ivan

pussy riot (looks like there won't be much new material for the next couple years )

it doesn't count as a homo-huddle when both (!) of yer partners are chix!

there's always mountaineering?

Trip: Drachenschweif - Gerber/Sink NordMordWand Date: 8/10/2012 Trip Report: august on the wing and waning, woefully - me worked-fuck 'fore too long i fear - week at the beach on the books since ever-fuck, how to squeeze out a measure of adventure from this parched and parting summer? wrangled the neo-jesus adam da phuzzy into a hip-shot of a plan, left in ruin after the bailout of the ever reliable joshk and others-such - to leavenworth, a fair burg i've not had the pleasure of in a strangely long time it seems saw some ole'boys scaling the gerber-sink on dragontail a few winters back - pat then in the death-grip of a non-particular flu, me feet afreezing on a solotrip up the n butt coulior of colchuck - ensuing cc.retard conversation brought out it 'twas a summer route as well, and so was the seed of my thought, set since everfuck afore purty route, like a purty mouth, and like that too, more fearsome once it's wrapped around yer wondrous johnson - starts at pretty much the lowest point on the massif - i like the mike layton concept of rating routes, seems i learned it awhile ago - all routes start w/ negative 3 stars - in this scheme, the gerber-sink (aptly named, as baby-sized particles seem to drain down it constantly) rates a mere zero stars, w/ a 1+ stars if you instead finish via the fin (as we did) - probably kewler in winter, in summer everything's frosted in fuck-crazy glacial-flour - easy, sure, but disconcerting when every hold and slab foot-placement feels as tenuous as if shrouded in talc -we stayed roped far more than would normally feel right, but it was hard, once in the meat, to give up security in so slippery a medium busted up from pdx lickety-split n' approached in the dying of the day, beer-sodden and cigarette o'ersoaked - atop the talus, we rested a spell and numbered the passing perseid showers, all stretched out w/ tails headed away from the dragon - cygnus honking and hollering and emigrating all through the milky effluence a cascade lake at cusp of day a golfer suiting up for a goat-fucker of an adventure a short approach, fo'shizzle we intended to solo as high as possible, but, easy as it all was, the fact that every rounded hold was covered in talc and grit made it hardly seem like a breeze careful there boy-o soon enough we were in rambly ground, but a few spots of silliness made a rope seem saner, and so we wandered up the wonky, sandy way, sticking where easiest where possible, yet never quite getting that business-casual stoke, the thunker hand in solid stone and crack coquettishness a baller gets when he's into his mountain medicine fierce and fiery still on the lower third shitty view, no? the crux of our slippery biscuit - we paused for a laugh n' a butt, but soon enough it was inevitable we'd have to cluster-fuck our way up it - how awesome was it that it was adam's pitch? a short chimney, 5.7 sure i suppose, but jesus-fuck, mean as a las vegas lady just shy of sun-up - flaring, floury, rotten as fuck in back - i only followed it by funneling the power of chairman-mao thought strait through my heart-chakra continuing above that chimney, i set a belay on an assful of gravel w/ a joke of an anchor i'm sure and brought the white-boy on up i'd a shit-eating grin writ-large on my silly face - my last pitch had set me just below yet another grim looking bit of wideness - luckily adam could scramble up and right of it we pulled above that and emerged into the mother of all grisly hanging-gravel piles - looking up we could see the fin and it seemed only common sense to make a bee line over to the backbone (right where the ridge joins as right) and finish on solid stone my back was pounding and sad-sore by the time fate shat us out at the base of the fin - though i'd done it once before i fucked it all up good n' proper, going way too far right along the easy ledges till i was just below the right-most block on the summit ridge - settled to do a fuck-all-stupid gearless traverse back onto ledges along the face, set a scrappy anchor, then went up left towards the leftmost block - maybe i shoulda continued that way, but a demon-simple beautiful double slanting crack led me back right to a siren-song of a hand crack, which left me here to bring up the baggage-boy no shitty piece of prime-rib i'd left this supplicant - i'd stop where i'd run out of rope, and was kinda-sorta-mostly sure there was a reasonable crack to get him up to the rightmost notch of the fin, from whence i remembered it was easy ground to the summit - in the end, old'boy whooped and waled and had himself a holler-fuck - just below the notch the crack fuckered off, and he figured out on the spot the intricate mechanics of the pendulum, swinging over into the regular route to finish - fun to follow! my damn near decade old memory failed me and it wasn't as simple a waltz in a girdle-skirt as i'd sussed it from their to the slum-it, so after another pitch, the hardy-old phuzzy got a last little bit of fun to Bring It All Home cool guys eschew slum-it shots, so we skedaddled on down the snowfield, sticking towards the rocks in honor of the running-shoe clad among us - hilarious hijinx of snow-melt sipping n' clifftop down-cavorting ensued, which ultimately had us at asgard and with only a single smoke to stretch the distance between there n' home in valahlla along the shores of our vernal, shaded lake, the phuzz absented-thee-from-felicty-awhile to evaluate the nocturnal, cliff-ed out descent we'd found - i can't help but agree gin - juice - bacon - grits - the shins and shits n' giggles - an interstate across the boulders - camels and brain-cheese - gut laughs and the kiss of the gentle breeze "then we ate mescaline and went swimming..." our trip WAS different - a half-bottle of gin each and staggering in the sun, our camels cashed we headed on down - dalliances w/ a darling of a lady ranger - her exact words something like "i think yer full of it" for fuck's sake - channeling laurence of arabia - "my fears are my own concern" - the dusty road - the heat of day - the distant reach - naps and the roar of time in passing - portland at the dying of the day - puffs n' parting - a glass of wine w/ the wife and another gallivant safe in the bag! Gear Notes: skinny 50 meter rope single set of nuts double set of cams, blue tcu to camelots #2, single #3, 4 couple double runners for slinging bullshit light axe for the descent

