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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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Some things are art just in the eye of the owner, my last high end climbing shoes
retired? Really? So sad ~ my big toes need more support.
if these pups could talk, the things they hung on & fell off! I miss it everyday!
Can't get past it really
I've got three 1hundred page books of climbs I've done so what?
Now what?
now it is no fun to see the next-up, set, go about it, climbing their own way .
I'm not sure but I'm not going to get credit anyway, some true older than me
Big Rube, is gunning for what & where I've just spent a decade
cleaning trundling and climbing, NoOne was before me on 90 percent I'm sure.
462358 lets congregate, if I could I would but I forget what is congregate?
Ho,
Let's get together!
See it was just something to follow ichthyosaurs
no
I'm gonna have to go tablet just changed eight to a dinosaur !
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Jul 1, 2016 - 11:19am PT
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Dinosaur?
Lizard.
Monitor.
I have a new Dell monitor.
Not minotaur.
The old one had given me more gripes and caused more stress than I needed.
Every time I even thought of moving the screen around to compensate, say, for the changing light in the room, the power cord connection failed and I had to spend X amount of time finagling and finessing so it would perch just so on the prongs while staying inserted. Very touchy and not worth the bother, health-wise. This is how one manages everyday stress--delete the cause.
This is how Moss climbed the Bench, not in a hurry, not worrying over small details...
So here I sit looking at...a clean screen--although with the staggering rent increase this month, I'm gonna be sorry.
Water/bridge
Milk/tears
Beggar/horse
Turnip/watch
"I t'ink ya nawmene."
........
Moss on the Falls.
Third installment.
Moss was on the shuttle all the way to the parking lot for El Cap, where he filled his water bottle in the river and put his climbing boots in the small day pack with the bottle and booked on up to the start of Absolutely Free, looked around, saw a way to go, and decided that looked fine.
Talking excitedly to himself, he put the chalk block in his paisley bag and took a flat rock to it to crumble it into bits. Then he tied the sucker on and took a swig of water.
Two hours later he was atop the Moratorium looking at the West Buttress.
Two hours after that he was on the top of the Captain, amazed at the view, and feeling stupid for not charging the cell phone in his pocket. C'est la view!
He then wandered over to the top of the Salathe Wall, where two climbers were summiting after their long (ten hours) ordeal.
Moss did not wait for them, but began the conversation with "What did you climb today?" They had only done the Salathe in ten hours...it was their best time to date. Moss nodded his head sagely saying, "I think I can beat that time."
This was said in frank tones, no mistaking his earnestness nor his meaning. He then told them he had just came up the easy way, linking Moratorium and the West Buttress, and it took all of four hours.
He then turned around, bidding them good day, and hiked down to the Deli, where he reported for work, still wearing his jumpsuit and ball cap. The next morning his boss came in and couldn't believe the place was so clean compared to the morning before. Then he saw Moss outside at a table drinking...Peet's coffee?! Talking to two tourist chicks from Finland?! In Finnish?! WTF?
More to follow. Be patient.
........
neebee, thanks. I got 'em. Sweet of you. My prayers for Ursula abound.
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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The Voices in my Head
It never stops it goes round and round
when I wake up I hear the sound
Of all those voices in my head
When I'm awake or in my bed
Guess it won't stop that's what they said
When I am getting on the bus
And I hear someone start to cuss
I have to count to three
And I find usually
That person cussing was just me
When I lie awake at night
And I hear someone starts to fight
I wait until they are all done
I choose the easy going one
We get along then it's more fun
When I am riding on my bike
I tell the world what's not to like
It often argues back
Things aren't all white and black
And then the world gives me a smack
And when I'm driving in my car
And I can see the nearest bar
That's when the voices cheer
Don't steer my auto clear
Why can't I drive through for a beer?
What do the police know
I only had a cup a joe
The voices never seem to quit
And now it's time for me to split
I'm sure their bullets won't do sh#t
Because I'm invisible
At least that's what I'm told
By my friends Mary, Jim, and Ted
They tell me there's nothing to dread
At least that's what the voices said
They're just the voices in my head
-bushman
07/01/2016
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Jul 1, 2016 - 03:48pm PT
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Good one, bushman!^^^
The good news is I don't have TB.
