Me Shout Outs

06 November, 2009

Story #1

Mornin’ me aul flowers!

First and foremost, I want to acknowledge me close friends, Linda AKA Rolonda and Mr. Weasil. The latter, in particular, has been at me to put my pen to the Internet and stop "diddling around" and get me stories "out there." And to the former for pressing me to do the same, only she'd prefer I "publish" so I can dedicate me silly stories to her, ;). So for the Weasil, here I be. And, here come me silly experiences (which will hang out for all the world to see -- much to me shame) and to Linda, me muse, me partner in crime, and all things having to do with chocolate, a walk down memory lane. And to everyone else, in anything I write here, let it be understood I do not mean to insult any group or persons. Instead, I point out me flaws and faults in what I hope be a humorous read. 

With all the above in mind, I should explain meself. I came from Ireland to start a job with a Boston newspaper. Before that, I was born and raised in Newry, Northern Ireland, and I knew as much about Boston as any resident of me hometown, which was practically nothing. I had broken up with me girl and wanted to better meself and what better way than to get a new start abroad in America, where dreams come true.

I had spent me time planning ahead, found a flat (apartment) via the Internet, explored Boston by same, and with all me savings, I packed me meagre bags, kissed me family goodbye and boarded Aer Lingus for the New World.

When I got here (to while away me lonely hours on me own), I subscribed to an Internet service and brazenly entered a chat room, where the mention of me Irish-ness had me being pursued by all as if I were a rock star. In this maze of "fans," I established one letter-writing friend who stood out. This was Linda, a lovely lady from the southwest who shared me disdain for certain things, but most of all, me love of everything chocolate. During our correspondence, some hilarious exchanges occurred, and the end result was me unloading me sorry (to her funny) life in Boston.

I don't know if the following is your brand of humour, but I hope, at the very least, you'll get a smile out of it. To get an idea of meself, I have been described as tall, gangly, single, a thirty-something Irish male with enough education to work decently at a newspaper. Every letter (story) I place here has a grain of truth that I happily distort for my own and hopefully everyone who reads me letters . . . amusement.

But think of this first: It is rare, but when it happens, and it usually does, it is the best read. What might that be? A bestseller, a classic short story? No, it would be a written letter. I think maybe twice in my life, I have been sent a letter filled with so much humour or passion that I enjoyed it enough to share or read it aloud. In many books and even movies, especially classic ones, a young lady is seen absorbed in a letter as she passes through a garden, and we, the reader (or viewer), become enraptured as we read the words or listen to the voice-over.

What follows are me letters to Linda.

Oh, and watch out, you don't step in the blarney.

Gabe

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