far too much writing, far too many photos

runswithscissors


Wednesday, February 25, 2004

I don't know what I expected when I went to Sevilla -- whatever it may have been, it didn't include me walking about, mouth half-open, teeny little mind boggled by a seemingly endless display of beauty.

We wandered through narrow streets, stopping to eat now and then, getting something to drink -- passing, in one district, shop after shop after shop of wedding/confirmation/communion dresses. One tienda after another, display windows filled with gowns, some modest, some elaborate and showy. A startling peek into one aspect of local life, apparently a high-priority aspect.

And everywhere we went, beautiful architecture, beautiful old buildings in various states of care and repair. If I go on about this the way I'm inclined to, it will become brutally tedious in no time flat, so I'll foist some images on you instead:









Meanwhile, back at the hotel, in order to get a room with separate beds, G. and I had to book a triple, which turned out to have two single beds jammed together (miming a double) and one lonely single bed lurking just off the foot of the faux double. Three beds, a desk, a chair (along with the stray night table), all crammed into a small, dark space. A door led to the bodily functions annex: a long, narrow tiled room with a humongo, family-sized bathtub, and a more modest tiled dungeon with toilet/bidét/sink. Thank god for the annex, man. There were windows in there, and it didn't have the faint, mysterious, stale smell that the bed chamber had.

It had been a while since I'd shared a room with another male -- I'd forgotten the locker room aspect of having another guy in one's living space. There were a couple of moments when I surprised G. as he'd just finished taking a whiz, he seemed surprisingly jumpy. I found out why when a folded, slightly moist square of toilet paper fell from his hands to the floor. A peeny pad! (Something I will confess to having used from time to time.) Yet another confirmation of an old, uncouth truism: No matter how you shake and dance, the last few drops go down your blahblahblah.

He's an older guy, he doesn't have a 'puter, he has no idea I'm writing about this. That's probably a good thing.

rws 1:06 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
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

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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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