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zBrown
Ice climber
chingadero de chula vista
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Nice one to enlarge
Walkin' like a millionaire
Smilin' like a king
He leaned his shopping cart against the wall
He said, I been a lot of places
And I seen a lot of things
But, sonny, I seen one thing that beats 'em all
I was flyin' back from lubbock
I saw jesus on the plane
...or maybe it was elvis
You know, they kinda look the same
Hey, look out, junior, you're steppin' on my bed
I said, I don't see nothin
He just glared at me and said,
If dirt were dollars
If dirt were dollars
If dirt were dollars
I wouldn't worry anymore
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Saturn?
Bah!
Ruby's cute, though.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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You never solo.
It never used to be complicated:
It was myself and God’s rocks on the Sunnyside.
Then the rope entered along with another person and more, beside.
Uh-oh, populated.
I am back now to the center: The old Safeway shopping center.
Funny thing: In my head I’m in The Cathedral group;
And a bit on the Shadyside this day.
Alone I have God on my belay--as if He ever looked away--
I was just a nincompoop.
Climbing!
Climb!
Is that a command, Lord?
Just do it, dipsh#t.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Tad, lad--
I want to tell you I've been listening to Rogue Canyon Walls and I love the banjo.
You got some chops, Dad!
Like my gym? Free membership, too!
Ron, son--
Thanks for the compliment earlier in the day re The Yosemite and it's proposed expansion...It's a concern at the top of my list now.
Trying for some clarity in the case of contemptuous political hay-making is not easy.
It's all above-the-board obscurity in the public's mind. They are told what to think and they do, massively.
People need to be shocked and not simply warned away from deals with the devil.
Gated comunity in the area? Possible, not too likely; but call it Yosemite Best and charge hell out of the buyers--more doctors and lawyers who may use the place until the kids grow older and then they find that they can't sell it off...HA!
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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I may be a little stoned and have had a time wine to deal with,
but it doesn't mean I'm Fudd up, necessarily. But I am.
Just had to listen to Java Blues again, zBrown.
Then I played the Bugs Bunny on top.
I am so happy I did!
And when I put that together with the shapes before my eyes...
it makes me want some ORIGINAL HOMEMADE PIZZA!
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zBrown
Ice climber
chingadero de chula vista
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As I went out one morning to breathe the air around Seneca Falls - foot power to the people, it's like a volcanic rush.
Ha - got 'em to line up next to one another.
This baby is thoroughly documented (take note you documentation scrimpers), but unforunately sold.
http://www.americanartifacts.com/smma/advert/ay280.htm
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zBrown
Ice climber
chingadero de chula vista
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Say mouse, regarding that free for all upstream, where's the pad? Did it get skunked?
Also, notice how they used to do quotes in the old dayz before " ", became fashionable.
I'm thinking of a rig something like that scroll saw to play records on. Excuse me just let me play my gu.. oops, let me do my patent search.
Still looking for patents, but Java take two:
http://www.supertopo.com/climbing/thread.php?topic_id=539369&tn=13360#msg2109934
If the government (or quite possibly anyone) sends you one of these cards, you might have some reason for concern.
In 2004 this guy's routine included "15 minutes of flexing, dancing and posing to music ...". I don't know what to think of someone posing at 84.
http://articles.latimes.com/2004/may/31/health/he-bodybuilder31
This is a confusing story. Apparently in the last 7 years of his life he only aged one year, which I think says something about the routines he was following.
Muscle & Fitness has learned that Bob Delmonteque (real name, Mike Diaks), a pioneer in the fitness movement, passed away in Los Angeles on November 21st, 2011 at a reported age of 85.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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RIP Margaret.
[Click to View YouTube Video]
Both ladies, "a very high place...position in the s'ci'ty in which they lived."
Iy cawn't say 'Annette' was more attractive to me--she was five years older than I and franky, I didn't care for the action on the beach in 1963, at least not at that time.
I stopped watching the Mickey Mouse Club back whenever, and I thought of Annette as puellile, I suppose. When Franky Avalon came along, I was stoked on the Beach Boys and they were the real deal, not some fruity-looking pansy singer.
The real deal.
[Click to View YouTube Video]Larry (RIP) the Loser, in my book.
It was Candice, not Annette, who lit my fire.
Canned Ice Bergen.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eb11cDW9qTg
No brown jokes come to mind.
So I looked some up on the net.
What do you call going on a blind date with a brunette?
Brown-bagging it.
Why are brunettes so proud of their hair?
It matches their mustache.
Unless it was the right beach.
In Nebraska, maybe, or Salt Lake, maybe.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QJs4B9dC-xk
The Longest Day.
