|
Tuesday, March 11, 2003 Hot damn, yet another day -- this makes four in a row now -- of bona fide, bigtime-sunny, ideal-temperatured springtime mojo! Extravagantly spectacular weather, the kind that requires one to leave coats and sweaters at home so that one may cavort in skimpily-clad, skin-exposing comfort. With the all work going on across the street, my windows are not getting opened during the day, me not looking to have a layer of construction dust accumulating over everything in the piso. But once the construction clears out late afternoon, I slap those buggers wide o. and enjoy the sound of life in the barrio drifting up from the street. A sound I'm not sure I ever expected to find myself enjoying. I can't remember savoring the New York/Seattle/L.A./Cambridge, MA neighborhood soundtracks like this. But that's life, isn't it? Things change, surprises await. I've been on a bit of a movie-going binge this last week and a harf. Started in Rome with The Quiet American and Chicago. Continued here with, er, let's see -- The Hours, Punch-Drunk Love, My Life Without Me. Fine films all. More than fine -- great films. Excellent films. Then yesterday, after hearing a poz report from a friend, I went to see Daredevil. I pause here to consider what I'd like to say about that one. And what I come up with is, well, they can't all be gems. It had its moments. Especially the prologue -- the kid who plays the young Matt Murdock did a seriously great job. Afterward, walking along one of the pedestrian walkways that extend from la Plaza de la Puerta del Sol to Gran Vía, lined with stores and cafes, filled with people enjoying the evening. I see an older guy, walking with a funny shuffling step, seeming to be muttering something. Then I notice he's walking with a little black puppy, one that's feeling its oats and has taken one of his pants cuffs in its mouth, refusing to let go, so that the guy is walking along as best he can, mumbling different versions of "¡Sueltalo! ¡Joder, sueltalo!" (‘Let go! Goddammit, let go!') to the puppy, which is being dragged slowly along, the nails of its rear legs scratching against the pavement. A minute or two later, I pass one of the two or three women's-intimate-wear shops, notice a 70ish grandmother type with what must have been a grandchild, a little guy, maybe six years old. She's pulling him closer to the shop window, a window that features six or seven mannequins in various modes of near-undress. She seems to be drawing his attention to two mannequins in particular -- half-mannequins, actually, extending from mid-ribcage to knees -- side by side, both sporting the skimpiest of black thongs, one facing front, the other presenting two finely-sculpted nether-cheeks to the world. "Mira," she's saying. (‘Look!') "Mira!" I am not making that up. This afternoon, I'm sitting for a while with a notebook over at la Plaza de España, one of my favorite people-watching hangouts. Though it's a weekday afternoon, the weather has brought people out, the plaza and the expanses of grass around its perimeter are filled with groups of people talking, soaking up the sun. Large bushes that look to be cousins of the forsythias I'm familiar with from the States are slowly putting out large yellow blossoms. The two huge fountains are tossing water into the air. A nice scene. To my left, a group of three 20-somethings are hanging out. One of them, a young woman, catches the eye of a pigeon that's been wandering nearby in hopeful maybe-someone-will-feed-me-over-here circles, extends an arm, beckons with her hand. The bird cocks its head, walks a few steps toward her, falters, thinks better of the whole thing, changes direction and walks quickly away, head bobbing. The young woman lets out a sharp, devilish laugh that suggests that bird may have made the right decision. On impulse, I go to a nearby movie theater to see a Spanish film, La Vida de Nadie ('Nobody's Life'), which turns out to be one heavy-duty bugger about a guy with a happy marriage of 20 years who actually had no life, no job, and lived two different existences. I walk into the theater, I'm the only person there, they're playing Anyway, Anyhow, Anywhere by the Who on the soundsystem. Loud. It's all I can do to keep myself from doing the Watusi right there in the aisle from pure joy. One of these days I'll pull myself together and get down to, er, doing something more productive. In the meantime, I am having some serious fun. rws 2:16 PM [+]
Comments:
Post a Comment
|