Tag Archives: Clouds

Freefall Into/Blast Out Of . . . The Clouds

Not all that much to talk about today, dudes.

Not when you’ve got such an amazing photo to showcase.

A skydiver freefalling towards Earth managed to photograph a rocket blasting its way towards space. The Delta II rocket, carrying a satellite into space from Vandenberg Air Force Base in Lompoc in California, USA, was snapped by Staff Sgt. Eric Thompson while he was plummeting towards Earth. He perfectly captured the silhouette of a falling instructor and pupil with the rocket blasting off into space behind them in the distance. Staff Sgt. Thompson was the instructor with the 532nd Training Squadron based out of Vandenberg. Picture: Caters
A skydiver freefalling towards Earth managed to photograph a rocket blasting its way towards space. The Delta II rocket, carrying a satellite into space from Vandenberg Air Force Base in Lompoc in California, USA, was snapped by Staff Sgt. Eric Thompson while he was plummeting towards Earth. He perfectly captured the silhouette of a falling instructor and pupil with the rocket blasting off into space behind them in the distance. Staff Sgt. Thompson was the instructor with the 532nd Training Squadron based out of Vandenberg.
Picture: Caters

 

How cool is this?

Very, very cool.

Some skydivers were headed down to the deck and, just as they were going down, a rocket was blasting off, through the clouds and headed into space.

It’s definitely a moment of wonder and beauty.

Thanks, Staff Sargeant Eric Thompson.

You made our day.

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Poetic Bumble

A couple of quick things today, dudes. I’ve got a poem and a cute bumble bee.

No, seriously. The bumble bee is really very cute, especially for what it does.

You know what? Let’s just go to the video and let you decide for yourself.

See? I told you it was cute. I mean, how often do we get to see a bee give some guy’s finger the high-five?

Now for something a little more. . . somber. It’s a touching poem by a dude named Raul Gutierrez, who has a 3-year-old child. Lately, Raul has been keeping track of some of the more. . . wobbly bits he’s been telling the little dude. It’s a wonderful little piece that ends with an amazing stinger, one worthy of a high-fiving bee.

Get ready to feel your sensawonda get kicked up a notch or three and then get kicked in the nads. Just a warning. Watch out for that last line. Still, a very moving poem.

Lies I’ve told my 3 year old recently

Trees talk to each other at night.

All fish are named either Lorna or Jack.

Before your eyeballs fall out from watching too much TV, they get very loose.

Tiny bears live in drain pipes.

If you are very very quiet you can hear the clouds rub against the sky.

The moon and the sun had a fight a long time ago.

Everyone knows at least one secret language.

When nobody is looking, I can fly.

We are all held together by invisible threads.

Books get lonely too.

Sadness can be eaten.

I will always be there.

Yeah. See what I mean?

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Congratulations, Dude! And More From The Expo

Congratulations go out to our new favorite dude, Aaron C. He’s the lucky dude who won that fantastic WebMD baby prize pack.

You had to be at it to win it, but he was there and he did win. At the Baby Shower & Toddler Expo, Barry and I set up a nice little bowl (actually a former container for trail mix from Tarzhay) so people could drop their contact information and possibly win the great stuff.

WebMD is a very nice outfit, quite generous.

So, Aaron C.? We’re trying to reach you by e-mail so we can find a way to get you the prize package. If you know Aaron C., and, really, why wouldn’t you?, give him a pat on the back and a hearty smile, one that just barely hides the jealousy seething within as you contemplate the raw, appalling emotional wound festering inside you all because you decided to sit home last weekend.

And now for something. . . not so completely different.

Here’s a little something I wrote during the Expo. Names have been changed to protect the innocent. All events are fictional, and any resemblance to any person or group, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Barry is dancing again.

He’s dancing to Hell’s House Band. I’ll have nightmares about this for years to come. Those appalling puppet things, with their blank, dead eyes, moving in hitching, jerking spasms that only vaguely resemble human musculature. And Barry. His face contorted in some rictus, rather than a smile.

And he’s . . . moving. I can’t call it dancing, I just can’t. There’s something missing in this, some essential joy that has been driven out in his all-consuming desire to please his puppety masters.

This Expo has been so long. I’ve forgotten the warmth of the sun, and the feel of clean rain swirling down from storm-tossed clouds. The music just won’t stop and. . .

Oh.

Oh, no.

My foot. It’s. . . It’s twitching. In rhythm. And Hell’s House Band is still playing.

I think it’s too late for me.

Run! Run! Save yourselves!

Ah, good times. Good times.

Wait, I hear you asking. You said the names were changed to protect the innocent and yet there’s Barry’s name up there, bold as brass. To which I answer, “Yes. And?”

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