far too much writing, far too many photos

runswithscissors


Wednesday, February 01, 2006

[continued from previous entry]

Max headed off to hang with friends, Tom and I pulled on cold-weather gear, slogged through snow and fading daylight to pick up food and entertainment.



A brief stop at an Indian restaurant to snag a take-out menu, the place not yet open for the day. Tom rapped at door and windows persistently, untiringly, wearing down the employees skulking around inside until one finally let us in to complete our mission.

Then a stop at a market for chow. Not, it turned out, your garden variety market -- an Iranian market, a sizeable one, the kind of grocery store that used to be considered large until the advent of mega-markets. A busy place, with an international array of customers, appearing like any other successful, well-maintained grocery store until one peered closely at the shelf stock, at which time brain and cultural gears had to be guided through a slight shift. Not your usual lower-48 fare, though enticing, tasty-looking. Especially the deli and meat counters, where we lingered, picking up a bunch of stuff. Where Tom exchanged friendly hellos with a 30ish Iranian woman working behind the deli counter, a woman he seemed to have a bit more than a passing acquaintance with -- a painter, with an easy manner, extremely attractive in a not-your-standard-western- world-cover-girl way. With sparkling eyes and a radiant smile. And apparently interested in him, an interest he was aware of, choosing not to investigate it too deeply.

He rounded up meat, the woman headed off to a different part of the store. I tracked her down and let her know she had a spectacular smile, taking her, apparently, completely by surprise. Her reaction: pleased, slightly embarrassed, the smile shining forth once more, at full wattage. Yowza!

I let her alone, found Tom. We ran the check-out gauntlet, paid up, headed out.



Back home, Tom slaved away at food prep., ignoring my offers to assist. Plates of good-looking chow accompanied us down into the basement for a dinner/DVD evening. The entertainment: Junebug, an American indie film that roped me in right from the start, maintaining its hold until the very end. A complex bugger -- low-key on the surface, interpersonal intensity swirling around beneath the seeming tranquility, the characters getting a heavy-duty emotional workout -- with a great cast, easily worth seeking out. (The food was good, too.)

Tom offered to drive me back to the hotel, when we finally wandered out to the car, the night had turned genuinely cold, the kind of cold that has a hard, bitter edge. Joyous minutes of Tom scraping snow and ice from windows while I jiggled about, trying to keep my feet from freezing to the street. And we were off, Tom picking up Max along the way, then heading downtown via a route I'd never traveled, along the St. Lawrence, the city ahead, its many lights shining in the night. Pretty.

Found myself back in my hotel room surprisingly quickly, the car ride turning out to be way faster than the afternoon's pokey bus ride had been.

End of day 3.

[to be continued]


Espaņa, te echo de menos.

rws 4:08 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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