People Are Fungible

Mermaiden (probably not her real name) posted this comment after I got all ambivalent about chemistry.com, and I think it reflects a couple of my concerns, too:

do you really think online dating is a good tool? i have had a few interests online, and i do think it is a very easy way to meet people, but being pooled by your personality and then randomly selected for only certain individuals kind of ruins the whole natural selection process, don't you think?

And I was (am) a little concerned about the same idea that Mermaiden had. It sure beats arranging a marriage to the best-bred person your family can afford. I assume. I guess it depends on the size of your dowry, how many cows or Emperor coins or sacks of grain your betrothed can get for you. But chemistry.com... not that I've gone through the whole First Meetings™ process or anything, but it feels inorganic in its own special way.

I don't think it's the mechanics of Internet dating that's the problem. Way back in the days when your father might try to marry you off to the local duke before you hit puberty, people were having unseen forbidden, chivalric affairs via furtive epistolaries, collected in tragedies: Romeo and Juliet, Tristan and Isolde, Pyramus and Thisbe, lead actor from High School Musical and lead actress from High School Musical, you know. I had my own impossible online love back in the "You've Got Mail!" days when you couldn't be online for too long before someone in the house picked up the phone and left nothing but miles between the two of you. I was in New Jersey, Jenny a.k.a. doucement@aol.com (I already tried — the address is long dead) was in Georgia, and we shared a genuine, redemptive love — where the mere fact that you're sharing yourself with another soul makes all the shit disappear — across six-hundred fifty miles.

That's the thing about the internet, like the letters of Heloise and Abelard, it connects your thoughts and your ideas and whatever sort of schmoopy emotion's festering in your minds. It's the same stuff that makes you smile when you meet someone special IRL and, okay, you're not gonna get to hit that over the web (no matter how much some people will try), but hire a prostitute if all you want is to snap the release valve on your lust.

But with Chemistry, those ideas, the stuff that really grabs your love muscle (sounds dirty, not meant to be) is pretty contrived. You get your picture, your profile, "about my match," but you don't actually communicate, which some people say is key to a relationship. If someone thinks you're hot, the two of you get to fill out a Relationship Essentials questionnaire, which is such a turn-on, and if your potential affection survived that, there's a short essay part of the courtship. I don't care how compatible Dr. Helen Fisher says we are; this all just the opening act you have to sit through. Stilted, perfunctory, not why you're here. So I just plug in my answers and hope she plugs in hers and wait excitedly (read: anxious as hell) to get to the stage where she or I either comes alive or dies a pathetic, lovelorn death.

Chemistry.com Teaches Me About Me

It's been six days since I began looking for love on Chemistry.com, and I don't think it's going the way I expected. The way it works is every day, you log in and rate whoever the Chemistry's sophisticated algorithms matched for you. Then — this is what I look forward to every day — you click on the "Refresh Matches" button and five new matches appear. It's like a slot machine of love: "Big money! Big money! No whammy! Stop!" The site is supposed to spit back personalized relationship matches approved by Dr. Helen Fisher's insights into human nature, but I think it's just handing me profiles at random. (Either that, or I'm inscrutable.... that's probably it.) But then yesterday, Anne signed up with Chemistry.com and I was the very first match it sent her.

Now this shatters my whole view of logic gate generated relationships. First thought was maybe Dr. Fisher is onto something. Or there are five or fewer guys on Chemistry.com in the first place.

It's tough to judge anybody from their profile alone (because most people write crappy profiles) but Chemistry does provide you with everybody's personality, in pie chart form. I'm not a big subscriber to the whole Myers-Briggs type dichotomy matrix idea, so I guess it shouldn't bother me too much that I'm a "Director/explorer" but this match is an "Explorer/builder" and this other one's a "Negotiator/director" and whatever, but it does. I'm expecting consistency from the algorithm.

One thing that Chemistry.com is almost certain about — and I did know this about myself — is that I have a secret, unexplored five-foot-four fetish. Exactly: seventeen out of my twenty matches so far. Is it trying to tell me something, like maybe I should be hanging out in the petite section of Lane Bryant to look for love?

Making Out with Chemistry.com

Hey, my chemistry.com profile got its first hit! It happened just before I upgraded to Profile 2.0, so I'm giving credit to Harrigan's portrait for this one. I can't really explain it, cause it's just an image but fits me, or I fit it, or something. I think my blanket fort photo that I use for this blog's profile captures my personality more fully: working, isolated, shrouded, but enjoying the child-like pretend of it all.

But people look at the content of the picture, rather than the decision to express yourself with one photo over another, so the blanket fort one comes out on the third(?) date. My computer-generated match doesn't have a photo on her profile; there's a little box that says something like "Photo will be available after the first date." Which, by then, it won't be quite as useful, will it?

