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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 4, 2016 - 08:04pm PT
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You say "Bull."
I say "Cowboy."
You say "Chicago hot dog."
I say "Yosemite hot dog."
FYI, it's no longer the Sears Tower, but the Willis Tower.
It has always looked like a giant corn cob holder to me.
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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 4, 2016 - 08:13pm PT
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Time to go set up for the 4th of July fireworks. Thirty minutes of fun and an hour's worth of traffic.
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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 5, 2016 - 01:22am PT
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I saw my own face in a ball of fireworks smoke tonight.
Am I on the road to hell?
Or is this another movie I've barged into?
The Day of the Locals.
Not yet rated.
Dogs barked and hounds howled and some pigeons and most of the crows fled from the sound of battle.
It sounded like we were losing, but my hearing aid was off, too. Hard to say, really.
If we lost this one, entropy would rule once more. So we fought on doggedly, so much that our pets fought, too.
In fact, P.T. Bull got nuked. He was such a good pup, too.
All we have left is this little muttant.We THINK PT was in on it. Not proven yet.
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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 5, 2016 - 01:30am PT
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Oh! The rockets' red glare!
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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 5, 2016 - 01:37am PT
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The Day of the Locals.
Don't just SEE it!
SMELL IT:
The Smell of Locals drove them mad with blood hunger! They had to have meat!
TASTE IT:
Charred on the outside and raw on the inside was THE WAY THEY LIKED IT!
"It's like Armageddon meets Indepedence Day at the Sausage Factory!"--an independent study
You want fireworks?
And barbecue?
Joe Bob says, "Check it out."
hooblie: Any chance there's a Chicago hot dog bottle opener souvenir?
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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One official z captured GIF or gif, of a Black Cat Bone.
It was turned by me with my sweetie's backseat, directing , into a JPEG ,
And , may I add, what a gas it was to get to add
As it is now above, just after it was asked for , thanx for saying please.
Just now wait I'm not at it again ,
just miss being honed enough to be able to go
climbing back at the old home again Or in the backyard
Swhat was fun^~just a few years ago'Has become wrenching to shoulders but i still have fun~
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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 5, 2016 - 07:58am PT
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Moss on the Falls.
another installment
Moss’ boss was non-plussed, as the Euros say.
That is, he did not know WHAT to say.
So he just watched as the Finnish ladies laughed and took his picture. Then he watched as Moss took their iPhone and turned around so he could snap a selfie of himself with the two women in the background. He appeared delighted when they apparently offered to send him a copy over the ether--they exchanged emails on their phones.
Moss came into the deli as his boss stood trying to absorb this un-Moss-like behavior and gave him a thumbs up and a knowing, slightly lecherous grin. He went into the store and got another cup of coffee and then left, saying he’d be on time from now on, don’t sweat it. “I feel fine now. I had a little headache but worked it out yesterday. I busted ass this morning to make up for the night I missed. Time to hit the hay.”
He strode through the glass doors and out to the table where the two tourist gals were waiting and they all walked off arm in arm to the shuttle stop.
This was not the Moss he supervised, but some other dude, the boss thought. “Sure hope he’s really okay, but I should give it time. He’s one of my best employees, after all.”
Over the next weeks things got very strange concerning Moss’ behavior. He would come to work and be done in a few hours. Completely. He stopped for nothing. He then sat quietly looking at topos of rock routes and drinking some coffee, but never very much. He enjoyed the rich taste, not the caffeine’s effects so much. It made him shake if he drank more than two cups in a night. He enjoyed the early mornings bouldering his ass off in the woods and then went to Camp 4 where he collected an eager belayer, usually an attractive young lady, though at times he couldn’t be picky.
He once had to settle for an old guy from Fremont who insisted his pink rope was a lucky rope given him by a legendary Valley climber. They went out to climb Arrowhead Arete and finished so quickly that they had time (and enough battery life) to shoot up the YPB as well. They took photos at the top. And made it back to C4 by twilight.
They celebrated with a couple of cold Moosedrools in the parking lot and then said adios. He was a Polish climber, he had told Moss. He also asked him while they were drinking beer, "Why do you even bother climbing with anyone? You could free-solo anything, I think."
This was a question that literally shrieked at Moss for days. It kept him from sleep, it kept him company in the company of one of his women, too. He answered it by never climbing again with any other person. He only did his routes solo, no rope. Just chalk. Just the wind and sun and rock to talk with. Now and then a lizard or a bird. And gravity.
He began sleeping much better and performing much better sexually, as well.
He was the happiest he'd ever been.
One thing he never did solo anymore, though, was to sleep. He usually had a lady overnight and he mad sure they were not married, had no children, and were independent types. He had this wired and it was what most guys desired and he by Gosh had it made. It took his mind off of climbing, mainly. It was a totally different place. He had to attend to another’s needs. He was no longer all alone. He could share. They, for however long they lasted, enjoyed each other. There were many, many “theys.”
