gregm

you uneducated canucks... Let us go then, you and I,When the evening is spread out against the skyLike a patient etherised upon a table;Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,The muttering retreatsOf restless nights in one-night cheap hotelsAnd sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:Streets that follow like a tedious argumentOf insidious intentTo lead you to an overwhelming question...Oh, do not ask, 'What is it?'Let us go and make our visit. In the room the women come and goTalking of Michelangelo. The yellow fog that rubs it back upon the window-panes,The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panesLicked its tongue into the corners of the evening,Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,And seeing that it was a soft October night,Curled once about the house, and fell asleep. And indeed there will be timeFor the yellow smoke that slides along the streetRubbing its back upon the window-panes;There will be time, there will be timeTo prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;There will be time to murder and create,And time for all the works and days of handsThat lift and drop a question on your plate;Time for you and time for me,And time yet for a hundred indecisions,And for a hundred visions and revisions,Before the taking of a toast and tea. In the room the women come and goTalking of Michelangelo. And indeed there will be timeTo wonder, 'Do I dare?' and, 'Do I dare?'Time to turn back and descend the stair,With a bald spot in the middle of my hair--(They will say: 'How his hair is growing thin!')My morning coat, my collar mouting firmly to the chin,My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin--(They will say: 'But how his arms and legs are thin!')Do I dareDisturb the universe?In a minute there is timeFor decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse. For I have known them all already, known them all--Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;I know the voices dying with a dying fallBeneath the music from a farther room.So how should I presume? And I have known the eyes already, known them all--The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,Then how should I beginTo spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?And how should I presume? And I have known the arms already, known them all--Arms that are braceleted and white and bare(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!) Is it perfume froma dressThat makes me so digress?Arms that lie along a table, wrap about a shawl.And should I then presume?And how should I begin? * * * * * * * * * Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streetsAnd watched the smoke that rises from the pipesOf lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? . . . I should have been a pair of ragged clawsScuttling across the floors of silent seas. * * * * * * * * * And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully! Smoothed by long fingers,Asleep ...tired... or it malingers,Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald)brought in upon a platter,I am no prophet -- and here's no great matter;I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,And in short, I was afraid.And would it have been worth it, after all,After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,Would it have been worth while,To have bitten off the matter with a smile,To have squeezed the universe into a ballTo roll it towards some overwhelming question,To say: 'I am Lazarus, come from the dead,Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all' --If one, settling a pillow by her head,Should say: 'That's not what I meant at all.That is not it, at all.' And would it have been worth it, after all,Would it have been worth while,After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail alongthe floor --And this, and so much more? --It is impossible to say just what I mean!But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:Would it have been worthwhileIf one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,And turning toward the window, should say:'That is not it at all,That is not what I meant, at all.' * * * * * * * * * No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;Am an attendant lord, one that will doTo swell a progress, start a scene or two,Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,Deferential, glad to be of use,Politic, cautious, and meticulous;Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;At times, indeed, almost ridiculous --Almost, at times, the Fool. I grow old... I grow old ...I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?I shall war white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think that they will sing to me. I have seen them riding seaward on the wavesCombing the white hair of the waves blown backWhen the wind blows the water white and black. We have lingered in the chambers of the seaBy sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brownTill human voices wake us and we drown. "Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" - T.S. Elliot

let us go then you and i when the evening is spread out against the sky

sigs come and go talking of michelangelo

beware the ides of march.

http://us.imdb.com/Title?0058816you had to watch tv 30 years ago. for some reason i remember watching this as a little kid at my grandparent's house (along with the star trek episode where they encounter a giant ameoba in outer space).

most of these movies may be a rip-off of an old "i spy" episode i remember where bill cosby and robert culp (?) get hunted in the jungle. they rig up some clever booby traps from vines and stuff. although i guess it's a simple enough idea that someone may have thought of it earlier.

i'm being stalked!!!!!!!!!

quote: Originally posted by trask: Go Ray...good to have your bony ass around again. how do you know ray's ass is bony? ?

house: http://www.house.gov/writerep/ senate: WA Murray, Patty (D - WA)173 RUSSELL SENATE OFFICE BUILDINGWASHINGTON DC 20510(202) 224-2621senator_murray@murray.senate.gov Cantwell, Maria (D - WA)717 HART SENATE OFFICE BUILDINGWASHINGTON DC 20510(202) 224-3441http://cantwell.senate.gov/contact/index.html

i'd just like to say be nice to bicyclists. drivers are surrounded by a half ton of steel. bicyclists are surrounded by spandex. if you are making a turn you need to yield to bicyclists in a cross-walk (burke-gilman) EVEN IF YOU HAVE A GREEN LIGHT. DO NOT GO FLYING THROUGH THE INTERSECTION OF 25TH NE AND BLAKELY AND ACT SURPRISED BECAUSE SOME GUY ON A BICYCLE CAME OUT OF NOWHERE AND IS CURSING YOU OUT NOW. I HAD A GODDAM WALK SIGNAL. (every morning at 7:50 am. every night at 5:10...) thank you.

i can't believe this actually happened

this was on the seattle SAR page. it happened sunday: Subject reported that they had skied 1/2 down Granite Mtn and went back upfor another 'run'. From very near the top, they started skiing down, andthere was a 12-14 inch slab fracture, which carried subject down. Hereported trying to keep on top, and felt he was doing OK, but when he cameto rest, he felt 'lots' of snow continuing to come down and bury him. He'stuck an arm out' and put his other arm in front of his face. Then'quiet'. Subject's friend reported that he watched his friend being carried downentire face of Granite, from almost top to tree line, a couple of thousandfeet below. When his friend disappeared in avalanche debris, he thoughtthat was it. He worked his way down and began searching. He 'spotted anarm' sticking out of the snow, and yelling brought back his friend'sresponse. He then telephoned '911'. He was able to get his friend out, anddetermined there were no injuries. They then began walking out.

