I was watching 10.5:  Apocalypse just now, until attaining a point of temporary shite overload.  The eruption of Bald Mountain in Idaho was mainly what I wanted out of this.

(Screenshot from trailer at imdb.com)

Well, Bald Mountain doesn’t look anything like that, but never mind!  I started thinking about the pointy mountains I was sure, in my childhood, would erupt any day and kill me.  There was one in particular, a pretty little pyramidal Wasatch foothill which had, to me, a suggestion of cinder cone but is not really a volcano at all.  It loomed up beyond Fort Douglas; I can see it in my mind’s eye but can’t yet identify it from topo maps of the old neighborhood.  I had my eye on that one all the time.  As an eight-year-old I’d found The Day the World Ended lying around the house and read it in one sitting.  The fer-de-lances gave me the worst nightmares, but the volcano fear and fascination have stayed with me for — wow!  Forty years.  And now I live closer to (what’s left of) a real volcano than ever before.