rock sites

dancing-thru-clouds  asked:

I would like for you to tell stupid tourist stories? Your story-telling style is very engaging.

First of all, thank you very much!

Since flattery will get you pretty much anywhere, allow me to tell you The Tale Of Jar-Jar.

The First year my family moved to Colorado, my family decided to take the annual summer camping trip to Yellowstone, now that we were on the right side of the rockies for it.  So we pile into the car with all my mom’s immortal camping gear from the 70′s (srsly, I still have the Colemann stove and cooler.  They work perfect)  and Cody,The Gentleman Shepherd.  

Due to Wyoming looking mostly like the ugly parts of Mad Max, we got onto the wrong highway and arrived after dark.  Cody waited patiently in the backseat rather than set up in the rain.  Gentlemanly.

The next morning, Mom is doing something miraculous with the Colemann and there is a breakfast of pancakes, eggs and bacon.  The sun is shining.  The birds are singing.  All is serene and beautiful. 

Then the people in the next site pull up.   They arrive in a Brand-spanking new Ford Pickup towing a trailer that looks like it was salvaged of a 50′s atomic test field.  The Husband emerges first and…

I don’t like judging people based on appearance but Man, when a dude walks out of a pickup wearing a confederate flag hat, and half of a mullet one tends to make assumptions.  

The eldest child came out next, a boy of about 12, with a rat-tail.
Followed by his brother, a boy of about 10, with a rat-tail
Followed by his brother, a boy of about 8, with a rat-tail.
Followed by his brother, a boy of about 6, with a rat-tail.
Followed by his brother, a boy of about 4, with a rat-tail.

The wife finally emerges, looking like death warmed over and carrying a boy of about two, with a rat-tail.  It is unclear if she has poor posture or if she is pregnant again.  The Boys capable of standing all immediately do so at the border of our site, staring covetously at my bacon.

Finally, with a loud plop and wheezing noise, comes thier dog, for a given value of dog.  Pugs are not terribly healthy-looking creatures at the best of times, but this poor thing looked like the canine equivalent of a Hapsburg.  One eye was so bulged as to be permanently wall-eyed, and his jaw jutted out in front of him at a distressingly kapakahi angle. 

“C’mere Jar-Jar!” hollers the Husband.

“Good God.” muttered my father.

The adults proved over the course of the next hour to be loathsome creatures- Husband was constant’y screaming at the boys the “fuckin’ get me the thing, you little-”  then getting mad when asked for clarification on ‘which thing?’.  The Wife was a non-stop stream of complaint- the sun is too hot, the shade is too cold, the tent is too far, the birds are too loud, and everything is awful, I’m going to complain to the ranger.  Eventually they got their camp set up, and Husband cracked his first beer of the day as we finished locking the bear box and leaving to hike.  It was about 10 AM.

We return some hours later to a very animated discussion between Wife and the Camp Supervisor about “I have rights you know!” vs. “Ma’am, we are under an extreme fire danger warning, and Fireworks have been banned in the park for ages.”  Jar-Jar, eager to avoid any outbursts, has scuttled under our bear box, wheezing in agitation.  Cody, ever gallant, positions himself between Jar-Jar and his mistress, doing his best impression of a Real Shepherd Who Isn’t Scared of Mice and Snowflakes.  Husband is unseen, but there are several beer cans in the fire grate.

That evening’s campfire, normally a time to listen to nocturnal wildlife and the Quiet noises of wild places, is instead a time to listen to drunken racist jokes, a sobbing toddler and Husband screeching “SAY AI WANNIT” whilst dangling scraps in front of jar-jar, until the dog stood on his legs and danced, garbling “Ai-Wa-War”  in a voice that sounded less like a bark and more like late-stage emphysema, before collapsing on what looked like sore joints.

Late that night, my parents discuss packing up and looking for a site in Teton down the road over the sounds of half-assed drunken sex.

The boys, in spite of their parents, are well mannered, intelligent and engaging to talk to, and seem content to frolic in the woods around the site, examining rocks and plants and the occasional insect.  Dad has a nice time telling them about the Yellowstone supervolcano whilst their parents have vanished to parts unknown.  Jar-jar remains off-lead and un-collared the entire time, huffing and puffing as he tries to keep up.  Still, five boys is perhaps too much attention for an elderly pug, and the too-hard petting and pulling of ears and tail and suchlike is tolerated with an exasperated whine and vacations under our bear-box. 

The second night, Husband was furious about something, cursing up a storm and throwing things and generally having a tantrum.  The eldest boy said something to him and he bore down on him, hand raised and screaming something about ‘useless pieces of shit.”
-When they were interrupted by my mother stepping into their site, all four feet eleven inches of ill-contained fury, staring him down.

“I was wondering.”  She said, eyes not moving from him. “If I could borrow some matches.”
“Ours got wet.” Dad added, immediately behind her, less as support than restraint.

I remember how ghastly quiet the woods got for a moment there, watching the scene unfold from behind Cody, the only sounds the campfire and crickets.

“Uh, yeah.  Matches.”  The Wife muttered, and it was enough to get Husband to back down.

“You have lovely children.”  Dad continued.  “Very smart, very polite.”
“You must be so blessed.” My mother adds, only slightly spitting the word.

My parents take the matches and talk a bit longer but I couldn’t hear.  Husband gave up, flopping down in his chair, but not before giving Jar-Jar a kick.

The next morning, as my family was packing up to head down to Teton instead, The Eldest boy approached us, concerned.