this thread has now gone to two pages. thank you.

quote: Originally posted by Nelly: Certainly, he has a far better chance of getting a talented and experienced instructor through RMI than say the Mountaineers or Mazamas. i've heard when RMI hires guides they have fairly little interest in how much climbing experience applicants have; that they are more interested in finding charismatic, out-going individuals who are in good shape and then spending a few days teaching them what they need to know to drag clients up the mountain. i'm sure guides who come back and do it for more than one season learn a fair bit from their experiences, but i wouldn't assume your RMI guide knows that much more than your well versed weekend warrior. they are not professional guides like in europe...

[ 03-07-2002: Message edited by: gregm ]

There are strange things done in the midnight sunBy the men who moil for gold;The Arctic trails have their secret talesThat would make your blood run cold;The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,But the queerest they ever did seeWas that night on the marge of Lake LebargeI cremated Sam McGee. Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee,where the cotton blooms and blows.Why he left his home in the South to roam'round the Pole, God only knows.He was always cold, but the land of goldseemed to hold him like a spell;Though he'd often say in his homely waythat he'd "sooner live in hell". On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.Talk of your cold! through the parka's foldit stabbed like a driven nail.If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes frozetill sometimes we couldn't see;It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee. And that very night, as we lay packed tightin our robes beneath the snow,And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erheadwere dancing heel and toe,He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess;And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request." Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no;then he says with a sort of moan:"It's the cursed cold, and it's got right holdtill I'm chilled clean through to the bone.Yet 'tain't being dead -- it's my awful dreadof the icy grave that pains;So I want you to swear that, foul or fair,you'll cremate my last remains." A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;And we started on at the streak of dawn;but God! he looked ghastly pale.He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all dayof his home in Tennessee;And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee. There wasn't a breath in that land of death,and I hurried, horror-driven,With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid,because of a promise given;It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say:"You may tax your brawn and brains,But you promised true, and it's up to youto cremate those last remains." Now a promise made is a debt unpaid,and the trail has its own stern code.In the days to come, though my lips were dumb,in my heart how I cursed that load.In the long, long night, by the lone firelight,while the huskies, round in a ring,Howled out their woes to the homeless snows --O God! how I loathed the thing. And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;And on I went, though the dogs were spentand the grub was getting low;The trail was bad, and I felt half mad,but I swore I would not give in;And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin. Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a triceit was called the "Alice May".And I looked at it, and I thought a bit,and I looked at my frozen chum;Then "Here", said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum." Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;The flames just soared, and the furnace roared --such a blaze you seldom see;And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee. Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled,and the wind began to blow.It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolleddown my cheeks, and I don't know why;And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky. I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;But the stars came out and they danced aboutere again I ventured near;I was sick with dread, but I bravely said:"I'll just take a peep inside.I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked";. . .then the door I opened wide. And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm,in the heart of the furnace roar;And he wore a smile you could see a mile,and he said: "Please close that door.It's fine in here, but I greatly fearyou'll let in the cold and storm --Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee,it's the first time I've been warm." There are strange things done in the midnight sunBy the men who moil for gold;The Arctic trails have their secret talesThat would make your blood run cold;The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,But the queerest they ever did seeWas that night on the marge of Lake LebargeI cremated Sam McGee. "The Cremation of Sam McGee" by Robert W. Service loosely relevant perhaps? i've always loved this one. [ 03-07-2002: Message edited by: gregm ]

quote: Originally posted by Dru: Just it wished to say that " you inhale " the individuals that smoke in the hut of the trepadores Saturday. I (this one is my opinion, and mine only) thinks that experience was very desconsiderado to ruin each one another one in such day to fill the hut of smoke of the crucible. I really enjoyed seating to me outside in the cold whereas you obtained your ignited furrow. True elegant people. I bet that he is great to be hummed for above in 10.000 feet. I watch outside towards for the paradise and the glacier of Nisqually in his way down ** Time-out ** to know I probable to be able to close of blow in this subject since I to be safe one great using amount in this card to be potheads, etc, (only one assumption since to be there much to thread class) but I to so have never to be pissed in 10.000 foot. you're not still talking about the original subject are you?

i can't help but feel a pain in my heart knowing this meaningless waste of bandwidth could be taking place over in "muir on saturday" - where all good spray belongs.

quote: Originally posted by Rainier Wolfscastle: 9.4mm X 70m hotline dry $1199.4mm X 70m hotline $99 do we really need 70m ropes? are we going to start seeing existing rap anchors spaced 35 and 70m apart? the main reason i see for carrying a 60 is you will find existing rap anchors spaced for these ropes and it can suck if you only have a 50. i don't want to be carrying heavy ropes around. can't we just have everybody use normal length ropes and stop the insanity?

quote: Originally posted by vegetablebelay: Last Spring on Whitehorse while coming down from High Pass, we saw a family headed up toward the pass and each was carrying a long (8') stick. They were wearing blue jeans and other odd mountainwear and they weren't very friendly no shit! i think i must have seen that same family right below lone tree pass the year before. my climbing partner was SAR and politely suggested they turn around, to which the oldest guy replies that he's "lived his whole life a couple miles from here." i still don't know what was up with those huge sticks, they were pretty thick too. and some of those kids were pretty young.

buy replacement straps for OR gators and sew them on. $2 and 5 minutes.

http://www.telemark-pyrenees.com/e_index.htm