No Victories with V

I decided to wait a proper amount of time until I declared V a dead letter. I did hear from him one more time after he reappeared in email form, asking to put off our meeting, as the second week of classes was also proving hectic. How about next week? he wrote. Having learned my lesson, I was cheerful, casual and cooperative about this: Sure, I said (I believe that was my actual word), no problem. I'm busy too. Here are the days I'm usually free, and let me know what works for you.

The next week I heard nothing. So I dug up the cell phone number I'd extracted from V when we were about to meet for lunch (always get a phone number when you're meeting a stranger!) and called one evening. No answer, so I left a lovely, friendly, non-pressured and -pressuring message: Hey, I'm calling to say hello and see if arranging to meet (the meeting YOU asked for, remember??, I did not add) might be easier on the phone.

That was four weeks ago. I'm sure V is busy. I'm positive he's a bit uncomfy with the phone. Or email. Or, for that matter, humans. But this is surely Meaningful. And I have entirely lost any desire to see V, since about the last thing I want from dating is a man who can't or doesn't want to communicate. Who basically doesn't show up. Ugh. You have to be dyn-o-mite to be forgiven for this. And V was not that.

I wish I knew why this happened, though. Not from disappointed hope, but more intellectual curiosity: here I was energetically trying to find the good in V, someone I secretly thought other women would not want. Now it's entirely plausible that V found someone he liked more than me -- but what will have to remain one of the mysteries of the universe is whether she actually liked him back? I could sooner believe that my constant self-sacrifice and virtue will propel me up to Heaven, but you never know, I suppose.

In any case, that's it. Way too busy with grown-up matters like work to do more of this form of play, and weary to death of it, so for the time being I will have to settle for getting to spend Saturday nights the way I want to.

V is Victorious over me, yet I don't consider myself defeated, not yet. Someone may pop up on my path, or I may -- probably will -- decide to start at Square One with another A...call him A-2..and follow the yellow brick path down another round of the alphabet. I'm looking into becoming a lesbian. And you, dear readers, will be in the loop. V was hard to find, but you were there for me all along, if only in my own imagination. Thank you for that.

The News

Today I had my meeting/date with M, the tall Brooklyn ex-producer of cable news shows. I liked him and the conversation was the most enjoyable one I've had since starting this. But that was probably because I was very curious about and interested in his former profession. I've always loved backstage stories, so I plied him with questions. It was really fascinating to listen to his assessments of shows I sometimes watch, the news analysis shows on MSNBC. I asked him to take me through his typical day as a producer, and he gave me the run-down so I could see exactly what he did (story meeting at 10 am, etc.). I suppose in a way this date was like the one with the guy who used to run a comedy club, but to his credit, M was a more interactive conversationalist.

What he was not was personal; aside from a few facts he volunteered and some factual questions for me about where I live and the ages of my children, he seemed disinclined to offer anything about himself other than his professional information and political opinions. But he may be the sort of guy who doesn't go in for a lot of self-disclosure until he's more comfortable (on the other hand, he might not be a self-discloser at all). I don't doubt there's a lot more there: he joined a seminary when he was young in hopes of being a priest, and I think is still a believer. He is also trying to write a memoir based on his seminary experiences.

When the check came he wanted to pay for me, and seemed taken aback that I insisted on paying for myself (as I almost always do, unless the fellow seems filthy rich and really wants to pay)(which I must say rarely happens; the very few who want to pay are almost never well-off, and the rich ones almost never want to pay). He pretty much wouldn't let me, so we compromised -- I threw some money in the pot, and we were both okay with that.

He's nice, but here's the funny thing: I have less desire to date right at this moment than at any time I can remember. I can't say for sure what's happened, but I'm not lonely, or needy, or pining for the usual stuff that goes with having a relationship -- even help with opening jars or reaching objects on high shelves. My focus is laser-sharp right now (on writing and children, mostly), and I don't want to make room in my life for the plans and times and meals and dressing to please and...yes, especially...the talks on the phone. (Although I love talking to people I love -- it's just getting to that stage that I dread.) So I really must stop this dating scene.

However, I have one more big fish coming up: on Friday I'm meeting O, the retired parole officer who is an easy conversationalist and really likes me (sight unseen). We'll see if he can turn me around. It would take a lot, frankly. But we survived the Phone Test, so I'm curious if we make it through Picture Shock and Meeting Shock. Talk to you then.

