Discussion Topic |
|
This thread has been locked |
Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
|
|
|
Jul 12, 2016 - 05:36am PT
|
Now here is the thing it is frowned upon to pull this trick, it is poor style like standing on a pin while free climbing. & worse if it looks good I'm going to double post
Bushman. climber. The state of quantum flux. Jul 10, 2016 - 06:43pm PT
Gnomish, If you didn't see it already, check out your personalized poem, from upthread, now added here.
Jul 10, 2016 - 01:57pm PT
Credit: Bushman
Gnome's Pome
Gnome of the Diabase
Has no time to waste
Answers to none
But his other post haste
We shall sing him a song
And we'll play him a tune
We will cry "Cheddar Cheese!!"
As we bay at the moon
We shall dig up a corpse
As an unholy deed
We'll do this for Gnome
Or whoever's in need
We'll partake of the heart
Or whatever's at stake
To save the whole tribe
From the ghoul in the lake
Now if you are fair game
Your own poem I shall write
Which could likely as not
Keep you up late at night
I'll write one for the pope
Or that Dali Lama dude
But the wife says Virgin Mary's
Off limits for good
So though Gnome has been classed
With some of the greats
A sacrifice is in order
If it isn't too late
-bushman
07/10/2016
Seems that the covers pulled back up is the charm,
Here's a good morning song I've got an early, (now) errand to run
[Click to View YouTube Video]
oh the links that should take you to hope it gets you to step'in & 'flitchen'
Auto correct ugh!
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
|
Topic Author's Reply - Jul 12, 2016 - 05:59am PT
|
My favorite time in the world is before dawn.
A rich panoply of peaks in the central Sierra Nevada, including Shuteye to the south, Tuolumne peaks in the north.
5:24 a.m. 7/12/16
And since I slept but an hour, I need to roll back into the bunk and count some sheep.
Sunrise at 6:08 a.m.
Later.
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
|
Topic Author's Reply - Jul 12, 2016 - 01:09pm PT
|
Moss on the Falls
Final Installment
Her name was Michelle, she was a thirty-something lady reporter who climbed rocks for a hobby. She was a gym member, too. But she did not LEARN TO CLIMB BY THE NUMBERS. She’d been climbing OUTDOORS, THANK YOU, for fifteen years or so, since her senior high school year. Now, since she lived in the Big City with a house on a street with a great view of Daly City, she’d learned to hustle jobs from her editors (she was a well-used journalist, one to whom it meant a lot to get names right, understand what it was she was writing about, and how to make extra bucks off the various stories doing spin-offs and follow-ups.)
One word could describe her as she liked to think of herself: savvy. She was no noob. Either in the job or on the rocks, she could make you think twice and look twice. She was also nearly stunning and could have been a model except for her well-developed shoulders and arms. She was lean, she weighed just over 100 pounds in a wet T-shirt. She’d been known to shed her inhibitions a time or two and get up on the bar soaking wet and dance for the guys or whoever else was lookin’. She sometimes wore a ball cap when she didn’t want to be bothered by guys putting the make on her. Ball caps on chicks send a message most guys perceive to be something like, “I’m so not interested. Take it elsewhere, please.” Nawmean?
But she was definitely interested in Moss when she met him, and he had no clue as to the message carried by her wearing a ball cap. This one was one she’d found on the top of Sunnyside Bench. It said Astros. Someone had lost it and she had scored. She wasn’t a fan, the ball cap just looked cool.
Michelle, or Shelly, as her friends and fellow-journalists called her, and her family, for the most part, had come to Yosemite and registered in Camp 4. She wanted to climb, but had had no luck in finding anyone to travel to the Valley and stay the week. One friend came along, they climbed the first day, then she got on a bus and went back home to her job. Shelly stayed in Camp 4 and hoped to find a partner via the bulletin board or hanging around the boulders. She was not into soloing when she had nobody to climb with her. She’d never done much. She’d always liked to share her experiences. Two eyes are better than one, and all that. Two views of the same climb are worth having, and she always wanted to hear her partner’s comments after the climb. She even wrote some of the down and included them in a journal of her climbs.
