I have no choice, I have no voiceI'm O.K. with my decay, so I rejoice

Lemme see.



I'm going to write obliquely about nothing, share nothing, say nothing, voice no opinion, show no emotion, not even a flicker of my eyelid.



I have a backlog of pictures, worth many thousands of words, but my fancy new camera is not talking to my computer(s).



I'm not going to let my insides fall to pieces, nor am I going to think I got this whole world figured out.



I want to make a hot tub time machine and clash with the titans of 1986.



Bring Radiohead back in time and just freak everyone out.



Did the cat get your tongue?



Did the string come undone?



I like strong, black, french roast coffee.



Immaculate concepts, immaculate conception, immaculate chili cheese dog. With jalapenos.



Sometimes nobody wants to play.



But those are the times when you use your imagination to dream up new worlds, make your own music and choose your own mystery.



I love you but enough is enough.



I ate lunch with Warren Miller at the Yellowstone Club on Saturday. (This is true.) He was sitting alone at a table and I asked if I could join him. I thanked him for all the joy he has brought me over the years, and I told him I quit my job as a lawyer in Wisconsin after ten years and moved out here to be closer to skiing.



He said, in that singular voice, "Screwed up your life, did I?"



Not exactly, Warren. The summers turned out to be pretty good, too.