Reality TV

Reality Television has a lot to answer for seeing as it's become a substitute for the myriad of entertainment that can be found in the real world. As one sits in front of the TV ridiculing the participants of such contrived BS, don’t forget that just outside your front doors there is a much richer and more entertaining world, full of real people to ridicule and laugh at, without being disturbed by commercial breaks or benign “words from our sponsors.”

On Sunday afternoon, Kate and I sat on a bench by a reservoir in Chestnut Hill. Circumventing the reservoir was a gravel path, exploited by people walking on their own, in small groups, cycling and dog walking or, in one particular case, dog running, in an array of different exercise garb.

A couple walked casually in front of us chatting and then stopped, “Ready” she asked, and then they proceeded to position themselves, arms set in running mode with fingers outstretched and palms flat. They both then placed one straightened leg behind whist the other was slightly bent in front, and with a little rock backwards, they were off, bouncing along the path together, arms cutting the air robotically. Shortly after, a man wearing long navy coloured chinos, a greyish short sleeved polo shirt and brown non-running shoes, scuttled past us, upright and with a pained look on his face. We wondered what he wore when he was out with friends at a bar. And then there was the girl with pink shorts; she glided along and seemingly, the only part of her anatomy that moved was her pink bottom.

I do sincerely admire joggers, or maybe it’s the commitment and determination required to run nowhere in particular that I admire. I have tried on a number of occasions to emulate them. Sadly, I am just not built that way, and my attempts usually end with me, red faced, puffing, panting, and bent forward, hands resting on my knees for support, with nausea negotiating with the contents of my stomach, and my chest pleading with me to seek alternative methods of entertainment. I am definitely a short burst running sort of person, and save this talent for emergencies.

The following evening we were at a bar, a couple sat close to us and it was obvious from their body language and strained attempt at conversation that their relationship was in its very early stages. It was hard to hear what she was saying, but he certainly made up for it as he boomed out question after question and statement after statement; is it difficult to buy clothes for your body size? I like good teeth, you look very nice by the way (30 minutes into the conversation), and then declared that the shirt he was wearing was his “second date shirt.” Apparently, pink is not the colour to wear on a first date- it gives the wrong impression, I suppose.

As they became more comfortable with each other, the clipboards came out and they went through the checklist together, “what I like and don’t like in a mate.” Once this was completed, they then proceeded to clarify their understanding to the answers of said checklist by talking about past relationships and declaring why they did not work out.

I am not being critical by commenting on such matters, as I appreciate that in someone else’s world I am the butt of jokes and ridiculed for the way I am, all of which is good and confirms that that there is an abundance of entertainment to be found outside of the box that dominates most living rooms.