I wait outside on the curb for my cab, the second one I've called tonight, feeling warm and buzzed but ready to go home. Mona canceled my first cab because she demanded that I needed to stay longer. I didn't argue. Hong had a big headache all night and was definitely not committed to having fun. He was already mentally tapped out of the wedding festivities the previous night, during the sangeet. His main goal was to get home and play poker. I swear nothing excites Hong anymore except gambling.
I wasn't ready to stop the experience yet though. After missing the ceremony part of the wedding, after standing in the wrong place afterwards (Mandisa: "You guys look adorable." Us: "Crap, we just missed your vows"), and after an off-and-on reception, the night was just gearing up. No way was I leaving yet. So at midnight, Hong and I parted ways. I to more Patron shots and champagne, Hong to home.
Three hours later, I was definitely feeling the burn but had jammed in some additional fun, and was now headed back to Eric and Anna's. As I leapt into my taxi, my skinny cabby asked where to. "Sterling Heights," I said. The girl in the passenger seat groaned. She had just been picked up too, and wanted to head home first. It was on the way, sort of. Being the gentleman that I am, I offered, "You can take her home first, no problem." She thanked me and offered cigarettes -- the perfect payment -- and we cruised around the streets of Michigan smoking with the windows down. I felt great.
Twenty minutes of staring at my GPS dot later, I was feeling a little worn down. Tired from the lack of sleep, stomach woozy from the alcohol, I was afraid I wasn't going to make it. I wondered what would be worse? Puking in the cab or puking in the Agustins, home of three wonderful babies? Thankfully, my double shot of Pepcid AC from earlier in the night held through and I arrived home to Hong and Eric playing chess.
Did I mention the cab cost $100? I couldn't decide if I had just tipped him generously or if I'd been swindled. Either way, it was worth it. Things that are always worth a few extra bucks: good times extended and basketball in a gym.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Day 296
My class is over. We had our final performance last night and the whole thing came off famously. I wasn't sure how many people would show up but the room was packed. Easily fifty or more people. When we arrived for rehearsal, we each got a chance to stand up on the stage and practice adjusting the mic, read a few paragraphs, and get a good view from the elevated platform. That view was so key, but it can be disconcerting to look over a crowd for the first time. Seeing empty chairs and getting a sense of the space was useful.I hadn't memorized any bits of my story. I knew that would make maintaining eye contact easier but I felt it was more important to get my words right. I'll look up when I got the chance. I had spent the previous night revising, making everything more colloquial, taking out all the alliteration that made my FOB-tongue stumble, and inserting a few more transitional phrases. I felt good about the piece, I felt good about my practice. The advice that Jon G and Heather gave me that afternoon was to "show more emotion." That could have been their advice to me for life, not just this performance.
Originally, I was slated to go second to last, right after intermission. In my head, I knew that my piece would probably work best first. It was short, it was frothy, and it was less serious than anybody else's. Chuck and Cathlin were the experienced performers of the group and maybe they should have bookended it, but both of their pieces were long. As we rehearsed, Sam changed the order and asked if Yasmine or I could go first. I volunteered myself. Not because I was dying to get on stage first, but because I just wanted it to be over.
Some people thrive on attention, spotlight, and audience feedback, I do not. It just makes me insanely nervous and self conscious. I had decided not to wear my typical thermal under my t-shirt for exactly this reason. Recently I've been breaking out in a mild sweat whenever something uncomfortable has been happening (speed dating, random social events). It's like Spidey sense, but useless and embarrassing.
I wanted to wear my hoodie up on stage, because it gave me more girth, but the whole space was so damn hot that I just ended up reading in my white tee. I sweated anyway, pausing a few times during my ten minute reading to wipe my head and then clear my palms. Goodness.
Overall, my reading went well. I'd like to think that I pull through better in the clutch. And I know I gave my best performance that night, with some good pauses, some better articulation, and better facial expressions. So it was a success. At the same time, it wasn't nearly as good as it could have been. I wish someone else had read it, then it would have been better. But that's not what this life challenge was about. I had to get up there and read. And I did.
Something to work on for next time: figuring out what to do with my hands. I tend to clasp and unclasp them. It makes me look intensely nervous and childish. Neither of which I was, of course.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Class Assignment: Final
The Art of Relationship War
A How-to
Pat Benatar, with her feline eyes and massive collection of spandex onesies, told us a long time ago, “Love is a Battlefield.” She sonically declared there would be no promises, no demands, and only love as war. The video for her song featured choreographed dancers doing moves that would now be relegated to the six o’clock aerobic hip hop class. But back then, as Pat shoulder shimmied a sleazeball off the dance floor and right out of her life, I knew that what she had to say was forever true: Love was a battlefield.
