I Me Mine, I Me Mine, I Me Mine

I missed this morning's meteor. The DJ I had my clock-radio tuned to was taking calls from people in Beaverton, Scholls, Estacada and Battleground who'd seen it. "Sounds like a meteor," I thought, "maybe." One person heard nothing but said it had seemed "like someone had taken a flash picture of me"; someone else thought it'd been a transformer explosion. But it was a meteor, moving west to east and seen in at least three states. Cool.

At the time all this happened, I was waking up, and still lingering in the warmth of a warm dream. (Someone pretty and redheaded figured in it. I'll say no more. Heh.)

On the tram to the hill, people were looking east (towards a lovely sunrise above the fog bank above east Portland), and noticing contrails. Talk about seeing what you want to see: they thought the contrails were from more meteors ("from the comet that went by this morning"; um, no, that wasn't it; a comet passing that close to Earth would've made the news, big time, even more so than Fidel Castro resigning). I finally saw the contrails and they were from airplanes, flying north-to-south in a stretched-out row. I resisted rolling my eyes.

I'm glad I've seen a meteor before, when I was a kid (about age 6) in Rancho Bernardo, California. I've missed others since then, but I have the memory of that one. And it was a big one, big and flaming and multi-colored and (the most surreal touch) completely silent. Maybe that one was a falling satellite.

At least this meteor wasn't that satellite...

From CNN: Video of undersea spiders.

The description said the spiders were filmed off "the eastern coast" of Antarctica. Um, is any part of Antarctica's coast an "eastern" coast, since every point of Antarctica is due north of the South Pole? Maybe that means the part of Antarctica that's closer to Australia and India...