The bad news is that I have to go to Fresno soon for a chest x-ray. The purpose is to determine why there is blood in my sputum.
I've had tiny amounts show before, but several dark red smears each day, from real deep down, have appeared for approximately the last week.
In limbo for now, hoping for the best. I've been dosed with Cephalexin, for upper respiratory infections, too. The warfarin dose is going to remain the same.
While out on the HOT streets I found there is a Cricket store on G St. near the creek and I was able to stop in there to pay my phone bill--it's been out of service about a week. I'm glad I did, because the heat was starting to get to me. I used to run around in the past with no real effect from it except sweat. Now I just cruise on the bike, not rushing, just cruising in low gear. I no longer have to meet schedules, deadlines, or expectations and it's great. No stress. That is my mantra now.
Following the rest stop I crossed over the creek (traffic's insane around noon-1 pm here, just like in your town) and I stopped at the residence of Dudley Goul, an old friend of my father. Dudley just passed away at age 93 this week.
I found Martha, one of his seven kids, at the house going through boxes of old pictures. I passed along our family's condolences and she told me she had no email for the picture of Dudley that I wanted to send to the family. She told me that the youngest, Judith, was working for Dudley's old law firm, just four blocks up 21st, and she had an email.
I bid farewell to Martha and then visited with Judith at the law offices. This was a great interview, as I'd never really spoken to her or even met her, but we shared a great deal and she warned me that I should be early to the memorial out at the Golf Club so parking would still be available. I hope to convince sister Lenna or brother Tim (the family golf star) to come down from the hills to attend the memorial gathering.
When I spoke with Judith, having gotten her email so I could forward the picture, I told her what a great job she did writing her father's obituary. She then told me that she had not cried when she was writing it, but she was now ready to do so, having had that compliment from me. She did not cry, but she was looking forward to it, I could tell.
It is a model of the genre, and full of love for both parents, really. Seven kids demands a lot of love. I'm providing a link to the page at the Sun Star with that obit. It truly seems like a model. Judith said that two days running in the paper were $625 each! "This is how we're spending Dad's money." Man-ho-man!
When I die please just let me lie.
The buzzards can have me by and by.
http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/mercedsunstar/obituary.aspx?page=lifestory&pid=180489025
That's two trips back from the VA Clinic on the bike this week. My BP is satisfactory and my weight is 179. I am ready to go out on the bike again, but why? I can wait till tomorrow to go shopping.
The temp here was 101 and now has faded to 100.
Gonna be a long, hot weekend.
Wish I was in the Park.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Jul 1, 2016 - 04:15pm PT
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This is an Edward S. Curtis photo of a Blackfoot man and one of his horses standing next to his tepee.
The designs of Blackfoot tepees were adapted from dreams and visions; vibrant, bold colors in patterns or images drawn from nature distinguished each individual tepee. Once completed, the tepee was officially blessed by an elder. Designs could not be copied without the permission of a family member.
I noticed that this is a calendar for 2010. It works from here on for the rest of the year in 2016. One is not a leap year, so they aren't exactly the same.
FYI. BTW. MFM.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Jul 1, 2016 - 06:32pm PT
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Requiem for Mr Ushman
At approximately 8:39 am, on 08/20/2017, a Mr B. Ushman commandeered and launched in an unmonitored ICBM rocket (bureaucratic oversight) from an underground silo in a field near his property in northern California. Apparently, the ICBM had it's warhead removed and disabled by Mr Ushman, and replaced with a home built modified version of an Apollo command module, which he had fabricated in his garage. The module was fitted to the ICBM missile and hardwired into the control systems according to a readily available Apollo rocket wiring schematic obtained on the Internet.
At approximately 158,000 feet there was a catastrophic malfunction of the main engine which resulted in an explosion of the main fuel tanks. At the time of the explosion the trajectory placed the projectile above the Mokulumne Wilderness Area of the Sierra Nevada mountain range at 8:40 am pacific time. The debris field has not yet been located. Mr Ushman was 59 years of age.
Mr Ushman left a diatribe and instructions, which were discovered in his home.
