far too much writing, far too many photos

runswithscissors


Wednesday, July 21, 2004

There's an old New England saying along the lines of, 'Don't like the weather? Wait ten minutes." An exaggeration, but only a slight one. The weather in this part of the world can be bizarrely changeable. Maybe not as goofily, unnervingly unstable as, say, the area around Tierra del Fuego, but it has its days. Or weeks.

Case in point: this month. Erratic to the point of being predictable. Rain. Clear skies. Gray. Rain. Clear skies. Gray. Rain. Clear skies. Gray. Over and over, generally cycling a few times within any given 24 hour span -- the rain, when it passes through, not kidding around. The kind that pounds away on the roof in the middle of the night, lightning often providing a flickering light show. The kind of weather that gets grass growing at supersonic speed. (*^#%@!!!!)

Meanwhile, between one thing and another (writing, taxes, visitor, taking care of house and acres of lawn growing at supersonic speed), I've found myself going non-stop. Not a state I'm fond of for more than a day or two. Felt kind of overwhelming for a while there, though I just got a couple of projects/tasks out of the way, leaving me with the brief, pleasant illusion of things easing up. The kind of thing that gets me wanting to find a comfy chair, settle into it with some reading. Good way to blow off a good chunk of the afternoon. Which might be a plan.

Last weekend: a fast visit from a Spanish friend, a great woman going for her masters at Stanford in California, currently doing the summer intern thing in Chicago (which puts her in weekend-visit distance). A person I got to know through an intercambio in Madrid (brief review: intercambio = two people getting together, one English-speaker and one Spanish-speaker, both studying the other language, to hang out and chat in both languages), which morphed into friendship over time. The first person from my life in Spain to come check out my life here.

For some reason, during the two weeks pre-visit, I found myself thinking in a more intense blend of English and Spanish than I had been since getting back. She arrived, conversation moved back and forth between the two languages, more or less 50/50. With time, it shifted more to her speaking English, me speaking Castellano, and that's how it mostly stayed. Strange. Almost, at times, like I didn't hear the language she was speaking, just what she was talking about. And yeah, I ran up against my limits, making loads of hilarious errors, though I covered some by posing what I was saying as a question, as in checking to see if the word or phrase was correct. Great ploy.

Vermont is a virtual unknown on the other side of the Atlantic, she had little idea what to expect apart from whatever bad impression my excessive use of the word 'paradise' had given her. Frankly, between June and October (July and October if one hates blackflies), Vermont is a version of paradise, so I'd prepped her well. And the reality had far more impact than me flogging the p-word. She was gratifyingly awed by spectacular views of pristine countryside, etc.

The weekend's coup: a field trip to The Bread & Puppet Theater on Sunday afternoon. They're a wacky bunch, the folks who stage the B&P spectaculars -- high-energy, with a wild, anarchic sense of humor, who throw together big, sprawling shows despite working on a paltry, almost nonexistent budget. Way off to the left side of the political spectrum, of course, so one has to be prepared for loads of lefty spewings done with imagination and goofball style (of the paltry-budget kind).

The program (getting with)

The Sunday afternoon show: a tradition of many years, performed in a large field at the bottom of a natural amphitheater, an event that attracts weirdos from all over the place along with a surprising number of families out for wholesome, madcap fun.

Surreal pre-show entertainment: north country hip-hop



They're large-cast, rough-edged affairs, the Bread & Puppet 'do's, performed with more energy and enthusiasm than finesse, in keeping with their overall ethos. Circus-style fare, sans the glitter, featuring wave after wave of eye-catching scenes, most beating a political idea around the face and neck with cheerful elan, most employing a canny use of surreal visual metaphors.

Inexplicable events:






[continued in next entry]


Madrid, te echo de menos.

rws 2:13 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

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


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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