far too much writing, far too many photos

runswithscissors


Sunday, July 13, 2003

Another upside to life in the country: I can walk outside and take a whiz any time I feel like it (and have sufficient bladder ammo). Standing in the fresh air, surrounded by amazing views, watering the wildflowers. Not an option in Madrid. At least not if I want to maintain the last shreds of my self-respect. (There are those individuals who relieve themselves outdoors in Madrid, but they mostly stink of booze and have problems talking coherently.)

Yes, I'm afraid it's true. I tend to pee outside when I'm here. At least during the few months when there's no snow on the ground and the place isn't teeming with blackflies looking to siphon off hemoglobin. And why not? It's easy, it's convenient, there's no flushing afterward (and therefore no handle to jiggle -- er, except mine). The air smells and feels great, the views are massively superior to those in the bathroom. And it puzzles the wildlife. Probably leaves traces whose bouquet gives the local red fox something to think about.

Why am I going on about this? Because the first thing I did after hauling myself out of bed this morning was unlock the kitchen door, step outside, head around the end of the house then down the hill to the section of land I refer to as the UFO landing pad -- an extensive, flat, circular plot of mown grass with a fine view in both directions up and down the valley -- where I spent a couple of minutes enjoying the vista while passing a pound or two of ballast. Birds singing, the wide expanse of sky spread out above, air rich with the scents of grass, flowers, trees. Not a bad way to start the day.

Oh, the simple pleasures.

But enough about whizzing outdoors.

Yesterday morning in Montpelier, during my brief visit to the town supermarket. Me, walking past the spritz-water. The in-store muzak (something I tend to ignore) suddenly caught my attention. Wasn't sure why for a couple of seconds, till I realized the musical pap of the moment had originally been a Steely Dan song.

They're strange moments, that kind of recognition. I recently came across a scrap of paper containing a few words scribbled on a December morning in 2001, as I sat in Barajas Airport in Madrid. Waiting to board a flight -- 7 or so a.m., not many folks about, a few Christmas decorations strung up here and there along otherwise featureless walls. Just sitting, lost in bleary thought, until I realized that the p.a.. had begun a muzak rendition of "Albatross" by Fleetwood Mac (the original line-up). I looked around, startled, a neutered version of a classically obscure Fleetwood Mac number the last thing I'd expected to hear at that hour. No beat, no guitars. No real personality. Just the melody, all sugared up.

I thought about that as I stood absorbing my first exposure to Steely Dan as muzak yesterday morning. And then I remembered the first time I heard a muzacked Beatles tune: Norwegian Wood, in an office building elevator. Felt kind of like an ambush, that occasion. I stepped into the car, the doors quietly closed behind me, my ears slowly picked up the quietly lush sound of many violins playing the Lennon-McCartney tune, my mouth dropped open.

There never really is any knowing what's about to come around the corner in this life of ours. Sometimes it's muzak, altering old familiar tunes in strange ways.

I have yet to hear muzak versions of anything by Nirvana or Pearl Jam or the Donnas or Weezer. But I mostly don't pay much attention to muzak. I don't tend to linger too long in joints that play muzak. There may be all sorts of music I love being transformed into aural anesthetics.

On the other hand, I imagine every time a song gets muzacked, the writer gets royalties. A bunch of studio musicians make some money playing the new versions. Resulting in a product that will play quietly in the background as I pay a quick visit to a supermarket., occasionally providing a strange surprise.

I'll survive. And maybe I'll spend more time at Montpelier's food coop -- a muzak-free zone.

Later.

rws 7:06 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
May 2003
June 2003
July 2003
August 2003
September 2003
October 2003
November 2003
December 2003
January 2004
February 2004
March 2004
April 2004
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August 2004
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November 2004
December 2004
January 2005
February 2005
March 2005
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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
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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

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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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runswithscissors would like to thank everyone who's ever lived for everything they've ever done.



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