He gained a following, a reputation, among "them." Coupled with his spectacular solos, he was well on the way to becoming LEGEND.
Werner looked on, Dill looked on, and Chongo looked on.
More on what they were thinking later.
Have a pleasant day.
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zBrown
Ice climber
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Happy Fifth of July and Quarto de Tequila.
I have recently made the acquaintance of one "Porfie Popnecker", who likes Jaime Lee Curtis a lot, as do I.
So,
[Click to View YouTube Video]
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zBrown
Ice climber
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But what of the Catz Cradle?
Fair play for Cuba, si?
Cuban Cat
Cuban Cat's Cosmic Compadre Candido Gonzalez (de Cardenas O Colon) (posiblemente Cienfuegos O Camaguey).
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zBrown
Ice climber
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Is New Orleans still in Cuba or did it Nexit?
Conjuring Cat de New Orleans (how do you say that in Spanish?)
ese, por supuesto
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zBrown
Ice climber
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[not] Camera Shy Cat
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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 5, 2016 - 10:57am PT
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I should think that if New Orleans left it would be termed NOxit.
As in this play from 1944.[Click to View YouTube Video]I'm Sartrin of the date. I gargled it.
(Nice kitty!)
And a great photo to close the last page, zBrown.
Kudoze.
And now,
"It's siesta time.""Is it daytime now? Where's the light switch?"--Jean-Paul Sartre
In Camera, Jean Paul Sartre, No Exit, Huis Clos, Harold Pinter (ENGLISH)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mshvqdva0vY
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zBrown
Ice climber
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Has anyone seen Now You See Me (I or II). They were recommended to me.
No exit on the face of it seems to be different from exiting, which would leave New Orleans still in Cuba, si?
Did anyone see some car show guyz (can't remember their names or titles) who did the show on old cars in Cuba.
Most of those old 1950's carz are running Japanese of Chinese diesels.
It (the fuel) is cheaper ya know and the U.S. would not sell them (the Cubans) any parts. Which brings me to asking, why didn't El Cheapo import the parts down there to Coatzacoalocos [sic], repackage and mark 'em up and ship them to Cuba?
Maybe it was Castro's Credit Score?
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zBrown
Ice climber
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I'm thinking it's time to shut off the old ST on my computer and switch to the spare iPhone (on which I almost exclusively refuse to type) and just reading for a while.
Only way I'll ever get caught up.
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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 5, 2016 - 11:32am PT
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Now You're in Simi is an old travelogue, I know, but I've not seen it.
There was the Three Stooges of the Apocalypse, Pt. I & II, which everybody loved.
Rudolf Valention made a version of The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse in 1921.
Woody is no Valention, in fact, he's a Born Killer.
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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 6, 2016 - 05:28am PT
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Morning Duet
Mockingbird sings, dipping into his bag of tricks--
A tweeting, then a sweet warbling;
Enunciating, never garbling;
Always hitting his high notes perfectly,
He then brings you back to earth with his patented peep.
Typically, his mate answers by different calls--
Berating his lacks with her shrieking,
Her mind on his flaws freely speaking,
Which keeps him up all night worrying
That the sun will never rise nor that she will ever sleep.
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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^^^^^^^
Why does that story sound so familiar?
Marital bliss, not that there's anything wrong with it...
(With edits)
Vaya con dios mi hijo
It's thirty miles to Sierra Gorda
But a hundred in the shade
The mules are loaded down with gold
And my boy knows the way
On the road to Antofagasta
Under the Atacama sky
We saw the strangers from on the ridge
I knew trouble was in the wind
That's when we unhitched the wagon
I sent the boy off with the mules
Now I lie festering and rotting
Beneath a wagon in the sun
On the road to Antofagasta
Now both strangers lie there dead
Things went badly in the gun fight
But my son's well beyond the horizon
Let the ukulele play
Go quickly now my boy
May pretty girls come your way
Vaya con dios mi hijo
I'm gut shot and lonesome
But my hatred is all gone
My belly feels like scorpions
Are all in there having fun
There's no saints left for to pray
No Virgin of Guadalupe for me now
It was five years of our toil
If it all went down again
It might have gone another way
But bury the gold deep my son
And I hope when you are older
You'll find your one true love
Vaya con dios mi hijo
In the lonely Atacama
The moon goes up
The moon goes down
Coyotes on the sky line
And condors overhead
In the lonely Atacama
Where soon I will be dead
I hope when you're a man
You'll find your one true love
You'll know less of life's pain
And so much more about joy
Vaya con dios mi hijo
Go with God my son
-bushman
07/05/2016
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