Dinner with a bum and street car romance.

You may cross the street to avoid them, sometimes pretend you didn't see them and sometimes you just flat out ignore them. I'm not talking about your local 'Greenie' signature catcher, I'm talking about your resident bum. Street person, homeless, begger or bum. What ever label we attached to them we can all picture the last one we met, helped or avoided.

It was a Sunday so naturally it was time for a burger, not a fast food one but a gourmet burger. The type of burger you get from one of those places that is realitively clean, has a funky name, charges too much for fries and somehow still distracts you into thinking that you are eating healthy just because you've got avocado under your 1/2 pound meat patty (delicious). 

Walking toward the door I saw him sitting on the telecom box on the opposite side of the footpath. Anticipating dialogue and carrying a few pieces of luggage I thought to myself what an inconvenient time to be asked for loose change but, then again when was there ever going to be a convenient time? I could smell him walking by and he didn't say a word. A little surprised as sometimes 'they' can be quite aggressive in this neighbourhood. I ordered, found a seat by the window and thought about what he could do with the change as I put it back in my wallet. We sat together as I ate. A window and footpath divided us as we tried to avoid looking at each other. After asking a few passers by for change he pulled pizza from a crumpled box and ate with me. We exchanged eye contact and I thought to myself "I'll definitely be asked on the way out" So I started to devise a game plan. Was I going to commit some loose change? Was I going to just keep walking straight? In the end, I'd decided to see how dinner went first.
Later that evening I fell in love with a girl on the street car. When you enter any Public Transport vehicle there's always that moment of frustration as you decide where you're going to sit. Some good will phrases become PT obsolete when selecting a seat. for example: "don't judge a book by its cover" or "it's what's on the inside that counts" because first impressions count! You do not want to end up next to a chatter box, seat hog or stinker. Every once in a while there is a good looking member of the opposite sex and for that brief moment you start to think every hollywood romantic comedy was actually based on real event's and its your turn. It goes the other way too, there is gratification for when a stranger selects you as their 'excursion buddy', makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside that you must look some kind of normal and trustworthy enough to sit next to.
Then it happened, one stop in and she chose to sit next to me! I immediately regretted not seeing the latest Zac Efron soap or 'The Notebook'- where was I gong to pull a corny line from now? I thought about how we were going to one day laugh about how we met each other, I thought about where she must have come from and how creepy it is just thinking about this stuff in the first place. Then the next time the street car doors open she left, only to be forgotten and replaced by a seat hog at the next stop.
Strangers come in and out of our lives everyday. Some more important than others, the importance of strangers and the emotions they evoke are not to be dismissed. They challenge us by coming into our lives uninvited, they inspire us to be or not to be like our perception of them, they can comfort us just by being there like late at night on a lonely street car. We mustn't forget the importance of a chance meeting and the influence strangers have on our day and the days that follow. They help us define ourselves by perception. They contribute to our growth as individuals. Whether it be a lost love on the street car or a bum on the footpath, these instances spark a little more then a few thoughts from time to time. In the aftermath of such events there may be that insightful moment of "damn! thats what I should of said" but if it wasn't for that missed chance you'd never know for when the time is right. Sometimes it's a fleeting moment where you're left wanting more, sometimes it goes way too long and sometimes you share dinner together. What ever the amount of time it may be, it was the right amount. 

To bloke, or not to bloke?

I can't write moral lessons all the time, it's immoral. Since every culture has one and every language has a word for one and I was recently asked to describe what a 'bloke' was, here I go. I didn't really know how to respond. It's an Aussie thing sure but how do you describe a cultural icon? What exactly made a bloke, a bloke? So after a lot of free time, head and moustache scratching this is what I've come up with.
It's hard to describe a human that has no physical characteristic's. I bloke could be any one at any time, you could have a bloke next to you right now. First and foremost a bloke is male. The age of a bloke must be that of 30-35+, this can only be determined by older blokes voicing the term "he's a good young bloke", usually spoken about professional sportsman who by nature usually retire within that bracket. This statement alone suggests that being a bloke is not something that you can achieve in your early years nor be rewarded with, it's a title you have to earn. Self proclamation would only result in prolonging the process of 'blokery'.*
So what are the defining behavioural patterns of this social anomaly? To best describe this guy we have to contextualise and what better way than by using a social setting that every one can identify with.... the pub!
When meeting other blokes and their partners down the tavern for a few beers, dinner and a chin wag a bloke always turns up 5-10 minutes late, its not a fashion or attention seeking thing- he has a genuine excuse, like he got caught up putting away the BBQ from the footy club fundraiser. Upon entry he always says hello first, deliver's good handshakes and kiss's on the cheeks. From there he 'bloke's up'**  and heads to the bar to ensure he gets a beer in that hand straight away (just in case there is dancing later) and makes sure his lady friend has a 'chardy' or 'shandy'- chivalry is not dead to a bloke. As is custom, the bloke and his partner go their separate ways. Bloke's with bloke's, girl's with the girl's- it's been that way from the beginning of time. Adam was the first one to break that tradition when he stayed with Eve (therefore Adam can not be a bloke).
When 'bloking out'*** and conversing a bloke always offer's support to a friend by firstly insulting them and then telling them they are "alright", mostly because it's important to maintain a sense of confidence and respect from other bloke's. This respect is what navigate's a bloke through his friendships. There are a lot of thing's you can do to become one but there are more things you can do to lose the title, so here are a few simple guidelines to live by if you are striving to become a bloke:

A bloke does not wear Crocs.
A bloke does not secretly order himself a light beer in a round.
A bloke does not agree to watching a 'chick flick' unless he has negotiated a better deal for himself.
A bloke does not know what 'dad jokes' are- they're just jokes.
A bloke does not ask for directions.
A bloke does not go into the cubicle to pee.

A bloke tries to have a little bit of everything on his fork at the same time while eating.
A bloke boast's to other bloke's about how 'hung over' he was.
A bloke know's how to give a good handshake.
A bloke will always pronounced his statements while seeking approval eg: "Gee's, it's cold isn't it?"
A bloke always wants socks and undies for christmas.
A bloke helps a bloke move.

Key:
*Blokery: the past tense of becoming or art of being a bloke.
**Bloke up: the initial procedure to getting shit done.
***Bloking out: spending time with other bloke's.

So if you love him or hate him the bloke is already part of your life. Feel free to add your thoughts or experiences of this faceless man below.

The Fresh Prince waits for no one.

"Not here, what's this idiot doing, c'mon- I'm going to miss it!" Small town streets are always crowded toward the end of the day and there's no where for the school bus to stop. As we came into town I always urged the driver to pull over straight away as it was closer to my road but all too often the station wagon's and utes that lined the thorough-fair added more to the walk home.
"If this dick head goes past the milk bar I'm going to lose it, It's already 10 to 4" It was true, the bus driver didn't know what I was up against, 10 mins to get home- like to see him try. 'The Fresh Prince of Belair' was on at 4 and I didn't want to miss it. I used to watch it with my next door neighbour, he went to a different school and his bus always ran on time and dropped him at an easier spot too. Although he was always home before me I found comfort in that his school's uniform was poo brown in colour.
It always seemed to be hot when I had somewhere to be. Pretty sure Channel 9 only used to air 'TPOB' in spring or summer because that 4 o'clock deadline always seemed to have the odds stacked against it. Why couldn't they have aired in the winter instead of 'Cheers', I mean I love 'Cheers' but when it comes to a one on one with 'The Fresh Prince'..... pfft, not even Woody could beat Will's rapper charm. I once met a kid on holidays who prided himself on knowing all the words to 'Boom' by 'Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince'. Even then I wanted to tell him he was an idiot but he got a mini TV for Christmas so it was in my best interests to be friends in the hope I'd be able to watch Warnie bowl in the cricket.
There was a certain tactic to getting home that was a daily ritual. Step 1- March past the milk bar and resist the temptation of a 'big boss' musk stick. Step 2- Put your head down rounding the corner of the hair dresser just in case you made awkward eye contact with the one who gave your last bad hair cut and then, Step 3- Walk the hill. I hated that hill. Before I could taste the dirt of our road I had to first climb that hill. An average day to get up that hill would take a good 15 minutes with mindless meandering and stalling as you hoped for a lift. On the other hand, a personal best of 6 mins 27 secs to get home was a ball tearer! I can confidently say I went through some character developing moments on that hill. Legend had it that a kid once went down on his bmx wearing only shorts and thongs and lost all his skin after a fall. It was a hill to fear.
When you reach the top you've got to walk past that dodgy house on the corner. There was always older kids outside who gave you shit as you walked past and everyday you hoped they weren't there. Nowadays you can see them down the street and give them a look thats says "ahh its you, looks like you're still a dick head"
Around the corner and it's the final stretch, the long dirt road. God forbid the council had just grated it, that just made it tougher to navigate the walk. To anyone else it wasn't a problem but, to these little legs any loose gravel was an obstacle. Walking that road on a hot day felt like you were in a desert. No shade from the gums, each passing car layered you in a dusty blanket and not a short cut in sight. At this point there was a light at the end of the tunnel though, or in this case a tunnel of Eucalyptus branches at the end of the road. Reaching that tunnel gave you new hope, a new energy, from there it was smooth sailing, those Clark's school shoes kicked in a new gear and your defeated slouch turned into a triumphant march toward the driveway. 60, 58, 56, 54, 52- I'm Home! running up that driveway you can almost hear Will's first joke about Carlton's ignorance. As you put the key in the door the theme song was playing in your head like a victorious ballad. Inside on the slate floor the air engulf's you like air from the open meat and dairy fridges at the supermarket. Shoes and shirt off you lunge for the tv remote. "Shit, ads are on!" thats okay though, still time to run to the freezer and get a sunny boy and make this day one to remember. The last 10 seconds of a ch. 9 ad about 'Hey Hey' is on and you know it's coming, sure you've probably missed the song but that's okay because Youtube was only 10 short years away and you could watch it whenever you wanted then. Yessssssss! back from commercial break, this is going to be awesome! and then, "Shit! it's a bloody repeat"
It's a fair judgement that the Fresh Prince was an important part of my day which I stressed over. In hind sight it wasn't so much the show but the importance of being home, spending time with friends and life's little luxury of a 'sunny boy' on a hot day. Looking back I can laugh that that was the most important thing going on in my life (more important than homework and girls) which allows me to laugh at any current situation which may be causing worry. So matter the hill's you're climbing or the long dusty stretches of road to walk (metaphor's to die for...), find your Fresh Prince of Bel air and laugh a little.