"People have told me;
Nobody wants to hear about your philosophy
Nobody wants to hear your political views
Nobody cares about your bad day at work
Nobody wants to hear about your social malfunction
Nobody cares about your aches, your pains, or your woes
Nobody wants to hear your advice, or your lectures, or your motto for life
Nobody cares about your wants or needs
It's not all about you
Get over yourself
Grow a pair...
That's what people have said
Well I do have an opinion about this one thing in particular
And it's about what I think should happen after I'm gone"
Instructions for after I'm Dead;
I've always hated funerals
People standing around
The bereaved and grief stricken
The hovering ghouls
Waiting for the booty
The leavings of the departed
And in the interim
All the morbid undertakings
Have been undertaken
By the undertaker
All the while we remain ensconced
Ashes in an earn
Or corpses
Or perhaps only a note
And a shredded wet suit
Lying in a pine box
"He was last seen unloading his Kayak in the Point Arena day use parking area,"
Read the police report.
"Great White shark attack
Indicated by bite mark patterns,"
Read the coroners report.
So efficient
The preferred method of internment
By many adventure types
I don't want a funeral
Or any kind of service when I die
And I don't want to attend
Though it might not be optional
But there is the twisted curiosity
About hearing what people would say about me
After I'm gone
"Finally!"
"He was such a wretched soul"
"I hated that f*#ker!"
"What an as#@&%e"
"I'm so glad he's dead"
"So long dickhead!"
"Thank god it's over"
Or
"I guess he tried to make things right
towards the end..."
Little consolation
For my reconciliation with regrets
Well,
It's a good thing I don't believe
One could hover in the ether
And contemplate the reviews
But there's something to be said
About exiting humanity
Without a trace of our remains
The carcass unmolested by human hands
Avoiding all that might happen to us afterwards against our will
Internment by the natural world
It's my preference
"Oh, but would it not be best that
we have possession of your corpse to mourn?"
To scorn...
To pick the fillings from your teeth?"
Some would say
I appreciate all their good intentions as well as the next fellow
But, no thanks
As to my last will and testament
And the order of all my affairs
I have cashed out and paid off all the debts
If that is what concerns you
But have left the remainder of my funds
To my dogs
-B. Ushman
07/16/2016
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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Thanx or I'm sorry or the greatest compliment is imitation
But I have no focus nor such a vivid imagination so copy paste will have to do equiem for Mr Ushman
At approximately 8:39 am, on 08/20/2017, a Mr B. Ushman commandeered and launched in an unmonitored ICBM rocket (bureaucratic oversight) from an underground silo in a field near his property in northern California. Apparently, the ICBM had it's warhead removed and disabled by Mr Ushman, and replaced with a home built modified version of an Apollo command module, which he had fabricated in his garage. The module was fitted to the ICBM missile and hardwired into the control systems according to a readily available Apollo rocket wiring schematic obtained on the Internet.
At approximately 158,000 feet there was a catastrophic malfunction of the main engine which resulted in an explosion of the main fuel tanks. At the time of the explosion the trajectory placed the projectile above the Mokulumne Wilderness Area of the Sierra Nevada mountain range at 8:40 am pacific time. The debris field has not yet been located. Mr Ushman was 59 years of age.
Mr Ushman left a diatribe and instructions, which were discovered in his home.
"People have told me;
Nobody wants to hear about your philosophy
Nobody wants to hear your political views
Nobody cares about your bad day at work
Nobody wants to hear about your social malfunction
Nobody cares about your aches, your pains, or your woes
Nobody wants to hear your advice, or your lectures, or your motto for life
Nobody cares about your wants or needs
It's not all about you
Get over yourself
Grow a pair...
That's what people have said
Well I do have an opinion about this one thing in particular
And it's about what I think should happen after I'm gone"
Instructions for after I'm Dead;
I've always hated funerals
People standing around
The bereaved and grief stricken
The hovering ghouls
Waiting for the booty
The leavings of the departed
And in the interim
All the morbid undertakings
Have been undertaken
By the undertaker
All the while we remain ensconced
Ashes in an earn
Or corpses
Or perhaps only a note
And a shredded wet suit
Lying in a pine box
"He was last seen unloading his Kayak in the Point Arena day use parking area,"
Read the police report.
