Get on the bus (1)

”Get on the bus” was the other proposed title for my diary during it’s last name change, but instead I went with “Do the right thing”. You all know about my love of Spike Lee films, don’t you?

Today I spoke to people on buses. This is quite new for me, I usually don’t talk to anyone. My routine on the bus to the city is to simply pay my fare, find a seat and promptly fall asleep. Especially in the mornings, when the only things I have to say are gibberish anyway. But recently I’ve found myself talking to this guy Michael. Which is also new for me, since looking at my entire inbox right now, not one text is from a guy. You may or may not have noticed this about me before but of the few friends I have, even fewer are guys. Dare I say that with the exception of male FODfolk, I have precisely one male friend. The David Brent in me wants to add “but he’s gay anyway” but I won’t say that. I also realise I shouldn’t have said “David Brent in me”.

And to be honest, it’s aesthetic. Yes, I’m a shallow bastard but you all know that. I think I’m more likely to befriend a girl because they look nicer. You can cackle all you like but at the end of the day, while Embryo is a great guy, he’s no Kerouac Phoenix (he’s a smilier, more heartfelt version of a Not-So-Silent Bob, she’s…unspeakably cute *blushes*). Sixtyten is also another top bloke, but he can’t hold a candle in the looks department to eire chick. And lunasa’s nice too, not too mention the much under-publicised Lami. I’m trying to picture LuvSpudz but this image of a mop just keeps blocking it.

But no, I am trying to change my ways. Men are funnier, in fairness. Smack The Pony is all very well but if it was written and performed just by men it would be in the middle of nowhere, to cruelly paraphrase it’s admittedly catchy theme tune. And men are more likely to find Family Guy funny, while admitting with a heavy heart that it got progressively crap towards the end. The thing is, the girls I always knew were more likely to empty their hearts out in front of you like a handbag’s contents on a table when they’re looking to find something and I love that. I love the confessional conversation, the home truths. And I’ve never really trusted another gent with such things.

But to come back to the aesthetics, it’s a little deeper than I first let on. I haven’t seen Shallow Hal, but the idea of someone’s inner beauty shining out is something I believe in. I’ve talked with a girl who blossomed before my eyes when she said something beautiful. And then her chin becomes cute, her nose needs to be kissed and her breasts heave forward in an oestrogen rush. Needless to say, this would be rather difficult for a guy to do.

So back to Michael. Michael is my sister’s friend’s brother, lives across the road and I never really spoke to him that much until one very hot night in May when I returned to the suburb after the Great FOD Congress in The Foggy Dew in Dublin. I was still raring to go (unlike Kerouac, Lami, mumble and Audrey Mancini – shattered now so they were), so I head across to Sis in her friend’s house. There I find a few cans being sunk while watching Austin Powers so I sit there with a can and generally got everyone in stitches laughing with my rude and sexist ramblings (this is before I gave up regular Jack Daniels consumption). Anyway, I got on like a house on fire (Eastenders was brilliant last week, wasn’t it?) with Michael and his band of merry men and I’ve managed to bump into them a lot since. Michael is, like me, a sincere geek with an eye for the pop culture to boot so there’s plenty to talk about of a November morning when I’d rather be asleep. And he talks about mobile phones, my unique specialist subject. I could talk about phones and networks til the cows come home. In fact they often have, and Michael and me would be there stood at the gate wearing caps and wellies and chatting away, completely oblivious to the glorious sunset and the entire herd walking past on their way into the barn.