It makes so much sense doesn’t it? Love as war? A person’s heart has to be defended at all costs. Battles waged in the name of love have to be as fierce as those waged for independence. Fiercer even. Cast aside family ties and fight, like brother versus brother at Gettysburg. Overcome invincible odds like the heroic 300 did at Thermopylae. Charge epically, romantically, suicidally, into battle like the Light Brigade. That’s how fiercely you have to fight for love. As Wesley from the Princess Bride tells us, the fight is always “to the pain!”
So, when engaged in ultimate battle, with no recourse but the utter destruction of your enemy, who to turn to for advice but the Chinese? Well, not me exactly. But more specifically, Sun-Tzu, legendary theorist, heroic general, best selling author, and almost certainly a hit with the ladies. Somewhere in this spindly body of mine, his blood courses strong and proud, waiting to take over and assume command.
Sun-Tzu, he of the super styling fu manchu, laid down thirteen steps for success in any war-like endeavor. He started with Laying of the Plans (”Get a girlfriend”), asked for a definition of success (”Got a girlfriend”), and then wound through Plans for Attacking, Positioning, and Deceiving (”Keeping a girlfriend”). His last two chapters, the ones covering the proper use of fire and spies, were tactical masterpieces -- and my personal favorites -- so I’ll highlight a few things from there.
Who, when given the opportunity, hasn’t looked at their significant other’s email? Just a quick peek your heart says, while your brain is helplessly muttering, “Don’t do it! Respect her privacy!” That rational brain is soon screaming, “Who the fuck is this Mike character and why is he emailing her five times a day?” A bullet, imagined or not, is tearing through layers of your skin, your bone, your cartilage, fat, tendons and trust. The gaping hole left behind is waiting for some answers. You need some truth.
But (!), don't confront her, because then she’ll know you’ve been spying. Answers can be far more easily attained through a quick Google search. I highly recommend using quotes around the first and last name for more accurate results. It just works better.
Spying, or the gathering of intelligence, is usually counter intelligent. But being stupid can sometimes be really smart. You knew by opening Pamela’s inbox, that nothing positive could conceivably come flooding out. It would have been better to slide your mouse over to the “Sign Off” button and be done with it. But love is war, and knowing is half the battle. So I -- I mean, you -- read on, and maybe copy-paste some incriminating phrases. Maybe forward a line or two along to your friends for analysis. Then maybe send the whole thing when they ask for “more context.” All fuel for fiery retribution.
In his chapter dealing with fire, Sun-Tzu recommends waiting until the perfect moment to unleash vengeful fury. “If there is an outbreak of fire, but the enemy’s soldiers remain quiet, bide your time and do not attack.” Patience he means, don’t blow up everything all at once. Hold a little something back to knock your opponent, otherwise known as the love of your life, on their ass when they least expect it. Heaven knows you’ve been texting Sally from accounting a few more times than professionally necessary. And when the heated discussion about your possible but probably non-business use of “Miss you, see you Monday!” comes up? That’s the time to drag Mike and his five daily emails into the open. Fight fire with fire they say.
Sun-Tzu not only recommends holding something back in the arguing department, his Art of War emphasizes the importance of having reserves. Alternates, backups, troops to save the day. Never show off your entire repertoire and always tuck something up your sleeve. The general who throws his entire army into battle has no surprises left to spring.
Of course, there are nice surprises and not-so-nice surprises. Bringing her flowers when you’ve declared yourself a diligent non-romantic? Good surprise. Bringing her flowers because you’ve just lost rent at the casino? Bad surprise. Showing up uninvited when she’s out with just her friends? Surprise!
In a related lesson, it’s always better to not be too predictable. Or to let a girl know everything about you. As a Sun-Tzu admirer by the name of Napoleon Bonaparte once said, “You must not fight too often with one enemy, or you will teach him all your art of war.” Don’t be an open book. Be opaque, be difficult to grasp, be mysterious. Women love a good mystery. Nancy Drew, Agatha Christie, Angela Lansbury...and Velma from Scooby Doo, all shining examples of the female’s superior observational powers. It takes three times as much effort to hide something from a woman’s omniscient glare than from any male’s stupefied gaze.
