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mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Topic Author's Reply - Apr 5, 2018 - 07:56am PT
Credit: mouse from merced
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Topic Author's Reply - Apr 5, 2018 - 07:58am PT
Credit: mouse from merced
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Topic Author's Reply - Apr 5, 2018 - 09:30am PT
For Ghost.

an·he·do·ni·a
noun PSYCHIATRY - inability to feel pleasure.

Reading of English teachers reminded me of once upon a time being an "English major,"
the time-honored schtick of the rather tall and lately-besmirched author/raconteur Garrison Keillor.

"Schtickorax was suffering from anhedonia."

mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Topic Author's Reply - Apr 5, 2018 - 09:39am PT
"They had a way of rejecting my work that made me feel sorry for them, somehow."
--GK
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Topic Author's Reply - Apr 5, 2018 - 09:45am PT
MAD magazine fold-out.
MAD magazine fold-out.
Credit: mouse from merced

Trumpicasso.
Trumpicasso.
Credit: mouse from merced
https://www.cnn.com/2016/08/12/politics/donald-trump-covers-magazine-newspapers-2016-election/index.html

Pinocchiono.
Pinocchiono.
Credit: mouse from merced
hooblie

climber
from out where the anecdotes roam
Apr 5, 2018 - 04:00pm PT
Credit: hooblie
zBrown

Ice climber
Apr 5, 2018 - 07:52pm PT
2,500,635

Some folks who should just give it a rest are still firing away.

They seem to shun the flames, which I appreciate.

Bushman

climber
The state of quantum flux
Apr 6, 2018 - 04:12am PT
Borrowing on Footfalls/Profound Deceptions

In only fooling the innocents
while being sustained by them
the real estate moguls maintain that
they’ve earned these rights
through crafty shell game leverage

Many original North Americans
never believed that land should be owned
Their stewardship of the earth
was about about moving through it
not overseeing the world

Sometimes I see that
the laws we adhere to
aren’t worth the paper their written on
Thank the founding fathers
those slave owners and slave traders

Enslaved by such dependence
at the very least regarding all this
in that arrogant manner
so many of us are ignorant of the fact
these are concepts of manifest destiny

Nobody owns anything
We don’t even own our physical selves
not land or personal property
Good luck holding onto all that
after we’re deceased

-bushman
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Topic Author's Reply - Apr 6, 2018 - 04:14am PT


mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Topic Author's Reply - Apr 6, 2018 - 07:54am PT
https://www.nytimes.com/2018/04/06/arts/television/jimmy-kimmel-sean-hannity.html

White House Shake Up

"Trump just keeps moving staffers around.
It’s like he’s rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic, after it already sunk.
He moved John Kelly to chief of staff, Ronny Jackson to veteran affairs, now he wants to move Pruitt to attorney general.
Our only hope is that he gets carried away and accidentally replaces himself."
--SETH MEYERS

Maybe it is a trap — but in fairness, it’s not too hard to trap Donald Trump.
He seems like a guy who would put out mousetraps and then 30 seconds later go,
‘Oh, wow, free cheese! Oww!’
--SETH MYERS
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Topic Author's Reply - Apr 6, 2018 - 08:03am PT
We have had a lot of rain already this morning with more coming and the Park is closing down.
8:00 am, Yosfalls.
8:00 am, Yosfalls.
Credit: mouse from merced
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Topic Author's Reply - Apr 6, 2018 - 08:15am PT
Credit: mouse from merced
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Topic Author's Reply - Apr 6, 2018 - 08:24am PT
I climb the road to Cold Mountain,
the road to Cold Mountain that never ends.
The valleys are long and strewn with stones;
The streams broad and banked with thick grass.
Moss is slippery though no rain has fallen;
Pines sigh but it isn't the wind.
Who can break from the snares of the world,
and sit with me among the white clouds?
--from a poem by Han Shan

Credit: mouse from merced
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Topic Author's Reply - Apr 6, 2018 - 12:15pm PT
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Topic Author's Reply - Apr 6, 2018 - 01:17pm PT
A Mullah Nasruddin tale...The Sweetest Strawberry the World Has Ever Known.

http://www.nasruddin.org/pages/stories/sweetest.html
frostback

Social climber
great white north
Apr 6, 2018 - 02:19pm PT
Many Flames have lived the life of house guests from both sides, now here's one for the ages describing the current secretary of the interior “Scott Pruitt is the Kato Kaelin of Capitol Hill. He is the long-term house guest who takes advantage of his hosts and refuses to take a hint about when it’s time to leave,” Not a good thing when a couple coal mining lobbyists digging up public land describe you as a freeloader.

mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Topic Author's Reply - Apr 6, 2018 - 05:59pm PT
The Ghost of Saddlebag Lake

Kenneth left the ranch in August to go with Sissie up to Saddlebag Lake. They had gone there several times as kids with their dad, Kenny Senior and their stepmom, Daisy. Once they had arrived, over ten thousand feet higher than where their ranch sat, Kenny had an appetite for fresh trout. He went out in a rented boat for four hours that afternoon, casting spoons, trolling spoons, and getting skunked.

