Shades

I fell into something of a trance last night, watching the ripples of pink and blue light dance over the gently undulating surface of the sea at dusk. The only thought that interrupted this was a brief consideration of possible technologies to record the movement. It rocks here. I will be sad to leave, next monday. Estoy mirados.

And today, I have found this.

Now I have the company of a bee, who has just flown in my window. He says bz.

Lego Stephen Hawking in space, anyone? Hurrah!

What is hip?

This.

So that video is useful because, as far as I'm concerned, it exemplifies a kind of hip: hip manifest, hip in motion. Hip alive and making sounds. And the little boy in red up on the fire escape? Yeah. He knows. That little boy in red KNOWS.

But then, though this is true hip and there's no two ways about it, it's a 35 year old example of it. It's an example that is readily understandable to most people I think, to varying degrees of complexity. Because what is hip about it to me is not the clothes and the look, but the manifestation of an inward beat. Duke Ellington's way with swing was also a pure manifestation of hip. The Bothy Band, to me, is an Irish example of hip from the seventies.

Of course all this stuff is deeply subjective. But it's a good topic, and good to treat in a way that is not just about looks. Because being hip, at the time when the word hip was hip, was never purely about a dress code anyway. Hip was distinct from square or straight, and yes of course, there were purely superficial signifiers for this stuff, used as any tribe uses costume to identify other members of a tribe, particularly in a mixed environment.

But hip would also have meant, at least in the sixties, social aspects like: interest in contemporary music forms, cannabis use, sexual easiness, laidback vibe, left-leaning politics. Getting deeper, hip would mean understanding slang, jive. Hip was understanding a social background and also being hip with it. Hip was street smart. Being able to survive. Being smart. Having a sense of humour, easily verbalised. That's hip, and still is. Having rhythm. Being able to turn the hip vibe into song. Yeah, that's hip.

I would strongly distinguish 'hip' from 'hippy', though. I would probably say that a fair whack of hippies weren't remotely hip at all. So you know, Joan Baez was clearly not hip, and Joni Mitchell - even though she seemed kind of angelic when she came out at the very start, with a similar repertoire to Baez - was utterly hip.

Hip to me isn't an outfit or a pose, it's not a lifestyle or a set of opinions. It's kind of a look in the eye, a vibe, a way of doing things, a kind of casual intelligence, a kind of life groove, and it can come through in a person's life or their work. Tom Waits, who has been here in Barcelona this past week, is a living exposition of the evolution of hip through time. He keeps getting deeper into his hip groove. But he's not hip because his style has been appropriated by certain style-makers, or deemed fashionable. He's hip because he's digging his own groove. And he's just hip.

So hip matters. Hip means something. Hip is not a piece of cheese. Hip is innate. Hip lives in your bones. Hip is not cool. This is a useful distinction. Hip is deeper than cool, and is not afraid to court uncoolness if its expression gets in the way of 'cool' rules (and by cool I do not mean in the 'birth of the cool' sense. That's hip).

Rain on the Carrer Verdi

It gets hairier and hairier

Solar flares. Beautiful pictures and video of their magnetic field movements re-enacted, recreated, in a laboratory in California.

Meanwhile, in Barcelona, there is low thunder, lightning and rain. Smells of rain hitting warm pavement. The thunder is getting louder.

A cockroach cautionary

My boyfriend's house in Brooklyn has become a place of refuge for cockroaches on the verge of extinction, trying to evade the inevitable hand of evolution. While he was over here in Europe for the past month and a half, the roaches back in Brooklyn had no food or water around and most of the regular troupe fled, but a few have stuck around. The not-so-smart ones. They hang around, not really knowing what to do with themselves, not knowing the RULES of engagement between humans and cockroaches, the rules that other cockroaches happily seem to know innately, like

When the light goes on: scram, or there will be blood.
Keep it discreet.
Run fast.
Find a good hiding spot, and when it's discovered, flee.
Never go into areas of the house that don't contain food. It serves no purpose and raises alarm.
Never try to make friends with a human.

Last night he discovered a cockroach walking across his foot. I've never heard of a roach behaving like this. These are clearly either the ones who might not survive an atomic blast, or else they're the future. I think the ones hanging out in his house are trying to make friends, wondering why we can't all get along, trying to push the boundaries of integration in areas outside of the stereotypical kitchen option previously so favoured by cockroaches.

It can't last.

Beautiful scene on the Carrer de Verdi

The skinny swarthy dreadlocked man who works in my local supermarket, caressing his dog's head gently and reassuringly before leaving her attached to a lamp-post and going into his workplace. The look on her face as she accepted his love. The way she watched him go, her rump taking up half the footpath. How relaxed she was, with no anxious anticipation of anyone walking on her, as they crossed her path. But mostly her eyes, her face, as he cupped it in his hand, standing behind her, her sheer loving intelligence, and his, as they embraced before parting. Her eyes squeezed closed with delight, relaxed delight. He looked into my eyes as I approached them, protective of her.