Rocks on the tracks go 'bang'!

'BANG'! and the cry of laughter consumes and disorientates you for a moment before someone calls out "Run!" It never really makes sense why you did it, it never really made sense when you were on the way to do it, it still doesn't make any sense but gee it's exhilarating. I can't remember the day of the week, I can't remember how old but, I remember the sense of guilt, pride and camaraderie that came with it. It was fun, it was dangerous and if Mum found out we were dead. 

It must of been summer, the air so still all you could hear was the sound of bugs in the air as you chased the haze coming off the metro train tracks. Too young to wear sunglasses and too forgetful to wear a hat so with each step you take your trying to keep the sun from your eyes with one hand while the other over the top of your nogon just in case your head caught on fire. The whole time your walking alongside the tracks with your mates all you can think of is the last thing Mum said as you were slamming the car door in her face: "Don't play near the train tracks". At that age it feels like the trees have eyes and are whispering the same words, with each pace a quick look over the shoulder just to see if you can catch them talking, it was as if they were passing the message back up the line where Mum was waiting for the tip off. 

Growing up near the end of the line there was a lot of track that ran through the bush between each of the last stations. Plenty of bush lands to explore, plenty of mischief to be had. Throwing rocks, throwing sticks, getting mud on your pants, starting the odd fire (if it wasn't fire season of course), building cubbies and if you could combine all of those well, that was a good day! Playing near the tracks was dangerous- Mum said so, everyone heard 'that' story about 'that' kid from 'that' school who got killed doing the same thing last year. 'That story' scared the shit out you but, we were different, we could run faster, hide better and not get caught. It's this difference that now makes you think if it was bravery or naivety. 

I wasn't that big of a kid, in fact I was tiny but I had two undeniable super powers. I was a smart arse and I could throw a rock like a bullet. It all comes down to good rock selection, only idiots pick up massive cinder blocks. C'mon, once you've thrown a 'skimmer' across a dam or into the ocean it doesn't take long to figure out that you look for one that's a little more aero dynamic. Good rock selection skills bleed into other important area's like good stick selection. Good selection was paramount when choosing the right rocks to put on the train tracks. Choose the right one and you get that explosion that shutters your spine as your shaking in your hiding spot.  

While walking beside the track that first train catches you unaware and everyone scammers to find a tree to hide behind, a wombat hole to take cover in or last resort to dive for that high patch of stabbing grass to lay beneath. "Did the driver see us?", "Do you think he's radioing the cops?", all questions that kept the adrenaline going as we plotted for the big one. Exploding rocks on the tracks was a big one. It's one you didn't talk about at school in case a teacher found out, it's one where you're really careful about who's present when you do it, it's borderline international espionage type stuff, the big one. 

It was naughty, it was really naughty. Playing by the train tracks was getting a smack on the arse type material but when you got back into the car at the end of the day and Mum asks what you got up to there is only one response..... "not much". Then you shut up. Try and change the subject, "What's for tea?" was a favourite. The whole time butterfly's raging in your stomach that the tree's got the message up the line and she was just playing with you because she knew. That trip home can seem forever, and then she stops and treats you to fish'n'chips for tea and your thinking "Gees I'm in real trouble now if she finds out". Guilt has settled in for the rest of the night. 

A pivotal point in social development is when a child first figures out how to lie. Rocks on the tracks in hind sight can be viewed as childhood mischief and good social development with maintaing friendships. With that said has pushing boundaries of what you could get away with at that age and the lack corrective punishment have dramatic ramifications on your relationships later in life? Has this continued to where you have a need to keep pushing those boundaries of risk in your personal or professional life to a point of self destruction? Has the naughty kid grown up and learnt their lesson or are they still inside waiting to get caught? 

Mum never found out by the way.... until now.