Buses

Every morning, I catch the bus to the city. I live in Rozelle and work in St Leonards you see. This means that I have about a 10 minute bus ride followed by about a 10 minute train ride. I enjoy catching public transport to work, it gives me thinking time in the mornings.

One thing that I have spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about without reaching a satisfactory conclusion is; "Why do bus timetables exist?".

I can see no good reason for the existance of timetables for buses beyond a simple "oh, about every 20 minutes." The bus stop near my house proudly announces to anyone who'll listen that there is a bus at 6:32am and another at 6:46am. Later in the morning, between about ten past seven and eight o'clock, it opines that buses arrive every three or four minutes.

None of these times mean anything in the real world. I can arrive at the bus stop at 6:30am and wait ten minutes on most days. Traffic cannot be the problem at this time - there isn't any. So why on earth does the 6:32am bus arrive at a seemingly random time?

The later buses are even more bewildering. I can arrive at the bus stop at half past seven and wait fifteen minutes without seeing a bus. I then see three buses, all full as they whiz past me, carrying those passengers lucky enough to have gotten on board at an earlier bus stop. Was that the 7:28 bus running eighteen minutes late? Was it the 7:32 bus running fourteen minutes late? Between the time I arrived and now, five buses were due. Where are the other two?

A few minutes later, a fourth bus arrives, full to overflowing, but conceding to stop and allowing me to jam myself in amongst the commuters. As I wedge myself between a middle-aged business-man ceremoniously reading the paper and a teenage girl with access to far too much cheap perfume, I notice another bus, whizzing past us, almost empty. We are still at least two buses short.

Moments like this make me wonder if there are bus gods, much in the sense of the Roman or Norse gods. Gods responsible for specific but mundane aspects of human endeavour. Gods of supermarket shopping, gods of toothpaste, gods of not-realising-your-cursor-has-moved-to-another-line-and-messed-up-everything-you-are-typing, gods of buses.

It makes sense to believe in these gods and it makes sense to believe that they have a sense of humour. It explains a lot.

The Chikenz is away

The Chikenz has gone to meditate. This happens about 2-3 times a year I guess. Usually for a weekend, but this time it's for a whole week. As a result, Spike and I are playing bachelors. Last night we went for our walk, drank beer, ate take-away and watched TV. Life is good.

I'm still reading the Hitchens book. Last night read an essay on Michael Moore, one on the teaching of history and another on his travels on Route 66. This morning I read some more on the train. He really is a tremendous writer. He has this implacable, rational approach to whatever subject he approaches. At times, I disagree with his position, but his arguments are so well made, his opinions are so well expressed, that I can't help but admire him.

Farrah and Michael and JFK too

Part of the reason for starting this blog was to allow me to muse on subjects that crossed my path. Don't look for a theme, there isn't one, just random meanderings.

So with Farrah and Michael both dead, I figure I should comment.

I heard about the death of Farrah Fawcett on Thursday night (or was it Friday morning?) and was oddly touched by it. Figures from one's youth can have that effect, but the effect is diminished by the nostalgia industry. Few figures of prominence are allowed to fade away anymore. Fawcett had achieved that anonymity and I guess her reward is to be forever remembered as the blonde-haired, toothsome beauty of Charlie's Angels. The archetypal California Girl of the late 1970s.

Jackson on the other hand has rarely left the spotlight of the celebrity circus, although there have been times when he milled toward the edge of the metaphoric stage, demanding attention less for what he did than for what he had become - a freak. He became a Tod Browning character, not so much chanting "one of us", rather being the object of the chant. I suspect that his celebrity with wax strong over the coming months - it's only a matter of time before he is spotted at that 7-11 with Elvis and JFK.

Speaking of JFK, I am reading a collection of essays by Christopher Hitchens at the moment. The one I read last night was on JFK himself. It appears that he was a rather more sickly character than legend would have us believe. He suffered from all manner of ailments and was taking quite a cocktail of medications. Hitchens implies that the second shot from Oswald found its mark partly because Kennedy was unable to bend due to the backbrace he was wearing.

Hitchens does not deal with Kennedy too kindly and as he starts to enumerate some of the blunders committed by Kennedy, I can start to understand why. The Bay of Pigs invasion was ill-advised and embarrassingly naive at best. Subsequent actions smacked more of hubris than statesmanship. Analysing Kennedy's presidency leaves a distinct feeling that he was the first of the celebrity politicians. A lot more style than substance. A knack for the soundbite and grand oratory, but very little more than that.

Of course, you have to remember that Hitchens wrote this.

Photos from Ronnie and Zoe's visit

This photo was taken inside QVB... no special reason for it, mainly I think I liked the symmetry of the arches.

This is the statue of Captain Cook that Ronnie was photographing.

The Big Spud!

The Zazoo Monster!

And... here's a picture!

These are the two photos I was talking about in the first post.

Ronnie takes a picture.

Ronnie taking a picture of the Captain Cook statue in Hyde Park.

At the War Memorial

Ronie and Zoe at the war memorial in Sydney

Spike

This is Spike in his bed. It's his favourite place.

Ronnie's Birthday Cake

The trip was for Ronnie's birthday, which had happened a month before, so we told her we would have to get a birthday cake. She chose a Teddy Bear cake from 85 degrees.

Akino, Zoe and Heidi. We're on the way to the "Winter Festival", which turned out to be prety lame...