Communication

So did you miss me?

When I wasn’t posting?

Blogs?

The thing you’re reading now?

I hadn’t posted any for almost a month. Nothing? I’m glad to see I’m making an impact on all your lives. Luckily I’m not sensitive or might not ever write again.
What’s that? You did miss me!!! Oh you guys, shucks.

Anyway, placating my ego aside, the good news is service has returned to normal here at InsertWittyPopCultureReferenceHere. I posted a quickie blog last week and hopefully for March we’ll have the more usual one a week. After some technical difficulties we are back in full effect. I say technical difficulties, what actually happened was I had no internet service.



If you’d have told me 4 years ago that being without the instant access to the “Information Superhighway,” (when was the last time anyone called it that?) would cause be such hardship I would have laughed in your face and poured Pepsi on your shoe. I didn’t need constant access to emails or social networking. I was fine living here in the real world thank you very much.

But times have indeed changed. When my old housemate moved out on the 27th of January taking with him his high-speed wireless internet connection I was left in something of a quandary. I didn’t want to sign a 12 month contract with a provider and the pay as you go options are just too slow or limited for me. So I took some time to weigh up my options.

For some people this would have just meant they would be without online gambling or internet porn for a while. This was true of me but it also meant I couldn’t post blogs or do any research. It also meant that I hadn’t a bogs notion of what was going on in the world.

I’ve spoken before about the brain killing effect of TV but I’m not sure if I told you that I actually got rid of my TV. I couldn’t take it, Daytime and Reality TV. Stupid American sitcoms. It had to go. It also meant I had no access to news programmes.

In fairness the quality of news reporting is no great shakes. The sensationalism of Sky News desperately trying to fill 24 hours with nothing stories about the engagement of Prince William and someone named Kate was pathetic. The failure of Ireland’s national broadcaster to never question the behaviour of our politicians (who also happen to be the ones in charge of the purse strings) was no great shakes either.

I could listen to the radio I suppose, but I have to say I find nothing more irritating than the sound of radio presenters either giving the mindless morons of the world a forum to air their idiotic opinions or the actual idiotic opinions of the radio presenters. Ironic coming from someone who gives his idiotic opinion on a blog, I know.

I think as a child, listening to the radio was always about the music and that’s what I want from it. I want the ‘DJ’s’ to shut up and play some tunes. Besides when I used to listen to news radio first thing in the morning on the way to a job I hated, it was just depressing. Job losses, murder, drugs, incompetent officials. I can’t be dealing with that before my coffee.

Then there is the newspaper. Well it’s the ink you see. It makes my hands go all black. Not to mention the fact that the broadsheets are so big and wieldy. I could get the tabloid version of them but that would just give away the fact that I can’t handle a ‘real’ newspaper.



So having exhausted traditional media the internet really is a vital tool for keeping up to date. Twitter is a fantastic resource if you want to follow a particular news story. A site like boards.ie, when you get past the unfortunate opinions, is a great place to get links to facts and information. And I was without my usual reference points in what was a very important time, personally, universally and internationally.

On a personal level, I was completely in the dark on one of the most dramatic days of the year. Football Transfer Window Deadline Day. It was more important than ever this year, with the series of events surrounding a man who I considered a hero. The will he, won’t he saga of Fernando Torres move to Chelsea had me on tenterhooks. I only felt the full force of his betrayal when I saw him the next day on the front cover of The Sun, of all papers, when I was in a shop buying a croissant.

Then, in even bigger news, The Rock returned to the WWE. This may be of little interest to you but anyone who knows the extent of my man love for The Rock will understand. I didn’t find out about his Monday night return until much later in the week.

None of this, of course compares to the turmoil in Egypt or Libya. Real news effecting people worldwide. And I keep seeing that guy Enda Kenny on TV’s in shop windows. Did he get sacked or something?

I guess being incommunicado isn’t all bad.