Boys are also, by their very nature, entirely ill equipped to think of themselves as less clever than anybody else. Girls, by their sugar and Spice Girl empowered nature, know that boys aren’t nearly half as smart as they think they are. But boys can use that imbalance to their advantage. When faced with a difficult question, act confused; Sun-Tzu would call this allowing your enemy to underestimate you.
For example: “Did you love her as much as you love me?” “I don’t think I knew what true love was back then, so I can’t say.”
“Do you think she’s attractive?” “In what way?”
Deny, deceive, play dumb, and then run. A good warrior knows when to retreat. Sun-Tzu, Chapter Four, page ninety-six.
What Sun-Tzu counsels above all else, however, is that the best victory is one achieved without fighting. The general who accomplishes his goals without violence is the one to be admired. I understand and agree wholeheartedly. My man Sun is talking about passive aggressiveness isn’t he? To fight without fighting, right? Let water destroy rock, hugs instead of slugs, and rainbows before elbows.
In learning to turn the other cheek, it’s obvious that nothing infuriates a girl more than when you aren’t infuriated. So when she says: “Oh honey I’m sooo sorry I was talking to Justin all night, did you mind? It’s just we haven’t seen each other since, like, forever.”
Don't react. Intergalactic wars have been started for far less, I know. But don’t shrug her hand off your arm. Don’t grimace. Don’t even raise an eyebrow. The proper response, the art of relationship war response, is to shrug your shoulders and let it go -- for now. Cool off for a few weeks, wait for her guard to be down, and then fling the dagger.
“Oh honey, Sarah and I are going to get dinner and some drinks. I haven’t seen her since we broke up. She kind of wants to hang out alone. You don’t mind do you? It’s just we haven’t seen each other since, like, forever...” Be sure to imitate her exact wording and cadence. Practice beforehand if you have to. Borrow a mirror, buy a recorder, something.
The sudden similarity will hammer home your point, while having the dual advantage of reminding her that you were perfectly calm and collected when she transgressed, so she can’t say anything. She has to let you go. Make sure to dress up extra nice, exit with a big kiss, and thank her for being “so understanding.” Bonus points for leaving your phone behind in a place she’ll notice as soon as you leave.
Let’s see if she talks to Justin ever again.
Sun-Tzu, freaking genius right?
By committing to his thirteen simple lessons (like I have) you might strategically lose a few battles here and there, but trust me, you will never lose the war.
A How-to
Pat Benatar, with her feline eyes and massive collection of spandex onesies, told us a long time ago, “Love is a Battlefield.” She sonically declared there would be no promises, no demands, and only love as war. The video for her song featured choreographed dancers doing moves that would now be relegated to the six o’clock aerobic hip hop class. But back then, as Pat shoulder shimmied a sleazeball off the dance floor and right out of her life, I knew that what she had to say was forever true: Love was a battlefield.
It makes so much sense doesn’t it? Love as war? A person’s heart has to be defended at all costs. Battles waged in the name of love have to be as fierce as those waged for independence. Fiercer even. Cast aside family ties and fight, like brother versus brother at Gettysburg. Overcome invincible odds like the heroic 300 did at Thermopylae. Charge epically, romantically, suicidally, into battle like the Light Brigade. That’s how fiercely you have to fight for love. As Wesley from the Princess Bride tells us, the fight is always “to the pain!”
So, when engaged in ultimate battle, with no recourse but the utter destruction of your enemy, who to turn to for advice but the Chinese?
Sun-Tzu, he of the super styling fu manchu, laid down thirteen steps for success in any war-like endeavor. He started with Laying of the Plans (”Get a girlfriend”), asked for a definition of success (”Got a girlfriend”), and then wound through Plans for Attacking, Positioning, and Deceiving (”Keeping a girlfriend”). His last two chapters, the ones covering the proper use of fire and spies, were tactical masterpieces -- and my personal favorites -- so I’ll highlight a few things from there.
Who, when given the opportunity, hasn’t looked at their significant other’s email? Just a quick peek your heart says, while your brain is helplessly muttering, “Don’t do it! Respect her privacy!” That rational brain is soon screaming, “Who the fuck is this Mike character and why is he emailing her five times a day?” A bullet, imagined or not, is tearing through layers of your skin, your bone, your cartilage, fat, tendons and trust. The gaping hole left behind is waiting for some answers. You need some truth.
But (!), don't confront her, because then she’ll know you’ve been spying. Answers can be far more easily attained through a quick Google search. I highly recommend using quotes around the first and last name for more accurate results. It just works better.