Everything's Coming Up...Dandelions

The above phrase is from a letter I received yesterday from a dear friend, so apologies to H., but it resonates, so I had to steal it. There is no dating news except that I'm scheduled tonight for still one more..(sigh)...phone call to a man whose picture shows him wearing a really odd hat. I'm sorry to say that I don't remember another thing about him, and I might just be too unmotivated to re-look up the pathetically few facts (that is, clues) that his profile provides before the call.

Then too, I did find a couple of interesting fellows online and wrote to them, with no results at all so far. That's it.

This leads to the existential question, Do I want to go on with this? Most people who date online are clear about what they want in general: someone they can love, or at least like, to travel with and sleep with and go places about town with. Share the wonders of life with, and so on. A relationship. They don't need to ask why they want that; it's a universal desire, almost an entitlement. Or at least a prize they feel they deserve, and can earn, by being themselves...or maybe a somewhat more pleasing presentation of themselves. And since so many want it, and are looking for each other, it should be easy.

It is easy for some people. Of the handful of people I know who met their partners online, most did it rather quickly, for example the colleague who gave me the idea to Broaden my Scope. So what does it say about me that I've been practicing this (off and on) for years and have never actually met anyone I would remotely consider spending a lot of time with? You get a choice: A. I'm neurotic and unconsciously reject perfectly nice men because at heart I don't feel I deserve to be happy, or B. The pickings are really, really slim by the time you get to my age, and I'm a woman of taste and distinction. If I choose B, I can hear the sneers -- oh sure. So let's try to put it another way.

Actually, I like most people. I can fall easily into conversation with random strangers at Starbucks, or the guy who fixes my cable (if you're my Facebook friend, you know what I mean), or the person sitting next to me on a committee. People and their unique ways of seeing and being in the world are interesting to me. On the other hand, the idea of spending most of my free time with someone, not to mention overnights with someone, ramps up the stakes so that your Perfectly Nice Man is not going to do it for me. If P.N.M. is going to take away my hard-won ability to be alone when I want to be, or do what I want to do, he'd better be giving back an awful lot in the way of emotional and/or other kinds of pleasure. There's got to be gold in them thar hills, or I'm not hiking up there. Show me a glint, at least.

Is this High Standards or is this Self-Defeating Behavior? I've been debating this amongst my selves for years. When I feel lonely, isolated and jealous of the benefits of companionship that others have (even though I would never choose their companions), I think the latter. But then I undertake the search and the needle sways toward the former. (See Choice A or B above).

Whichever it is, the fact is that I felt cut-off and left-out at the beginning of the summer, when I started this dating project. At this moment, for whatever reason, I no longer feel lonely, or needy, or hungry for a man in my life. This isn't because I'm content; I'm never content. But right now what I'm hungry for is more life, not a perfectly nice man-in-my-life.

All this is by way of trying to decide what to do next. So far, no clue.

The World Still Turns

Last post I wrote about my reaction to reading Harlequin-type romances, which I'm doing in preparation for a new chapter in my book on romance. My response to these novels involved a certain churning of the stomach at the narcissism of women who identify with a heroine so over-the-top in desirability, where love is a kind of hyperbole of language and image, a vision perfectly in harmony with the reader's innermost desire to be The One and meet The One. Ick.

But in fact this imaginary landscape is just a lamer, cheaper reflection of those other images of perfection we see everywhere around us in magazines and TV and movies, the whole media ball of wax. And who am I to be snooty about women's pleasure in these distilled fantasies of desirability when no one has loved and believed in romance more than I have? This makes me wonder (to go back to my friend DK's question) what I'm looking for in dating online, anyway. Is it a reasonable, workable companionship, something resembling a friendship with some good-enough sex thrown in? Or am I secretly hoping the emotional rush of romance will "happen", combining the two into a relationship that is romantic?

Apparently it won't, on Match. My last contact, now that my Match sub is almost run out, was L, who lives in Brooklyn and likes movies. ("L my name is Lover, and I live on Long Island, and I like Ladies"). I had admired L because he had responded so forthrightly when I contacted him, asking me to go to the movies with him. Not a conventional first date, and that's why I liked him (he's also pretty cute). But then this idea got postponed for one reason or another. The last two weeks were intense, what with the new baby, my youngest grandson, being overdue, and then born, and then in the NICU for three days. When it was all finally settled happily, I contacted L again and asked cheerfully if he were ready to go see that movie.

