When you have nothing to say, this is an effective way to say it.

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Whitegrass, Canaan Valley W. Virginia Pt. 2

More images from a short long weekend at Whitegrass Cross Country ski haven in West Virginia, where the silence is white and the stillness can be absolute.

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One night, they all popped up, just like that: these colored lines on the sidewalks and streets. They’ve been there now, all over town, for about a month. In an abstract minimalist way, they’re kind of pretty; colorful at least. Some people think that they have something to do with infrastructural plumbing repairs that will happen sooner or later. Some think that they mark where cable or phone lines or gas lines are located. Others think that they are coded messages from extraterrestrial beings sending us warning prophesizing the end of days.

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Whitegrass in the snow

These 3 images are from Whitegrass, a X-Country ski facility in the Canaan Valley of West Virginia. We love going there because of the skiing and the people and the food in the Cafe and the fact that it's not Washington, D.C. Sometimes there's no snow and we like it even then. This global warming thing is not going to be kind to ski resorts in West Virginia. It probably won't be that good for the business models of places in Vermont either, come to think of it. But, for the time being, things are still good.

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Well, when you get right down to it, everything (except the environment, the war in Iraq, the economy, the whole bird flu thing, the man who got shot by our Vice President, Greenland's ice cover, and Television programming) is ducky.

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He asked the teacher, "Father, what is the nature of our reality?" The teacher answered, "Our reality is like the landscape you see when you look out of the window of a speeding train. The farther away it is, the more clearly it can be seen; the closer it is, the more confused."

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These 3 sisters are about all that's left of this old neighborhood. It looks like they huddled together for the warmth.

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"Nothing to do to save his life, call his wife in..." (Lennon/McCartney)

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"Anxious About Anthrax": Today's most interesting SPAM subject line. How 2001! I'm more anxious about crossing the street or about what my annual physical exam will turn up. If I were a cow I'd be anxious about anthrax maybe. But then cows don't seem to be very anxious about anything.

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In the evening, just before she fell into sleep, she could hear it: the music. She would close her eyes and concentrate on the silence. And then slowly she would be able to pick out the music from the background of darkness. She would hear the strings and the horns sounding a sustained note that slowly evolved into a chord that resolved itself into a fullness that could only be experienced as something physical, or imagined, because nothing as rich or as full could be heard while awake. The sounds were lush and complex. Sometimes the bass end predominated; sometimes the reeds or horns, but mostly it was the strings in all their glory that carried her away into sleep and peace.

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I've been studying SPAM mail more closely as it is the raw material for my book (see post below:

http://musicfromthefilm.blogspot.com/2006/02/it-came-to-me-in-dream-last-night-i.html

The interesting thing to me today is that the senders of this junk have all adopted or been assigned very waspy names. A sampling of today's treck mail were sent to me by "Margaret Gill", a sweet sounding, rather school marmish lady I imagine, who wants me to take advantage of her specials on "manly" medications before Valentine's Day. Then there's "Brody West". He sounds like an olympic speed skaters, yes? And "Lenny Rice", a failed Borsch Belt comedian. And" Darryl Boyden" (you can almost picture him sailing to Nantucket), and "Nathan Nelson", "Luke King", and, my personal favorite, "Millicent Atkinson". Oh, Millicent! Where did we go wrong?

What do you suppose this says about our society? There wasn't one Darnell or LaTeasha or a Li Chen or even a Hans or Vlad in today's batch. Only what sounds like and reads like graduates of Yale University or Harvard Law School. What's up with that?

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It's good to have a place to sit and rest awhile, especially if it's away from all of those unauthorized vehicles. And, what exactly would those be? U.F.Os? Escalades? Skateboards?

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Two dinosaurs fighting fiercely over the same ceramic pot. (Say that quickly 10 times)

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It is progressively more difficult for cigarette smokers in the Washington, DC area to smoke inside. Smokers are being driven outside where they can contribute to the greenhouse gases that the cars are exhaling into the atmosphere. When it's cold, I feel sorry for them. A better habit to have in the winter might be snorting cocaine which is a better indoor addiction than cigarettes.

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It came to me in a dream last night: I will write a novel comprised of only the subject lines from SPAM emails sent to me. A loosely based version of myself will be the leading character in this book. It will be a pornographic medical mystery. The characters will be hot teen aged young girls from Russia who want to enable me to refinance my home at a very low rate. Because of a mix up in my presecriptions from Canada, there will be complications with my penis which will grow to an astonishing size. Before I can be returned to my normal world, I will have to varify my accounts with all online banks and retail sellers. I don't know the ending yet, but I'm certain that the inspiration will come in this week's mail. Or next week's. Or the week after that at the latest. It will have something to do with enhanced love or friends with benefits, which I will need because of the Medicaid problems in the US.

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C'est difficile, n'est-ce pas ? Ce tristesse. Cette fatigue. Ce vide.

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She said: "I cut my hair off before it could fall out. People looked at me strangely, so I wore a scarf on my head, even in the Summer. I had to take a three-hour plane ride for my chemo. I was tired all of the time, but somehow I pulled through. But, I kept thinking, "Why me? Why did this happen to me? What did I ever do to deserve this?" And, "Maybe dying wouldn't really be that bad." But, then I thought of my family and my friends, and I just pulled through somehow. I just somehow pulled through. I don't know how, really. Now I know I could do almost anything."

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He said: "I've got three kinds of inoperable cancers; I don't have time for a lot of stupid stuff. I don't have time for nasty hiphop singers chanting love verses to their blingbling or dissing their 'hos. I don't want to hear 35 year old teenagers squawking on my radio about sport highlights and girl on girl sex. I'm entering the death zone here. I don't have time for this sh*t."

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