Note that Frankie is spelled wrong, and that both he and Fabian are still kicking.
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LilaBiene
Trad climber
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Mouse, I am, for once, at a loss for words. Thank you for visiting the museum with Jay, and for sharing all of the wonderful pictures. Such a joy for me to see.
Thank you for making me smile, and for making my heart feel full.
Aud
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neebee
Social climber
calif/texas
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hey there say, mouse...
wow, i saw you 'scaling the ol' rocky cliff of 'food for foraging folks frontage' (ye ol' grocery store) ...
and say, was that your GEAR on your back, ;)
hope it was time well spent... it looked like a 'day climb' though
hours less, :)
no once chased you off and said 'climbers not allowed' food foraging folks only?
edit:
i RECKON that ol' light up there, is for 'interrogating' those that get caught?
though how much more fun if it was there for to 'take a bow in the ye-ol-spotlight after a climb well done,:)
:)
say, BY NOW--sure hope you got your surprise... most likely the
REAL painting is not there yet, 'til later this week... :)
audry:
with some mouse help (though a neat and really cool 'anonymous donor' was
ready and willing to help, very kindly)-- you will SOON have some MORE
SMILES.... :)
another part of a 'secret mission' so to speak... :))
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Apr 10, 2013 - 12:14am PT
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Welcome, Audrey.
(Thanks for the reminder that I had these copied.)
"Some of the other good stuff from Castle AFB"
These are some women on a mission.
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zBrown
Ice climber
chingadero de chula vista
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Apr 10, 2013 - 11:04am PT
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if money is the root of all evil, then what is its square root
more Barrett
[Click to View YouTube Video]
speaking of birds, there was a little tiny baby hummingbird at the feeder yesterday, about the size of a Kennedy one-half dollar (a 1964 coin is reputedly 90% silver and worth more than the paper it was printed on)
not a Kennedy 1/2 $1
not my hand, could be the left hand of God
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Apr 10, 2013 - 12:11pm PT
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A bird in the left
A girl in the right and a
Nightengale sings "three"
Since surfing and working ((for money, man, can buy free time to surf and climb, probably it’s best use) ) go so well together, I thought this might be good fodder.
These are links to the various oil-patch spots I used to work in after I left Yosemite, when I worked for Rheem-Superior, a contractor outfit in Saticoy on the Santa Clara River, next to the slaughterhouse. It was a fun job and I was paid well-enough to climb on weekends at JT and Tahquitz/Suicide. My bride and I lived in a little shack/house with a toilet and kitchen and a front room with a big window so we had a cheap place to live, but it was an improvement on Tecoyah dorms, except for the location, o’ course. I began talkin’ lak the fellers at the jobsite, and Dolores hated the sh#t outa that. We moved on in the middle of unemployment season in January, up to Berkeley, away from all that happy crap in Okie Flats, where we heard the 101 all day and night, on the other side of the row of titty bars and desperate businesses on the frontage road. It was only temporary, like all things.
http://www.sjvgeology.org/old_stuff/tunnels.html Tar mines, tunnels, Sulphur Mtn., near Santa Paula.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ventura_Oil_Field
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/San_Miguelito_Oil_Field
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Greka_Energy
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rincon_Island
That’s how the Okie (one-eyed Rash) & Arkie (big ol’ boy served in Nam—fergot his name) ‘n’ The Injun (Paul) referred to the leases collectively—pernounce it oul’paitch and it’s close t’ how ya might-could say it. Ya call it the paitch they’ll git it, too. There was four of us squoze into that A-frame rig.
There was one ol’ lease, the Conoco, the Sunoco, Shell, one—y’see, each dang oil company has its own section of the fields leased to ‘em--’n’ I don’t rightly ‘member whose this place was. What the hell—Shell. All the good stuff happened to me on Shell lease—the two eye injuries, the ruint down jacket sleeves, the welding blindnesses. All that happy crap.
OK. So that old A-frame rig got us three down thar from up there and back out again and nobody got hurt workin’ down thar. It’s a hour ‘n’ more outa that hole--’n’ I’m talkin’ ‘bout one of the deepest dang sand pits I’ve ever seen, let alone gone to the bottom of. Shee-it! Looked like a fantasy that couldn’t stand up, but there ‘twas. Yosemite in sand, kinda-like.
I seen cliffs of lots of stuff, but these ol’ boys was solid-lookin’ in a way’s hard to tell about. They were steep as steep, and you could see the breaks where they slumped but didn’t break up, kinda like stairs with steep risers, like. And gullies on the flanks of these buttresses, just like in the Sierra Nevada or any decent high place. They’s purty, scenic, ‘n’ if I had my instamatic, man...the dark ‘n’ light’s just spookier, cuz you gotta go down into this on roads cut outa the side o’ the canyon, switchin’ back all the way in low.