Shelly was a competent poet, as well. She went to poetry readings. When she had time, she liked to sit and stare into the view of Daly City and just jot down what came to her. Usually, something jelled and she got into a rhythm and the cadenced words just wrote themselves. But sometimes that didn’t work. So she numbered the unfinished pieces and stored them on her computer for later. She never published, just happy to have a growing body of work with which she was pleased. She knew poets didn’t get rich unless they really sucked. She kept a photo of Rod McKuen in a gilt frame on a shelf in her library, which was HUGE. She’d inherited it along with her uncle’s house there in SF.
Uncle Spliff was a good old boy who played in a country band over in El Cerrito a couple of nights a week at Wes & Wanda’s Club on San Pablo. She’d loved to go hear him sing his songs (he was a journeyman writer of C & W songs and had made a small pile from royalties, etc.) with the Gang. Spliff and the Gang. What a crazy bunch! Another story for another time, perhaps.
The story called “When Moss Met Shelly,” written by Shelly soon after, is now a classic of its kind. There are few classic climbing short stories. This, however, is one.. He was slab-climbing on some easy stuff just uphill from the bench atop Swan Slab She hadn’t found a partner that day, so she decided to go for a scramble. She scrambled the talus pile up to the bench and started out for the exits to the Carbon Wall and Black Wall at the extreme right side of the Five Open Books, expecting to take a few iPhone photos of the Lower Falls and the views of the Valley.
She waltzed along singing “When the Dew Falls” by Uncle Spliff, “digging the day and feeling A-OK” as Spliff liked to say. He hailed from Houston, vaguely, and kinda took pride in the space program. He often wore a NASA ball cap on his gigs. Today, Shelly was wearing her Astros cap, fortunately.
Moss looked down at this vision (it couldn’t be anything BUT, he thought) from his perch on some knob or other on the slabby, low-angled face he was climbing. He liked what he saw, initially. Then he saw his old Astros ball cap. He knew immediately. It had a certain curl to the brim and it was really faded. He thought it looked great on her head, her pony tail of long blond hair falling from the rear, like women wear it. She had a small day pack and wore approach tennies.
She walked past. He just gazed. He nearly lost his footing. Then he said said, in a booming voice, “That’s my hat! Where did you find it?”
Startled out of her sharp wits when she first heard these words, she stopped, tore off her day pack and had a can of Mace in her hand in the two shakes it took. She looked around, couldn’t see anyone, and then Moss yelled, “Up here, my lovely! Look up here!” Then he began down-climbing but not in a rush, just methodically getting the job done at a steady rate, sure of his moves, but not wanting to get rushed.
When she located the source of this vocal disturbance, she saw she was in no danger. This guy on the slab was a hunk, she could tell. Even in the jumpsuit his body revealed itself. He was a hunk AND a stud, she thought to herself. She yelled at him to stop, took out her phone, and took a photo. He remembered to look at the camera and smile. It was a broad grin, the photo later showed. His upper face was shaded by his ball cap brim. This cap was an Oakland Athletics cap in green and gold.
She decided to walk up to the bottom of the slab, just a few yards. By the time she reached the smooth/rough solid rock, he was on the deck, removing his cap, and bowing to her. NO WAY! Dudes don’t do this anymore, do they? Sure never happened to me before. Well, Uncle Spliff did it a few times, she remembered. But they were not very sincere bows, if you know what I mean.
This bow was heartfelt and reverent and said “I’m impresssed!” She dug the hell out of it. She showed him the photo he had made. She told him her name was Shelly.
“What brings you up here, Shelly?”
“No partner today. Went for a short hike. Is this really your cap?”
“I lost it. It got blown off by a gust of wind last month.”
“You must have been on Sunnyside Bench, because I found it near the base of the Mudflats.”
“Exactamundo. I had that since I was a freshman in high school in Amarillo.”
“You don’t sound too Texan.”
“I am from the Lone Star state, though I prefer the Golden State. I’m still an Astroman.”
“Well, I’m an Astrogal, so there. You done the route yet?”
“Only twice so far. I don’t like the descent so well.”
“It’s a bitch, ain’t it? I love the route, though. Did it with a girl friend a few months back. I always wanted to tick that bad boy.”
“About the cap, Shelly...I don’t need it and it looks great where it is. Would you like to go do some climbing with me today? Feel like a million or just so-so?”
