Nonsense, Drivel, and Balderdash

I walked into one of the local quick-e marts on Paseo de la Florida the other day. In Spain, they are referred to as "Chinos." Which literally means "chinese." These chinos are relatively new additions to the urban landscape here, only appearing after I left for college and immigration skyrocketed. But now they are a part of life; the little corner store that sells basic goods, exchanging price for convenience. But anyway, I was on my way to Jessica's house to make supper when I realized I had forgotten an ingredient. I popped into the store and quickly grabbed what I needed. As I was about to leave, a middle aged, latin american, transvestite approached me. He, dressed and make-up'ed as a she, was quite polite as he asked me if I would be so kind as to help him read something. He held out a small notebook containing a different number and name scrawled on each page. "What does this name say?" he asked me, pointing to a page. I squinted at the han...

My mind wanders at night. My mind wanders during the day as well, but at night it really takes off. I have done a fair bit of night walking during the past couple of weeks. I have spent a lot of time down Madrid's empty streets, flooded in that orange city lamp light that I have come to love so much. This town was made to be savored after dark. During the day it is like any other European city, but at night... it is something else altogether. Especially late at night. A few days ago, as I was walking home around 3 AM, I passed a girl who was walking in the opposite direction. She did that thing that girls do when they are trying to act like they are not nervous, puffing herself up, chin in the air, though avoiding eye contact and picking up her pace as we met. I felt sorry for the human race then. What would it be to live in a world without fear? A world of perfect intentions? Imagine being able to walk down dark city streets without an inkling of temerity. How many times have I th...

It was pouring down rain the other night when I headed for home. It was one of those downpours that we rarely see in Madrid: thunder, lightning, giant drops, water pouring over low sidewalk curbs as it finds its way to the gutter. From under my umbrella, and with my pants rolled up slightly, I was enjoying the whole thing. I walked down the sidewalk breathing in the wet smells, skipping over puddles. No one else was around, of course. Even the neighborhood winos had found another place to drink, leaving their bench to drip alone. A few cars drove by slowly, not used to driving on wet pavement. I tend to sing when I find myself walking alone. Finally I reached the metro station. Had I tarried any more I would have missed the last train that night and been forced to take a bus. But fortunately when I arrived at the station, a sign flashed "9 minutes" until the next train would come by. A group of German boys were standing near me. They seemed too young to be college students, b...

The plaza mayor was packed with people last night. The city was putting on a free classical music concert directed by Daniel Barenboim. Dan, Fran, Eva and I arrived over an hour early, but even that was too late and the seats were all taken. So we sat uncomfortably on the ground, squashed amidst the throngs of music lovers and tourists who had come to the Plaza in hopes of catching a glimmer of genius. Once the music began, the hypnotic effect of musicians in the ecstasy of performance held us in its sway. I was automatically in love with every woman on stage and feeling bonds of kinship with every man. And somehow, the warm cobblestone under my sore backside was easily ignored as waves of music rolled into the audience. It is amazing how long the ground remains warm after a day of the sun's hot abuse; long after the evening goes dark. As I sat there on the warm stone, I was reminded of last summer, one night at camp in which I lay on the basketball court. Using its retained heat t...

Once again, 2008 doesn't disappoint, and more bad news comes my way. It isn't something I feel like talking about here, nor should I, so it will remain unspoken of further. Nevertheless, this past week has been a difficult one, bringing a lot conflicting emotions to the surface. My heart has felt sluggish and hyperactive. And any resolutions that have come out of this have done so sluggishly, like bubbles in a tar pit, tensing, stretching and finally popping in resignation. But as always, life isn't all bad. And I fight myself over which feelings to indulge; sometimes craning my neck towards the skies in search of silver linings, while other times I blow on those melancholic embers which seem to permanantly to burn somewhere inside me. But often this struggle between the negative and the positive, and the paradox of life's duality, simply exhausts me, and I am forced to disconnect. I have done a fair bit of that this week: going to the park with some poems, working myse...