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Tuesday, January 07, 2003 Madrid spent the first normal January workday doing its imitation of London (that cold/dank/gray thing). Apart from my first five or six days back in early December, the weather has been like this more often than not -- it's good for the earth, given how dry last year was, but the locals seem to be tiring of it. And I can see why -- it's been a pretty good likeness of wintertime London, if you ignore everyone speaking Spanish and all the Spanish signage hanging about. The holidays are definitely over, though the city seems to be returning to normal life slowly. Few people rode the Metro this morning, traffic in the city center was light when I made my way to language classes. On the other hand, there's been a post-holiday onslaught of new students at the school. This is my last week there for now, and it was a bit of a jolt to go from the relaxed, sparsely-attended Navidad version of the school to this morning's noisy, bursting at the seams incarnation. Everything changes. In the weeks I've been there, I've been in three different groups, all of whom have moved on except for a very personable Dutch guy who's the sole holdover from the group of the last two weeks. This morning, a lovely 20-something woman from Marin County joined us. She speaks -- to paraphrase Special Agent Dale Cooper -- damn good Spanish, with virtually no American accent, something that's come to feel like a novelty. The no-American-accent thing, that is. Took myself to the gym this evening, rain coming down when I emerged from the Metro in the barrio of Salamanca, a several-block saunter from the health club. On entering the building, I found myself in the middle of the closest thing to a frenzy that I've experienced there, the facility positively jammed with a brand new crop of worker-outers, the New Year's resolution folks showing up in force immediately after the holidays -- the holidays here ended yesterday; we're talking IMMEDIATELY after the holidays -- to flog, pummel and jog their pasty, flaccid bodies into condition. Lots of 20 and 30-something Spanish women, most looking extremely cute, whether in shape or not, including one or two bona fide Amazons, pumped up to within an inch of, er, someone's life -- one of whom is the first example of a major, outrageously-obvious silicone-enhancement boob-job that I've seen in real life. A serious breach of the laws of nature, not to mention the law of gravity. (Not that there's anything wrong with that!) And after a couple hours flogging/pummeling my little bod, I'm back home, ready to slouch in the direction of bed. But first: in cruising around the Blog universe recently, I came across someone's year end list, something I'd completely missed this year somehow. So I'd like to take a minute here to inflict a brief year-end list of my own, namely, a bunch of my favorite films of 2002 (in no particular order): Gosford Park -- God bless Robert Altman. And Helen Mirren, for that matter. A spectacular cast doing a spectacular bit of ensemble work. Monsoon Wedding -- My favorite movie of the year, a glorious, messy sweetheart of a film, worth seeing twice for the music alone. Lord of The Rings: The Two Towers -- Plenty has been said and written about this epic bugger, so I'll spare you my enthusiastic spews. Read My Lips -- A wild, kick-in-the-butt thriller from France that came close to being my favorite film of the year. Talk With Her (original title: "Hable Con Ella") -- The latest from Pedro Almodóvar -- unlike any other film you will see from 2002. Elling -- The only Norwegian comedy I've ever seen, dealing with mental illness in a way that is both sweet and deft. The Piano Teacher -- A heavy-duty m.f. of a film, dark and intense, with a seriously spectacular performance by Isabelle Huppert. 8 Women -- A goofball musical/mystery with a great cast -- watch for Isabelle Huppert's (again!) extremely funny turn. Right, that's it. I'm done. Later. rws 6:47 PM [+] |