I'm Chels. I blog about science, art, tennis, and my adventures in journalism. Officially, I'm a Science Writer at Brookhaven National Lab and I blog for them, too. Unofficially, I'm pretty awesome.

Or, you know, owsome.

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I’ve had this stuck in my head since I listened to the most recent Welcome To Night Vale, and I’m super happy about it. 

Just bumblin’ around the garden.

Stressed and sleepy. Moving is hard on cats. I feel pretty much the same.

The in-between parts are the hardest

I’m at the tail end of packing up my house for my move next week, and I finally took the stuff off my walls. I usually like to save this for nearly the last step, but I ran out of newspaper for packing up the kitchen so I moved on. It makes me uneasy to live in a place with nothing on the walls. When I move in somewhere, one of the first things I like to do is put up my art so it feels more permanent. 

I feel like a ghost living in this apartment now.

I’m one of those people that likes everything to have its place in my home, and when I’m stressed I tidy up and dust things to make it all look like it’s ready for a photoshoot for one of those home magazines. But I’m currently sitting in the midst of half a dozen partially packed boxes, my former life stacked up all around me. 

Like a really messy ghost. 

I’m just really ready to get into my new place and on with my new life. I feel like I’m in a weird limbo where the only tasks in front of me include moving my belongings from one spot to another cardboard-surrounded spot or wiping down yet another surface. I’d like to just get settled already. 


Striped icebergs are quite a view. They can form a couple different ways. Blue stripes occur when layers of ice melt and refreeze so fast that no bubbles — which scatter light to give icebergs their white appearance — are created. If the water that freezes is rich in algae, the bands may appear green. Black, brown, and yellow striations are created by sediments picked up by a glacier as it runs down a mountain into the ocean.

There’s ice and snow outside today, so I may as well focus on how cool and beautiful it can be. 

(via freshphotons)

You have GOT to be kidding me with this, Nature. It’s April. Get your shit together and go back to spring.

Now that we’ve established that poetry is work, let’s move on to questions of productivity. How much should a poet produce, ideally? As much as one half-assed garden, planted by a person with a drinking problem, who did not read the directions on the seed-packets very closely. Elizabeth Bishop only ever wrote one poem, a villanelle about an elk breaking up with her (“The Elk Breaks Up with Me”), and if I may say so she did very well with it. Wallace Stevens only wrote five poems, and every one of them was insured for one million dollars, like a famous pair of legs. The greatest living poet, Nicolas Cage, continues to amaze us by never having written a poem at all.

Patricia Lockwood is my hero. (via yourmonkeycalled)

Go read the rest of this. It only gets better. 

A rainy evening in April

Is the perfect time to watch the great 90s classic One Fine Day.



24-year-old photographer Asher Svidensky recently traveled to west Mongolia with the intention of documenting the lives of traditional Kazakh eagle hunters, people who tame eagles for the purpose of hunting smaller animals.

With the traditions typically laying in the hands of the boys and the men, the biggest surprise throughout the journey was Svidensky’s discovery of a young eagle huntress, 13-year-old Ashol Pan, the daughter of an experienced eagle hunter. These stunning photographs symbolize the potential future of the eagle hunting tradition as it expands beyond a male-only practice.








(via kevinthebigapple)

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