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runswithscissors


Friday, July 02, 2004

Thank you, Marlon Brando, for performances that redefined American acting and impacted the craft in deceptively deep ways.

For an eyeful of spectacular work, watch A Streetcar Named Desire, On The Waterfront, The Godfather and Last Tango In Paris. For something lighter, try Guys and Dolls or The Freshman (in which Brando put together a sly, extremely funny send-up of his work in The Godfather).

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

Yes, in case you were wondering, Ms. Nature supplied hours of wholesome entertainment last night.

All evening long, thunder muttered, lightning flickered off in the distance, west and north of here. Around 11:30 it decided to move this way -- becoming progressively louder, rain starting to come down -- until it reached the hill, bringing an intense display of sound and light. I'm not sure I've ever experienced anything like it -- a continuous, nearly hour-long barrage of flashing and window-rattling explosions. During the rare moments when both lightning and thunder paused, the roar of torrential rain filled what would otherwise have been blessed silence.

For a while the storm hovered directly over the hill, producing a string of lightning bolts paired with thunderclaps that refused to wait for a one-thousand-and-one/one-thousand-and-two countdown. Immense, crackling explosions of nearly simultaneous light and noise, indicating strikes right here in the neighborhood. Got me wondering if I'd be seeing trees down come daylight. Got me feeling grateful that thunder/lightning don't tend to bother me in a frayed-nerves sort of way. Which got me thinking about a one-time family member who did get rattled in that way: Scout, our dog from my elementary school years (so named to commemorate the family's involvement in scouting -- or most of the family, me being the single truculent holdout). A smart, endearing little guy, the result of a party thrown by an Irish setter and a terrier. Or some ungodly blend like that, producing a handsome, mid-sized, slightly high-strung canine. (I would not be surprised, however, if the high-strung part of his character resulted from life with us rather than genetics.)

Thunderstorms made him shiver with dread, got him whining from fear and nerves. We went away one weekend day, taking off early in the morning and leaving Scout home, in the kitchen. My parents had installed a small wooden gate in the kitchen doorway to keep him confined to that room on occasions like this. While we were gone, big storms moved through the area. When we returned late that night, we found wood shavings all over the place, the result of a frightened, lonely dog gnawing nervously at the bottom of the gate.

That was in our little house on Long Island. The same little house in which I had the closest encounter with electrical storm weirdness I've ever experienced.

One afternoon, in my 13th year: me, in the bathroom. On the throne, meditating. (Probably more information than you wanted, but instrumental in this story. Sorry.) I was into CB radio in those years, my father and I had installed a big mother of an antenna on the roof. Sizeable, impressively tall, moored to the eave at one end of the house, a grounding wire running down to a spike driven into the ground.

As I sat pondering, that afternoon, a fast-moving storm rolled into the area, bringing thunder, lightning. The sky lit up especially intensely from one particularly close bolt, thunder sounded at exactly the same time. The house literally shook, as houses will do when their CB antennas are struck by massive atmospheric discharges of electricity. And there in that teeny bathroom, to the other side of the washbasin from me, a thin, purple stream of electricity extended out from the light switch, stretching across the room into the bathtub, making a quiet sizzling sound as it went, then disappearing. Happening so fast there wasn't even time for my jaw to drop open. One of those moments that whip by in no time flat, while moving so slowly within the moment that I could watch the stream of current as it elongated forth, made contact, vanished.

I don't remember if I was regular before the event. I'm sure I was after.

No wild weather today. A beautiful Friday -- clouds and sun, breezy, cool. Tranquil. Which is fine with me. And somehow, July 4th weekend has weaseled its way in. Last I knew it was Christmastime, I was in Madrid. We really need to figure out how to slow everything down just a bit.

But that's a rant for another entry.


Madrid, te echo de menos.

rws 6:40 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

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


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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