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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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There's no dog show, it's a dog shower,
Over on Gower, that's got the pack here now (now yesterdog).
As far as dogs roaming free, tell Bob none of these are free to roam, all are leashed and HAPPY TO BE ALIVE, eager to maybe go on a Roamin' Holiday, but likin' the food dish twice daily! Just like most of us should be!
Some of us are plainly "rescue dogs."
Others could be called real "mutts."
Still others revel in a piece of pedigree the rest would use to wipe their asses, if we were dawgs and dawggs bothered with such "niceties" as tp and spellin'.
Ask Johntp, not me.
edit: I overlooked these shots of a local boy and his dog, obvously into the racing.
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neebee
Social climber
calif/texas
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hey there say, mouse, and all...
wow, neat share... mobile
mobile folks, bikes and dogs, :)
sorry to see the bikers fell, :(
bad enough to fall, but in a race that one had been looking forward, too,
it tugs at the heart-strings so much more...:(
glad one gal got up and tried to finish.. hope the others are doing well...
so the ol' supertopo is reinging with cats and dogs, i see... :)
and not a rain-cloud in site, depending on where some of us live, i reckon... :)
god bless, to you all, i got me some work to go do...
:)
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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The Mussed Beastress of Muddle Catheter V, 5.4, A0-, B4, +/-V8, a. m.7
Twinning my way through he foresty jungle
We approached the approach of the unapproachable giant Mount Harpunstrungg,
Not yet climbed by the feet of men.
And we are not men.
Of men.
Of women.*
Yet not men.
We are deboy.
Pissin' fear away with words.
The Muddle Catheter Glacier bounded through the below-freezing jungfrau
like a gazelle in a hell of a hurry, but only in its own mined:
This appeared to be normal behavior in real time;
Allthough
We thought hard about retreating in the face of such extreme ambition (hey, we had the glacier wired by expert texperts in the field of glacio-cranial imagery, we are not stupid deboy)
But each of us shrunk from such an alarming decision as
The Panicsonic was jungling like a mad monkey on the bells of St. Mary’s and I awoke alone, with a moan.
Monday, Monday!!
Crumba!
No de TJ!
* I “choosed to used” this term, the second-oldest noun. I’d love to frisk you if you don’t like the term or find it offensive. This is my dream, not yours.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Lucid Continuation of a Mussed Opportunity
It’s like old neebee said,
she has to get back to her red,
to the painting filling through her head.
And I’ve to return to my wording,
and Gypsy back to her birding
and get off ST, this absurd thing.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Tonight is Trailer Night: Watching movies on Youtube in bite-sized chunks like chips.
So far, Nolte and Winger in Cannery Row, going "over the rainbow" (or trying) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=73U_ynmeo6g
Halle Berry in Gothika--en Espanol, senores y senoritas, since Gloria is "guyblingual" (her word) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QVWOUqt4TOY
and Tom Cruise's dance scene from Tropic Thunder. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=srH94OR1TbU
Leftovers! Some date night, eh?
Along with the cinematic feast, some take-home alambres from J & R's Tacos, only two days old, I presented Gloria with doggie-bagged Tuscan Scramble from Bella Luna from yesterday morning.
She agreed the Tuscan Scramble was the better of the two, so I gave her some of my tangerines from the Farmers' Market and she went home, taking my VCR with her. She's welcome to it, I doubt it works.
The Last Video Cassette Round-Up I tallied Tombstone, Miracle on 34th ST, It's a Wonderful Life, The Santa Claus, and Das Boot (a movie in German dubbed in American--I have no idea how Chairman Bob got this--in which over-acting is achieved by having the actors wear really tight footwear for several hours, I heard.)
Miss Ochoa said she'll be back. She'll bring tortilla chips for the pico de gallo that's been sitting for three days now. We can watch The Old Gringo with Greg Peck. Perfecto!
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nita
Social climber
chica de chico, I don't claim to be a daisy.