Spying, or the gathering of intelligence, is usually counter intelligent. But being stupid can sometimes be really smart. You knew by opening Pamela’s inbox, that nothing positive could conceivably come flooding out. It would have been better to slide your mouse over to the “Sign Off” button and be done with it. But love is war, and knowing is half the battle. So I -- I mean, you -- read on, and maybe copy-paste some incriminating phrases. Maybe forward a line or two along to your friends for analysis. Then maybe send the whole thing when they ask for “more context.” All fuel for fiery retribution.
In his chapter dealing with fire, Sun-Tzu recommends waiting until the perfect moment to unleash vengeful fury. “If there is an outbreak of fire, but the enemy’s soldiers remain quiet, bide your time and do not attack.” Patience he means, don’t blow up everything all at once. Hold a little something back to knock your opponent, otherwise known as the love of your life, on their ass when they least expect it. Heaven knows you’ve been texting Sally from accounting a few more times than professionally necessary. And when the heated discussion about your possible but probably non-business use of “Miss you, see you Monday!” comes up? That’s the time to drag Mike and his five daily emails into the open. Fight fire with fire they say.
Sun-Tzu not only recommends holding something back in the arguing department, his Art of War emphasizes the importance of having reserves. Alternates, backups, troops to save the day. Never show off your entire repertoire and always tuck something up your sleeve. The general who throws his entire army into battle has no surprises left to spring.
Of course, there are nice surprises and not-so-nice surprises. Bringing her flowers when you’ve declared yourself a diligent non-romantic? Good surprise. Bringing her flowers because you’ve just lost rent at the casino? Bad surprise. Showing up uninvited when she’s out with just her friends? Surprise!
In a related lesson, it’s always better to not be too predictable. Or to let a girl know everything about you. As a Sun-Tzu admirer by the name of Napoleon Bonaparte once said, “You must not fight too often with one enemy, or you will teach him all your art of war.” Don’t be an open book. Be opaque, be difficult to grasp, be mysterious. Women love a good mystery. Nancy Drew, Agatha Christie, Angela Lansbury...and Velma from Scooby Doo, all shining examples of the female’s superior observational powers. It takes three times as much effort to hide something from a woman’s omniscient glare than from any male’s stupefied gaze.
Boys are also, by their very nature, entirely ill equipped to think of themselves as less clever than anybody else. Girls, by their sugar and Spice Girl empowered nature, know that boys aren’t nearly half as smart as they think they are. But boys can use that imbalance to their advantage. When faced with a difficult question, act confused; Sun-Tzu would call this allowing your enemy to underestimate you.
For example: “Did you love her as much as you love me?” “I don’t think I knew what true love was back then, so I can’t say.”
“Do you think she’s attractive?” “In what way?”
Deny, deceive, play dumb, and then run. A good warrior knows when to retreat. Sun-Tzu, Chapter Four, page ninety-six.
What Sun-Tzu counsels above all else, however, is that the best victory is one achieved without fighting. The general who accomplishes his goals without violence is the one to be admired. I understand and agree wholeheartedly. My man Sun is talking about passive aggressiveness isn’t he? To fight without fighting, right? Let water destroy rock, hugs instead of slugs, and rainbows before elbows.
In learning to turn the other cheek, it’s obvious that nothing infuriates a girl more than when you aren’t infuriated. So when she says: “Oh honey I’m sooo sorry I was talking to Justin all night, did you mind? It’s just we haven’t seen each other since, like, forever.”
Don't react. Intergalactic wars have been started for far less, I know. But don’t shrug her hand off your arm. Don’t grimace. Don’t even raise an eyebrow. The proper response, the art of relationship war response, is to shrug your shoulders and let it go -- for now. Cool off for a few weeks, wait for her guard to be down, and then fling the dagger.
“Oh honey, Sarah and I are going to get dinner and some drinks. I haven’t seen her since we broke up. She kind of wants to hang out alone. You don’t mind do you? It’s just we haven’t seen each other since, like, forever...” Be sure to imitate her exact wording and cadence. Practice beforehand if you have to. Borrow a mirror, buy a recorder, something.
The sudden similarity will hammer home your point, while having the dual advantage of reminding her that you were perfectly calm and collected when she transgressed, so she can’t say anything. She has to let you go. Make sure to dress up extra nice, exit with a big kiss, and thank her for being “so understanding.” Bonus points for leaving your phone behind in a place she’ll notice as soon as you leave.