"Great White shark attack
Indicated by bite mark patterns,"
Read the coroners report.
So efficient
The preferred method of internment
By many adventure types
I don't want a funeral
Or any kind of service when I die
And I don't want to attend
Though it might not be optional
But there is the twisted curiosity
About hearing what people would say about me
After I'm gone
"Finally!"
"He was such a wretched soul"
"I hated that f*#ker!"
"What an as#@&%e"
"I'm so glad he's dead"
"So long dickhead!"
"Thank god it's over"
Or
"I guess he tried to make things right
towards the end..."
Little consolation
For my reconciliation with regrets
Well,
It's a good thing I don't believe
One could hover in the ether
And contemplate the reviews
But there's something to be said
About exiting humanity
Without a trace of our remains
The carcass unmolested by human hands
Avoiding all that might happen to us afterwards against our will
Internment by the natural world
It's my preference
"Oh, but would it not be best that
we have possession of your corpse to mourn?"
To scorn...
To pick the fillings from your teeth?"
Some would say
I appreciate all their good intentions as well as the next fellow
But, no thanks
As to my last will and testament
And the order of all my affairs
I have cashed out and paid off all the debts
If that is what concerns you
But have left the remainder of my funds
To my dogs
-B. Ushman
07/16/2016 it leans then it writhes I'm not sure if, ~if it swells, ride it ~ applies? Natural Internment? I pass, no comment. But oh, dang,my goodness, sorry if you are grieving, but
Smack dab! OhN, my kinda Charlie Brown, get up to get chopped down. Paced-out doom till my end, though,vis probably how it will work out,. . . ? maybe
THNXZ a gain SS
Happy 4 0f 7 @0T 16!
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zBrown
Ice climber
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OK what kind of car is the little one to the left of the Mexcian Food sign? The year of the photo is 1952 - Laguna Beach.
http://coastroad.files.wordpress.com/2010/06/chs-14552.jpg
Nice shot of basketball courts in cleveland. I played LB_J 1-on-1 there in the late sixties.
Close by 1930's
It appears that the bball court was not always one.
Back when HWY 101 was the only northern route there would be a bus rest-stop down in San Clemente and then right there at this intersection.
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zBrown
Ice climber
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sounds good to me
\\John Sheppard with 1959 Morris Mini-Minor and 1950 Morris Minor both designed by Alec Issigonis
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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The Department of Broken Dreams
Though I slept a rough and fitful night
Rarely do bad dreams stand the light
Woke up with good intentions in my head
Got out a needle and a thread
Started to mend a worn out shirt
Phone rang twice my old friend Bert
Wanted to borrow some needed cash
Dressed and out the door I dashed
Rode the bus to my favorite cafe
Order some coffee and eggs my way
Same thing I eat almost every day
In walks Bert not much to say
Asking for a loan in a lowly hush
Asked him why and what's the rush
Says the landlady is beating his door
That's not enough I say what's more?
He tells me alimony is late
I say so what and he starts to berate
I'm on my feet and out the door
He says sit down I'll tell you what for
He tells me 'bout a dream he has
To buy a motel on Lake Topaz
I say so what been done before
He says no wait I'll tell you more
There's a studio there out in the back
He'd store supplies in a nearby shack
Then he'd work on his masterpiece
To pay homage to the mystery beast
And I ask point blank what beast is that?
And he says he found it in a gunny sack
And took it out there to hide away
But tends to it on every other Sunday
I ask again what the hell is this beast?
Oh it's something on which the eyes must feast
And tells me it's not ready for the world
In all its glory yet unfurled
So I scratch my head and breath real deep
As the sun across the sky does creep
There's a look in his eye something's not right
But he says its an unbelievable sight
But I start in again with my inquiry
Now where exactly is this beast you see?