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Mouse, here's another good movie...Dogfight .
[Click to View YouTube Video]
ps..Thanks for the postcard!...
I love how you can see Mt Clark to the left of the fire falls.
Cheers...
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Does Brian have Netfix, Dwain?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S4rJikAxGEw
Sorry. No, I don't. But I can dream in blue now.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lVd_6AEg3LY
Blue Dream, VSOP.* My latest font of inspiration, imagination, and torpor.
*Vaporizor Stash Of Pleasure--better than brandy, too, hangover-wise
C'mon, Moosedrool: try it for the pain, you may be back again.
If smoke itself is an issue, buy a vaporizor. It's honest advice. Like you can choose Christ. But you need to give each a chance to see if it works for you.
OK, let's see what's doin' at the TP. I'm jonesing for some Bullets, Buns and Octane, but it's not on the Tube, only trailers. One of the best low-low-budget films I've seen, Joe Carnahan's debut film.
nita! How good of you to say. Mt. Clark is there, allright, and I'm glad you noticed. It's one of the best things about views, they have something to see a lot of times besides the subject. And people who are intimate with the places notice these things. It's like the violinist under the roses, in a way--see the art thread here lately.
Hey, Mouse! What's up with Risk?
Well, long time back we played several games of world domination between Larry and his lady Chris, Long Tall Bob, and myself in the dome tent in JT that lasted ages; and much liquor was consumed by all but Chris, and many alliances made and broken, and the air became foul with tobacco smoke and gun smoke and fun smoke and often as not the players would resort to GASSING about climbing, would you believe...
And of late, the LaFrances and myself have contested (Tanya's hooked, George had the most crappy luck, and once with a fourth player, I had to retire and let the ladies fight over the remains. We'll be rolling more peace games shortly, I assure you.)
It's all in your perspective--you are either perpetually at war with outbreaks of peace, or you are pepetually at peace with outbreaks of Elvis.
Scrabble is so passe, UC and Stanford.
"It's time for a CHANGE...makeyafeelallright...FREEDOM!"--le dwig, van mo
Risk is trending.
Outbreak leads back the other way.
A new line on Notorious Boxcar.
Pound that #, rule the world.
O O DomiNO.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=25LhUHKVYMo
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PhilG
Trad climber
The Circuit, Tonasket WA
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zBrown
Ice climber
chingadero de chula vista
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is the difference between night and day, the same as the difference between dark and light?
Will have to answer this famously later.
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Evel
Trad climber
Nedsterdam CO
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How about blue dream/sour diesel hybrid? Works for me.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Diesels are built to work, Evel. Look at Clint Cummins: he seems to have the energy of a Everybunny battery.
Is that a cheep shot, PhilG, or what? More...nest please! Phil in the holes.
Any more Bircheff Bros. photos out there?
The Bros B had a place on Avenida de las Pulgas in the Peninsula, one of those hillside towns. It puts me in mind of a lady I knew back in the days of Flower Power.
I have the interview I did yesterday here someplace. I'll find it and post it later. She had an affair with one of us.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Found it! From the dusty files of yesteryear, not yesterday--what was I thinking?
WHERE WERE YOU DURING THE DAWNING OF THE AGE OF AQUARIUS?
Part One of a series of interviews with Old Hipsters from the Bay Area
Subject: Melmel Melonsugar, doyenne of the Hive, an old buddy of mine
Interviewed by Eyore S. Trully.
The view from Bogg on Skyline Boulevard.
Alice’s Restaurant on Skyline Boulevard. Part of Bogg. “It’s not around the back anymore.”
Where you were has nothing to do with it. Ask rather, “Where am I NOW?”--Baba Rum-Sauce
If I were a rich hippie, I’d be this person. Not a yuppie, a hippie. Go ahead and laugh, Aquarians. But, the facts are in:
We are all beads on a string. We are all melon seeds on a sinew. We may not last. We may last a long time. But sooner or later there will be a scattering and I’m really not afraid.
