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runswithscissors


Monday, January 27, 2003

I am a bad American. I must be -- I not only had no interest in the Super Whatever, but until I stumbled across the information in another blog a Not only that short time ago, I actually didn't know which team was playing the Raiders.

Not only that – and I am not making this up – I still have no idea who won the game, much less what the score was. Come to think of it, I took a fast read through El Mundo as I had my morning I.V. of espresso, and I don't remember seeing anything about the game in the sports section. Plenty about Spanish league soccer (that's fϊtbol to the locals, and the teams play in La Liga), including the current scandalous state of Barηa (a story the Spanish media is all over like a wet tee on a 42D)(hey, that rhymed!), but nothing about the Super Bowl outcome. Maybe the final score came too late to make the morning papers here.

To compensate just the teeniest bit for my shameful lack of basic American testosteronic hoo-ha, here's a joke that sort of relates to the theme of this year's Super Bowl -- pirates! And as a bonus, the joke has two different answers. (This way when you inflict it on your friends -- both of them! -- you can tell one friend one answer and the other friend the other answer. Then when they run into each other and tell each other the joke – as of course they will, with a knee-slapper of this quality – they'll get into a tiff over which is the correct answer which will slowly grow into a serious, relationship-rupturing disagreement. And as the rift between them deepens, to the point that the very air around them darkens with bitter, frustrated animosity and toxic, unresolved rage any time they come within 200 feet of each other, you'll know it's because you poisoned their relationship with this simple joke! Won't that be fun?)

Er, where was I? Oh, right – the joke!

Q: What did Roman pirates say?

Ans. #1: I come to bury CeasARRRRR!
Ans. #2: Hey, nice togARRRRR!

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

This a.m., when I stuck my head out a window to see how the day felt, I was met by early spring: warm sunlight, a mild breeze, people walking around in light clothing, little winter apparel in sight, despite the fact that February is still a few days off. A steady warming trend has settled in since the end of last week, the days becoming steadily more beautiful. A preview of springtime, or a false spring – the kind of illusion with which I can live without complaints of any type.

Springtime here tends to arrive in a long, languorous process of comings and goings, a series of sweet, teasing feints – days of warm weather followed by cool, even cold stretches – until before you know it, the gradual warming has turned into the real thing. Everyone has switched over to warm weather gear, the plazas are filled with people sitting at tables chatting, hoisting glasses of water, soda, wine or beer, the murmur of conversation and laughter rising to drift softly down the narrow streets.

The warmer days free up the Spanish tendency to go out – sitting at outdoor cafes/restaurants, taking long, leisurely strolls, or shopping (especially now during las rebajas, the January sales). The level of activity in this barrio, Chueca -- already high -- flowers, to the point where it seems there are always people in the street, day or night, that there's always a feeling of life, of movement.

And today, with the warm weather came the sound of someone working in the partially-excavated, empty lot across the street. Not the intense, inescapable din of the big excavating machines of two weeks ago – the smaller, irregular sound of someone chipping away at something with hammer and chisel. When I stepped outside around 11:30 a.m., a single worker was crouched behind the temporary fence that's been toss up around the lot, chipping out some of the diamond-shaped pieces of concrete that compose the sidewalk. It's a nice sidewalk, one that's seen the traffic of countless human feet (shod in all kinds of footwear), often accompanied by sets of canine feet. I'm sorry to see it being carted off bit by bit.

In the meantime, I passed one or two midday hours taking advantage of the last few days of las rebajas – household stuff, a couple of shirts – during which I stopped in at a nearby so-funky-it's-chic secondhand clothing store called El Banco de La Ropa (The Clothing Bank). Found a couple of way cool satin jackets, both black, one embossed with a logo for a place in some small town in Pennsylvania called The After Hours Lounge. Both jackets priced right. But too big. Bugger.

Felt kind of decadent walking around shopping like that while most of the rest of the local world was in the middle of its work day. I may have to do some more of that. I think I hear some good, cheap footwear beckoning.

rws 3:22 PM [+]
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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
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June 2003
July 2003
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November 2003
December 2003
January 2004
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January 2005
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January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
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July 2008
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September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
June 2009
July 2009

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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

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ABOUT RWS/CONTACT





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