No, he thinks it's not a good idea to see a movie for a first date. In fact, we should talk on the phone before deciding to meet at all. Oh. Here we go again. And in fact, he's going away for a week and I can call him next weekend. And I will, but I confess to disappointment in L's sense of spontaneity and willingness to throw out the rulebook. Yes, yes, I know it's better this way. I once had a fix-up date with a fairly well-known writer that took place at a movie, and it was pretty weird. On the other hand, I think that was because we didn't much like each other (a couple of years later I saw an article about him in the New York Times that mentioned his recent marriage to a younger woman).

This week I went to a lecture on Tony Kushner for the hell of it -- since I teach his plays, it seemed good to hear more about him. Next to me sat a man not too different in age, and clearly alone, and quite attractive. We fell into conversation, and I perked up when I heard his Australian accent (I'm a sucker for the Brits and their colonies). Now, I've heard for decades that going places you're actually interested in and casually conversing with strangers is a far better way to meet men that the online dating show. So I put on my most beguiling smile and was prepared to be casual but interested when he said that as a gay man, he particularly appreciated Kushner's work. Yeah, well, great gaydar I do not have. I noticed afterward that there were an unusual number of men sitting by themselves. Duh.

Just noticed that Letter L above (fearless film lover from Brooklyn) was called J in an earlier post. So much for my alphabetical skills. But I like the jump-rope rhyme above, and probably no one is reading this anyway, and so to heck with it, J will now be called J/L.

Will I join another dating site, or say goodbye to my summer project before the summer is halfway done? I promise to decide by the next post.

Thinking Day

Today I'm thinking about the way my behavior in this dating game has been responsive to the inner tides of my psyche. First I surge with pent-up needs or resentments or fears, and then these recede, so that my initial reactions feel suspect and foreign to me. And then too my responses to men have been shaped by the opinions of others, and of course my expectations of what romance should be like, or the way I hope men will act.

For example, when I was told I was too narrow in my search, I started hopefully trying to find men in new places; when I talked to The Adventurer, I imagined what he wanted and decided I didn't fit that, and then switched gears and felt bad when I was told I was wrong to reject him; when I emailed with The Philosopher after meeting, I had in mind the romantic idea that he would like me equally from the get-go, and felt resentment that he didn't, spoiling that one. There is context upon context for every single interaction, from the first glimpse of someone's profile, to the email that follows, to the way a phone call or meeting is interpreted. It's all so multi-layered and complex that it's a wonder people ever get together with others at all, and nothing like seeing a stranger across a crowded room...and boom.

Ads for Match.com on TV loudly proclaim that nowadays, one in five relationships begin online. I suppose it could be true (I wonder how they know this?) -- maybe this is the New Normal. But if it is, it sure doesn't feel in the least romantic. My favorite sociologist, Eva Illouz, whose work I'm reading in preparation for the book I'm writing this summer, points out that we supposedly define romance by its spontaneity; we speak of romantic love as an "unexpected epiphany" having to do with recognition of the uniqueness of the mysterious Other. She says online dating is a significant break with this old definition, because it presents us with limited information from which we have to make an informed guess...similar to the way a consumer chooses to try a product after seeing advertising. It also supplies a formal script and a repetitive vocabulary for describing the self that's supposed to be unique. So in the end "love" (or rather, dating) is both rationalized and "instrumentalized", that is, people are super-aware of trying to get a good deal for themselves in a process that is supposed to be driven by "pure" and overwhelming emotion.

But Eva, how many actual "romances", especially those that lead to marriage, really ARE driven by that sort of passion? Isn't marriage subliminally based on our perception of a good deal in any case?

Another point of hers I think is brilliant is that we are hyper-conscious of our place in the online dating market because the most individualized feature -- sometimes the ONLY unique feature -- in these repetitive profiles is the picture, and we know our photo is being judged against thousands of others readily accessible by a click. Ouch. No wonder it's so stressful. She has a way of saying (in academese) exactly what I've been experiencing. I know a lot of people would be turned off by her sociolgical jargon, but I need that objectivity and intellectual structure to get past my emotionality on this subject. That's why when I feel low and blue about this process, thinking about it helps a lot. Let's hear it for thinking!

