The recent recession has done a great job of disguising the deadbeats — making them at first glance indistinguishable from the ambitious, driven young men merely fighting off the symptoms of economic collapse – and so the women who haven’t given up altogether often won’t know what kind of guy they’ve got until they’ve wrinkled their ‘first date dress’ and wasted a night.
I believe this club has the potential to be In the Aeroplane Over the Sea-good, which is to say really fundamentally solid, but then it wouldn’t be so bad (in fact might be better, even, all things considered) if we turned out more Hanson’s “MMMBop” and really attained that level of cultural penetration and accessibility, in the way the 1989 Lakers were considered the “Showtime” franchise despite the Boston Celtics playing technically magnificent basketball.
The Baron days were good. He didn’t make you feel guilty if you went out all night, got drunk and had some crazy unsafe sex, so long as the next morning you brewed him a cup of coffee and set aside a little rum. I was always told that we were brothers and sisters in Christ, but the Baron was the first time I ever felt anything like spiritual kinship.
Once you’ve made a connection, invite that special someone out by saying, “I’m going to be doing [whatever], if you wanna come.” Not only does this make you a subtle wordsmith (you cad) and transform cheapskate date locales into something seemingly spontaneous, but also the implication that you were going to spend the day doing [whatever] anyway means you’re not responsible for paying for your date if they want to tag along.
Because here’s the thing: as often as writers come bundled with bad habits and insecurities, and as maladaptive as these things are in the real world—the bedroom is not the real world. And the compulsions that make writers so miserable on a day-to-day basis are the same ones that make them ideal at last call.
Two summers ago I bled out on a bare mattress in a foreclosed home in Miami. I’d been sick. I’d seen a doctor but, as an American without health insurance, I’d been able to afford only the diagnosis—not the solution. I went back to work.
“Lift your arms into the air, make the sign of the Diamond Dallas ‘Diamond Cutter,’ then bring them down into the sign of the cross, and then bring ‘em down and flex and Hulk It Out, brother! Yeah!” Truly the Holy Trinity of Yoga.
Has parenting become so stress-free and routine that you’re looking to ramp up the difficulty? Is your daughter on the way to visitation with your ex? Is this a vengeance-Frappucino?