Cover design by Jennifer Merrick.
How creepy could it be?
I was going to try SpeedDating (www.SpeedDating.com), an event in which people sign up, meet in some coffee shop or bar in New Jersey, New York or other places, and have seven-minute conversations with seven people in a row. At the end of the night, participants check “yes” or “no” for whether they want to date any of the people they met. If two people have picked each other, they get each other’s phone numbers.This phenomenon was invented by Jewish organizations because they’re tired of Jews marrying non-Jews and thus diluting the consistency of the tribe. I suppose it may spread to other organizations, as it’s catching on; it was even recently the focus of an episode of “Sex in the City.”
Tuesday night
I was really dreading it.
I trotted into some sort of Jewish learning center in Manhattan and sat at my table. I was given a form where I could list all of the people I’d met. I also had to sign a waiver stating that I understand that SpeedDating makes no guarantees about whether the people I’d be meeting would be A) Jewish and B) Single. But one would hope on the latter one. (In fact, that is a definite advantage of SpeedDating: At least you know the people there are looking for someone.)
This method of meeting people has gotten so popular that there are events nearly every night. If that many people are trying it, how bad can it be?
As it turned out, it wasn’t as bad as I’d thought. Some of the people were actually normal – and they weren’t ashamed to be doing this.
Of the nine men I met, one was Iranian, one was Israeli, and the rest had grown up in New Jersey and New York. Two lived in Hudson County and the rest were in Manhattan. Two were stockbrokers, a couple were in real estate, one sold computer software, one was a pharmacist, and one was in human resources. Almost all of them had done SpeedDating before.
Which is not to say that I wanted to spend more than seven minutes with any of them. In one case, both of us ran out of things to talk about before the time was up. In other cases, we didn’t have much in common. There was a guy I met who was a writer, so it would seem that we had something in common, but I also got a pretty good feeling he was gay.
The guys had various reasons for trying SpeedDating.
“I’m not one of these guys who’ll go up to a woman in a bar and say, ‘Hey! Howya doin’?'” said one guy. “I’m not macho.”
“I’m tired of the bar scene,” said another. “I’m too old for it. And as far as blind dates go, you could go on one and be sitting there for an hour and a half with nothing to say. In this, it’s only seven minutes.”
Toward the end, I realized the power I had. I could simply check “No” and never hear from these guys again! No calls, no going on one date because I figure I might as well give it a shot even though I really didn’t want to. If there was no spark, there was hardly any time wasted. It was beautiful!
I did check one guy out of the nine who seemed smart and down-to-earth. We didn’t seem to have too many common interests, but there was at least potential.
The next day
The next day, a woman from SpeedDating left me a very coy message. All she said was, “In reference to last night’s program, I have a name and number for you.”
A few hours later, I got a message from Jay. “Hi, it’s one of the people you had a seven-minute conversation with last night,” he said. I waited a day, left him a message back, and eventually we talked. He decided he was willing to come to Hoboken for the adventure. We went to the sweet Malaysian restaurant, Satay.
I met Jay at the PATH station, and right away, he started complaining about work, which was a plus. He was allowing me to be sympathetic, which right away shows an opportunity for give-and-take.
The conversation flowed well, but didn’t contain any real epiphanies. Still, he did tell me a nice story about having grown up near a bread factory and having toured it for his fourth birthday. That was cool. Eventually, we got down to the nitty gritty: Like me, he had an excuse for going to SpeedDating. His female friend had “made” him go.
He’d checked off two people, and I was the only one he’d matched with, he said. He said he was kind of glad he hadn’t gotten the other one.
We finished up and he asked, in a semi-self-mocking-because-it’s-so-trite-but-you-still-really-mean-it tone, “So, can I call you?”
I said sure, and we went our separate ways.
Maybe we’ll talk again; maybe we won’t. It won’t upset me either way.
