far too much writing, far too many photos

Damn, I’m good at futzing about and wasting time. (Should I be concerned about that?) There is always something I can turn my attention to do which will piss away major chunks of temporal reality, especially if that something has any connection with my computer and/or the ‘net. Sit me down in front of my little laptop and, without achieving anything of substance, I can wipe out hours and hours of the day in no time flat. Or that at least is how it feels. Computers, like televisions, are time machines. Turn ‘em on, and mornings, afternoons, evenings immediately wink out of existence. It’s a bona fide phenomenon, one that should be studied and harnessed for the good of, er, whomever.

I do not spew empty blather with that first paragraph. No, no — I speak as one who knows at least vaguely whereof he speaks, one who just spent an entire afternoon sitting in front of his computer doing a whole lot of, well, nothing, really. Not that all of it was intended to be pointless. A chunk of it got spent trying to transfer the software for my Salon.com webpage from my old, ailing laptop to my new, perky laptop. (According to the Radio UserLand license, that bit of software may only reside on one lonely computer at a time. Which means that if one wants to make entries to one’s Radio UserLand blog from a different computer, one has to MOVE the software.) The problem: the new, youthful, high-tech laptop uses only CDs, no floppy disks; the old, ailing warhorse only writes onto CDs. I attempted emailing the various files to myself, sending them from the old codger to the young punk. That simply didn’t go the way it should have — do you have any idea how many little teeny piddling files there are in that goddamn software package? — and it wouldn’t surprise me if you experienced the resulting teeth-grinding as something that felt like distant tremors.

And before I knew it, early afternoon had given way to six o’clock, the day continued galloping on toward the evening hours, when I had an intercambio scheduled. Managed to pull myself away from all the afternoon’s fun, made the day’s first meal (it’s real damn easy for me to forget to eat — how do I do that?), hoovered it down. Pulled on clothes, got out into Madrid’s hot weather version of fresh air. A long walk took me through rush-hour crowds and traffic to a table at a halfway point between here and where D., today’s intercambio, works. Which turned to be one of Madrid’s only Starbucks outposts. Not a place I frequent in the States if I can possibly help it. Here, to rendezvous with a new Spanish friend, what the hell.

A fine intercambio – conversation in Spanish and English about sports, work, language, women, movies (most of the basics) — compensating for some for the buggering-up of the previous five or six perfectly good hours of sunlight. Recently, I’ve gotten hooked up with some great intercambios, meeting fine people in the process, people I hope I’ll remain connected with when I get back here in November (he said wistfully).

This morning I stopped in at the local centro comercial, visited three or four of the stalls I frequent, picked up enough groceries to last me until I get out of here on Monday. The last grocery shopping for this time around. (*SOB!*)

Right. Enough of that. I will not get maudlin. At least not right this nanosecond.

To finish up for today: a brief rundown of some genuine websearches conducted through Google and other engines which have led unfortunate souls to this webpage:

Tomato Vender (sic) in Spain

Women’s Belley (sic) Button Photos

Incredible Hulk Tattoos

liquid refreshment photos

homemade diapers

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