When I was growing up my parents were ahead of their time. We had a giant console car phone; complete with spiral cord. It had to be removed from the vehicle whenever we got out. Thank Rod it came in a handy carrying sack, more like a backpack. I mean, the thing weighted 18 pounds. There weren't digital cameras. You got to relive all your forgotten memories when you got them back double stacked in that yellow envelope. In the last 15 years that's all changed. We've become a society of watchers and watch-mes. Not to say that there is anything wrong with that. Papa B and I love people watching. That's where we get our best material. The world around us has always been of interest...I might even say obsession.
But this guy*insert heave-hoe thumb point* may have gone too far. A man sits with a friend behind my BFF; embroiled in a close-talking, drunken confession-session. They are out of earshot, especially with the ceiling fan spinning and the jukebox blaring a wicked summer songs. Saysaysay, message in a bottle and the Boss. Perfect soundtrack to a Saturday. There is no way; repeat; no way I could have heard what he was saying. Though I will admit that I tried. Engrossed in our own stimulating, though far less dramatic conversation, I am struck by a bolt of laughter, said Man stands up and yells across the empty patio: "Don't laugh! It wasn't funny to me." Surprised at our neighbour's outburst Damnber and I swivel our heads and laugh again. Then launch into a stream of apologies, explaining the laughter wasn't at him. The man impatiently accepts the apologies and then turned back to his drinking partner who continues to low talk at Us from way too far away. 'I can't hear you'*insert sign language Unable to understand what they were saying, we thanked them with squinting question mark eyes and turn back to our own broken conversation. Waiting until they downed their drinks and finished their butts. I tried to breakdown the sitch. We weren't listening right? Starring; maybe a little. Listening; impossible.
But he was convinced that we were obsessed, interested; watching him. How? What about us told him that we were interested in what he was saying? Though the problem with asking a question like that is: What about me and this blog? What would convince anyone there's something interesting? And that's a question I can't answer...Or won't. Even without the free time to luxuriate in this writing; I still try. I write in crowded subway cars and dark back alleys. In 1900 and 2012. Five days a week for the last six months. But Hubby continues to say there must be a point. A reason. But I think that actually doing it is the reason. I will not be just a quick-start. I will be an implementer. An interrogator and a sad sack. My personality tests have confirmed that. But I guess the real question isn't who's watching who?
But this guy*insert heave-hoe thumb point* may have gone too far. A man sits with a friend behind my BFF; embroiled in a close-talking, drunken confession-session. They are out of earshot, especially with the ceiling fan spinning and the jukebox blaring a wicked summer songs. Saysaysay, message in a bottle and the Boss. Perfect soundtrack to a Saturday. There is no way; repeat; no way I could have heard what he was saying. Though I will admit that I tried. Engrossed in our own stimulating, though far less dramatic conversation, I am struck by a bolt of laughter, said Man stands up and yells across the empty patio: "Don't laugh! It wasn't funny to me." Surprised at our neighbour's outburst Damnber and I swivel our heads and laugh again. Then launch into a stream of apologies, explaining the laughter wasn't at him. The man impatiently accepts the apologies and then turned back to his drinking partner who continues to low talk at Us from way too far away. 'I can't hear you'*insert sign language Unable to understand what they were saying, we thanked them with squinting question mark eyes and turn back to our own broken conversation. Waiting until they downed their drinks and finished their butts. I tried to breakdown the sitch. We weren't listening right? Starring; maybe a little. Listening; impossible.
But he was convinced that we were obsessed, interested; watching him. How? What about us told him that we were interested in what he was saying? Though the problem with asking a question like that is: What about me and this blog? What would convince anyone there's something interesting? And that's a question I can't answer...Or won't. Even without the free time to luxuriate in this writing; I still try. I write in crowded subway cars and dark back alleys. In 1900 and 2012. Five days a week for the last six months. But Hubby continues to say there must be a point. A reason. But I think that actually doing it is the reason. I will not be just a quick-start. I will be an implementer. An interrogator and a sad sack. My personality tests have confirmed that. But I guess the real question isn't who's watching who?
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