“That’s what I like about you, Mousey, you’re so full of bullshit I don’t need no compost.”--Melanie Melonsugar (my ideal--and the only one who calls me Mousey, not Mousie, bless her)
Melanie (“Everyone calls me Melmel”) Melonsugar
Melmel came to the SF peninsula in the late sixties from NOLA and hasn’t left since, a flowering child of no small influence in her community, Bogg, a very tiny place in the Skyline Drive area, almost in Pacifica? or so it seems when you park in the very tiny lot among the trees. This is an old commune, which has been turned into a field of watermelons and pot plants. It’s Nirvana to her and her friends. It’s an older, Mission-style home made from local dark brown adobe clay walls and traditional ess-curved tiles called pantiles, http://www.mca-tile.com/history.htm and is full of delicious odors overlain by a strong sea-breeze accent. It is enclosed by Monterey Pines and a screen of yews that are so old they even look used. Ranks of dank are arranged all around in a pattern that is just plain, lines of plants in rectangles set inside of larger rectangles, like mirror frames into infinity. They are separated by rows of watermelon plants, of course, and other low-growing types of plants, berries, some squash, but mostly melons—cantaloupes and honeydews and Cranshaws
Melmel is a chubby redhead in a dark green dress striped in white. She has a necklace of plain red beads separated by plain clear beads with one large red bead centered. Her face is wedge-shaped and she has a strange set of black tatts—off-set by eyes that are full of “Hey howya doin/?”, and not “Namaste,” as you might expect in an ashram. This is no ashram. It is simply a haven and generally the home or home address of a bunch of people like Melmel. Wedge-heads all.
She is the Queen of the Hive. For a time, she entertained a series of encounters with Drone, a dirtbag from Camp 4 in Yosemite Valley who ended up at the Hive during several winters. She is totally off of men as a result, and happily shed of all that. “Too clingy, and I have trouble with that myself. It just wasn’t in the stars for Drone and myself. there’s lots of things to keep me happy here.”
“Sugaree.”
[Click to View YouTube Video]
“Don’t just don’t tell me; don’t tell them you know me.”--BilK the Wilberry, in a somewhat illucid interview with yours truly and Robert de Niro, 1971
“Who knew this was me? I’m coming out of myself like a river of sweet sweat! AAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!”--Norwegian
You might think this commune gained its sustenance from the carefully cultivated crops. Not at all. Melmel’s father, a well-respected amateur pomologist, happened upon a strain of hops which he then genetically altered to taste sweet but tart and the hops secret now is part of High Sierry’s Pale Ale! She’s wealthy and shares the wealth with the commune, all of whom have gigs, not jobs. It truly is Nirvana .
And I Wanna Be Like Her. But I cannot be. So I don’t really wanna be.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8gFCW3PHBws
“Could This Be, like, The Last Times? Best fire that up, mate!”--Keith Richards
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zBrown
Ice climber
chingadero de chula vista
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There was a time, before the Flames were famous long ago (in Joe Herb Park - what's up with that?), when the only Famous Flames were these guys (I think the last time I saw them was August, 1966. Not that they disappeared mysteriously or anything, I just didn't see 'em no mo).
Like the difference between dark and light, which reminds me.
If total darkness is the absence of light, then what is total light?
The absence of dark doesn't qualify as an acceptable answer. This restriction on answers can be explained most readily by noting that neither darkness nor it's speed has ever been quantified (I'll probably have to have this fact checked by Dr. Hartouni and/or Herr Braun to be sure, but just take it on faith for now).
This stems from having spent a small amount of time in the sensory deprivation chamber in the basement of Tolman Hall (we weren't looking for the Basement Tapes, though the year was right, it far too dark for that). It was actually necessary to drill a few holes in it (the chamber that is, not the park) to let some small amount of light in because it was too unnerving to be in there in total darkness (that phrase again).