“I’ll trust you to pick a nice line. I’m on vacation. I’m not in a decidin’ mode at the moment. I’m on a week’s vacation.”
“My gear is all over at the dorm. I’ll need to get my harness and chalk bag and a rack and ropes.”
“I’ll race you down to the parking lot at Camp 4. I’m in a blue ‘66 El Camino with a white Clamper shell.”
“You mean camper shell, Shelly.”
“NO, dammit, it’s a camper shell with dozens of Clamper decals on it. It belonged to my Uncle Spliff. He was a Clamper.”
“NO WAY! Spliff is your uncle? I know Spliff Weed. He’s a terrific pedal steel player. I knew him in Amarillo. He played with my step-father, Rock E. He was a pretty good electric bass player.”
“It was a Fender. He was sh#t compared to some I’ve heard, but he didn’t get drunk and he always showed up. When Rock E. came back from the semi collision, he was better, for some reason, and Uncle Spliff said it was the pain-killers that were responsible.”
“So you’re Spliff’s niece and I’m basically Rock E’s kid, though at times he gets weirded out and it affects my mom, too. It’s one of the reasons I’m here not there. But I won’t go noplace else now because I got this gig a the deli and I like it. I climb every day and I like it. I go anywhere else and I probably will hate it. And I won’t be able to climb every day, you just can’t in the city, and why leave Paradise?”
“That’s a song my uncle wrote, ‘Why Leave Paradise?’ The Bush Babies used it on their instumental tribute to the Unknown Writers of the Purple Stage. I liked the words and so did he. He took the money, though. He was pragmatic. He was also pretty high on coke that they brought that night they jammed with him and I think old Rock E was there, too!”
“Well, are we done here? I’m gonna count to three and then...
But Shelly had already started hauling her pretty butt to the parking lot before he could finish.
Shelly yelled over her shoulder as she disappeared into the talus forest, heading for the parking lot, “Last one there buys coffee!”
Breezing into the next month, the two spent hours and hours talking and listening to Shelly’s poetry, reading from Wind In the Willows to each other, and making love and climbing. She stayed the whole month, spending the last two weeks in his dorm room, on the sly. She parked her El Camino with the Clamper shell in the Curry parking and left it there for a few days, then moved it.
The future came, the vacation ended. She went home to SF and wrote When Moss Met Shelly and used the money she earned for it from The Saturday Evening Post to fund their honeymoon in Zion.
He stopped soloing, cold turkey. He bought a good helmet. She gave him a new pair of climbing slippers and a membership in her climbing gym. He has a job with a future, they are thinking of buying a house, but want to wait till the baby comes.
They are planning on naming him either Sheldon or Michelle. Either sex is fine with both of them, but they are going to call it Shelly, you bet.
Chongo was the best man at the ceremony. He came as he was, as expected.
And Dill and Werner came to the meadow for the ceremony, too, with Merry, who instantly took a shine to Shelly and they became good friends, if not BFFs.
There was a small trio in the meadow. They played “Why Leave Paradise?” complete with lyrics
“Fresno’s a lot like Amarillo, “ is what Moss tells his admirers at the gym. They sold the house in SF and moved to Fresno on the profits. She still free-lances. He still can’t dance worth a damn, though, he’ll be the first to admit.
And that El Camino shows no signs of giving up.
|
|
Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
|
|
|
Jul 13, 2016 - 08:53am PT
|
There is a word for stories like that one, Mouse, whimsical.
There was also something in the feel of it gratifying and complete.
It was a true Yosemite climber's tale, and I thank you for it.
-bushman
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
|
Topic Author's Reply - Jul 13, 2016 - 09:33am PT
|
Who you callin' a whim, boy? :0)
Yer right, a lot of that story seemed to be happening in deja vue-Tone--the places, the ideas. The story-line, such as it is, kinda just fell into place. The last meter was the hardest, and the trip into the past and the "what if" was worthwhile.
And no animals were killed in the production.
I've decided on a final title, Moss on the Rocks.
Little Miss Tripod.
|
|
Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
|
|
|
Jul 13, 2016 - 10:02am PT
|
So I've been vacillating , do i do anything more ? It is not my place as i cannot offer more but if some one wants me to to i'll inquire once more as to the disposition of that dolt gear.
ya' know that Force - Roots- guy is out there, I'm sure he has already swooped.
