Yeah I know its kind of late in the day to post about this since you know it happened earlier in the day...But fuck I think it's only right that I post this seeing that I did grow up watching this show. ;(
Rue McClanahan, who died June 3, 2010, at the age of 76, played one of the most quotable characters of the past 30 years on "The Golden Girls." Blanche Devereaux was never, ever afraid to say what was on her mind -- which was usually preoccupied with sex.
I'm not a fan of fancy things and all that expensive shit but I was certainly curious on the pearl process and how can a sea creature that almost everyone enjoys eating, makes a pearl within itself. Read & Watch this is fucking interesting.
Most jewelry is fashioned out of precious metals and jewels that are found buried in the Earth, but pearls are found inside a living creature, an oyster. Pearls are the result of a biological process -- the oyster's way of protecting itself from foreign substances.
Oysters are not the only type of mollusk that can produce pearls. Clams and mussels can also produce pearls, but that is a much rarer occurrence. Most pearls are produced by oysters in both freshwater and saltwater environments. To understand how pearls are formed in oysters, you must first understand an oyster's basic anatomy.
Oysters are bivalves, which means that its shell is made of two parts, or valves. The shell's valves are held together by an elastic ligament. This ligament is positioned where the valves come together, and usually keeps the valves open so the oyster can eat.
These are the parts of an oyster inside the shell:
Mouth (palps) Stomach Heart Intestines Gills Anus Abductor muscle Mantle
As the oyster grows in size, its shell must also grow. The mantle is an organ that produces the oyster's shell, using minerals from the oyster's food. The material created by the mantle is called nacre. Nacre lines the inside of the shell.
The formation of a natural pearl begins when a foreign substance slips into the oyster between the mantle and the shell, which irritate s the mantle. It's kind of like the oyster getting a splinter. The oyster's natural reaction is to cover up that irritant to protect itself. The man tle covers the irritant with layers of the same nacre substance that is used to create the shell. This eventually forms a pearl.
So a pearl is a foreign substance covered with layers of nacre. Most pearls that we see in jewelry stores are nicely rounded objects, which are the most valuable ones. Not all pearls turn out so well. Some pearls form in an uneven shape -- these are called baroque pearls. Pearls, as you've probably noticed, come in a variety of various colors, including white, black, gray, red, blue and green. Most pearls can be found all over the world, but black pearls are indigenous to the South Pacific.
Cultured pearls are created by the same process as natural pearls, but are given a slight nudge by pearl harvesters. To create a cultured pearl, the harvester opens the oyster shell and cuts a small slit in the mantle tissue. Small irritants are then inserted under the mantle. In freshwater cultured pearls, cutting the mantle is enough to induce the nacre secretion that produces a pearl -- an irritant doesn't have to be inserted.
While cultured and natural pearls are considered to be of equal quality, cultured pearls are generally less expensive because they aren't as rare.
Web designers!!! Someone with reasonable pricing....and is'nt trying to beat us in the head...Because we'll beat your ass ;D Any takers??? Email me at backyardbettyy@gmail.com
I can see clearly now the rain is gone I can see all obstacles in my way Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind It's gonna be a bright (bright) bright (bright) sunshinin' day It's gonna be a bright (bright) bright (bright) sunshinin' day
Oh yes, I can make it now the pain is gone All of the bad feelings have disappeared Here is the rainbow I've been praying for It's gonna be a bright (bright) bright (bright) sunshinin' day
Ooh - look all around, there's nothing but blue skies Look straight ahead, there's nothing but blue skies
I can see clearly now the rain is gone I can see all obstacles in my way Here's the rainbow I've been praying for It's gonna be a bright (bright) bright (bright) sunshinin' day It's gonna be a bright (bright) bright (bright) sunshinin' day Real, real, real, real bright (bright) bright (bright) sunshinin' day Yeah, hey, it's gonna be a bright (bright) bright (bright) sunshinin' day
Congrats on the induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame!
This is not a love poem for it is typed with needles that poke holes in my heart
Causing it to bleed a flow of words
"No use crying over spilt blood"
For instead of landing next door to your heart
My blood drops splater onto the hungry ground
And they evaporate into the air just like the love that was once born in your heart.
This is not a love poem for instead of sweet melodies I hear volcanic eruptions of raw fury
As we pounce at each other like wild carnivores over a piece of decaying flesh
Verbal grenades trown with so much pleasure that even Hitler would be disempowered
This is not a love poem for my dead soul is trapped in my living body
Slowly decomposing me from the iside out
The utterings of my mouth have turned into worms.
You‘re disgusted, the mere stench of me brings last night‘s supper right back up your throat
This is not a love poem for love lost its worth when pictures of deceit were painted upon your sheets
And my self respect is non existent fo I continue to long for one who‘s so unappreciative of my loyalty
And like a whore I surrender my body to a man who feels not an ounce of emotion for me
This is not a love poem for when you were here I suppressed all the love poems that tingled in my finger tips
Yearning to be recorded on red–romantic paper to be mounted upon your wall
I succumbed to my fears and let them fade away and now I‘m fading away from your memory
Like a song so meaningless it may as well be silent.
This is not a love poem for my here heart stands; naked and exposed...unsafe.
This is not a love poem for reading it you only feel harassed. Not loved.
So this is not a love poem. -mbali mbatha