Meanwhile, back in the real world, I sent out a few more tentative hellos to guys here and there, and one who responded -- let's call him K -- was visiting the city today and suggested we meet. All I know about him is that he lives somewhere in New Jersey and is cranky. In fact, when I asked him for his cell phone so I could set up a time, he snapped (if you can snap by email) that he had already given it to me in a previous email. Well, excuse me. Then I called him to say I couldn't make it till later in the afternoon, and the conversation wasn't encouraging. He didn't seem glad to hear from me, and his impatient voice was off-putting. So here we go again. Am I making snap (not to pun) judgements again, based on almost no information, or am I right to behave intuitively? Do I need Mr. Cranky from Somewhere, NJ? I only reached out to him because I was told I hadn't been tolerant enough; now I wonder where to draw that line. The more I am aware of the layers of my decision-making, the more confused I get.

So much simpler to see the stranger across the room. Who conveniently falls for you too, in equal amounts, and is of course available. Or if you want to switch from song to story, you can add an obstacle or objection (mutual misunderstanding, engagement to the "wrong" person, pride or prejudice, etc.) that is overcome after some exciting tension is resolved.

And my month's sub at Match is coming to an end in a few days. I have to decide whether to renew for another month, or try somewhere else, or give up for the summer. Right at this moment, I can tell you that the Little Engine That Could is almost out of steam. I'm getting pretty cranky myself.

We'll see. I'll keep you posted.

It Takes All Kinds

You may have guessed from the title that this is about a character, one I have called I (that is, the letter I in my alphabetical series).

First, a digression, but an important one. Last Sunday my new grandson was born, unfortunately with breathing problems, and was promptly put in the NICU (that's Newborn Intensive Care Unit, for those of you lucky enough not to know). We were told it wasn't very serious, but he had wires and beeping things coming out from various parts of him, so it was stressful and scary. It really put the love-and-dating quest into perspective, and took away my appetite for anything but news about him. Now he's doing better and is scheduled to come home tomorrow, hopefully to lead a normal newborn life of nursing, crying and staring around blankly, so back to The Dating Game.

Letter-I had one of the longest and most detailed profiles I've ever seen. He's done a good deal of traveling, and he appears to have listed every place he's visited on the globe. Plus he just came from somewhere down South and has a tremendous lust for seeing the many sights of New York, all of which were also listed, and he is a marvel of athleticism in a variety of sports, which were listed too. It was exhausting to read, but he was dashingly handsome in his picture, sporting a bicycle helmet.

Still, I wasn't sure I wanted to contact him because in the picture he has a rough-hewn, super-masculine face, and I formed an image of him from the above facts and the picture that amounted to a macho, dominating guy. I am presently allergic to the same, but I put a toe in the water nevertheless. He responded right away, ready to have fun with me in exhaustive detail. It dawned on me that what he is dying for, being alone in a new city, is a companion in his hyper-energetic travels. He also said he doesn't read newspapers. All this led me to say that we might be very different people, but how about we talk. He replied immediately, sounding upset that I thought we were different: hadn't he described himself in detail? And I liked him enough to initiate contact, why did I think we were different now?

I usually avoid phone calls like the bubonic plague, as you know if you've been reading this blog, but I wanted to reassure him that I wasn't crticizing him, since he seemed so defensive. To my surprise, the vision I'd had of him as Macho Adventure Man didn't at all match his voice, which was soft, boyish and melodic. He was sweet, but it was clear to me that I was right, he wants a woman who will accompany him in his (apparently) 24 hour a day adventures. And that ain't me, babe. I explained carefully, so as not to bruise his feelings, that I actually prefer to sit around and read than bike the length of the Hudson or climb the Shawangunk Ridge. When I could get him off the phone, I suggested we think it over. I thought that was the end of it, because that's considered a graceful exit line.

But no. The next morning there was a two-sentence follow-up email from Letter-I, solemn and earnest: how much time did I devote to my job? Was I off for the summer? I felt like I was being interviewed for a position, those niggling last questions before you're made the offer or declined. I answered, out of politeness, but Letter-I then wrote a last regretful note: "I guess I have to accept the fact that I really want someone who has the time and freedom as I have to travel and just do things together. If I were a long-time resident here with an established group of friends, that could make a difference. but that is not the case. So I think we should just wish each other good luck with the search and move on." I had already moved on, but oddly, I think Letter-I and I might very well have had a ton of fun together. If I did not have to write a book on deadline this summer, and if I were not the lazy layabout that I am, that is.

Maybe next summer I'll look for Letter-I on the dating sites again.

Next up: J, from Brooklyn, fearless film lover extraordinaire.

A Few Fishies Swim On By

Today I corresponded with two fellows in their mid-70's, ten years older than I am.