Instead of trout, he bought some Spam and some canned Dennison’s and ketchup and some Vanilla Wafers in the bait shop, as well as a six-pack of Cokes. Sissie cheered up when he showed her the Vanilla Wafers, but she hardly touched her bowl of chili-Spam. "Well, not everyone likes it with ketchup," he laughed. "I’ll knock ‘em dead tomorrow with some Power Bait or some canned corn." He held up a half-full can of Green Giant niblets he’d found in the bottom of the boat rental.

"I want you to come along in the boat so you can be my good luck charm, though. You always used to," he said.

"I don’t think it’s luck when you catch a fish. It’s just fate. You can say you’re lucky and the fish isn’t. But it doesn’t matter to the fish. He’d rather be left alone, I’m sure...that is, if he could even understand the concept of free will. Though, if you put it to him, he’d probably go with the idea that you’re totally in the wrong by not releasing him. I mean, he’s not gonna try and eat you, is he? It’s just so not fair from the start. You can survive on beans and weenies. He has only a few years on the planet to enjoy. So, no, you go out and fish, but I’m going for a walk. And I can live on Vanilla Wafers and milk. I’m fine."

So that’s why Sissie wasn’t around when Kenneth (apparently) found the candy bar lying on the beach--a Baby Ruth, of all things, his favorite from his boyhood--which he probably had tasted last at the movies in grammar school in Quincy. It is known (or surmised, really) that he found the candy bar and unwrapped it right there where he stopped.

His tracks, according to the sheriff’s report, were made by the same boot bottoms as were used in his size ten Cabela neoprene waders, the ones with the cammy pattern and the reinforced knees but without the Thinsulate insulation in the boots. And they came out of the water, circled around, then headed back into the water.

Right there, on the water’s edge, the bottom of the lake was disturbed. It looked like skid marks on the slick river rocks, the layer of silty slime on them etched into two ski tracks heading into deeper water. What searchers read into these marks no one has suggested or mentioned, except to point out the fact that they appear to have been made by the same shoe soles as on those Cabela waders of Kenny’s.

No careful searching, high and low, upstream from the lake and down, had revealed that any tracks ever came out of the water. Dragging the lake for two days discovered nothing. His car was parked just a few rods away, one door ajar, his tackle box opened, and a Playmate with four cans of Budweiser in a pool of warm water. And the candy wrapper down by the beach, next to his custom Fenwick rod and reel and a half-empty can of niblets corn smeared with Power Bait.

Sheriff Jerry said to this reporter, "I fail to see why he couldn't catch anything using power bait and corn on this dun pattern. That, to me is the real mystery." I believe the sheriff was being cute or facetious, as his deputy smirked rather loudly after hearing this.

August passed into September, the trout season ended, and Sissie had not heard anything new from the sheriff’s people, who always assured her the case was still open and would remain so. But she knew.

She knew it was some bizarre form of karma, she held, and that was that. Nature had righted herself. She was not too concerned, for Kenny’s will provided for her with ample money for as many boxes of Vanilla Wafers as she cared to eat and as many cases of Coke as she could drink. He had been a good brother, just a really poor angler.

And each year until she died, she always made sure to honor Kenny’s memory at McDonald’s with a fish sandwich or at least a Baby Ruth if she wasn’t feeling like fish.
--MFM
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Topic Author's Reply - Apr 6, 2018 - 07:03pm PT
Credit: mouse from merced
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Topic Author's Reply - Apr 6, 2018 - 07:05pm PT
I've been in the Clouds and still somehow I remained dry.
I've been in the Clouds and still somehow I remained dry.
Credit: mouse from merced
zBrown

Ice climber
Apr 6, 2018 - 07:49pm PT
Why noit?

Couldn't' think of a name for the club.

Prowlers, Warblers, WagonWheels, Coachmen ? ...

How 'bout The Nomadz?

Credit: zBrown
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