~NEW . . . Laces anyway.
seeing as I've broken the skin. a bit with inbeding, here is a band-aid of sorts. In Memory Of Elizabeth Reid, Allman Brothers Band w/ those California guyz's
[url="http://https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sp1nyDF9Wak"]http://https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sp1nyDF9Wak[/url]
PT,the house wren
4:20Hey Cosmic! I'm still laughing,
You know I'm up on Greys, n Macaws, Quakers,
we have a smaller Conure ,
a Nandy .
I'm often asked what type of parrot to get .
My answer is Toy or Stuffed.
I've just acted as the drop off point for three Boyd's .
One a bright Sun Conure,
the ones that have the bright yellow head & shoulders,
bonded with me.
It is so hart wrenching, they are singular individuals who can often go nuts.
Get aggressive, seem to have gone out of their minds- when being passed off.
We try to provide, the transition from fancy digs to rescue aviary is very stressful for them.
We try to re- home the " best" birds before they have to suffer that stress.
most people who have basic pet skills end up spending 5
years figuring out that birds are people too.
They can live 20 to 50 or in the case of the 'great' Boyd's 80 years!
The commitment in to day's transient world has orphaned and doomed a lot of birds.
I've got to call you, I'm still in love with the good people who get it,
but more & more , I have to absolutely put my paw down and say no to the
Parrot rescue operation ( getting link? )
Wow I'm glad I saved this
Shoes made a big difference, Vasque 'Shoenards' , but more so, EBs , were the shoe of the times. Climbing in them is hard to describe, canvas 'ChuckTaylor' like toe vice,s,
It was like climbing on Firestone tire rubber that was was temperature dependent & Not sticky.
you were almost better off in Addis three stripe, 'crape rubber' sneaker/shoe .
At one point there was a 'Nightjogger' model. A tan shoe with fluorescent, reflective & glow in the dark side patches. Those & the elastic rubber also found on the green 3stripe, Coach(?) model, were the secret weapons just before fires changed everything.
THE SKINNER BROTHERS, (A family of the wilderness , sic)
!__http://skinnerbrothers.pbworks.com/w/page/11445533/SKINNER%20BROTHERS%20STORY
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
|
Topic Author's Reply - Jul 13, 2016 - 08:13pm PT
|
Let's Play Feudal Family
(Pedigree, Pedigree, Who Am I?)
Gnome, I'll read the article on your Wind River guiding family. Sounds good.
Then you can look at this article on having your genome sequenced and then interpreted by some witchy person. Just kidding. That's the trick, now, to get the sequence interpreted. Any old tekkie can do the gene sequencing now for around $1,000. (You probably still have to know somebody to do it that cheap, but that's what the lady sez.)
http://genomemag.com/ultimate-selfie/#.V4b_xNQrJK8
|
|
zBrown
Ice climber
|
|
|
Jul 13, 2016 - 08:43pm PT
|
My favorite time in the world is before dawn.
Must not have had an AM paper route.
I used to see 'em sometimes in the morning.
[Click to View YouTube Video]
Nose-to-the-stone people,
Some are saints, and some are jerks.
Hard workin' people,
Stoppin' for a drink
on the way to work.
Alcoholic people,
Yeah, they're takin' it
one day, one day at a time.
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
|
Topic Author's Reply - Jul 13, 2016 - 09:14pm PT
|
1960/61--I had a Sacto Union (a blue editorial staff) Sunday Only route with 17 big yule logs to haul around in the bag.
Mike had the job of delivering his daily customers' Sunday issues, like over thirty. He started the same time I did and finished before me!
Then church--we were both scheduled for weekdays as altar boys. Our Sunday mornings were taken.
What's the name of that rag in CV? The View? La Vista? Daily Visitor?
Ours here is the Sun-STroke, as I've called it.