Let’s see if she talks to Justin ever again.
Sun-Tzu, freaking genius right?
By committing to his thirteen simple lessons (like I have) you might strategically lose a few battles here and there, but trust me, you will never lose the war.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Day 289
My phone rings at eleven, right in the middle of my zombie hours. It's Victor and he's asking if I want to get lunch. "I'm already near the Marina, I can get you in fifteen minutes." Struggling to get up and thinking about how toasted I'll be the rest of the day, I muttered, "Sure."
The lure of Halo and a ride around town was enough to motivate me to get up and out. I packed my bag for a possible slumber party. An extra t-shirt, socks, and contact case. Plus my laptop and assorted chargers of course. I'd been over earlier in the week so a toothbrush, towel, and pair of shorts were already waiting for me. His Anne is gone to Taiwan for two weeks on vacation, my (by default) George is in London, working her accounting magic. This has left both Victor and I apartments to ourselves. Our answer to all this alone time? Hang out a lot together.
I'd stayed up the previous night watching "Quiet City," two-and-a-half times in a row. It's a walky and talky movie, my favorite mini-genre. Just two strangers meeting in a city and then wandering and exploring (each other), almost in real time. The list of movies that previously fit this category probably numbered less than five. Then I read about mumblecore a few weeks ago, after watching Medicine for Melancholy at the Roxie, and decided I needed to know more.
Shot gorgeously with consumer cameras, on limited budgets, and focusing on the lives of twenty-something hipsters, this was the movie movement I wanted to belong to. But if I was too young for Before Sunrise/Sunset, I've suddenly become too old for melancholy and dance party usa. What the hell happened? How had the intervening decade managed to go by without me doing anything? It made me feel pathetic.
Then it made me feel inspired. After watching the movie once through, and then staying fully awake for the actor's commentary, and some of the director/cinematographer/sound design guy's commentaries, I knew what I had to do. I had to make my own mumblecore movie -- okay, short -- with D.I.Y. rigs, improvised dialogue, and whatever else I had to patch together.
I wanted to do it even if I had to get in front of the camera, something I loathe, just to have some material to work with. Once I hopped into the car, I started babbling to Victor about all this stuff. I think I did a terrible job explaining why I was so impressed by "Quiet City." But in the ten minutes it took for us to drive out to meet Ameer for lunch, he had agreed to watch it. I didn't mention that it was a little long and boring in parts.
Tentative working title for our tentative to be done project: "Dumbledore." Just kidding. Or maybe not.
The lure of Halo and a ride around town was enough to motivate me to get up and out. I packed my bag for a possible slumber party. An extra t-shirt, socks, and contact case. Plus my laptop and assorted chargers of course. I'd been over earlier in the week so a toothbrush, towel, and pair of shorts were already waiting for me. His Anne is gone to Taiwan for two weeks on vacation, my (by default) George is in London, working her accounting magic. This has left both Victor and I apartments to ourselves. Our answer to all this alone time? Hang out a lot together.
I'd stayed up the previous night watching "Quiet City," two-and-a-half times in a row. It's a walky and talky movie, my favorite mini-genre. Just two strangers meeting in a city and then wandering and exploring (each other), almost in real time. The list of movies that previously fit this category probably numbered less than five. Then I read about mumblecore a few weeks ago, after watching Medicine for Melancholy at the Roxie, and decided I needed to know more.
Shot gorgeously with consumer cameras, on limited budgets, and focusing on the lives of twenty-something hipsters, this was the movie movement I wanted to belong to. But if I was too young for Before Sunrise/Sunset, I've suddenly become too old for melancholy and dance party usa. What the hell happened? How had the intervening decade managed to go by without me doing anything? It made me feel pathetic.
Then it made me feel inspired. After watching the movie once through, and then staying fully awake for the actor's commentary, and some of the director/cinematographer/sound design guy's commentaries, I knew what I had to do. I had to make my own mumblecore movie -- okay, short -- with D.I.Y. rigs, improvised dialogue, and whatever else I had to patch together.
I wanted to do it even if I had to get in front of the camera, something I loathe, just to have some material to work with. Once I hopped into the car, I started babbling to Victor about all this stuff. I think I did a terrible job explaining why I was so impressed by "Quiet City." But in the ten minutes it took for us to drive out to meet Ameer for lunch, he had agreed to watch it. I didn't mention that it was a little long and boring in parts.