But that’s the sad thing. When it doesn’t matter to you much, that’s when it proceeds at a calm, even pace. When you want it to happen is when you get into all the frenzied game-playing and obsessing. Which situation is better? I’d say the latter. At least when you’re obsessing, you’re feeling something.
Local bars’ books of personals
At least three Hoboken hangouts collect personal ads in an effort to match people up. Liquid Lounge at 10th and Park has “Love at the Lounge” books. The folks at DripCafe.com report that the popular matchmaker service has come to Park Pastries at 517 Washington St., to go with the sinfully rich desserts. And then there’s the bulletin board at Uptown Bagel on 14th Street, although we have doubts about the authenticity of a lot of the ads at this place – would some guy really brag that he “looks like Corky from ‘Life Goes On'”?
Just hang out
I’ve always felt that just taking the bus or walking down the street puts you in a situation where you can meet someone. No matter what you do, if it involves leaving your house, the odds are exponentially higher for meeting people than if you had stayed in. (Unless your pilot won’t light and you have a hankering for the Public Service guy).
Taking this advice, I decided to hang out on a park bench reading a book recently. The following things transpired:
8:05 p.m. A guy comes up and says, “Excuse me.” Pay dirt! He adds, “Do you know the restaurant Amanda’s?” I give him directions and he leaves.
8:10 p.m. A group of twentysomethings in identical black coats passes me by.
8:15 p.m. I happen to look up, and a guy who has just passed me looks back at me. When he sees me catch him looking, he looks up at a tree. I return to my book for a second and then look up again. He’s looking back again, but when I catch him, he looks at the tree again. If he wants to, he can come back and ask what I’m reading. Maybe he will.
8:25 p.m. I’ve given him enough time. I guess he really was looking at the tree. Oh well.
It is pretty hard to talk to strangers. Still, one word of advice to both sexes: Say something anyway. That way, you won’t have to place an “I saw you” ad in the Village Voice. You should especially say something if you’re a guy. It’s okay if guys get shot down; they’re supposed to be rejected – that adds to their charm. When women are rejected, it’s just embarrassing.
Events for people with similar interests
On Inauguration night, a friend and I attended an anti-Inaugural bash so we could jeer Bush with other Bush foes. Several men who were 20 years older than my friend and I were struck up conversations with us. Meanwhile, there were a lot of women in their age range who were trying to get the men’s attention and being ignored. Which basically reminded me of the suckiosity of the whole thing: These guys were probably too old for us now, and when we get to the age when they SHOULD be interested in us, they’re going to be going after nice young thangs in their 20s. So we lose either way.
Newspaper personal ads
I know someone who thinks using the personals is the lowest form of desperation. But meeting people who might have things in common with you is so important that it seems stupid to rule out one particular method just because it’s so incredibly humiliating that the thought of it makes you want to puke (like SpeedDating).
I’ve heard of nice, normal people who found their lifelong mate in personal ads on the web. (I’ve also heard of nice, normal people who got killed this way. Which all goes to show that it’s no different from any other way of meeting people.)
I saw an ad in a newspaper from someone who seemed smart, funny, and not too full of himself, so I called, leaving a fake name, of course. Unfortunately, I had to leave my real phone number, but that’s life.
We talked on the phone. He turned out to be a decent and normal guy. I didn’t feel like meeting up with him, but we talked a bit. He told me he placed the ad because he’s been working a lot and traveling around, and now he’s back in the area and wants to be a little more settled.
I asked if he got other responses.
“There was one from this Russian woman with an accent,” he said. “We met, and she said, ‘You know, you would be more attractive if you grew a goatee, and wore dress shoes, and did this, and this, and this.’ I knew it wasn’t going to work out. Not just because of that.”
Through friends
This seems to be the best method. Friends can vet the pool for weirdos. But if your friends are all single, they’re going to take anyone who’s half decent for themselves.
And then there’s …
If none of these work out, go back to college. That way, there’s a whole admissions staff vetting out the weirdos.