Nobody, darnit

THE BUTTERFLIES WANT TO DRINK YOUR TEARS!
The horror starts innocently enough a little under a minute in. You're all, "aw, the butterflies want to make the turtles pretty..." Sure sucks not having eyelids.

Maggots in luggage locker delay US flight in Atlanta Check out one of the passenger's account: "felt like they were crawling all over me because it only takes one maggot to upset your world"

I've been watching NASA TV all day, because I think being able to see stuff happening RIGHT NOW way up in space is cool. Seriously, watching the earth zip by and the day/night terminator line whoosh past is awesome. They're having a spacewalk right now to attach a new module to the ISS. So there's this boring grey view of the module, poised on the end of the robot arm, just kind of sitting there a few feet from its final installation point. They're on the dark side of the earth, so there's nothing but the station and the night. (I check back in that tab every now and then while I'm doing other stuff.) I listen to the audio over Soma's Mission Control station. I can't understand most of what's said, and it makes nice background noise. Every now and then, I hear them talking about a trashbag. I do not know the purpose of this magical space trashbag, but they speak of it often.

Then, suddenly, there's this pulsing, throbbing reddish thing on the screen.

I watch it throb abstractly for a bit, until it finally resolves into two spacesuit clad hands, a case of some sort, and the wall of the space station, all blinking in and out of focus with flashes of square shaped file compression junk.
I stare for a while longer at the guy's helmet cam, listening to the static and breathing and distant voices of Mission Control. His hands move slowly, struggling with the white case tinted yellow or red depending on how bad the compression is. Sometimes the view crunches up into the original mass of twisted warm organs I first saw. His safety tethers float in the bottom corner like loops of intestines, he gropes for his handrail, and I wonder what kind of nightmares I'll have tonight.

And then, it cuts back to the boring grey module and the bleakness of space.

EDIT: I got screenshots! Look under the cut.
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Auschwitz is on Facebook.
Yes, the death camp.
Yes, it's educational and probably a good idea. But the headline...

Pictures from the walk to work today. There were hundred of googly eyes scattered in front of a door. What more can be said? After the cut are salmon in Whatcom Creek.



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The table of contents of that book I got, annotated by a previous owner. Underlines marked by _underscore_

Brain Wave, by Poul Anderson [no!]
Bullard Reflects, by Malcolm Jameson
The Lost Years, by Oscar Lewis [no! What might have happened had Lincoln lived--_poor_]
Dead Center, by Judith Merril [_Possibly_]
Lost Art, by George O. Smith [_yes_]
The Other Side of the Sky, by Arthur C. Clarke [no!]
The Man Who Sold the Moon [no!]
Magic City, by Nelson S. Bond [yes]*
The Morning of the Day They Did It, by E.B. White [_yes_]
Piggy Bank, by Henry Kuttner [Only Fair!]
Letters from Laura, by Mildred Clingerman [ok-]
The Stars My Destination, by Alfred Bester [_no_]


*This title and author were also handwritten on the inside cover.

In its entirety, not counting the url it hoped I'd click:

All he does is to sit in the water. And as she thus lamented someone said to her.

This thing is hypnotic.


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I just got a sebaceous cyst removed from under the skin on my head. I've had that thing for as long as I can remember, and now it's gone. I got to see it in it's little jar, about one and half times the size of a garbanzo bean.

In other gory news, Hikers find a body, probably from WWII, dangling in a tree.

EDIT: It was just a branch :-(

Since work's so slow, I decided not to go in until noon today. Fortuitously, as it turned out. oolong called to ask if I could print something out for him. So I'm expecting him to stop by to drop off a disk. Someone knocks, and I run downstairs (in my nightgown, lazy me) expecting Mitch, but no! It's kehrli's dad and brother, here for her car. Soon after, another knock. I run downstairs, but the outline in the leaded glass window isn't colorful enough for Mitch. In fact, it's postman-colored. It's my copy of moschus (aka Justine Musk)'s new book, which I have long awaited. And, it's my roommate's medicine, which had to be signed for. He was in the shower, so woohoo for work being slow! Moments later, Mitch arrives, and hopefully the excitement is done for the day, because I'm sick of holding poor Teisel back from the door.