I suspect fowl play...

A woman returns to her home to find a near perfect imprint of an owl on her window.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-cumbria-14111152

Happy Birthday Neptune!

Normally, Pluto gets all of the attention and it's not even a planet! Well not today! Neptune has just completed its first orbit around the sun since its discovery in 1846. One Neptunian year is equivalent to approximately 165.5 earth years.

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Coolest Seashell/Rock Collection Ever...?

Not a collection of coral, but grains of sand magnified 250 times their true size.

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Random Cell Phone Pictures: These aren't the droids we're looking for....

The Art of Observation

"From a drop of water," said the writer, "a logician could infer the possibility of an Atlantic or a Niagara without having seen or heard of one or the other. So all life is a great chain, the nature of which is known whenever we are shown a single link of it. Like all other arts, the Science of Deduction and Analysis is one which can only be acquired by long and patient study nor is life long enough to allow any mortal to attain the highest possible perfection in it. Before turning to those moral and mental aspects of the matter which present the greatest difficulties, let the enquirer begin by mastering more elementary problems. Let him, on meeting a fellow-mortal, learn at a glance to distinguish the history of the man, and the trade or profession to which he belongs. Puerile as such an exercise may seem, it sharpens the faculties of observation, and teaches one where to look and what to look for. By a man's finger nails, by his coat-sleeve, by his boot, by his trouser knees, by the callosities of his forefinger and thumb, by his expression, by his shirt cuffs -- by each of these things a man's calling is plainly revealed. That all united should fail to enlighten the competent enquirer in any case is almost inconceivable."

-Sir Doyle

Milk Cookies and Pixies

Foolishly, the young and now slightly bruised boy thought he could make his way through the house by memory alone. Somewhere along the line his memory had failed him, and his left elbow had paid the price. This was of little concern, if in the morning it was still raw mother would gingerly apply a Band-Aid and all would be well.  In the meantime however, there were more pressing matters at hand. The most concerning of which being this tooth fairy business; the other children at Mansfield’s school for boys might buy into this nonsense, but Peter knew better. Of all the stories that adults had told, the tooth fairy was the hardest to swallow. A pixie that trades in international currency to satisfy her unquenchable thirst for the teeth of small children? Not only was this story utterly ridiculous, it was told differently to each child whom Peter had questioned on the subject. Edmond for instance, claimed that the tooth fairy left a one pound note for each tooth she took, but Peter had been told she left fifty pence in place of her stolen treasures. This and many other inconsistencies led Peter to the conclusion that definite action must be taken to find out who or what was behind the web of deception. Thus Peter had hatched a plan; he had attached a bell to his tooth with a string, and hidden the bell a little further under the pillow. This was done so that the culprit would strike without fear of being detected, only to have the bell ring just as he or she pulled the tooth from under the pillow. When this happened Peter would spring from his sleep and finally get to the bottom of this mystery. In celebration of his grand scheme, Peter decided to go downstairs and have a glass of milk and a chocolate chip cookie or two. Foolishly, the young and now slightly bruised boy though he could make his way through the house by memory alone.

Tragedy at the Lincoln Street Hotel: The Red Cup Rager

It was 4:00 A.M. by the time I got to the Lincoln Street Hotel. Fancy cars filled the parking lot. A beautiful fountain with colorful lights complimented the flashing hues emitted from the top of cop cars, yet the ornate architecture was almost mocking the dismal scene. These kids were having a real rager. Apparently some party-goer either jumped or was thrown from the fourth floor; my job was to figure out which one it was. I didn’t really want to see what was left of the kid, but they wouldn’t call it work if it was easy. Talk about a mess. What can you really learn by looking at the smashed body of drunken party boy? Usually in the homicide/suicide question, you’re looking for evidence of struggle, but how can you pin anything on a shattered skull lying in a pool of blood. This is why beer and balconies are a bad mix. Ok, let’s see what we’ve got upstairs. What was I looking for, smashed-face’s suicide note? Ha, he was smashed before he even knew the room had a balcony. This guy was probably so drunk that he couldn’t even hold a pen, much less put a sentence together. So, what do I just find his mother and say “hey, Johnny got a little drunk and had an accident, sorry.” That would sure be easier than trying to sort out this jumbled mass of foggy intoxication. Inebriated women with runny mascara lined the hallway. The boys in blue were still hauling out passed out bros. One of these tank-top twits might be a murderer. Maybe Johnny kissed the wrong Suzy before Billy was too wasted to notice, but something tells me that by the time Johnny was attempting flight there wasn’t a Billy in the room who could walk ten feet, much less throw someone over a balcony. These kids were doing more than boozing here. I waded through the red cups, vomit, and glass bottles onto the balcony. I looked over the rail right above where the kid splattered. There I was where Johnny was standing four floors and several beers ago. Behold America’s wasted youth.