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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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A Fire Down Below
An exclusive for The Flames thread, from L. Mouse de la Merced.
For Sterling Johnson and the Cast and Crew of Through the Eyes of a Buffalo Soldier, it was a huge night...(continued on pagina Quatro)....oops, ran out of copy.
I would have stuck around for the whole film, except for my embarrassing coughing fit.
"Be polite, Brian. You might have paid for your seat, but others paid just as much to see a cough-free performance."--Bobbye
And this was the Premiere, after all.
I loved what I saw, pertaining to Freedom, especially.
The Alternative Filmic Pride Prize, the Oscar the Grouch Award.Oscar de la Groucho, stat and director of Without Wages in Sinaloa, co-produced by Oscar de la Hoya, Karl-Oscar of Minnesota (rich bacelor farmer), and by the new film, Oscar is Always Right On, coming to Drive-In Theaters only, due to recent adwances in Smella-vision techniques.
It's my inner paparazzo, friends--he just won't let go.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Didaction on Highway 49.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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For the Plaidman, in whatever guise.You rock when you climb and reach for the skies.
"The first pitch is the hardest pitch, but where the heck is it?"--MisteriousE
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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It is time to Trip Report.
The lollygags are off. The punch lines are coming to a theater near you.
I liked camping in Upper Pines this week. It had distinct advantages over Camp 4, according to Mrs. Carolyn Daley, camping enthusiast and Martha of the Outdoors in my eyes. She's from Newman, near Hilmar, which does nothing to explain her talents, but let's say she is organized like Old Charlie Wooster from Rawhide. Not to mention that she's much better to look at.
We rolled into camp, Derek and I, at around ten p.m. on Friday. How long Carolyn had been there, I am not sure, but since the early morning, for sure. She elected to take a site in the Upper Pines Camp when she figured that walking in to Camp 4 with 3 canopies & two tents was just TOO INTENSE an experience. So we had the best site, in the first loop, near the main road and the toilet, each only requiring a slight jog to the shuttle stop or the turlett. And it was set up and still dry, as well.
It was cold, though, and boring, for her, having to wait for us, but she made do. If there were a bible quote you might like about faithful and dutiful wives, otay, this is the place for it.
I prefer this one shot of many wives.All the pix of camp are blurred, the autofocus thing again...
More, later today. Why rush good things?
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neebee
Social climber
calif/texas
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hey there say, mouse... wow, nice report... say, later this week i will have faster computer service, thanks to my kind brother (chappy) ... so i will see the pics, then...
say, as to this:
I would have stuck around for the whole film, except for my embarrassing coughing fit.
"Be polite, Brian. You might have paid for your seat, but others paid just as much to see a cough-free performance."--Bobbye
MOMs sure know how to say it, don't they...
good kind advice, sticks with us, for years...
they may THINK it goes in-and-out our ears...
but in the 'long run' it's a hip-hip ha'ray!
:)
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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FLASH!!!!!
FLETCHER LIVES FOR HIS KIDS.
His kids surround him with a cocoon of light.
Thank you, and have a great Lent, gent!!!!
Get your kids up and dance and sing...
[Click to View YouTube Video]
One Sew True,
Two Sew Blue,
Three Sew New,
Four too few.
Five, five two,
Size six shoe,
Seven, heaven,
Eight, oh you.
Nine, me too,
Ten, jive you,
Eleven, one two,
Twelve, on cue.
"Dozens and dozens of babies, Carl."--Mrs. Newlywed Sagan
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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The Ahwahnichi rancheria in the rear of the Yosemite Museum, a self-guiding walk into the past.From the 1996 film Color of a Brisk and Leaping Day by Chris Munch.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Mariposa Zone youth choir, all twenty-one and don't hardly mind dyin'.[Click to View YouTube Video]Isaac Simpson on banjo.
[Click to View YouTube Video]Reckless, hell yeah!
Feckless? Hell no!
It's all about the fun found in friendly mountain breezes and cold-as-hell freezes and a case of cold-ass Keystone Light.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Nesters made the West
Don't take that cowboy shine
Farmers feed the rest
If you've a beef that's fine
Talk to the hand with no thumb
Gee Whiz you're dumb
I only knew one kid from El Nido (El NYE-doh) and he was Monty Smith, who died in a boating accident off in the Gulf of California, Mexico. He was there the day I got my nickname. He was twice my size in the eighth grade, and he got up to milk cows, then came into town to go to school, then went home to help clean the dairy. RIP, never-old El Monty.
Some from last June--
Next, a short piece from another student journalist, Deborah Juarez, entitled "When Substitute Teachers Go Rong."
