far too much writing, far too many photos

runswithscissors


Wednesday, December 04, 2002

Well, so far Madrid has not let me down. My first full day back was an extravaganza of sunlight, blue sky, temperatures in the low to mid-50s F. The kind of day that gets people shedding their cool weather gear, pouring out into the streets to soak up the light, the mild air.

I had lunch in a vegetarian restaurant around the corner from here, a place with good food but little in the way of windows and therefore light from the outside world. When I emerged from there the day was in full flower, and you could see its effect on the people passing by. It's hard to maintain a dark frame of mind or sour expression when the world around one insists on partying like that. Glorious sunlight, the kind that falls between the buildings into the narrow streets like a golden mist. Some folks had put their caged songbirds – canaries are exceedingly popular here – out on their balcones, and those sweet feathered buggers sang their hearts out.

I woke up late after a night that began the process of recouping sleep, something that had been a bit skimpy over the last month or so. Yesterday, after my arrival, I had an enormous lunch at a neighborhood restaurant, which included major quantities of liquids, so I was out of bed to empty the ballast at regular intervals during the nighttime hours. At one point, I woke up and rolled over, not realizing I'd moved to the edge of the bed in my sleep. So that before my teensy brain could register the change in my situation I'd rolled right off the mattress to the bedroom floor, the managed that particular move in this lifetime. It's a nice floor -- a parquet job, finished with a thick, nicely glossy finish -- but not the destination I'd intended for myself at 4 or so a.m. That had me cracking up for a few minutes. I am so glad this piso isn't fitted out with videocams.

When I finally opened my eyes to find the growing light of the day seeping tentatively in the bedroom windows, the hour was 8:20, not giving me a lot of time to shower/shave/etc. then drag my patoot to the language school to begin a few weeks worth of classes and get my flabby Spanish back into something approximating decent condition. Somehow I zipped through the morning routine, ‘cause I walked into the building that houses the school just as a nearby clock was tolling 9 a.m., even managing to collar a fine cup of espresso at a café near the school. (Real coffee! Real, full-bodied, aromatic, delicious European coffee! I pause here to give the Universe groveling thanks for simple but substantial pleasures.)

I hadn't made any prior arrangements with the school before showing up there this morning, so the three brothers who run the place met me with genuine smiling surprise, seeming sincerely glad to see my humble, half-awake self. Which felt just fine until my butt was planted in a classroom chair and I'd discovered that those three characters had once again condemned me to weeks of classes centered around the infinite uses and varieties of the subjunctive verb form, a form of slow torture that can wear one slowly down, resulting in a progressively confused, passive state in which the student hands over wads of euros to an increasingly prosperous school and devotes an inordinately large part of one's day trying to master a verb form that likely doesn't exist except as a mode of torture employed to break the will and spirit of unwitting furriners. [See journal entry for 23 July, 2002.] On top of which I found myself the only male in a group of four very young 20-something German women and a young, mighty serious 20-something Polish woman, along with la profesora, a smart, charming 20-something woman named Patricia, a few years older than the other females. Not that being the only male in a group of babes is a problem. On the contrary. It's more that the other students seemed at times to consider me an ancient, gray-haired fart – me being somewhere in the neighborhood of twice their age – a doddering old codger whose faculties are waning, particularly the higher processing abilities. If I'd been fully awake that might not have been a problem either. But since I was functioning in a bit of a post-travel, sleep-deprived haze, I think I reinforced the impression of limited mental capacities a few unfortunate times, something I will correct in the coming days as I catch up on shuteye and reassert control over this doddering, weakened mind and body.

During the course of the day -- school in the morning, lunch, a trip to the gym during the afternoon -- it became apparent that the city, at least today, didn't seem to be its normal crowded self. I saw far fewer people than normal using the Metro during my trips in various directions, cafes and restaurants were less crowded. Even here in this barrio, the street life has been quieter, more sedate, from the number of folks wandering around to the noise level, to the quantity of posters on the wall across the street ("Alice Cooper -- the Descent Into Dragonland Tour -- el 12 de Diciembre"; "HAY QUE VOLVER A EMPERZAR II – Artistas Unidas En Defensa De Las Mujeres Maltratadas – CD YA A La VENTA" [ONE HAS TO RETURN TO BEGIN II -- Artists United In Defense of Battered Women -- CD Now On Sale]; "PEARL JAM – Riot Act – Nuevo Disco"; "Los Secretos – Nuevo Disco: Solo Para Escuchar – 11 Nuevas Canciones – A La Venta Desde El 18 De Noviember" [The Secrets -- New CD: ‘Only For Listening' -- 11 New Songs -- On Sale from November 18th]). Life here right now, for some reason, is being conducted at a lower, more relaxed pitch. There's a long weekend coming up, I think, this one or the next one. That could conceivably have something to do with it. But I can't say for sure. I'll have to bother one of my Spanish acquaintances about it and see what they say.

Meanwhile, I'm enjoying the slightly mellow intro to my return.

******************

A quick note: you may have noticed this entry has been posted twice. It's due to some quirk in Blogger, possibly having to do with their Department of Redundancy Department. It's a bit goofy in that if I make changes to one of the duplicate entries the changes do not show up in its, er, twin. If I try to delete the duplicate entry, however, both entries disappear. Go figure.

I have hopes that this will be addressed and fixed soon.


rws 2:34 PM [+]
Comments: Post a Comment

Links to this post:

<\$BlogItemBacklinkCreate\$>
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.



Syndicate This Site

Blogarama

BlogCatalog

Bloggapedia, Blog Directory - Find It!



technorati profile

Subscribe with Bloglines

www.flickr.com
runswithscissors' photos More of runswithscissors' photos