Tentative working title for our tentative to be done project: "Dumbledore." Just kidding. Or maybe not.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
The Love Shack
Well, I did it, I went speed dating. After a year or so of declaring my desire to date, of flirting casually with match.com, and of writing down that dating would be a goal of mine, I went speed dating. Of course, it took free tickets and a charity event for me to get off my ass but who cares right?
Over the course of three hours, I met twenty plus some eligible bachelorettes. For the most part they were all lovely and very easy to talk to. During my first four minute date, I was super sweaty because the room was unseasonably warm. I wondered if my counter-part, the female #19, noticed. I wasn't particularly nervous but I wasn't super comfortable (yet) either.
I had dressed in my best white t-shirt, worn some non-jeans pants, and generally prepared to "change my life" as the dry erase board declared in blue ink. I had seen Dann do his speed dating thing a few times and knew what to expect. As I surveyed the crowd with Chris and Irwin by my side, we commented on the lack of prospects.
Technically, this was to be a speed dating event for over a hundred people. Three age groups, with forty or so people in each -- we were in the twenty three to thirty five group I think. The large office space was crowded with all manner of people, many of them older(-looking) and futtering around, and I would have felt way out of place if I didn't know that everyone else felt way out of place too.
Chris and I were slated to be right after one another. I thought we would initially play it cool and not acknowledge that we knew each other, but through the course of the night, it became a topic of conversation. I would gesture over to Chris in mid-conversation with some girl ("Oh that's my friend, give him a hard time), and on breaks we huddled together. At station number three, halfway through the event, we even sat together and talked to the same girl due to irregularities in the seating. We made good tag team partners, and our new idea is to have speed dating in pairs. It's a little less awkward.
For the most part, I had a blast during the entire experience. It's funny how even as you talk and conversate, you have this part of your brain that is processing -- at high speed -- if you could potentially go on a real date with this person. "Hum, is she attractive? Would we have anything in common? Is she sending any vibes back?" I watched this Science of Sex thing recently and they studied speed dating. Their conclusion was that you couldn't tell if a girl was interested in a guy by watching them during an event, but you could semi-tell by watching the guy. So I knew not to expect any "real" positive or negative vibes. Girls automatically chat and flirt when put into close proximity with guys and reading their signals indicates nothing.
I wanted to avoid the "Where are you from? How long have you lived here? What do you do?" questions as much as possible. I tried to let my natural curiosity take over and just ask other things. My two most generic questions were "So have you done this before?" and "Do you think it sucks that the girls have to sit here the whole time while the guys move around?" I used those when I had nothing else to say. Surprisingly, there wasn't much dead air with any of the women. I guess people come to these events ready to talk.
Overall, I felt the conversations were way too short. I have a tendency to listen before I talk so I found myself asking too many questions and not giving enough answers. There would be times when the bell would ring and we both would realize I said nothing about myself. There would be times I wanted to know more about some particular topic ("So tell me about glass blowing") but should have probably pushed the conversation to learn more about them.
Then again, speed dating is pretty much all about attraction. You can't learn that much about anyone in four minutes, so as we said afterwards, we could have easily selected "yes" or "no" without the talking portion. In fact, Dann said he's heard of speed dating events where there isn't any talking allowed. Just sitting there and looking at each other. How's that for uncomfortable? Dann did say that this type of non-verbal speed dating resulted in more post-event make outs.
The event got really draining for the women and a few of them started leaving. There were less women then men so they didn't get any breaks while we were fortunate enough to have rests every once in awhile. During those times, I would go hang out with Victor (he was on hand, dressed up in a blazer, and helping out), take a break for cookies or juice, and generally escape the forced conversation. I can imagine how tiring it would have been to not have those breaks so I can't really fault the women for leaving. Apparently one couple decided they liked each other so much that they decided to ditch the event altogether and just leave as a pair. True love indeed.
Out of the nearly twenty five women, I said "yes" to six. There were apparently two girls that Dann said were really cool and were semi-coworkers of his, but he cruelly ended the event before Chris and I could rotate in to them. And I thought he was our friend. There was one girl there I thought was really pretty, number nine, but there was no way in high hell she would have matched with me. I marked "yes" because I'm an optimist though.
Will I go speed dating again? Sure! Because I'd like to change my life in four minutes and next time around I'm going to drag George so we can gossip afterwards.
Over the course of three hours, I met twenty plus some eligible bachelorettes. For the most part they were all lovely and very easy to talk to. During my first four minute date, I was super sweaty because the room was unseasonably warm. I wondered if my counter-part, the female #19, noticed. I wasn't particularly nervous but I wasn't super comfortable (yet) either.