Photo not available. That can't be a good sign, can it? It's not like your photo isn't in the yearbook because you were out that day; this subtext was a choice. I'm trying not to read into it, especially since on my proactive side, I'm not being the profound person we should all aspire to. I'm certain we'd — I would, and most of you would, too — make better decisions blind. Chemistry.com sent a profile of this one really cute girl who I have absolutely nothing in common with (I guess the computer disagrees), and I'm having this primitive hormonal struggle to not press the "I'm Interested" button next to her pic. I'm sure I've rejected a few good matches, too, because they weren't what I'm looking for, literally.

Here's a link to an interesting article on first impressions, how accurate they are, and how quickly we make up our minds about someone.

The expectations, too, aren't working for me. You don't strike up a rapport with anybody, and there's no "take it slow" option. All of my previous girlfriends were my friends first... and of course, by "all," I mean "both," including the one who I never technically met, and I guess we were just friends for a week or so before making our tacit AOL commitment to each other ("You've Got Puppy Love!") but still, my point. There's less chance of rejection — always a fear — and it seems more organic. You two already like each other more than you like anybody else, so why not date?

This game of jumping right in because a computer told you to doesn't leave me feeling quite right. Don't guys become actors on their first date, feigning normalcy, interest, all kinds of crap they think the woman wants? And since the facade matches what she's been socialized to expect, she thinks that's his real personality. Sounds like an exhausting way to have a relationship. I'm not necessarily big on honesty — I'm for recognizing when mendacity is appropriate — seems like a first date would be the perfect time to be yourself. All you've got to lose is someone who wouldn't tolerate you well anyway. (Also self-esteem.)

Profile. (Love me!)

My chemistry.com profile was... not the way I want to portray myself. The chemistry.com website folks throw this personal essay at you and won't let you finish the questionnaire until you finish it, and I did my extemporaneous best, but that wasn't very good. Full of making a first impression awkwardness, which fades off after some getting to know you. Here's what I came up with:

I introduce myself as a bit of a mystery. I'm shy and it takes a little effort to lure me out of my shell, but I become outgoing, carefree and really sweet once I'm lured out of my shell. Right now, I'm an aspiring writer, but I design websites and write Java code to pay the bills, because crumpled-up second and third drafts aren't legal currency. My humor is dry and sarcastic and occasionally pushes boundaries a little too hard. I love animals, not so much kids, play the piano, and bake the world's best cinnamon-kahlua brownies, not that I like to brag or anything. I get off on learning new things and exercising my mind, so I've grown into a profound well of useless (and sometimes useful) knowledge. I'm open-minded, or at least I try my best to be, but also pretty picky -- life is short, so why spend it on things that aren't good, right? But at the same time, you never know where you'll find stuff you like.

Likes: tropical fish, fast elevators on the way up, those fringe sports they show on ESPN2, Nintendo Wii, empty amusement parks, the smart car, Wile E. Coyote, Venice in the early morning...

Dislikes: ferns, socks, Wal-Mart, fast elevators on the way down, passive-aggressiveness, the word I missed in the fourth-grade spelling bee ("villain"), ten-lane highways, movies that have the main character's name in their title...

Here's the part where I describe who I'm looking for. I could list a bunch of standard traits: honesty, sense of humor, independence, etc., but that's what everybody says because they have no idea what to put down here. My sense is that you can have an meaningful, intimate relationship with just about anyone, and your soulmate is somebody who shares your emotional maturity, who's different enough that they make you a better person and similar enough that you make them a better person. That's vague. Sorry. I did say I was a bit of a mystery.

It's not the world's shiniest sales pitch, but I feel like it gives you a good sense of who I am. I had a hell of a time writing it, even after some brainstorming sessions, because it's not like you're introducing yourself to anybody and it's a super one-way conversation. What I did was go to Match.com and pretend to be the person I'm looking for — twenty-six year old woman seeking twenty-four to twenty-eight year old man — and get a sense of what other dudes are selling.

This, accidentally, became a really fascinating glimpse into other people's psyches. Oh yeah, the other thing I did cause I wasn't really thinking about it, was I typed in Fanwood as my location and among what the Romance-O-Matic™ spit back were profiles of a few people I've known since I was wee high. Not great friends or anything, folks I'd say to if I saw them in the post office or if I needed to know what last night's homework was or whatever. But I only know them through the persona they show in public, and it's interesting to see the contrast between the straightforward facade that I know (or interpret) and the mess of contradictions that they believe about themselves. No way in hell he's "kind of shy." He's the biggest sycophant ever and he "values independence in a woman." Bullshit!

You know you're supposed to put your best foot forward, but you're also protected behind the anonymity of a username and IP address, so the profile winds up being a mix of how you actually see yourself and how you want to be seen, and the balancing act between the two. My hypothesis is that the pretense in somebody's public facade is inversely proportional to their profile's ratio of punctuation to misspellings.