One -- I'll call him E -- lives far away in the wilds of the Jersey woodlands, or something like that. He reads sports magazines, considers himself pure country, and is looking for a "real lady." For some reason he decided I fit that bill, so he contacted me. I checked his profile: he's not bad-looking, but he seems to spend most of his time fishing and he hates the city. The truth is E could be fun, but I'm not going fishing with him anytime soon, and it sounds like coming to visit me would be torturous for him. So I said no. Too bad. It's one of those cases where in spite of nothing in common, we could have had a whale of a time for a while, to continue the fish metaphor. But I suspect this is mostly in my imagination, just as he had a fantasy of his own about me as a "real lady", based on no evidence at all.

The other fellow, F, looked almost as good as Rushed Lifestyle Man on paper, except older and less attractive than R.L.M, who was barely decent. In fact, if I am to be honest (as Simon Cowell used to say), F seems downright ugly and overweight in his profile picture. But the guy has the professions going for him: he's in psychology and teaches in grad school. So I wrote one of my come-hither letters, and he responded right away. Yes, I have an appealing profile, but he's "seeing someone more or less regularly. Good luck." That means Hasta la Vista.

This was food for another meditation about men and women and age and looks. Every man who has a high-status profession, no matter how repulsive or how old, seems to make out like a bandit, while high-status me, ten years younger than E and (excuse me for saying so) a lot better looking, lies gasping on the shore (to further squeeze the fishy metaphor). I'm not sure if this makes me hate men, or the women who choose them, or the whole sex-gender-age system. But damn, it's hard to hate a system: so abstract. Therefore -- irrationally, I admit -- I hate F instead. Don't worry, no actual men were harmed in the course of this emotion.

I’ve been told by a few readers that this blog is “sad” so far, and yes, the adventure of yesterday with Rushed Lifestyle Man (I won't dignify him with an alphabet letter) did sadden, frustrate and discourage me. I was feeling quite down when I wrote it, and all day afterward. But hey…according to Emily D., hope not only has feathers but “perches in the soul” --- it’s somewhere in there, or I wouldn’t be doing this at all. And meanwhile, I’m getting lessons on the human mind, and the social construction of gender and age, and good stuff like that. Plus they say that suffering is good for character, and my character could use some goodness.

One thing I do when things go wrong, besides laugh, is meditate on the larger questions, such as: what’s wrong with men, why is human communication so hard, is it my fault, how do we assess what people’s motives and characters are, and what does this all show about the meaning of life?

I’ll leave the last to you, but let’s start with views of men. It’s a given that there are going to be lots of men I won’t like and will find ridiculous. But this doesn’t mean I don’t like men. On the contrary, I find men naturally delicious, if I like them or love them, or even if I’m just attracted to them. I adored my father, I’m crazy about my brothers, feel that my grown son can do no wrong, pretty much worship the ground my three grandsons walk or crawl on, and I probably have more male friends than most women do. And let’s not even start on men I have loved romantically, every single one of whom I actually still love today (there aren’t very many). So I am far from a man-hater.

On the other hand, I do have a built-in suspicion of men in romantic or sexual situations, based on my frequent inability to read them combined with a sense of vulnerability that comes directly from liking (okay, needing) men. I’m being honest here. When it comes to these relationships, a fear of being hurt exists in direct proportion to the pleasure that men can give me, and that produces, at least in the beginning, a certain defensive cynicism along with longing -- you might even call it a hostile edge to hope. I am allergic to men who try to control me, dominate, or criticize me, because of past experience, and so when a man cuts me off when I try to take my conversational turn, or judges how I live, and so on, my tendency is to flee. I know this, but it’s very hard to distinguish when I’m being “too picky” about men, as I’ve been told I am, or just standing up for myself for the first time in my romantic life, as I want to do.

Take the telephone thing, for example: I've almost never had a good conversation on the phone with a strange man. Would it be different on the phone with a woman I've never met? Dunno, but mostly men bore me or talk at length about themselves. I've been told this is just what men are conditioned to do: impress women by showing off their knowledge or boasting about their exploits or credentials. Some of them do the opposite: being nice guys, they conscientiously ply you with questions, but they're boring questions and they tend not to listen or respond to the answers. Both of these make me want to read the New York Times while I'm on the phone with them, or poke out my eye.

It's telling that neither of the men I've most loved have been like this: they were both interested listeners and interesting talkers. But I met neither online.