a moment of wallowing self pity

My original plan for the evening involved attending a party at the acclaimed Osteria del Circo, sponsored by the equally acclaimed Ikon Model Management. Such parties are always a good time, as they not only feature really hot girls, but also allow me to hone my Napoleonic charm in the most difficult of environments. (Me: 5’6″; models: 5’10”; phone numbers: Inexplicably, yes.)

Instead, however, I’ll be lying at home, drunk off Nyquil and sipping chicken soup. I managed to get myself sick over the weekend, and have spent all day at work too hoarse to use the phone and brain too full of snot to send productive emails. (Which may, in retrospect, explain my fascination with the ads cited in the prior post). None the less, I have an exceedingly quick metabolism, so I suspect that by tomorrow things will be looking up. And yes, mom, I took some Echinacea.

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April 8, 2002

bahamas flashback

Don’t you agree, she asks, in a southern accent. I narrow my eyes slightly, focus on her face. It’s burned turned to tan, a small patch peeling halfway up her slightly upturned, sorority-girl-from-a-big-10-school nose. I study that patch for a moment. Definitely. Whatever she was saying, I agree.

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March 24, 2002

zoot suit riot

Date this evening with an English Lit grad student I met at a Guggenheim fundraiser about a month back. She was there as another guy’s date; we met in the line for drinks, hit it off, and surreptitiously traded contact info.

A few emails back and forth (in which space I’ve determined she’s significantly wittier than I), and we’re headed out for a first date to the Swing 46 supper club.

I’ve pulled out my khakis and suspenders and have been listening to big band music all afternoon, trying desperately to recall all the swing moves I once knew.

Wish me luck, boys, wish me luck.

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March 16, 2002

a very bad date

Shortly after moving to the City, I went on a date with a girl I had picked up at a gallery in SoHo. Naively, I had reasonably high hopes, as it was a second date, and the first (a safe early evening drinks date) had gone remarkably well.

We went to Zocalo, a trendy Upper East Side Mexican joint, and the evening actually started off fairly smoothly. Until, that is, the waiter didn’t bring chips quickly enough. (Shock! Horror!) The girl proceeded to not only bitch out the waiter, but actually yelled at the manager as well. The manager. Over chips.

Clearly, there was no relationship potential with a girl this incredibly high maintenance. But I figured I could be mature and polite and make it through an otherwise relatively pleasant dinner. Wrong. Things went from bad to worse, as apparently a few margaritas were not a good way to calm the girl down. By the end of the evening, we were actually asked to leave the restaurant. That would be a first – I had never been thrown out of a restaurant before. Of course, I had also never been at a restaurant with a girl who threw a plate of beans at the waiter’s face.

Dating in New York is never dull.

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February 21, 2002

the early evening drinks date

Apparently, there’s something about me that says “please set me up with your attractive (but crazy) female friends.” Whatever the reason, going on blind dates has become one of my biggest hobbies, and by now, I’m about ready to go pro.

Over time, I’ve evolved to favoring the early evening drinks date. It’s intimate, sophisticated, and easy to cut short if things turn sour. More importantly, it encourages cutting the date short even if it’s going well. (Keeping up the thrill of the chase is the surest path to a second date.)

The world’s best location for an early evening drinks date is the Campbell Apartment, a bar located in New York’s Grand Central Station, accessible only via an untrafficked side door. Originally built in the 1920s (during prohibition) by a rich businessman as his private, upscale speakeasy, the bar was covered over in the 1935 renovation of Grand Central, and only rediscovered a few years back when Grand Central was again renovated. The decor is the same as it was in the ’20s, making the place about as Gatsby as possible. They mix perfect martinis (Grey Goose, dirty, straight up) and the bar exudes a sophisticated secrecy, as if it’s the last bastion of an otherwise forgotten New York high-life.

While quite effective, however, the short early evening drinks date has one serious flaw: it compresses the first date quite a bit and thereby increases the pressure. With only an hour to get the job done, the intrepid dater must move through being charming, witty, interested, sensitive and seductive fairly quickly. Slipping up on any given step sets back the schedule and probably botches the entire relationship.

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February 17, 2002

on being an asshole

Head on over to Galaktek.com for this fine piece of field research, in which a ‘nice guy’ tries to act like an asshole “in an attempt to score.” Completely fabricated results, but amusing nonetheless. And the premise is right on: you might as well be a dick, since nice guys really do seem to finish last.

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February 15, 2002