Catering details are getting nailed down for the wedding, which is good. Even if nothing else goes right, food and drink will appease the masses.
We Love Katamari is in the house. Rebecca is limbering her thumbs.
Mom and Dave will be coming over for lunch on Saturday. Mom and I'll do the joint birthday thing.
I think the god of weather is trying to pick up a spare in the Gulf Coast bowl-a-thon.
And now, for your edification, another disaster: Stationary Low-Power Reactor Number One, a US military experimental nuclear power station in Idaho.
On January 3rd, 1961, the fucker went critical. Fortunately, it used water as the moderator, which boiled away and thus shut down the reaction.
I'm not sure what's worse. Would you rather be the guy who was trying to shove the control rod back into the reaction vessel, only to have superheated steam blast it through your body, nailing you to the ceiling? Or the unconscious guy who was pulled out an hour and a half later, still alive and with a body that now emitted 500 Roentgens/hour of radioactivity. If I'm calculating this stuff correctly, that means if you took a nap for an hour next to his body, you'd absorb a dose of about 5 sieverts, and there's a 60% chance you'd be dead in a month. He himself was dead a half hour after they pulled him out.