In the city of celebrity

Snow is the culprit, dirtier of windows, icer of atmosphere. Those spots and the clearings caused by the wipers surround us; we're traveling to Park City for the first time. Canyon roads are just fractures spilling across the white landscape, and these vehicles, these ubiquitous vehicles - spouting fumes into the freeze - are just insects, mosquitoes in the summer, annoyances, burdens. We're scaling the plateau, up one level from the valley below, until Heber appears against the backdrop of the frosted tips and glazed peaks. Somehow these roads lead us, unscathed by the relentless schizophrenia that winter provides in all its fickleness. They are the beacons of the valleys, connecting one to another, stairstepping up and up until the temperature's drops are less noticeable - because it just can't get any colder - it already chaps your lips and eyelids regardless, and the road signs are almost completely illegible.

Park City welcomes all those fashionistas, touting the utmost in class, and outdoor experience!, of opportunity and demeanor, culture, expense, and desirability. The lives of the stars. The upward spiraling of the significant. We don't fit in, but it doesn't matter. Our cars are filthy, our clothing less expensive - unwashed or recycled even - our presence is one of mistake, but we don't mind. We've as much a right here as, say, Shia LaBeouf - right over there! In the blue sweatshirt, did you see him? Shaking hands, signing autographs, smiling pleasantly, self-assuredly, ostensibly reluctant or embarrassed by the recognition. "I love your work." "I'm such a fan." "Job well done. Job well done. Congratulations. Excellence."

These forever-eyes are searching, calculating. With each passing group you are stared down, into your deepest, densest self - is that someone to recognize, from television, the theatres, People? Some continue on, glancing backward, their curiosities unsatisfied, still seeking, searching. We all do this; there's no end in sight. A human zoo or attraction of sorts. We all may be celebrity, and none of us may be. Sight is deceiving - beanies, scarves, ludicrously oversized sunglasses, all hide the most blatant of facial features. We are one and the same, yet we all walk in awe of each other.

But the cold!, the shameful, conspiring cold! It'd find nothing more joyous than thousands of preserved, frozen bodies lying prostrate in the street gutters, torn from their sickly-sweet enjoyments with smiles of indifference or gaping gasps of shock still engraved across their cheeks. "They never saw it coming. They had no idea!"

[From the day of 22 January 2006]