Commuter

Regular readers might remember that a I wrote a piece a couple of weeks that started off situated at bus stop. Without wanting to come across as devoid of ideas or something of a self parody, I’m going to start this one at one of Dublin Bus’s sheltered pick up points too. Don’t worry, I mean The Hangover and Leaving Las Vegas were both set in the same place but had very different outcomes.

Is there any more basic, per functionary place than the bus stop. No one ever visits there unless they are waiting…for a bus…to stop. Its more straight forward than Ronseal. Surely romance could never blossom at one of these plexiglass coverings, could it?

Taking my usual route through the park which is situated directly between my estate and the place where I get my bus to the city centre, I was on my way to work. As I got closer to my destination I saw one person already there. They were walking back and forth from the little bench that some of the bus stops have.

When I reached the stop I could see she was a very pretty girl. In her twenties. Dark hair tied back in a thick, neatly groomed pony tail. She wasn’t wearing a lot of make up, so her skin was clear and bright. She was wearing a blue wool coat over a short skirt with dark tights and knee high boots.By now, she’d stopped walking and her big brown eyes scanned the printed time table on the back of the shelter.

Failing to garner the necessary information from the printed rota she turned to me.

“Do you know what time the 19a usually comes at?” she pleaded with me.



I didn’t really have a satisfactory answer for her. My attitude to time keeping means I rarely look at something as Orwellian as a timetable. I’ll get there when I get there. I told her that there was usually one every twenty minutes or so. This did not seem to provide any comfort to my fellow traveller.

She continued her desperate pacing. She really was very attractive, her legs drawing most of my attention.

For the sake of openness I should admit, I;m a big fan of the boots tights and skirt ensemble that is in style this season. Actually if I’m completely honest I LOVE this look. Its incredibly sexy and it appeals to certain fantasies that I have….. Too much information?

Anyway, like the cliché of an expectant father in a 1950’s movie she strode up and down, constantly looking in the direction that our bus was due to come from. When she wasn’t searching the horizon she was look furiously at her watch. I’d never seen anyone in such a tizzy over a bus.

Not only was she beautiful but now I was intrigued. She could not stay still. It was as though, in her head, every step she took would bring the bus closer. Each stare into the distance willing her big yellow rescuer closer. There could only be two possible reason for such nervous fretting.

Concluding that she was either late for an interview or alternatively late for work and on some kind of warning for tardiness, I had to know.

It also seemed like it would be a bit of an ice breaker. A charming fellow such as myself taking in interest in her unfortunate predicament. If I’ve learned anything from watching romantic comedies over the years well then a stranger striking up a conversation in such unusual circumstances could only lead to wedding bells .

“ I think they normally get here on the half hour. What time do you have to be in town for?” I asked.

“Ten to. Will that get me in on time do you think? Should I get a cab?”

So far so good, in that she didn’t mace me or tell me that her boyfriend was in the Army.

“You should be alright. If there isn’t one here in ten minutes maybe get a taxi, but you’ve plenty of time.” I tried to sound as confident and reassuring as possible. It seemed to be working as she flashed me a smile. I’ve never found teeth so sexy.

She went back to her marching while I tried to think out a way to ask her to bear my offspring. Figuring I was getting ahead of myself I decided on asking why she was so impatient.

“So whats the rush?”

She stopped walking and there was that smile again. This was it. My whole life was about to change. Conversations like this always get the heroes in the movies laid. Don’t they? It’ll work for me, won’t it?

I don’t know. Just as she was about to reveal her innermost secrets and desires (and why she was in a rush,) a colleague of hers pulled in and offered her a lift. She lept at the chance, almost pulling the back door of the car of its hinges. She did turn and say goodbye before driving out of my life for ever.

Not exactly a Hollywood ending but then they rarely happen in real life. There is a Coke Zero advert which asks “ why do chick flicks give women unrealistic expectations?” I guess I fall into that category too. Kinda.