far too much writing, far too many photos

[continued from previous entry]

I’ve been to politically-themed events here in the past, and while this happening had nowhere near the turnout of those, it became clear as I made my way through the crowd that the atmosphere was prickly enough to rival, if not surpass, any of those events. Not exactly what I would call congenial, despite an abundance of couples and families. So uncongenial that I found myself wanting to leave almost as soon as I’d arrived.

But I didn’t bail immediately. The crowd ranged along el Paseo, behind them stretched a line of stalls — part of a book fair — that flanked a broad walkway and a long, cascading pool of water. No one walked there, the stalls hid the crowd by the avenue, that combination provided an illusion of relative peace.

I strolled, listening to the sounds of the hundreds and hundreds gathered just out of view, feeling strangely uneasy. At the other end of the stalls, I found myself where the parade review bleachers began and stood watching and listening. I’d seen very few flags about, which had me wondering if I hadn’t been the only one to find Rajoy’s address giggle-worthy. But his (and his party’s) general stance of hostility toward any who do not share their exact perspective seemed reflected in the general vibe, and as I stood there a volley of boos and derisive whistling began, likely directed at the country’s President — José Luis Rodríguez Zapatero, one of the habitual targets of the PP’s ongoing scathing commentary and namecalling — who was in attendance. Something about that sound rising into the morning air felt so ugly that I finally gave in to the desire to book, heading down a sidestreet, away from el Paseo and toward home, the sounds behind me fading as I walked.

Yesterday morning’s day-after news stories about the event detailed what I’d witnessed, mentioning that armed forces higher-ups who had been in attendance were livid about the show of ill will toward the president since those engaging in it apparently chose to do so during an homage to armed forces personnel killed during the last year. Rajoy avoided criticizing booers/whistlers when pressed by reporters afterward, saying instead, “I’m always in favor of no one messing with anyone else. I don’t do it and would never do it.” Which had me falling about with laughter, since his stock in trade is constant criticism, name-calling and attempts to provoke.

There are times when brazen dissembling makes me feel strangely affectionate toward the dissembler — this is one of those times, though I’m not sure I can explain why. Maybe it was the wonderfully shameless right-out-thereness of the fiction. Or maybe it just seems so human. And really, who am I to point a finger? I am far from being an angel (angelically adorable bum notwithstanding), I have no footing to judge anyone else. The best thing would likely be to spare Sr. Rajoy, me and the rest of the world from the boring tyranny of my opinions.


Note to self:

Should you, at some point in an imaginary future — and this is purely hypothetical, of course — ever be looking through a kitchen cabinet and come across a can of tomato sauce or stewed tomatoes that’s gone visibly bad, and you think it might be a good idea to open it before throwing it out so that it doesn’t, say, explode in the garbage…

…no matter how many precautions you take before you open it and no matter how careful you are when you begin opening it, it probably won’t be enough.

Just something to think about.


A genuine headline stumbled across while prowling about the web:

Not just a natural D-cup, but a philosopher as well.

España, te quiero.

3 Responses to “hispanidad, part II”

  1. mad

    I hope there was a picture to go along with the headline!

  2. Wil

    Keep in mind that the “V” shaped scar on my left palm, all 3 inches of it, is from a can exploding under the pressure of the ptomaine growing within. Like opening a switchblade into your palm, it was. Miserable bugger took months to heal, too.

  3. rws

    mad: no photo, just text — leaving us to do all the work of conjuring up an image.

    wil: noted.

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