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Wednesday, March 12, 2003 The bit of real estate across the street where the new building is going up is not a large space. Just a small plot of urban land, compact and cramped, especially when packed with workers, building supplies, big machinery. When the construction folks finished for the day yesterday, they pretty much cleared everything out -- trash, palettes of bricks ‘n' stuff, big machines, site trailer. Everything but a compressor, and a few items tucked neatly away by the big temporary fence they've had running along the front of the site since immediately prior to Christmas. All of a sudden the visual clutter's gone. One guy showed up this morning, working around the perimeter of the space where the foundation pilings are being sunk. One other person has shown up, they've mostly watched the first worker dig, drill, clear away soil. Little noise, little dust being raised. There's some racket now and then from work being done in other spots around the neighborhood, but it's more sporadic, less concentrated. Not directly across the street. When I stepped outside a while ago to pick up a paper, a bag of produce, a cup of coffee, the temperature was already around 11C (low 60s F). Another spring morning, relatively tranquil, comparatively relaxed. I grab a newspaper, first thing that catches my eye is a story on the back page. I go spend a few days in Rome [see entries of Feb. 25 through March 6], what happens? I return to Madrid, it seems like Rome's followed me back. Over the weekend, sitting at a table here in la Plaza de Chueca, two Italian college-age guys are holding forth loudly at a nearby table. Two days ago, I visit a friend's website, I find the article about subterranean Rome [see journal entry of March 10]. This morning, it's an article about the Colosseum and the characters who flounce around its environs in centurion garb. The gist of the story: Rome's City Hall tries to protect tourists from the Forum's colorful rogues. "The times of improvised uniforms and the merciless hunt of Japanese tourists has ended," begins the article, "for the centurions who hang about daily in the vicinity of the Forum. Beginning this spring, they will be employees, subject to an entrance exam and to meticulous control of their appearance, training and work location." The ones I saw during my hours around the Colosseum provided a comic flourish to the experience of exploring one of Rome's highest-profile tourist destinations, though they've apparently at times carried on with a predatory edge. Their new situation will elevate their position in some ways, turning them into legitimate representatives of the city, guaranteeing steadier income, granting them the power to take action if they catch, for example, someone scrawling graffiti on an ancient structure. "In exchange for reaching this new status as hosts," continues the article, "they will have to leave home not just their street clothes but certain old modalities frequently used to encourage tourists to take photos of them, from an intimidating attitude to deliberately forgetting to mention that the photos weren't free." I love this. Rome is such a complicated experience, some of it charming, even welcoming, some of it less so, and the total is an intriguing mix that everyone should get a taste of. The sense of age -- of thousands of years of history, of countless lives having come and gone – was a major part of the city's feel. I found myself walking through ancient places or encountering art, statuary created hundreds, thousands of years ago, and it got me thinking about the continuous interweaving of life and death. Of people being born, living their span of years, passing away. And I found myself thinking about life/death in relation to me, in particular what I'll leave behind. For many years, the idea of occupying a plot of land in which my physical remains will rot away has seemed silly. Why, think I, take up that kind of space? Burn my remains, strew the ashes in a couple of locations that were special to me. Have a party in my memory, leave it at that. But in Rome I found myself pondering the idea of leaving something behind, something solid, visible, which I think I would only do if there were some entertainment value to be had. Like a cemetery plot with a punchline. For instance, a headstone that reads: I DIED AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY HEADSTONE Or a headstone bearing the simple, time-honored message: I'M WITH STUPID ======> Both attention-getters, both classics in their own way. But the second one – talk about a burn! ‘Cause after all, what's the deceased character next to you going to do once you've got your very own I'M-WITH-blahblah stone up and running -- move? Of course, you'd need to attend to fundamental details: make sure you actually get planted next to another dead person instead of, say, an empty patch of lawn or a trash basket; get the I'M-WITH arrow indicating the right direction, (less of a concern if you'll be taking the big sleep between two existing plots). Get those right, you've got centuries, maybe millennia of hilarity to look forward to. My oldest brother -- many years older than me -- passed away unexpectedly in the late ‘80s. He was into loud, heavy-metal rock ‘n' roll, and music played a major role in his life. My parents (very Catholic, very straight) put together a very normal, very depressing wake/funeral. Not the kind of thing my brother would have put together for himself, I don't think. Some of us did manage, though, to throw together a tape of the kind of music he would have wanted to hear. So that although the wake looked and felt for the most part like the kind of deal I hope my remains (and my friends/loved ones) will never have to go through, if one listened carefully, you could hear the wail of whanging guitars and screaming singers playing in the background, including a song called D.O.A. (by an old, extinct band called Bloodrock). I still feel a bit of glee when I think of that. Death. One more opportunity for some cheap laughs. rws 12:56 PM [+]
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