far too much writing, far too many photos Tuesday, September 04, 2001 I am well into taking over the new piso -- I brilliantly made a point of arranging this move so that I overlapped time in both flats, allowing me to undertake the process in leisurely fashion, one monster-wheeled-duffel-load at a time. And the new place appears to be gradually morphing into a home. The hitch so far has been the phone company, Telefónica. (A little, teensy hitch, considering how smoothly the process has gone in general.) A year ago, moving into the old place, trying to get the utilities into order -- the landlord gave me no info. or assistance, a vacuum that produced serious trouble when I tried to ascertain which electric company I had to deal with (for reasons never made clear, there's more than one possibility). The attitude of the company underlings I pleaded with from various pay phones turned out to be less than service-oriented. For a while they passed me back and forth, from company to company; when I finally determined the correct one and tried to get the account for the piso transferred to my name, they repeatedly put me off. Until finally, on a Thursday afternoon, I was told I would have to call back the following Monday, that for some reason they couldn't 'help' me any more that week. Monday morning: went to class. On returning to the flat early that afternoon, I discovered the power had been shut off -- essentially reducing me to an outraged, swearing mass of stressed-out protoplasm. Curtis, a friend staying with me for a couple of weeks, returned shortly after to find me thus and kindly took over, getting on the horn, talking with power company people in very passable Spanish until something got worked out. The power either came back on that night or the next morning, I don't remember which -- I only remember how miraculous simple refrigeration seemed, how grateful I felt when the flick of a wall switch actually produced light. So this year, knowing I wanted to move when the lease on that flat was up, I began the search process at the beginning of July, as I also began another few weeks of intensive Spanish classes. At the language school, I came across a small ad for a piso on the lounge bulletin board, called and spoke with a friendly British woman. She and her American husband let me take my time deciding on the flat, allowing me to see the place more than once, spending an hour or so with me both times chatting, until I signed on. With that arranged, I called Telefónica at the end of July to arrange the transfer of my phone from the old place to the new place on the last day of August. They told me a technician would call me the day before and set up the time for the work. Estupendo. In the following weeks, I realized that I'd rather have made the switch closer to the time that I'll be moving into the new place full-time. And guess what? Came August 30th, no phone call from Telefónica. They'd completely forgotten about me. To shorten a lengthy, boring story, it's now late Tuesday afternoon. I'm sitting in the piso, waiting for the installation person. Much closer to the time when I preferred the line be switched over. How about that, huh? Yesterday, the landlord of the old piso showed up in the morning so we could go over the place together. During the previous autumn and winter, he'd made mistakes in dealing with me that indicated his concern was getting the rent, not taking care of things in the flat. Over the last 2-3 months, his manner with me has changed immensely, becoming softer, more human and attentive, and though no problems in the flat were taken care of, I appreciated his change in tone. Yesterday, there was some confusion over the exact amount of the security deposit I gave him last Sept. -- he never provided a receipt for that, just a copy of the lease agreement -- and through what could have been an explosive process, he behaved with gentlemanly equanimity. It's interesting how the change in his manner happened after I did some serious work on adjusting my attitude toward him. Appreciating the good things a person does instead of their errors can have surprising effects. Or one might prefer to chalk it all up to chance. Either way, I'm pleased with the changes. The new flat feels very Spanish -- the walls and moulding are stucco and white, white, white; an expansive spread of built-in shelves across one wall of the sala de estar (living room) is lined with white tile. Spanish sunlight, a distinctive type of illumination, spreads in through the windows; the rapid Castellano of passersby in the street below comes and goes with the light breeze. Me: obnoxiously content. The installation technician for Telefónica called a few minutes ago to assure me he would be here soon. My life continues trickling from one phase to another, like water down a gentle slope. rws 2:02 PM [+] BLATHERINGS August 2001 September 2001 October 2001 November 2001 December 2001 January 2002 February 2002 March 2002 April 2002 May 2002 June 2002 July 2002 August 2002 September 2002 October 2002 November 2002 December 2002 January 2003 February 2003 March 2003 April 2003 May 2003 June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 December 2003 January 2004 February 2004 March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 January 2006 February 2006 March 2006 April 2006 May 2006 June 2006 July 2006 August 2006 September 2006 October 2006 November 2006 December 2006 January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 June 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 December 2007 January 2008 February 2008 March 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 July 2008 August 2008 September 2008 October 2008 November 2008 December 2008 January 2009 February 2009 March 2009 April 2009 June 2009 July 2009 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . MORE FOCUSED BLATHERINGS Travels: London '01 Pamplona Italy '03 U.K. '03 Sevilla Casablanca Stoke-on-Trent Barcelona Québec/Ottawa Boston/Lisbon/Madrid Italy '04 Montréal La Sierra Events: Madrid -- arrival 9/11 Emergency Room I Holidays 2001 Holidays 2002 Holidays 2003 Holidays 2004 Holidays 2005 A neighbor's passing Madrid -- March 11 bombings   and aftermath Emergency Room II Israeli friend/Madrid Marathon Madrid -- Royal Wedding The DELE exam GONE, a novel: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 THE BASTARD CHILDREN OF JOE ROCCO, a novella: -- Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 3 BURBANK SHRUGGED, a screenplay: -- Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 3 -- Part 4 Short stories: Murphy's Wife Another Autumn La Queja de Una   Hermanastra Muy Conocida Autobiography -- Personal History -- Hormones On Parade -- Accidents, Random Mishaps,     Personal Problems .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . OTHER SOURCES OF WHOLESOME ENTERTAINMENT People/Weblogs: dooce foxvox fudge it fear not rebekka bookslut 802online idle words madhaiku wockerjabby grow-a-brain rebel market letting me be out and about kung fu grippe fanatical apathy baghdad burning wfuv's music blog kexp's music blog mimi smartypants between the miles just a hippie gypsy the impossible cool tomato can brushes vermont homestead sugar mountain farm Good Clean Fun: gizmodo futurismic postsecret dave barry human clock mcsweeney's spaceweather book-a-minute internet archive self-portrait day my cat hates you out of context quotes surrealist compliment   generator strindberg and helium Makin' Musical Whoopee: last fm stereo8 pandora soma fm .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . ABOUT RWS/CONTACT This page and all its contents copyright © 2001-2011 by runswithscissors unless otherwise noted. runswithscissors would like to thank everyone who's ever lived for everything they've ever done. 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