far too much writing, far too many photos

runswithscissors


Tuesday, April 13, 2004

Returned to Spanish class yesterday evening after nearly four weeks of desperately-needed time away. Between the events of mid-March Madrid and trying to do a poopload of writing, I ran out of gas, not to mention time and desire to study, so that my performance in the last classes attended back then deteriorated pretty drastically. A waste of my and everyone else's time.

So here it is, mid-April. Time for another round. I am by far the oldest student in this current group, last night consisting of two females, two males. The other male is a 23 or 24 year old American slacker, here to party -- amiably, entertainingly up-front about himself in a way that produced an amused, indulgent attitude from Jesús, our instructor, who then gave us a pile of homework. Time to drag the wading boots out of the closet and get back to work.

Went this morning to get the stitches taken out of my keepsake from last week's brush with a political conversation gone bad. [See entry of April 7.] Like my last experience at this clinic, no waiting -- this time taken to a unnervingly efficient extreme. Once the payment part of the process was out of the way -- the only phase taken at a leisurely velocity -- the balance of the routine shot by at near light speed. A late-20s physician's assistant tossed me into the consult room, whipped the stitches out, smeared orange disinfectant over half my face, shoved me back out into the sunshine. The receptionist waved cheerily as I flew out the door.

I spent a few careful minutes outside the clinic entrance wiping away disinfectant from everywhere but the actual area of the stitches, hoping to minimize attention received from local fellow humans. Seemed to do a decent job, attracted little notice on the trip home. Why, you might ask, does that concern me so? Because I've come to value street-invisibility as a means of taking photos of certain moments, certain individuals.

Case in point: a 30-something Asian guy who sat next to me on a bench at la Plaza de España last week. Appeared sedate enough as he approached -- once seated, though, he put on a display of behavioral tics that didn't quit until he got to his feet and wandered away. I sat quietly, camera on my knee, while the soul next to me said not a word, speaking instead through a long series of nervous gestures. At one point he pulled out a camera of his own, though it seemed to function as a focal point for angst, not as a way to capture the moment.



And then there are scenes that present themselves after their creators have moved on. This morning: an urban image of a very specific kind, with a strangely out-of-season accent:



Spring continues to settle in over this part of the world, the sunlight already adopting the look of summer. The air still holds a cool edge that direct sunlight washes away -- step into the shadows, though, it's clear that the transition to the warm season hasn't completely taken hold yet. Regardless, as increasingly intense sunshine reaches into courtyards and passageways between buildings, they've begun to produce explosions of color, heightening the city's contrasts of light and dark.




Madrid, te quiero.

rws 8:44 AM [+]

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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

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


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



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