They was a half-dozen goers a-workin’ away, and one or two idle, as like always, down thar, ‘n’ two small tanks ‘n’ some treatment farm or other. They collected the oil in them tanks, then when they had ‘nuf they send it on out ‘n’ down to the tank farms.
Had no easy way to get bullshit rigs down that road, so they jes’ wait on ‘em wells to clog ‘n send a rig down that’d do clean-outs on three-four in a row. I hate workin’ bullshit rigs. The name sez it all, brother. They’re bullsh#t, alright, unless ya ain’t worked for a while ‘n’ the contractors ain’t hirin’ cuz it’s winter ‘n’ ya cain’t build big ol’ pipelines in the rain. It’s real bullshit not havin’ ‘nuf cash even to git on down to the titty bar fer union meetin’s fer a union’s mostly bullshit their ownselves. Man needs t’work mornin’s. I hate soaps worse’n game shows, man-oh-man do I! But them bullshit riggers take the low pay ‘n’ find a hole on their person to shove it. I’d have to be purty desperate.
We got down in that hole and did a tricky repair on a gate valve on one o’ them tanks and proceeded to pad the payroll by drivin’ around down thar, checkin’ out the rest of the pipe leadin’ outa the hole to the drainage crick ‘n’ settin’ down thataway for the beach, could we get to there from thar. Wasn’t no way to get down to the highway, we’s still a couple hunnerd feet up from the beach level. Kin you imagine if we’d a come out on the beach? Three red-necks, me with fresh crude splashed all down my front cuz Injun cain’t hold a back-up wrainch worth a dang, and one clean-as-you-please crew boss.
I tell ya, the surfers was just a-settin’ thar like lumps. The place was flat. O’ course it could change but not right then, so we turned ‘round ‘n’ hit the trail back up the crick-bed and parked the rig. Lunch-thirty...
We sat ‘n’ traded sangwidges ‘n shat bull for a hour under the sycamores by the crick-bed. We took our time on the way out. We lolly-gagged, in fact. But we got in our eight hours that day, doin’ the lease we could do. Kinda makes up for the new work duds I had to buy.
"Only squares work, man. I'm a triangle."--Doua Daddy, po'et
and say, was that your GEAR on your back, ;)
neebee, my dear,
I greatly fear
that you've just seen
The Gecko.
It's not my rack
that's on my back--
it's some ol' boy's
dang logo.
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Gypsy
Social climber
NC
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Apr 10, 2013 - 03:35pm PT
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zBrown
Ice climber
chingadero de chula vista
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Apr 10, 2013 - 03:47pm PT
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Say mouse, I thought I recognized you from somewhar. You are the dude in Five Easy Pieces right? I once tried to get a job in a gas station (come to think of it, it belonged to Terrible Herbst), but was turned down.
The worst job I didn't have belonged to my brother who worked 8 hours a day under a hood in a sand blasting booth at National Steel and Shipbuilding Co.
He had nightmares every night and lasted at most a week.
The company was owned by noted crook and Nixonian C. Arnhold Smith and my father worked for the company as a lawyer.
A little San Diego history.
To show you what I have in mind, consider the San Diego Street Journal, which emerged out of the ferment of the 1960s to tackle subjects the mainstream or the establishment press wouldn’t dare. Here’s how it started out in 1969: "It’s time we said it loud and clear: San Diego is the armpit of the world. The town is middle class, stupid, mediocre and boring. It is plastic, sterile, unhip and sexually repressed." As you might guess, the goal of the Street Journal wasn’t to sell ads for liposuction and droopy eyelid repair. The UCSD grad students who started the thing wanted to shake things up, tell the truth about San Diego, “to put the city in motion.”
The Street Journal hit hard with exposes on crooks like C. Arnhold Smith and the Alessio brothers that were published under the communal byline "M. Raker." Within a year, bullets were being fired through a window in the Street Journal’s offices. The glass front door was smashed and typesetting equipment was destroyed.
With credentials like that, I'm glad to be able to say I was born in Chula Vista, not San Diego. Oh wait, somethings come down the wire about CV.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Apr 10, 2013 - 06:06pm PT
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I believe you may have me confused with a real oilman.
My name's Les Calanques, by way of Ventura Avenue.
[Click to View YouTube Video]
Oh, how Nice to meet you, boy.
My first wife hated Saticoy.
My second she went Atta boy!
She was one big bundle of joy!
Those two wives were oil and water.
Quite unlike my lovely daughter.
I'm sure glad that we begot her
Years ago beside the water.
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