Baby please don't go back to Manteca, I love you so
I dreamed I saw Joe Herb last night, alive as you or me
[Click to View YouTube Video]
So, just like Sherman, marching through Merced on down to the sea, if you got a big leg to throw around, might as well shave it, but you don't have to:
[Click to View YouTube Video]
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Joe Herb's Bicycles
I know a lot about the history of downtown. I've lived here going on fifteen years, and been a museum docent roughly nine. And I worked downtown for five. Whenever I meet up with Skip Johnson at the Coffee Bandits the talk often gets around to local history and such.
According to the Historical Society Museum web pages, more or less,
Sixteenth STreet, to the left at Tommie's Liquors, was Business 99 following the coming of the freeway portion in 1959/60.
Joe Herbs Bicycles was located at 1621 M Street (just a half-a-block from the RR track--the SPRR, not the Santa Fe) and was owned by Joe and Mary Herb from 1928 to the 1960s. Joe bought and sold a collection of bicycles and motorcycles. His shop was popularized by the adult and children clientele. The Schwinn brand bicycle was among the most popular and sought after bike.
"Join the swing to Schwinn."--Merced Sun-Stroke ad for Joe's
In 1963, the motorcycle portion of the business was relocated to 1645 W Highway 140. The M street business was passed down to Joe’s brother, Harold.
Around 1976, the bicycle business was purchased by Frank Hunt. Although the building* was demolished in 1992, Hunt continued the business at 215 W main Street. Hunt recently pass away and the business is no longer active.
That's what they have to say, zBrown.
Joe Herb Park is located just a nine-iron (@ 200 yds for me) from where Boomer lived. It has some great softball facilities and a fine picnic area, right on the road through town to Planada, Hwy 140, the Year-Round Highway to Yofsemite.
That's what's up with Joe Herb Park. I have memories, of course. There is a 1971 vintage photo of the Rev, and a bunch of us ruffians standing across from the old Rest STop, which became JHP in the next decade. When we were high-schooling, we all heard the tale of Allan B. swingin' a cat by the tail inside the Rest STop's can. Bloody ending, but much remorse later, so it's all good now. It was HS.
Frank Hunt was pretty much a curmudgeon, and I loathed going in there but refused to hate the guy--he just had a crappy store with little business outside of emergencies. He felt he had a right to be surly, so let him. Kevin's bikes has always had the new bikes highend business locked up, anyway; except for Billy Golfoos' Sporthaus, which has closed, but sold mostly racing bikes. But Frank died shortly after my boss at the bookstore down the street, and then we lost another prominent Main STreet business beerson, Sprout, the bartender at the Cruise, aka Sharon the Rev's quondam wife, ca. 1969.
*The building left of the shop is not the Merced Hotel, once the Cosmopolitan Hotel, which was across the damned street. It burned up so they had to tear the rest down. The bike shop was torn down, along with the Turf and the Towne... Up
and down. Light and dark.
edit/recant: I realize that virtually nobody hits nines that far, at least not anyone without a halo.
Joe Hill Protestant
Joe Herb Catholic
Joe Hill traveled by train and Shank's mare
Joe Herb owned a bicycle shop/motorcycle shop.
Joe Hill Park is where?
Joe Herb Park is right next to the Santa Fe RR’s “Bradley Overhead.”
Joe Hill wrote songs and tried to right wrongs.
Joe Herb turned wrenches and left behind benches.
Both men are vey long dead.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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I believe this was Friday noonish.The rest of the day I felt like this kid from the race Saturday. This was sometime after Gene and I collided at the Tioga.
Random City.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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I hope you all enjoy one common thing in these.
The smiles.
"Ciao, Papa!"--Breaking Away
This race interlude is dedicated to the memory of my good friend and a huge fan of Townies everywhere, Zoe Bishop of Berkeley and Merced.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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NO! Which part...
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