And if you go to Kathmandu, here's what you can wrap your fish in when you're done with cleaning them.
http://thehimalayantimes.com/
In order to catch the fish, though, a set-up like this is great, no worries, mate.
http://www.fishinginnepal.com/
"185 species of fish are found and most striking ones are- trout, catfish, Murrei, rainbow trout, common trout and crap."
|
|
zBrown
Ice climber
|
|
|
Jul 13, 2016 - 09:27pm PT
|
CV Star News
I did the SD Union (& Evening Tribune)
Fun Nest
I'll explain later
I'm sure Fra Serra smiles on all the boyz, but he ain't smiling on me
Just an ordinary person
Michele had a route too
She was so much older then ...,
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
|
Topic Author's Reply - Jul 14, 2016 - 04:35am PT
|
Flip Flop--
Three pics for you.
I remembered to say la izquierda!
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
|
Topic Author's Reply - Jul 14, 2016 - 05:36am PT
|
Sun's not yet up here, but I had a dose of salts...not really.
Let's go to the Valley! I may just skip out on the bus tomorrow for a couple days. It's gonna be hot here in the SJV, so they say.
And there's a full moon, mon, coming next Monday, I think. 97.4% full.
And the moonrise is sometime around 8:00 pm, so it might be a good thing to shoot from say, Starr King. Or YPB.
Cogitating it. Creating reality from fantasy, as it were.
Yosemite Point Buttress/Lost Arrow
Grateful Dead 5. "Help on the Way/Slipnot!/Franklin's Tower" Without a Net (Set 2)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XVbvvoNYTpw
|
|
Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
|
|
|
Jul 14, 2016 - 05:45am PT
|
From a poinent point of view the 'With Out A Net' share, always brings feelings.of . . .?
What a trip that was .
From 1979 to 1990, my misspent youth
I'm going to paste a bit from the wiki page :
The Grateful Dead's albums had frustrated critics and fans alike for neither approaching nor accurately representing the band's live concert sound and experience - to the point that band-approved, fan-made tapes were preferred to official releases.
The band's organization had poured profits into sound reinforcement and cutting-edge technology for their concert performances and were likewise frustrated by the seeming shortfall in capturing their sound on album.[3]
With the advent of digital technology,
Without a Net was the band's first contemporary live project in nine years, and featured selections from then-recent tours in an attempt to allow the home listener a closer facsimile of the band's engulfing sound system.
Touting the advancement in production clarity, the accompanying shrink wrap sticker proclaimed: "The world's grandest, largest, best live recording."
The resulting album achieved gold-status sales within weeks of its release - the first live album by the band to do so.
A series of live releases followed, beginning with a complete concert performance in its entirety. The release of archival live performances continued after the 1995 dissolution of the band and is ongoing.
The thing was that before the albums release . . . . Brent Died, & the sound changed to a different sound. No more great, reticent voice, & the change in the organs n key boards .,, the wiki understates it when it says
"However, Mydland's death and the subsequent addition of Vince Welnick and BruceHornsby changed the band's live sound by the time the album was available"//
says it**
the packaging used a circus theme, with a "Big Top Limited Edition" also-available, featuring clowns and related artwork.
The album's dedication to ~Clifton Hanger ~ , is a reference to keyboardist Brent Mydland, who used the alias for hotel registration. Mydland died before the album's release.[4]
The album is an attempt to compile some of the best performances from then-recent tours and present them as a prototypical Grateful Dead concert, as they sounded at that time.
However, Mydland's death and the subsequent addition of Vince Welnick and Bruce Hornsby changed the band's live sound by the time the album was available.
Seventeen songs were chosen from two of the most recent tours and sequenced to represent typical set placement (though the traditional "Drums" solo and "Space" improvisation are absent, and the final "encore" track is given an early fade out).
So many people were in on the crafting of with out a net it was an opus
The 1st of the really HD quality,
Other live albums from the same time span (including additional material from the same concerts) have since been released.
