Interpersonal relations in the modern era

There is a phenomenon that has arisen in the last 5 or so years. Maybe it's been longer maybe shorter, I wasn't really paying attention or I dismissed it outright when it first surfaced. This phenomenon: on-line dating.

There was once a time when a young man and a young woman met for the first time when at the alter. Arranged marriages, they called it. Sometimes it was two pimply faced kids who knew nothing of interpersonal relations or anything about what it meant to be in a bound union that effectively lasted the rest of their natural lives. Sometimes it was an older gentleman getting the innocent young girl for his very own because it was a good move politically for the families. And sometimes the young woman in question was just given away in a sort of slavery-esque manner because girls weren't worth as much as boys. As times moved forward choice made its way into the decision making process. Youngsters would be in school and meet the girl or guy who "flipped their lid" and they'd go steady, go parking, and end up being high school sweethearts. Or if they weren't so lucky they'd be unexpected parents and live miserable lives because they couldn't keep they're hormones in check or they weren't smart enough to buy a condom.

As time moved forward, and it always does, the means to get the girl or guy became a social situation - enter the bar or nightclub. Girls trollop themselves up and guys put on too much aftershave and hit the swinging night spots in order for alcohol and pheromones to mix at just the right temperature to create a spark and ignite passion. At times these ignitions would be nothing more than a fleeting roll in the hay, but by continually going back and attempting to find the right mixture of alcohol and pheromones these hipsters would seek out that "one." As time passed this scenario unfortunately degraded into something much less sophisticated - the one-night stand. How is that different than the "ignitions" that failed? Simple: the desire to end up with "the one" is no longer present. I like to refer these youngsters engaging in this activity as "The Sport Fuckers." They throw caution to the wind to be able to reminisce over the conquests of their youth while scratching their asses fat and ugly one their couches watching late-night TV before they go off to their graveyard shift security jobs.

But even "The Sport Fuckers" began to find the alcohol-laced crowds of local bars a difficult playing ground. Apathy and social climbing began to take the place of the search for connection and the final frontier got pushed father out beyond the hazy clouds of distant galaxies.

Introduce on-line dating. Now, I spend a fair bit of time on-line. What was it Hunter S. Thompson said about our future society? "Plug in, Turn on, Tune out?" Seems that's what we're doing at an alarming rate. Hell, if I can join a gym on-line and never go, if I can get my rocks off by spending $29.95 a month at ilikedirtysluts.com, if I can buy a replica Ferrari - which is actually a Datsun 280Z with a Ferrari kit body - sight unseen on E-bay (that one's for you Bill), and if I can isolate myself and buy groceries, clothes, books, music and the like on-line why can't I find love? Yeah, why not?

It used to be that we had to leave our house to get stuff. We were forced to interact in order to live our lives. But no longer! Technology has solved that for us and look at where we are. Technology and its ills aside, let's get back to the point: On-Line Dating.

There are sites like place4friends.com, friendster.com, Match.com, myspace.com, eHarmony.com and religion specific sites like Jdate.com, Jlove.com and the now defunct affinityexchange.com. Each of these sites boast millions of singles looking for Mr. or Mrs. Right. Mr. or Mrs. Right. Millions of singles. Oy. But there are millions of people hoping to find true love on these sites. I've actually met a few of the successes. So, to be objective I have to state that they do work. But will they work for the millions of singles looking for Mr. or Mrs. Right? Are we going to find our Rhett Butler? Our Carey Grant? Our Marilyn Monroe? Our Jenna Jameson? Our Ron Jeremy? Because that's what those millions and millions of singles are searching for. They are looking for an archetype and instead finding socially inept, slightly overweight people who don't know what it means to have interpersonal relations with another. OK, that's a gross generalization and not fair to the small percentage of people who really do have difficulty meeting people and are using this as a means to find that right someone. Those people do exist.

Well, I have found over the years that I'm one of those isolated people with a mildly underdeveloped social skill set. With that said I have broken down and dipped into the wily world of on-line dating. Consider it an anthropological study.

First thing you have to do is fill out the form that lets your would-be suitors know who you are. After that you fill out the form to let the would-be suitors know what would-be suitor you are looking for and after that you then swallow any sense of humility you have and try to promote yourself in the best light you can so the would-be suitors want to be with you and live happily ever after. Once the forms have been filled out you then start trolling for the matches for you. You find the one who basically fits what you're looking for and the need to swallow your pride happens again - the e-mailed message or prefab message "flirt." Once you've sent it then you wait to see if you're good enough for the one who'll end your bout of loneliness. They write back or "flirt" back and you continue to have this exchange for a week or two and then you meet is a public place so as to allay any fears of being a stalker or a psychopath. Those meetings become more frequent until happiness finally does ensue. Or at least that's the basic idea of it all.

Here's the reality from my experience. You do all the form filling out and trolling to find that special someone and then you e-mail the stupid one-liners you'd never have the guts to say in person only to wait. And you do wait. Why? Because those you want to be with are looking to be with someone hotter or more intelligent. Oh, and these people don't read what you've written. I know for fact because a dear friend of mine is looking for a white Jewish guy and the only response "ideal match."

