature snake’s skin replaced by a calmness that he realized he had missed and not even known. It was a good feeling, like being reacquainted with friends long-thought-abandoned. Ethan was jovial about his return. He decided to visit his grandparents ‘plots, feeling succinctly guilty since he had not visited them either since transferring to high school. He still thought about them, he knew they were watching over him at all times which justified his excuses for not visiting them when the opportunities presented themselves.

Cemetery Ballroom (work-in-progress)

Ethan’s family buried Gran Fern only three weeks ago. He didn’t mind passing by, though. School was in the direction, might as well bid a salutation to the cryptic residents. And from 3 in the afternoon ‘til about half after, the ice cream truck passes by to catch the busses coming from Port Fern Elementary.  

The day Ethan progressed to high school he forgot that ice cream tune. High School’s direction was opposite Shady Luxuries Cemetery. There were no tunes to recognize in that direction.

Novembers were cold, a beautiful blister representing the positively frantic local spirit – We’re here; deal with it, man and weather united. The weather started suiting Ethan’s favor near Halloween. Every year there was a shift; there was never a shift all the years in that other place.  Ethan loved being cold.

A week before Thanksgiving, Ethan’s walking home from a perky evening at some suburban darlings’ resident in the Thorn cul-de-sac, known as such because within resides the only home with thorns in their greenery. If you didn’t know where to turn, it’d be an instant miss, but Ethan stood there every elementary school year – at the graveyard’s edge. The road went only left, a graveyard’s tree’s limb obstructed the sign naming the street, but the voted to keep the tree intact out of respect for the lifeless tenants.

It was a good city to test a person’s will. Death was a steady business, Ethan recited. He’d forced himself to create a slogan for an idea. The chain blocking Ethan’s leg-stretching override was lower than he’d recalled, his memory salvaging itself – the mornings at the graveyard’s edge, plucking the chains, waiting for the bus; talking to Shannon Ann; still simultaneously the most beautiful AND strangest name you’d ever heard.