Those titles are:
Dozin' at the Knick,
Postcards of the Hanging,
Terrapin Station (Limited Edition),
So Many Roads (1965–1995),
Garcia Plays Dylan, Spring 1990,
Formerly the Warlocks, Spring 1990 (The Other One),
30 Trips Around the Sun and Nightfall of Diamonds.
Track listing
Disc one
"Feel Like a Stranger" (Barlow, Weir) – 7:32[a]
"Mississippi Half-Step Uptown Toodeloo" (Hunter, Garcia) – 8:00
"Walkin' Blues" (Johnson, arr. Weir) – 5:44[c]
"Althea" (Hunter, Garcia) – 6:55[c]
"Cassidy" (Barlow, Weir) – 6:36
"Bird Song" (Hunter, Garcia) – 12:57
"Let It Grow" (Barlow, Weir) – 11:55
Disc two
"China Cat Sunflower / I Know You Rider" (Hunter, Garcia/trad., arr. Grateful Dead) – 10:24
"Looks Like Rain" (Barlow, Weir) – 8:04
"Eyes of the World" (Hunter, Garcia) – 16:14
"Victim or the Crime" (Graham, Weir) – 8:04
"Help on the Way/Slipknot!/Franklin's Tower" (Hunter, Garcia/Grateful Dead/Hunter, Garcia, Kreutzman) – 19:07[d]
"One More Saturday Night" (Weir) – 4:51
"Dear Mr. Fantasy" (Capaldi, Winwood, Wood) – 5:44
Notes
with
Branford Marsalis – tenor saxophone and soprano saxophone on "Eyes of the World"
Recording dates Edit
"Feel Like A Stranger" recorded at Hampton Coliseum, Hampton, Virginia on October 9, 1989
"Victim or the Crime" recorded at Brendan Byrne Arena, East Rutherford, NJ on October 15, 1989
"Cassidy" recorded at The Spectrum, Philadelphia on October 19, 1989
"Bird Song" recorded at Great Western Forum, Inglewood, California on December 9, 1989
"Let It Grow" recorded at Capital Centre, Landover, Maryland on March 14, 1990
"Walkin' Blues" and "Althea" recorded at Capital Centre on March 15, 1990
"Mississippi Half-Step Uptown Toodleloo" recorded at Copps Coliseum, Hamilton, Ontario on March 21, 1990
"One More Saturday Night" recorded at Knickerbocker Arena, Albany, New York on March 24, 1990 (see also Dozin' at the Knick)
"Looks Like Rain" recorded at Nassau Coliseum, Uniondale, New York on March 28, 1990
"Eyes of the World" recorded at Nassau Coliseum on March 29, 1990
"Help on the Way/Slipknot!/Franklin's Tower" recorded at Nassau Coliseum on March 30, 1990
"China Cat Sunflower/I Know You Rider" and "Dear Mr. Fantasy" recorded at The Omni, Atlanta on April 1, 1990
^ Later remixed and released with entire concert on Formerly the Warlocks
^ a b c d e f Later remixed and released with entire concert on Spring 1990 (The Other One)
^ a b Later remixed and released with entire concert on Terrapin Station (Limited Edition)
^ Later remixed and released with entire concert on Spring 1990
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
|
Topic Author's Reply - Jul 14, 2016 - 06:00am PT
|
I've always thought that the Grateful Dead would have been better off being Cheerful Dead.
That's just me whimsying again.
Vincebus Eruptum - Out of Focus
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W8xTHJsDgiE
"STraNgeLY Bootiful to mE."--Joe C. Locker
|
|
Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
|
|
|
Jul 14, 2016 - 06:30am PT
|
I'll have to spend some time up loading photos, I wonder if it is some form of trying to " moderate" my photo Philemon?
I've filled it with non climbing junk as a silent protest against the politics threads monopoly
Now, something, not a good way to go but something was done.
Take that masta-bator politards what wrong with climbers anyway ?
Some of them !?...
Okay so it goes like this no access to the photos, till 10 am, then only for 2 hrs, then back to tablet till after 7 pm.
Sorry I'm on wagon taco wise.
I've had about 10 pictures be in total synch with things you posted.
Some seem as if we spoke? Should we?
I'm a buzzin' wrapped to tight, shut-in.
When we peak it sets your teeth of edge?
Call or just text ?
Actually I Jest!
The new phones bought amass , & new, as a family set of two & two
Can you guess? One phone of each set worked fine, glitch free.
Two of them will need to be sent back. Savings? all but eaten up.
In time spent without and the extra . . .
There is a perfect word I'm searching for?. . . .
It must be French?
Or Yiddish?
Damnit Lipotor?
Senior moment?
Argh....!
|
|
zBrown
Ice climber
|
|
|
Jul 14, 2016 - 07:31am PT
|
Gracious Dead - Say goodnight, Gracious.
