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runswithscissors


Sunday, November 11, 2007

Stayed up far too late once again, last night. Woke up this morning feeling like I'd been peeled off a length of bad highway, managed to pull on clothes, stumbled out the door in search of caffeine. At some point, I realized that a tune had been playing in my teeny brain since I crawled out of bed. An instrumental tune featuring a horn tooting a melody that sounded like something disinterred from the pop graveyard of the late 60's or the 70's. And sometime later it dawned on me that my inner jukebox had latched onto a scarily ancient cut by Herb Alpert and The Tijuana Brass. Did not want to know which tune, just let it play itself out until the hubbub of the rest of the day gradually overwhelmed and smothered it.

And it was a seriously beautiful day, with agreeable hubbub. One more perfect, sunlit bit of Madrid autumn, temperatures mild, the streets nicely filled with life. Being a holiday weekend, people pulling wheeled suitcases were everywhere. Cafés and restaurants did fine business. And I went out and took long walks, enjoying it all.

Stopped to see a small exhibit of the work of Takashi Murakami, a showing that turned out be very small, almost minute, with little documentation or explanation. Until I watched part of a video about the artist, saw in the background of some scenes walls covered with his work, stuff that looked way more interesting than what I'd just seen. Got me wanting to see more. (That's a good thing.)

Stopped in at a cafetería, sat at the counter, sipped a decent cup of café con leche, paged through a newspapers, watched the people around me (most of whom seemed to be working on glasses of beer instead of getting a caffeine fix). Reflected on the singular late-night/early-morning life in my barrio, how there's sometimes more going on at 3 or 4 a.m. -- more noise, more people in the street -- than at 3 or 4 p.m. And remembered something from a couple of nights earlier.

Me waking up at 2:30, 3 a.m. to the usual nighttime soundtrack. Plus something more, the sound of amplified voices, odd enough that it got out from under the sheets and over to the window. Threw it open, stuck head out. Down below cars passed along the narrow street, groups of revelers moved along narrow sidewalks. And across the way, a male and female stood at the door of the funky-ass haircut shop -- an establishment catering to the chicest of the fringe, dealing in wild, eye-catching cuts and bright, bright dye jobs, its calling card the mannequin inside the doorway done up in wacky wigs and outfits.

The female leaned out the doorway, a bullhorn to her lips, calling out something I couldn't decipher, aiming it right at passing cars and pedestrians. The male, unsteady on his feet, took the bullhorn, began an inarticulate shpiel, unable to get the knack of using the bullhorn, his voice remaining unamplified. The female grabbed the horn back, her amplified voice cut through noise of cars and people once more, though the words remained elusive. After a few minutes, they retired unsteadily, laughing, the door to the shop closing. The sound of cars and folks walking re-asserted, feeling relatively peaceful in the wake of the bullhorn hooha.

Returned to bed, woke up close to dawn, the world outside much quieter. Except for one unhappy male who pounded on something metal once, following that with a shouted, "¡Mierda!" ("Shit!") A pause, again the sound of fist pounding metal, again the cry of "¡Mierda!" Then silence.

Early morning angst. Sometimes all one can do is open one's eyes, listen, then drift back to sleep.



España, te quiero.

rws 7:42 PM [+]
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BLATHERINGS

August 2001
September 2001
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January 2009
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March 2009
April 2009
June 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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