I had dressed in my best white t-shirt, worn some non-jeans pants, and generally prepared to "change my life" as the dry erase board declared in blue ink. I had seen Dann do his speed dating thing a few times and knew what to expect. As I surveyed the crowd with Chris and Irwin by my side, we commented on the lack of prospects.
Technically, this was to be a speed dating event for over a hundred people. Three age groups, with forty or so people in each -- we were in the twenty three to thirty five group I think. The large office space was crowded with all manner of people, many of them older(-looking) and futtering around, and I would have felt way out of place if I didn't know that everyone else felt way out of place too.
Chris and I were slated to be right after one another. I thought we would initially play it cool and not acknowledge that we knew each other, but through the course of the night, it became a topic of conversation. I would gesture over to Chris in mid-conversation with some girl ("Oh that's my friend, give him a hard time), and on breaks we huddled together. At station number three, halfway through the event, we even sat together and talked to the same girl due to irregularities in the seating. We made good tag team partners, and our new idea is to have speed dating in pairs. It's a little less awkward.
For the most part, I had a blast during the entire experience. It's funny how even as you talk and conversate, you have this part of your brain that is processing -- at high speed -- if you could potentially go on a real date with this person. "Hum, is she attractive? Would we have anything in common? Is she sending any vibes back?" I watched this Science of Sex thing recently and they studied speed dating. Their conclusion was that you couldn't tell if a girl was interested in a guy by watching them during an event, but you could semi-tell by watching the guy. So I knew not to expect any "real" positive or negative vibes. Girls automatically chat and flirt when put into close proximity with guys and reading their signals indicates nothing.
I wanted to avoid the "Where are you from? How long have you lived here? What do you do?" questions as much as possible. I tried to let my natural curiosity take over and just ask other things. My two most generic questions were "So have you done this before?" and "Do you think it sucks that the girls have to sit here the whole time while the guys move around?" I used those when I had nothing else to say. Surprisingly, there wasn't much dead air with any of the women. I guess people come to these events ready to talk.
Overall, I felt the conversations were way too short. I have a tendency to listen before I talk so I found myself asking too many questions and not giving enough answers. There would be times when the bell would ring and we both would realize I said nothing about myself. There would be times I wanted to know more about some particular topic ("So tell me about glass blowing") but should have probably pushed the conversation to learn more about them.
Then again, speed dating is pretty much all about attraction. You can't learn that much about anyone in four minutes, so as we said afterwards, we could have easily selected "yes" or "no" without the talking portion. In fact, Dann said he's heard of speed dating events where there isn't any talking allowed. Just sitting there and looking at each other. How's that for uncomfortable? Dann did say that this type of non-verbal speed dating resulted in more post-event make outs.
The event got really draining for the women and a few of them started leaving. There were less women then men so they didn't get any breaks while we were fortunate enough to have rests every once in awhile. During those times, I would go hang out with Victor (he was on hand, dressed up in a blazer, and helping out), take a break for cookies or juice, and generally escape the forced conversation. I can imagine how tiring it would have been to not have those breaks so I can't really fault the women for leaving. Apparently one couple decided they liked each other so much that they decided to ditch the event altogether and just leave as a pair. True love indeed.
Out of the nearly twenty five women, I said "yes" to six. There were apparently two girls that Dann said were really cool and were semi-coworkers of his, but he cruelly ended the event before Chris and I could rotate in to them. And I thought he was our friend. There was one girl there I thought was really pretty, number nine, but there was no way in high hell she would have matched with me. I marked "yes" because I'm an optimist though.
Will I go speed dating again? Sure! Because I'd like to change my life in four minutes and next time around I'm going to drag George so we can gossip afterwards.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Day 273
Life is good you know? If there is indeed some sort of karmic wave for past lives, whoever was the me right before me had a shitty ass life. And I feel fucking terrible for the next Jon that's surely slated for a downturn. The axiom, "Good things happen to good people," can't be true can it? I mean, I know lots of good people and tons of terrible things happen to them. I tend to think that sometimes some people are just luckier than others. I'm definitely one of the lucky ones. Some people tell me that they admire my carefree attitude, my general nonchalance, and my "whatever happens, happens" attitude. I'm not sure if it's necessarily a trait to be admired, since it does come with certain downsides, but I do concede that it can certainly make life easier. And really, it's hard to not be carefree when things just seem to fall into place.