It was the most beautiful thing I saw today, the most beautiful way I have seen two creatures being together, in some time. It is rare to see human lovers who love with such intimacy, such ease and casual joy in their loving.

The whole thing took about 3 seconds. I saw it happen. I only registered it mentally after I had seen it. I have been thinking about it ever since. A non- SLR/film camera will not capture this kind of moment.

Great Idea of the Day

I'm introducing a new post series here on LUCY TAKES OFF, from my adventures on the internet, called Great Idea of the Day. And we're introducing it in style. If you are not yet acquainted with the gorgeous concept of seed bombing, get ready to feel the revolution.

If this is sunday, it must be Dublin

I had a whole blog post paragraph written yesterday, and its topic was the American independence day. I didn't post it in time, and it's gone past its sell by date now, like an over-crispened trotter, or a squib left out in the overnight dew. God knows it's rare I write a blog post these days. I am drawn to capitalising, suddenly, BUT I KNOW IT MIGHT NOT COME TO ANY GOOD. OH. THAT FEELS GOOD. THAT'S SOME KIND OF A RELIEF. BUT IT PROBABLY MAKES ME LOOK HYSTERICAL. OH WELL. NOT THAT I MIND ABOUT THAT.

SO, NOW THAT I'M CAPITALISING HAPPILY, I NOTICE THAT CONTENT HAS DRIED UP ENTIRELY. I AM SATISFYING MY OWN SELFISH DESIRES AT THE EXPENSE OF ANY INTEREST TO MY LOYAL READERS WHO COME BY HERE DAILY, HOPING HOPING... AND THOSE OTHERS, WHO LATELY SEEM TO BE COMING IN ALARMING REGULARITY, IN SEARCH OF 'GAGGED LADIES'. LORD. OK, I THINK I AM now sated of capitals. not that i don't expect it to come flooding back again without so much as a by your leave. but for now, it seems that i've gotten capitalisation out of my system.

Yeah, that didn't last long. Ross is right now crossing Flatbush to Freddy's, where he will have a pint of Sierra Nevada, and chat with the regulars for an hour. I am a few thousand miles away, where it is LATE (yowza) and I must get up soonish to start my Big Trek To Dublin, and Back To Barcelona. I wonder how it will be when I return. I wonder what I will do there, this time. It's been a year of a lot of travelling. Ireland has functioned as a kind of return place this past year, for the first time since 2003. Over and back to New York, Barcelona, Copenhagen, Marseille, Milan, in various combinations, since last june. And I'm still on the move.

Short Shine

I'm not usually one for declaring favourites, but whenever anyone asks me what my favourite movie is, I began saying The Shining about 3 years ago, when I saw it for the first time. Channel 4 has just made a lovely promo for a bunch of Kubrick movies they're showing. It's like taking the nouns from an elegant poem and making the font nice, and laminating them. I quite like it.

For the New Yorkers

... there's this guy. For everybody else, go to New York, email that guy, he'll come and draw you.

Irish summer

We've just had a sudden downpour of hailstones and huge drops of rain, here in Clare. It lasted 15 minutes, now blue sky and sunny again. This is the Irish summer this year: showery, cold in the nights, grey clouds every day, bright spells, fresh. The growth is incredible this year! Everything green loves this weather of course, the whole natural landscape is full and vibrant.

People, however, are fleeing the country in droves, seeking heat. I feel the other way, I've been in Barcelona city heat for a month, and this is a welcome respite from hot concrete. The air smells so good to me.

This time last year I was also in Ireland for a short spell, on a journey that had brought me from Denmark to France and on to Clare, then forward to New York city in mid July. This time, I'm on my way back to Barcelona. Been there with Ross this past month. I'm returning alone, this time.

Want to hear the sound of a giggling rat being tickled?

Now's your chance.

oh alright, and

this

oh, and this

If this is friday, it must be Limerick

It's a sunny day in Limerick. That's all I'm saying.

Hello Philadelphia

... who googled gagged ladies and cat, and found their way here, somehow... oasis in the storm? Glad to have you, Philly.

Paean to these blogging tarts

Ok so there are fucking ten million places now on the internet where you can post your random passing thought of the moment, in pithy one liner fashion. I'm not starting this one pretty.

Facebook
One of the most beautiful things I have seen on the internet in quite some time
Twitter
Gmail Chat
All those postcard-your-feelings-into-our-website genre items
And while you're at it, have a look at Smithmag's six word memoirs

I've just discovered Spanish dippable digestive biscuits. They're extra hard so you can dunk them in your tea without disintegrating (and not as sweet as the exported version by mcvities) but not so hard that you can't nibble on them dry too.

And they make an excellent percussion instrument.

Oh this year I'm off to sunny Spain

AY veeeeeeva espanyaaaaaaaah...

We boogie whether weather

Milan rain. Barcelona rain. It's all wet. Art.

Lough Corrib