In my study I've sent notes to a fair number of these millions of single women all looking for love. Some of the notes were dumb and some were witty but all have gone unanswered. I have, however, received a few choice notes from women who are not at all what I said I was looking for. Ah, irony.

So what's the solution? Huh? I'd rather stay away from the people I work with and who study at my school. Why? Obvious: it's better not to shit where you eat. I don't like bars because I don't like them - meat markets for the snobby. And I really don't have game. Maybe my game is that I don't have game. Someone mentioned that to me once. I'm a straightforward guy; I mean what I say so if I'm interested I'm interested and not looking to be one of those "Sport Fuckers." Of course, that may be where I'm going wrong. Nonetheless this is where I'm at and I'm looking for that special someone. So the bars are out and the clubs are way out if the bars are out and that leaves coffee shops. But, I quite caffeine over 10 years ago so the coffee thing is right out. That leaves what? Yup, you guessed it, on-line dating. Anything is possible so maybe this is the way to go? Hell I had my mother meet women and try to set me up with them. MY MOTHER! She has no idea what I'm looking for and doing a better job of hooking me up than I am. Baffling.

On-line dating, the final frontier. The only thing that I could possibly imagine as more detached from having to deal with another person is... actually I can't think of anything that would be more detached. Jeez. Well, if I can join a gym on-line and never go who's to say I can't find a girlfriend I never see? Oh boy, something to look forward to!

On a completely separate but mildly related note:

It has come to my attention that I need to change the state I am in. I am doing this at any and every chance offered me. My brother has 2 kids - 4 and 6. I spent time with them over the weekend. They are both a handful, sometimes more than a handful, and very intelligent. But even at their worst I realized that I would like to have a child of my own. The power they posses to make this world not about you is amazing. The power they possess to educate you on the simplest tasks that are usually considered "old hat" is amazing. The power they possess to surprise and enlighten is amazing. And the power they have to be the most annoying creatures on the planet is amazing. But even with that I was taken.

Children have never been in my equation. Apparently, that equation has been changed just as my desire to work hard at my day job and hide from the world has changed. As Ted Theodore Logon once said, "Strange things are afoot at the Circle K." So where there is change there is the unknown and that unknown is frightening. Regardless change, as my teachers says, is possible. But how does this change tie into the on-line dating thing? Well, I guess it means that we continue to explore, for scientific purposes, the possibility that this Mr. Right will find Mrs. Right out there. If it happens to be because of a series of ones and zeros so be it. One must get themselves out there any means necessary.

The days of boy meets girl, falls in love with girl and lives happily ever after roll credits is no longer - maybe in the red states, but not in the leaning toward shallow, surface world of big city Los Angeles - A city that boasts an impressive roster of well tanned, well exercised pretty people with little to no substance. Mark Twain wrote "if all men were rich all men would be poor." Another individual wrote "if you're playing tennis and everybody wants to play with a better player no one would play tennis." That is my assessment of dating in Los Angeles. Always looking for the next better thing to come 'round the bend. If you are so inclined to walk up to a girl at a bar and you're not sporting a Breitling watch or have a Mercedes key fob hanging out of your Dolce & Gabbana jeans you might find yourself walking away in your non-Gucci shoes from a girl who is looking past you to see who's just walked in. I am obviously exaggerating for the sake of humor, but all jokes have a semblance of truth. Observe what happens next time you're out and realize that girl who's looking to see who just walked in is dumber than a box of rocks and thinks she can become something more than she is by opening her legs just a little wide than the girl sitting next to her. Oh, and by the way, her tits aren't real.

The hypocrisy of air travel

This will be posted well after I am writing it. Why? Because I am currently on a trans-American flight long enough to be uncomfortable but not long enough to warrant a movie. I found I couldn’t wait until morning (I am on the second leg of a three leg flight from Los Angeles to Albany, NY) to write document the insanity and hypocrisy of the friendly skies.

First some background information before we get into the thick of it: A number of years ago I flew home for my father’s 60th birthday party. It was to be a surprise, but in this moment I can’t seem to remember if he knew I was coming or not – either way, that doesn’t really matter. He was happy I was there, I was happy I was there and peace settled across the land. I was taking the last flight out of Bradley International airport to Los Angeles with one quick stop in DC. The flight took off around 5 or 6pm – red eye flights east west don’t seem to exist. I wonder why? Probably some inane reason like they, the powers that be, – insert “the man” here – don’t want the poor pilots having to fly into the sun. Whatever.

The last flight out of Bradley sat on the tarmac for an hour. Why? No one knows. Mechanical problems? Uh, yeah. Sure. That sounds good. To this day I have no idea why we sat there for an hour, but it was OK. Here I was packed like a sardine having a bad day into a plane that was little more than a matchbox with wings waiting without the ability to turn on my cd player (this was before the advent of iPods) because the sign that used to be “no smoking” now converted to “please turn off electronic devices” was illuminated. Still, I was a lemming and didn’t think about it. They radioed ahead and my flight would be waiting for me, no problem. I was more a lemming than I thought.