“Sir?”  he asked dad.  “Have you seen jar-jar?”

We hadn’t actually, his gravely groveling notably absent that morning at breakfast.  My sister and I went on a search with the boys through the camp, but to no avail.  We did find Wife, complaining to the campground host that there were too many wild animals around.  In the National Park.  Saddened and trying to give the boys some hope that perhaps jar-Jar had not been eaten by the coyotes, we left.

On the way out the main gate, we ended up behind a Buick with Florida plates, driven by a couple well into their octogenarian period, at about seven miles per hour.  As they stopped at the checkout gate, clearly asking for directions, a dog climbed up to sit in the back window.  A fat, lop-sided, wall-eyed little Pug, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

And that’s the story of how Jar-jar escaped the Hell family to Florida.

Cape spear - 2015

The Cape Spear Lighthouse National Historic site at sunset. Newfoundland, Canada.


Pairing: Stan Uris x Reader

Request Summary: Being Eddie’s sister is hard enough, but when you’re dating Stan?


You and Stan walked behind the group, careful to not let them see you two holding hands.

You guys had been dating for about a month and a half, but didn’t want to let anyone know about it. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust them, but it was more because of your brother.

You were (Y/n) Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak’s younger sister. You were only younger than him by a couple of months, but Eddie took great pride in reminding you that he was older.

But along with being younger came the protectiveness. With your mom always breathing down your necks, Eddie made sure that she could never manipulate you. She could mess with him all she wanted, but Eddie would rather die than let her control your life.

He was also very protective in the sense that he didn’t want you talking to guys. Excluding his friends, it wasn’t that Eddie wanted you to be alone forever. God no. He just didn’t want you to experience any heartbreak.

So, because of that, you and Stan decided that it would be best if you didn’t let anyone know about your relationship. Your main concern was Richie and his loud mouth.

And for the most part, it was going pretty well. You two had managed to hide it for this long, so what could go wrong?


It had been a normal day; the losers all wanted to hang out and if Eddie was going, then so were you. You all met up at the park and decided to head to the Quarry. While Ben and Bev walked in the front, Eddie and Richie were behind them, followed by Bill and Mike. Last but not least were you and Stan.

You swung your hands back and forth, enjoying the sun. Stan had a small smile on his face, happy that you were happy.

Not long after, you all arrived at the Quarry and got ready to jump off the cliff. You had jumped with Bev, screaming in delight as you plummeted. Once everyone was in the water, you messed around with each other, splashing water and playing chicken.

After a couple of hours playing in the water, you all had gotten out and were sitting on some rocks to dry. You chatted with Bev, talking about something random when you heard your bother speak.

“Stan, stop staring at my sister.”

“Leave me alone, I can stare at my girlfriend if I want to.”

Your head snapped towards the two boys and your eyes met with Stan’s.

“What the fuck?!”

You all looked at Eddie, only to find confusion and slight anger on his face.

“What do you mean ‘my girlfriend’? Is there something you want to tell me?” He stared at you as he talked.

“Surprise?” You shrugged sheepishly.

“How long has this been going on for?” Eddie asked.

“About a month and a half,” Stan responded.

You watched as your brother covered his face with his hands and leg out a long sigh.

“And you didn’t bother telling me?”

“To be fair,” Bev started. “None of us knew either.”

“But still!” defended Eddie. “That’s my sister! I would think that I would be the first one to know!”

You sighed.

“Eddie, if I told you, you would’ve had an aneurysm.”

“I would not!” He objected.

“Okay,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“Anyway, I’m sorry that we didn’t tell you. We were scared you were going to get angry and punch Stan or something.”

Eddie shook his head.

“I mean, I’m mad that you didn’t tell me. But I understand. Plus, I get to do this.”

Eddie stood up abruptly and shoved Stan of the rock he was siting on, pushing him into the water.

“Stan!” You gasped, looking over the edge.

A couple seconds later, your curly haired boyfriend popped up out of the water.

“What was that for?!” He yelled.

“For dating my sister,” Eddie shrugged.

Walking over to him, you punched him lightly in the arm, shaking your head.

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah, an asshole that’s still your older brother, so watch it.”

You helped Stan out of the water, setting aside some of the hair that was in his face. He smiled at you and you gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

“Hey! Do you know how many germs get spread through kissing!”

The losers all collectively groaned. This was going to be a long night.


Watson’s Dodd. by Alan
Via Flickr:
Castle Rock below to the left..


Killing Yourself to Live: 85% of a True Story by Chuck Klosterman  

So here’s the deal: we have a love-hate relationship with Klosterman. We have been recommended to read this book by friends and followers, so we thought it would be fair to bring it up to any who may be interested. Now, this is not our favorite book in the world or the worst book by any means, but it is interesting and we can imagine many people who would name Klosterman their favorite author upon opening it.

A pop culture writer and whiz, Chuck Klosterman drove a rental car New York to Rhode Island to Georgia to Mississippi to Iowa to Minneapolis to Fargo to Seattlle in 21 days with stops at different famous rock and roll death sites, such as Sid Vicious’s hotel room and Cobain’s crime scene. Although this is an unorthodox approach on a memoir, he uses this vehicle to explore life and love.

He proves to have deep insight into the human condition, while raising a couple of questions on topics of love we all have thought about. He is a bit narcissistic, sad, lovesick, cynical, which he would most likely agree to and support by stating that all intelligent people are sad, cynical, self-centered and hopelessly in love with something or someone.

Read excerpts from the book here!

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