Gracias.
How high's the magma, momma?
More than six foot high and risin'
This recent activity has captured the interest of the international earth science community, and hence the support of the ICDP. The drilling project will be tied to the ICDP's Drilling Information system. Daily drilling reports, digital core images, and other scientific information will be regularly fed into the system during and after drilling and will be available on the Web.
Phase one of the project, drilling to a depth of 2,568 feet, started in 1989 as part of DOE's Magma Energy Program. It was initially conceived as a magma energy well to be drilled in four phases to either a depth of 20,000 feet or a temperature of 500 degrees C, whichever came first. Although DOE canceled the program in 1990, the California Energy Commission remained interested in the magma concept and funded half of the second phase in 1991. DOE's contribution to this effort, which drilled to 7,588 feet, was directed toward the advancement of conventional geothermal exploration.
In this third phase researchers hope to reach 11,500 feet -- still a considerable distance from the top of the magma, which is believed to be somewhere between 18,000 to 26,000 feet. The closer approach is expected to result in a much better estimate of the magma's depth.
The magma is physically close enough to reach using standard drilling methods, making it ideal for research. However, magma is not expected to be within drilling range in this third phase -- that will be left up to a future project.
A couple miles below the surface somewhre in here.
http://media4.s-nbcnews.com/j/newscms/2014_40/700296/141003-mammoth-lakes-ga-2046_684200b199eae00b7004f4a48ee9c53d.nbcnews-ux-2880-1000.jpg
Buildings that kill: The earthquake danger lawmakers have ignored for decades
If you can see into the future or are married to a fortune teller, then don't go, to Seattle when the big one is on or near the horizon.
Washington lawmakers were warned decades ago about the dangers of this construction, called unreinforced masonry, by the state Seismic Safety Council. But they haven’t passed a law to tame the threat, as California did in 1986. They haven’t come up with public financing options for businesses to do seismic retrofits, as Oregon legislators did last year. Local governments have done neither.
Even packin' heat as is sometimes advocated for, it won't save ya.
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
|
Topic Author's Reply - Jul 14, 2016 - 07:58am PT
|
http://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/the-hole-truth-about-why-we-dig-to-china
Little as#@&%es.
The roach patrol came and sprayed yesterday behind the stove and the reefer.
I did not feel like moving the rest of my stuff around so he could do a more complete job. In fifteen years, nearly sixteen years, here in Middle Earth, I've learned that the roaches own the building. Anything in it is fair game.
When the room is sprayed in its entirety, the rules are that the tenant leaves for at least three hours. Yesterday, though, I told the management's gal on the scene, Shelly, that I had not had the oomph to move stuff around and she laughed and said it's okay--he'll have to spray behind the appliances as that's mandatory. And I didn't have to leave the room afterward.
We both know the roaches are more of a problem in the summer and we've both made our peace with their existence, though I still swat 'em when I see 'em.
I keep food in bags in the reefer or on the counter. I clean up after myself pretty well, better than average. They still congregate in certain spots--you can tell by their little droppings.
This morning I noticed a lot more on the counter top. It was really a shitfest. Bro, it grossed even ME out, and I'm a protege of the Millis!
So I recalled the two squashes that I'd had left from making my veggie and shrimp stir fry. I'd placed them in the microwave, but not in a bag.
The results you see in the photo up there. They didn't seem to even touch the yellow squash. Just chowed on the zuke. That's why all the roach crap on the counter top.
I might like to try some basil plants over there in the kitchenette. And on this table, for that matter. I got roaches living in the scanner, I'm positive. They say that basil repels roaches. I spread some dried basil (good stuff from Penzey's, too) under the microwave but it had no effect that one could see. There were little droppos in there with the basil flakes, for sure.
I play games centered around killing roaches. I'm no Buddhist and don't give a darn about their suddenly erased existence. Back on the wheel, little sojourner. Have a nice eternity.
I thought a free-range chicken might be a way to deal, but they have fleas and are worse than mice when it comes to droppo. And they can't live only on roaches.
And the idea of a kitten was scotched a while back. They want a deposit downstairs for any pets.
I got my pets. Dirty cock-a-roaches!
[Click to View YouTube Video]
|
|
|
SuperTopo on the Web
|
Let us know!