For those who care, the publication known as We'ced is an effort to let youths express themselves journalistically. It is not edited well, but that is just dandy. They only learn from their mistakes, not others'. You need to try your wings right out of El Nido, and then the world opens up.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Gran Torino
So tenderly your story is
Nothing more than what you see
Or
What you've done or will become
Standing strong do you belong
In your skin
Just wondering
Gentle now the tender breeze
Blows whispers through
My Gran Torino whistling another tired song
Engine hums and bitter dreams grow
Heart locked in a Gran Torino
It beats a lonely rhythm all night long
It beats a lonely rhythm all night long
It beats a lonely rhythm all night long
Realign all the stars above my head
Warning signs travel far I drink instead
On my own oh,how I've known
The battle scars and worn out beds
Gentle now a tender breeze
Blows whispers through
A Gran Torino whistling another tired song
Engine hums and bitter dreams grow
Heart locked in a Gran Torino
It beats a lonely rhythm all night long
These streets are old
They shine with the things I've known
And breaks through the trees
They're sparkling
Your world is nothing more
Than all the tiny things
You've left behind
So tenderly your story is nothing more
Than what you see
Or
What you've done or will become
Standing strong do you belong
In your skin
Just wondering
Gentle now a tender breeze blows
Whispers through the Gran Torino
Whistling another tired song
Engine hums and bitter dreams grow
A heart locked in a Gran Torino
It beats a lonely rhythm all night long
May I be so bold
And stay I need someone to hold
That shudders my skin they're sparkling
Your world is nothing more
Than all the tiny things you've left behind
So realign all the stars above my head
Warning signs travel far I drink instead
On my own
Oh how I've known the battle scars and worn out beds
Gentle now a tender breeze blows
Whispers through the Gran Torino
Whistling another tired song
Engine hums and better dreams grow
Heart locked in a Gran Torino
It beats a lonely rhythm all night long
It beats a lonely rhythm all night long
It beats a lonely rhythm all night long
[Click to View YouTube Video]
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neebee
Social climber
calif/texas
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hey there say, mouse... wow, lovely lovely yosemite stuff share... and the town, and merced, and such, as well...
sad, as to the loss of the young man, :( so long ago...
not all the rest of the pics showed yet, so i will be back later...
:)
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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And I hope that you did enjoy the walk through the Indian Village, neebee and everyone.
For I surely did. In my case, though, this was followed immediately by our of viewing Chris Munch's film on the YVRR, Color of a Brisk & Leaping Day. The exhibit of Indian Basketry at the Merced County Courthouse Museum is now closed, and another will be taking its place. I have several more shots of baskets from the Yosemite Museum and will be posting them as time allows.
As to the fate of my friend Monty Smith, he hung on a piece of the wreck of the boat, along with his dad, for many hours, but faded and slipped into the dark waters. Monty was the shield behind which I hid to be able to get to the opposing quarterback's flag in football during recess, thereby becoming the Mouse. Monty was special.
Like the teacher, SR. Justine, in that class, whose efforts led to my fixation on reading whatever I could get hold of. I was a lot like the historian, Shirley Sargent, I think, but not quite so desperate, like by half! It's about all she had, getting down to it, during her adolescence.
It struck me, too, that the young journalist/student Lisbeth, who wrote the El Nido piece, and many others of her kind, are just about like her, as well. In the bio that I am reading about SS, its author, Fernando Penalosa, says this about her writing:
"Shirley was proud to see her work appear in various student publications and to be complimented by fellow students on her writing. Seeing her name and work in print only reinforced her self-esteem and her determination to be an author. Without this kind of validation, it is doubtful she would have continued to write, but one should never question Shirley's persistence!"
Here is one of Shirley Sargent's poems from her days as a collegian at Pasadena City.
BLESS HIS POINTY LITTLE HEAD
My youngest son had troubles today--
Things got so tough he ran away.
Mad when he left, he was madder still
(His appearance showing he had his fill!)
When carried home by a burly cop--
His fling at freedom put to a stop.
I knew his feelings and was proud
Of the terse emotion he allowed.
My son is a stubborn seven-year-old
Who'll rarely tell, much less be told.
So all I know is a mumbled "Drop Dead!"
Bless his dear little pointed head.
And one more:
EVOLUTION
When I was a child I loved three things--
Jelly beans, corn candy, and my blue jeans.
A youngster of ten, I sought with my means
Kites, jacks, a new pair of blue jeans.
At last in my teens, I still loved three things--
Sodas, books, and a boy in blue jeans.
So now that I'm older my heart always leans
Toward my three towheads--all in blue jeans.
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zBrown
Ice climber
Brujo de la Playa
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Go away for a week and the world just carries on without ya.
Humbling isn't it?
This is my second attempt at this missive, having somehow deleted everything I had so intently created.
I wonder where this stuff really goes when it disappears on you.
Things we will all miss (have missed).
Mt. Lukens
Verdugo Motorway
Steaming wall paper
Raindrops fallling on my house
Chele's stamina (Mt. Lukens is a steep runup)
No evidence on the Station Fire origin to report at this time
Kevin Costner's 3-legged dog (I called him Tripod) appears to have vanished
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ß Î Ø T Ç H
Boulder climber
extraordinaire
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Owens Lake webcam today (not manipped).
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