Music for the Masses

Fade to last Friday, the second of June. My nephew was home from school, and I was on Daniel duty. He elected to play with Legos, and decided that we’d have more room playing on the table in the living room. “OK, let me just put a new CD on the stereo.”

After a couple of Small Faces tracks, a Guy Clark song “Texas Cookin’” came on, and my nephew looked up from his little Lego structure and said, “Hey, this is funny music, Uncle B. I like it,” then did a little shuck and jive dance on the floor.

“It’s a Pablo special,” I replied. “It just came in the mail.”

“You have a friend named Pablo? I have a friend named Pablo, too!!” he gushed. “Will you introduce me to your friend Pablo?”

“I know. I know your Pablo,” I answered. “and, you’ve met my friend Pablo before in Texas. But, I’ll be happy to introduce you to him again when we go to the states.”

“Oh! Thank you so much, Uncle B!” he said enthusiastically.

We played Legos for the remainder of the CD, which had a bit from the Hollies, Elton J, Van Morrison, and Pete T. Quite the smorgasbord of English-ish songs, designed by young Pablo back in April with the idea that Chris would bring it to London, where we’d be unable to listen as we had no CD player. Of course, in the excitement of Arsenal trip preparation, the CD got left at Goliad, but eventually arrived in Meliana, much to my delight.

As Daniel and I sat on the couch building stuff, I couldn’t help but think that perhaps this was the perfect way to listen to a Pablo CD. Like previous Pascal samplers, this CD was another opportunity to listen to music that I would never think to pick up at the record store, but after one listen, find myself asking why the hell not? Probably for the same reason that Pablo doesn’t blaze around in the Accord listening to Anti-Flag, Minor Threat, or the Mighty Mighty Bosstones…

How important tunes are to one´s life. I survive, I thrive, because I have music flowing through me always. I once wrote a story about a little boy who would die if the music stopped, so he always had to keep loads of stereos and walkmans with him. The story kind of sucked, but the idea seemed cool to me at the time.

I’ve marvelled at music for most of my life time, and am fortunate that both Tim and Pablo had the foresight to supply me with music for my time in Spain.(hint to Tim and Pablo…don’t stop) Pablo always tends to push the limit with off beat stuff that I normally wouldn’t like – much the way a parent has to encourage their child to eat an unusual dish for the first time, only for the child to discover how much they absolutely love it. Tim, on the other hand, expresses the boot wearing, jungle gym climbing, ass kicking psych it up stuff that not only helped us get through college and our twenties, but also prepared us for that day when listening to a given track can instantly take you to that magical place where everything clicks and the world seems to have no problems. Songs like “Happy,” or vintage Van Halen, or some boppy punk song- the kind you’d listen to while driving around without a shirt on in a car without AC, only to get pulled over for speeding, only to feel a bit sheepish that you’re half-naked as the cop tells you and your buddy to tone it down.

My nephew appears to have a high level of appreciation for music, too. This isn’t a huge surprise considering my sister’s own passion for music, and likewise my brother-in-law’s tendency to go completely nutty when he comes across a music video to “Wild Boys” or when he fondly describes a rock concert of El Ultimo de la Fila. Daniel is quick to burst into song, whether in the metro, on the terrace, on the toilet, or wherever. Every time he plays guitar, he sings a rousing chorus that only he knows, which goes right along with the six string power chord. “Oh, I’m sitting on Uncle B’s bed, playing the guitar, and the sky is outside, and the ducks are quacking…”

Daniel has rhythm, also. His interpretation for dance leads me to believe that he’s spending too much time with high school students (though I don’t know when or where). I’m not a big fan of his David Lee Roth tongue wagging, but I don’t know how to discourage that without discouraging the whole music bit. Besides, I can’t be the only one who has played the guitar solo from a Styx song on a broom in Jen’s living room, right? We all have our methods of expression.

We attempted to subdue the young one this past week, particularly on Saturday as he danced and jumped around on the sofa along to a Duran Duran video and German MTV. After all, he had undergone a hernia operation just a few days before, though you wouldn’t necessarily know that as he attempted to re-enact one of the videos where someone did a back flip.

The hernia thing popped up kind of suddenly a couple of months ago. Though somewhat rare for little ones, I myself went through this same operation when I was three, and was glad to add a bit of comfort to the whole scene. No one wants to have to put their kid in hospital, but it’s somewhat more reassuring when everything goes smoothly and quickly.

Rather than give a huge synopsis about the whole eight week period, I’ll simply say Spanish public healthcare and enchufado, leave it at that, and skip to last Tuesday, the day Daniel was to be admitted to hospital; the operation would be the following morning.

Lynne, Daniel, and I ate lunch at a bar down the street, and Daniel knew he was going to the hospital that afternoon. As I headed on to my classes, he gave me a huge hug and a, “I love you Uncle B,” which told me that he was a little bit antsy about things. I was certainly feeling for D and his parents as I metroed to class.