And hoping it was all in his head
Then we might put this delusion to bed
But no he says it's right up there
Near Lake Topaz in a mineshaft where
I've kept it warm all safe and fed
With some books and water a nice soft bed
And dampening my curiosity
Red flagging my generosity
What's going on Bert? I must insist
To show the beast I did persist
'Til darkness up three ninety five
Setting out on foot he did contrive
With thorazine at my request
To calm the beast for the unwanted guest
As we found an opening in the rocks
Taking off our shoes now in our socks
We crept down to a grotto where
My eyes did widen to a glassy stare
There crouching in the torchlight hunched
A gargoyle and the bones he'd munched
He turned and stood big as a house
I kept my distance like a mouse
As Bert approached the beast cried out
Bert tried to calm him then to shout
He's just a friend now don't be rude
I couldn't believe the size of this dude
The beast began to whimper and whine
On what now I wondered would he dine
I still stood off at forty feet
The torchlight flaming near my feet
As Bert took food from a paper sack
And offered up to the beast a snack
And that's when it quickly went south
The beast reached out and opened his mouth
I stepped back and bumped my head
The beast turned from him to me instead
Bert held the snack up to his maw
I could scarcely believe what next I saw
The beast turned back and swallowed his arm
Bert's face went grey with shock and alarm
From there things went from bad to worse
With the a taste for blood was the natural course
The main course being Bert I feared
As I didn't remain and somehow steered
In darkness I then found my way clear
Out of that cave yet I could still hear
Blood curdling screams and a horrible shout
Were the final words from Bert no doubt
With thoughts of alerting the local police
Who'd question my sanity at the very least
Thus retreating back home in my car
I found my trusty local bar
With nothing stronger than ginger ale
I told the barkeep of my tale
And what befell our good friend Bert
But knowing that his pain and hurt
Were ended now and rest his soul
The barkeep listened and consoled
Always with his poker face
At two am I left the place
And slept a fitful night once more
With demons breaking down my door
Naught but nightmares in my sleep
Until the dawn when the sun would creep
Above the trees as I resolved
Pledging this one thing would be solved
Rather a lender I would be
Than let curiosity get the best of me
As I took my needle and thread to mend
A worn out shirt now that's the end.
-bushman
07/02/2016
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Jul 2, 2016 - 12:55pm PT
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Broken Brogans and a Broken Heart
Broken and can't be fixed.
Broken and can't get it up.
All she wrote was 5˝ AA and then good day.
I could not ever remember her shoe size.
So she went away and here I stay
Tying and untying my own lacerated laces.
I tried and I failed and so she then bailed.
My memory slipped...it needs braces.
Or a belt...Lordie knows there are enough loops in my memory.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Jul 2, 2016 - 12:55pm PT
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zBrown
Ice climber
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The continuing saga of Bungling Bill, not Clinton, the other guy.
In 1993, Craig Stecyk –– the writer and photographer who basically introduced the world to the Venice Beach Dog Town and Z-Boys with his Skateboarder magazine articles in the Seventies –– curated an exhibit at the Laguna Art Museum entitled “Kustom Kulture: Von Dutch, Ed “Big Daddy” Roth, Robert Williams & Others.”
http://autoculture.org/?p=711
[Click to View YouTube Video]
Laguna Beach "greeter" Eiler "Don't Call Me Bill" Larsen.
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zBrown
Ice climber
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Come to think of it, might have been Nate "Tiny" Archibald that did the two ball race, rather than Spud "don't call me Bill" Webb.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Jul 2, 2016 - 06:57pm PT
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I hate it when you abruptly change the xubjecht.
Here is some food for thought for the white supremacists.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_cities_proper_by_population
Note that this article has issues. I believe they exist because there is no ready-made definition of a city proper that fits all cities. There is bound to be fluctuation in population figures between countries.
For example, this was presented on Google
when I asked which was the most populous city proper.
Notice the relative positions of NYC and LA, the only two US cities on the list listed at the top of the post.
We STopians love our lists, do we not?
More food for thought (take-out available).
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beijing
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Khanbaliq
I think I have found an xlation of the Google images.
Most Populous Cities of the World by Rank (2014)
1 Tokyo, Japan 37,833,000
2 Delhi, India 24,953,000
3 Shanghai, China 22,991,000
4 Mexico City, Mexico 20,843,000
edit: Come to think of it more deeply, that was not really a change of subject and so I must apologize. Myself and me are holding out, though.
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