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Monday, June 13, 2005
The envelope please... 
| | In the lobby of the hotel here in Copenhagen, where the verdict is (woops, verdicts are) about to be read on the Michael Jackson trial. All eyes are on the big flat screen, where CNN builds the suspense... |
| | Actually, both eyes. Mine. I'm the ony one here. It's 11:05pm. |
| | "The judge is on the bench." He's reading the verdicts. Let's listen in... |
| | Not guilty of conspiracy. First count. |
| | Not guilty of a lewd act. Second count. |
| | Not guilty of another lewd act. Third count. |
| | Not guilty of another lewd act. Fourth count. |
| | Not guilty of (yada). Fifth. |
| | Not guilty of the sixth count. |
| | Not guilty of the seventh. Administering a toxic agent in (something) of a felony. |
| | Not guilty of providing alcholic beverages. |
| | At this point Tom Sneddon is guilty of wasting a huge amount of the everybody's time and money. |
| | The list is going on. No point in laying out the details. The dude is clear. |
| | Thus ends this blog's entire interest in the Jackson Matter. Carry on. See ya back where the circus was. |
| | Cheap thrills: keep hitting refresh. I'm getting new results every time. (On the first one, Technorati's new beta search site.) |
Not Western
| | We drove north up the coast from Copenhagen, and stopped to walk to Dyrehaven, with a beautiful old castle/home on a hill (Erimitagen) overlooking a vast open meadow flanked by ancient trees with drooping canopies trimmed flat across the bottom by herds of giant deer. |
| | It's nice to get into the country for a day. That term, "into the country," made a most of terrific title of John McPhee's book about Alaska. McPhee, perhaps the best writer about outoor subjects (or anything), loves to use the term. For example: |
| | "It pays to put your nose on the outcrop," she says, turning the sample in her hand. With a smaller hammer, she tidies it up, like a butcher trimming a roast. With a felt-tip pen, she marks it "l." Moving along the cut, she points out xenoliths—blobs of the country rock that fell into the magma and became encased there like raisins in bread... |
| | Country is more than out-of-town. It's the real place town occupies. |
| | We have country music in the U.S. And countryside. But not country like here in Denmark. Not quite. |
| | There are lengths of aqueduct in the woods above Santa Barbara, built by indians for the Mission, two hundred years ago. There are inconguous berms of stones, running in lines through trees in woods all over the Northeast, boundaries of land cleared for farming ten generations ago. Yet neither carries the sense of deep and continuous history that pervades an old country like Denmark. |
| | It's not only that one senses history (though one often does), but that any country old and autonomous enough to produce its own language has rural settings that require respect and care. |
| | Or so it seemed to me this morning, walking in the drizzle. |
| | I'll annotate the above with photos when I get the chance. Right now I'm wrapping some work before I fly back to California early tomorrow morning. |
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