Finally we took off. Bumpy as hell and misery inducing. We land and, wouldn’t you know it, my connecting flight to LA might as well have been located in Guam. We ran down the corridor (there were 6 or 7 of us), hopped on a tram, waited the requisite 60 seconds for the doors to close and arrived at the ass end of the new concourse. We ran our little tails off like a pack of wild gazelles, only less graceful, and got to the gate just in time to be told the door to the plane had been closed and they weren’t able to get us on the flight and they were sorry. But said in that way that makes you know they’re not sorry, they’re sadistic and taking great pleasure is ruining your day.

“No, sir. We are unable to do that?”
“Why?”
“Because, once the door is closed we are unable to open it.”
“Huh? They just closed it, I have to get home.”
“I’m sorry sir.”
“Why do I doubt that?”
“I am sorry sir.”
“Look, just tell them we’re here it and have them open the door.”
“We cannot do that.”
“I know, I heard you, but why? Just call them.”
“I’m sorry sir, once the door is closed…”
“I know you said that already, what are you a robot? Pick up the fucking radio and call the plane.”
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to watch your language.”
“You’re going to have to ask me what? Fuck this. Who do I have to talk to?”
“Sir, if you’re going to continue talking like that we’re going to have to call security.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”

What was my recourse? I didn’t really want to be escorted out of the airport and apparently I wasn’t going to be getting on this flight, which, incidentally, was still sitting at the gate through this whole exchange. Well, I chose to go to the nearest airline counter and progress to have my right to use the f word kyboshed. More threats of security. Which, as I’m sure you can imagine, only made me more angry. I didn’t even want to get on the plane anymore I just wanted to get the pencil pushing dipshit behind the counter to apologize to me for “mechanical errors” that were going to keep me grounded for the night in our nations capitol. No such luck. What I did get was a free night’s stay at the Marriot. Yeah, not so much. I hopped the shuttle and went to the Hyatt and stayed there on the airlines dime.

You know, at that counter I tried to pull the “I’m a big actor supposed to be on set tomorrow morning and you are not only costing the production an inordinate amount of money but probably going to get me fired” routine. Yeah, no. That didn’t work. What they offered me was a note saying it was their fault. Kinda like they thought a note from my mommy was going to make it all ok.

Well, I got on the plane the next morning with maybe 2 hours of sleep flew to LA and went about my hectic day. But the bureaucracy of the situation pissed me off. I was penalized for the airlines error. A “mechanical problem” does not fall into a realm that I have any control over. And, let’s take the racial slurs and profanity that was spewing from me out of the picture, they didn’t really offer anything to placate my upset. Fuel for the fire in reality.

Now for the hypocrisy. Today I am, as we already know, flying from LA to Albany, NY. The red eye – flight was supposed to take off at 9:40 and get into Phoenix with just enough time for me to go by batteries so my iPod doesn’t die (I have an extra battery pack). I got on the plane and sat for a bit. 9:40 became 10:00 and that’s when we got the notification we were going to be waiting about 5 or 10 more minutes for 2 passengers that were on plane that has just landed. 5 or 10 minutes grew into 30. At this point we were informed the 2 passengers we were waiting for were pilots that needed to hop this flight because they had to be in Phoenix the next day. 30 minutes became 45 and at this point I started to complain. Well, it wasn’t just me, there were 21 passengers needing to catch the flight to Charlotte. In the exchange with the oh-so-helpful flight attendant we found out that the city controller in Phoenix had been called and he’s the one holding our flight for these two guys. First off, what the fuck is a city controller doing getting in the way of a flight from taking off? Secondly, what is a city controller? And thirdly, when I was late I was told tough luck. When these guys are late, the 121 passengers are told tough luck. Does that make sense? Just because they are pilots does that instantly give them the right to jeopardize the connecting flights of the 21 to Charlotte. I paid for my ticket so don’t I have seniority? OK, clarification, I didn’t actually pay for my ticket, but someone did and it’s in my name so doesn’t that give me some say? I think so. But again the airlines said “tough luck.” The hypocrisy of the situation is astonishing. Astonishing. We who have paid for our tickets have no rights – we might as well ball up our money and throw it at each other.

Did I mention we were flying into a city that lies in the path of a hurricane? Did I mention that I hate flying? Did I mention that the person to the right of me and the person to the left of me are both snoring and I can hear them through the dangerously loud music playing through my headphones? Did I mention that I believe the seats have been crammed closer to each other and I feel like a piece of meet placed in a vacuum sealed bag?

It’s now 1:30, I have no idea how long this flight is and since everyone is trying to sleep and I’m the asshole with the exceptionally bright screen blaring – and hurting my eyes at the same time – I think I should end soon. So, let’s recap real quick: Air travel is for the birds!