it's times like this we must ask ourselves: "what would lao tzu do?" it's worth remembering, any system for the ordering of human relations is going to have flaws, likely serious ones - if you wish to avoid the problems of large groups of people, you must therefore avoid people, as re-arranging their hats and clothes n' monikers accomplishes little...

actually, internet-wunderkind, "we the people" are the first 3 fucking words of the constitution! (far catchier than jefferson's "in the course")

sobo....sobo....sobo? shit, rings a bell, don't'it?

christ, you hang out w/ an anesthesiolist, you're likely to find a lot more shit inexplicably missing!

how'm i supposed to keep my kids on the farm after they've met karl hungus?

like so many fancy, fancy words i know, i gleaned it from rick atkinson's "army at dawn" - jebus christ, my sat verbal score was tits, but in that book i musta learned a new word every page! "diaphanous" also occurs there, and pairs up neatly w/ crepuscular my favorite verb though, was "debouche" - ah, tish, that's french!

did the horse ask you for a ride on the way back? i'd ride a clydesdale if only the size of their johnson didn't ashame me too much to allow it

i know this dude who regularly quits climbing every few years, sells off all his gear, yet is always back out before too long hey, fat, creaky bastards are all mt hood and the like, so take a big long nap, get good n' drunk, n' get back out there, hear?

random chance led to me expiring my last bottle of the good stuff this morning, leaving me nothing but cock sauce for the ratatouille concoction the wife knocked together for dinner 2night - not bad, i reckon, though frank's woulda fucked it up in a straight confrontation, i feel

actually anyone whose spent more than few hours in my presence knows i'm a true opportunist and will eat/drink/smoke/suck/fuck/consume/consume/consume! damn near anything i can get my paws on, especially if the sap's flowing and the moon's full

granted, good sir, the genus is the subject, not the species!

about the only thing steph and i have in common though is that we both have pretty sweet boobs but holy shit, sure, gotta keep that in mind for next year - how far is this traverse from princeton ya think? reasonalbe to do the whole enchilada in a day, so as to not piss off my peeps?

Don't forget the anchovies. and to deep fry it n' serve it up w/ a beer in a frosty glass i'll take that bet for a buck, american or canadian funny-money, no difference

who woulda thought cookie monster to be the voicebox of dog?

sorry drew, but only 1 thread/day is allowed tom waits references, and i've already laid my claim in the buffalo sauce debate, beyotch

didn't eddie murphy, in "the golden child," compare the devil to monty hall?

i don't do science, dude, i just learn the secrets of their dirty laundry, then fuck up all the details in the retelling mayhap the phone #'s in sweden? according to the book, you coulda made a ton of cash playing an illegal lottery in new york back in the day b/c the gangstas used the last 5 digits of the us treasury's daily account balance to generate their "random" #s - course, the mafia never had many qualms about breaking nerds fingers, neither, so maybe it wouldn't have been that wise?

i'll get my white lab-coat out of the dusty corner of the closet it's currently residing in and conduct some experiments this evening - might have to settle for the jalapenos though, as them n' bannana n' cayenne peckers are what i got growing out back at the moment

i'm just glad homeboy found something to do w/ the second half of his life as the first half, depicted here, was well, frankly, fucked! [video:youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K3mcvvz4-ec&feature=related

i like it on my grits

another interesting tidbit from this book: look at any random # you might see on the internet, in a phone book, in a newspaper, book, street sign, table of scientific information, etc. what is by far the most likely first digit in the #? which is the least likely initial digit?