Wednesday morning around 10.30, Lynne phoned to report that the operation was over, and it went well. D was a bit distraught, but this was expected as he came out of anaesthesia. Of course, as I heard him crying in the background, I could sense that both Lynne and Fran were slightly unnerved by things. Within an hour, he did calm down and was able to get some rest.

Lynne had spent Tuesday night sleeping uncomfortably (if at all) on a broken recliner next to Daniel, but Wednesday afternoon, Fran relieved her, which provided a break from the hospital. She and I met for lunch, and recalled our own memories of my operation 33 years ago (I actually remember more than you might think). After an extra carajillo, Lynne headed home to get a shower and a bit of rest before returning to hospital. Meanwhile, I went on to class.

I was minding my own business on the way home from school when Fran sat down next to me on the metro, and we rode the rest of the way to Meliana. Fran gave me the update-Daniel would come home on Thursday, probably late morning Let me just say that meeting someone you know on the metro is right up there with listening to a cool CD you got in the mail.

Sure enough, I had no sooner returned from the gym Thursday mid-morning when Lynne, Fran, and Daniel arrived home. Daniel was walking like someone had just kicked the bejeezus out of his crotch, but apparently that’s just how it goes. My grandmother still tells the story about me running out to greet them after my operation, doubled completely over. Of course, I was walking normally the next day.

It was the same for Daniel. Friday morning he woke up with the same energy level as always, though he was a bit more conscious of his boo-boo.

The idea was for him to take it easy for a few days, but the doctors always seem to say, “He can do whatever he feels like doing.” Well, Daniel certainly felt like doing a lot, and Lynne, Fran, and I wondered how to keep activities to a minimum, especially physical things that might jeopardize the stitches. Things like kicking a ball, dancing to a video, and running on the terrace weren’t supposed to be in the cards, but at least we waited until Saturday.

Needless to say, last week was pretty exhaustive for everyone at Tomas Trenor piso 12. Daniel had surgery, Fran had a few meetings around the office, Lynne had a choir concert, and by Friday we needed a break.

Saturday morning, Lynne suggested a night out on the town, which sounded like a pretty good idea. Unfortunately, Daniel wasn’t so keen on staying with his grandmother, so por fin Fran stayed at home with him, while Lynne and I headed out to meet Stephanie for dinner and drinks.

We met up at Finnegan’s around 9.30, and it was nice to hear my sister laugh-clearly she needed an evening out. While I also needed this, I felt fortunate knowing that I’ll get to go with Fran and Rafa for a guys night out in the near future. But this night was for the giris…

Steph is a good friend to both Lynne and myself, and has already experienced the culture/language barrier situation before. It was nice to be able to relay my challenges in Spain to an understanding ear.

Earlier in the week, I’d eaten at a Mexican restaurant in a cool district of Valencia, and Lynne was eager to try the margaritas that I’d been raving about. Alas, the restaurant was booked, so we had to find another place to go. We ended up at a tapas restaurant, which turned out to be really good. I lost count of the drinks at some point during the evening, but I seem to recall pints, sangria, chupitos, and probably another pint of Guinness thrown in for good measure. We did make it home by four, and I slept until eleven, awaking to only a slight throb of the head.

I ventured out again on Sunday evening, this time to meet one of my students for a drink. She and I needed to plan out our schedules for the remainder of the month. I also needed an opportunity to hear the Spanish perspective on things, and felt much better after a few more pints of Guinness and a chat.

I hit the start of the week straight up, and managed a return trip to my Mexican haunt with another intercambio (hmmm, maybe I’m starting to miss a few things, like margaritas and enchiladas). Fortunately we didn’t get quite as drunk on this visit, so I woke up Tuesday feeling more or less OK to take car of Daniel, who returned from his doctor’s appointment with the intent to play. He’s likely to return to school on Wednesday, but Lynne and Fran wanted to keep him out of school for a few days so as not to allow for the other preschoolers to inadvertently mess his recovery up. It’s been hard to believe that he only had surgery a few days ago.

My nephew’s imagination continues to amaze me, he plays with more characters and scenarios now as his language skills develop. Sure, he’ll switch to Spanish, then to English, then back to Spanish very quickly and casually, but it all means something to him, and me.

So here I sit at Finnegan’s, finishing a beer before I metro off to choir practice. Keep the music flowing, keep the margaritas coming (it’s fucking hot here), and watch those stitches…but do whatever you feel like.

keep the faith
bryan
Finnegan’s June 6th,2006

Last bit –World Cup starts in 3 days…and the club team I support has like 16 players in the various international squads. It kind of makes it hard to support just one team in this tournament. But, I think I´ll get it sorted out in time. C´mon England.