For example. I was in the very beginning stages of sweating where my next paycheck would come from. Unemployment was running out, I hadn't really started looking for jobs, and there was still a whole summer ahead. Then I get a letter telling me that my unemployment got extended again. For another five months. Sweet right? And then a week ago I heard back from a random Craigslist job posting. I only submitted one resume, wrote a cheeky ass email, and figured it would never work anyway. As it turns out, the company is a tiny start up, needs the only marketable skills I really possess, and could possibly offer me a job soon.
So my biggest dilemma is figuring out if I should glide along for a few more months or get off my ass do something. To be honest, I don't have anything going on this summer, aside from hanging out, and I could probably use some structure to my day. I feel semi-ready to work again. Plus, working in a start up would allow me to throw a hundred and ten percent in, something that would make me work much harder, and much more motivated.
But oh that getting up pre-noon thing. It could be a kicker. I may leave it up to them. If they say "we want you," it'll be pretty stupid to turn it down, considering how easy it was to get the job. If they say "you suck," then my decision will be made. Let's go fates, tell me how my summer's going to be.
One thing I do know about my summer is that any time spent in San Francisco will be on George's couch. I've officially moved out of my studio in the Mission. The grand experiment of living alone lasted ten weeks, cost me three thousand dollars, and didn't really illuminate anything. Can I live by myself? I don't know, because I was hardly ever there. Now that I'm moved back into George's living room, I asked her, "Does it feel like I left?" Her answer was a joking, and honest, "No."
This past weekend, we took a much needed trip to Target and Costco, buying shoe racks, stackable boxes, and cubbies to put my things in. I don't think I'll move out again until I have a job. And even then, our living arrangement seems to be okay. It's senseless to throw $1200 down the tubes every month when I could just be subsidizing George's shopping habits -- which is what I'll be doing.
The thing is, as of maybe two weeks ago, I decided that I was unafraid of the Mission. I got totally comfortable walking around, I have meetings there all through the week, and I might really miss my go-to Mexican and Chinese restaurants down there. So I guess, in a way, I got something for my two and a half months of living "alone," even if it wasn't that much. I learned to ride the bus, I learned to like the Mission, and I learned that home ain't where you pay rent, but where you're most comfortable. Back to the Marina!
For example. I was in the very beginning stages of sweating where my next paycheck would come from. Unemployment was running out, I hadn't really started looking for jobs, and there was still a whole summer ahead. Then I get a letter telling me that my unemployment got extended again. For another five months. Sweet right? And then a week ago I heard back from a random Craigslist job posting. I only submitted one resume, wrote a cheeky ass email, and figured it would never work anyway. As it turns out, the company is a tiny start up, needs the only marketable skills I really possess, and could possibly offer me a job soon.
So my biggest dilemma is figuring out if I should glide along for a few more months or get off my ass do something. To be honest, I don't have anything going on this summer, aside from hanging out, and I could probably use some structure to my day. I feel semi-ready to work again. Plus, working in a start up would allow me to throw a hundred and ten percent in, something that would make me work much harder, and much more motivated.
But oh that getting up pre-noon thing. It could be a kicker. I may leave it up to them. If they say "we want you," it'll be pretty stupid to turn it down, considering how easy it was to get the job. If they say "you suck," then my decision will be made. Let's go fates, tell me how my summer's going to be.
One thing I do know about my summer is that any time spent in San Francisco will be on George's couch. I've officially moved out of my studio in the Mission. The grand experiment of living alone lasted ten weeks, cost me three thousand dollars, and didn't really illuminate anything. Can I live by myself? I don't know, because I was hardly ever there. Now that I'm moved back into George's living room, I asked her, "Does it feel like I left?" Her answer was a joking, and honest, "No."
This past weekend, we took a much needed trip to Target and Costco, buying shoe racks, stackable boxes, and cubbies to put my things in. I don't think I'll move out again until I have a job. And even then, our living arrangement seems to be okay. It's senseless to throw $1200 down the tubes every month when I could just be subsidizing George's shopping habits -- which is what I'll be doing.
The thing is, as of maybe two weeks ago, I decided that I was unafraid of the Mission. I got totally comfortable walking around, I have meetings there all through the week, and I might really miss my go-to Mexican and Chinese restaurants down there. So I guess, in a way, I got something for my two and a half months of living "alone," even if it wasn't that much. I learned to ride the bus, I learned to like the Mission, and I learned that home ain't where you pay rent, but where you're most comfortable. Back to the Marina!