My favorite, least expected motifs in guys' profiles (not sure if it holds for the girls') is the subtle apologetic tone that sneaks in. "I'm not sure what to write. I've never done online dating before, I'm no good at talking about myself." Lowering expectations, and boy does that sound nice. I probably slipped in some temptation to do that in my own profile, trying to come off as good enough to date but so good that she'll be disappointed when I my nervous, stuttery first date doesn't live up to the hype preceding it. Many of the profiles, almost all of the profiles are so generic and bland that they're almost meaningless. "Sweet, sensitive" guy who "also has a wild side" enjoys "a night out on the town" but also sometimes "wants to chill at home" — editorial note: no matter what's on a list of thing's he'll do, play sports, travel, go to museums, fly on a trapeze, whatever... "chill out at home" is always last on the list. — Looking for a "cute girl" who "has integrity and independence" and "values honesty" with a "good sense of humor" and "up for anything."

How is that useful? It's like contrasting to a dating profile that says, "Yup, I'm a loner who quit his job and spends all his free time stocking my basement with bottled water and canned food. I'm on the hunt for a disrespectful, stern lady with low self-esteem to repopulate the world after the dirty bomb." I'm a little curious how that profile would fare; this is a world where death row inmates receive marriage proposals and fringe weirdos make a living selling fallout shelters to other gun-toting backwoods crazies. I guess what I'm saying is that maybe there's someone for everyone.

I really don't want to know. I'm little afraid the millennialist profile would get more responses than mine.

Missed Connections

Reuters reported the most saccharine news article since Kate Beckinsale and John Cusack met cute, a true Big Apple love story that absolutely never happens in real life: New Yorkers rally to help online romeo. The timeless love story goes like this: Boy sees girl on Number 5 train. Boy falls instantly in love with girl. Boy loses girl. Boy posts crude drawing of girl on website. The whole freaking city of New York searches down girl. Boy and girl go on Good Morning America. Dopey women across America squee.

The story's just like out of a movie. No, seriously.

My personal Cupid must be broken. He doesn't drive hot girls to sit next to me on the train, or inspire a captivating Chemistry.com profile, or stir a whole jaded city to search for my soulmate. Ass. Can I trade him in and get another one? Preferably one who'll get my cute barista whose name I don't know to chat with me and see the sweet, vulnerable, yet surprisingly virile guy beneath this tortured soul, pining over lattes and pastries..... I'll stop now.

I guess I just don't understand what makes this random subway guy any different from the hundreds of other random subway guys and girls posting on Craigslist's "missed connections" bulletin board. "R train from 57th to Lex - m4w -26."

"Irish Actress at Whole Foods - m4w."

"Beautiful man in Yale sweatshirt - w4m - 28."

It's a giant anthill out there — strange enough, though, that it's got to be at least ninety percent the drones who are posting. (Also, ants don't need wings. They're fucking creepy enough already.) What are the odds missed connections could ever possibly work out? Like, example: "Blonde on The E Train - m4w - 30." This blonde on, well, the E train was "reading a book and seemed totally into it." She has to be looking for a missed connection, on Craigslist, recognize herself, try to place the guy that's all wistful over her, and want to meet him. "I looked at you one last time and you and I met eyes for a second. I wanted to say hello but didn't feel like making a semi spectacle on train, so I am trying to find you here." Seem likely?

But this guy gets put on the Jumbotron? Not fair! I'm saying right now that once I'm rich, I'm gonna set up this laser system to draw my face on the moon. That ought to catch the attention of that cute barista whose name I still don't know... although once you're rich, I bet you don't have to be quite as tacky to find love.

Speaking of which, here's another Reuters romance (sort of) article: "No deal! Woman's bid for rich husband deemed poor offer." This gold-digger posted what's got to be the most heartfelt ad ever on Craigslist. "I dated a business man who makes average around 200 - 250. But that's where I seem to hit a roadblock. $250,000 won't get me to Central Park West.... I know how that sounds, but keep in mind that a million a year is middle class in New York City, so I don't think I'm overreaching at all." She described herself as "superficial," like, no shit, bitch.

A "mystery Wall Street banker" replied:

Your looks will fade and my money will likely continue into perpetuity ... in fact, it is very likely that my income increases but it is an absolute certainty that you won't be getting any more beautiful!

So, in economic terms you are a depreciating asset and I am an earning asset. Let me explain, you're 25 now and will likely stay pretty hot for the next 5 years, but less so each year. Then the fade begins in earnest. By 35 stick a fork in you!

It doesn't make good business sense to "buy you" (which is what you're asking) so I'd rather lease.

Sounds to me like some mystery Wall Street banker is in lurrrrvvve. They really do sound perfect for each other. She can fritter away her afternoons in Bergdorf Goodman and Jimmy Choo while he's at work fomenting the inevitable class war, then they can spend their nights together having passionless sex and beating up handicapped orphans.

I'm just kidding — I'm sure these two utter tools would never beat up handicapped orphans. There's no money in it. But organizing handicapped orphan streetfights....

Chemistry.com Just Doesn't Get Me

Lovelorn, I took a web surf to chemistry.com, the matchmaking website for people too freakish to be considered by eHarmony. Chemistry.com is sort of like getting relationship advice from Miss Cleo. It'll be what you want to hear, and not remotely helpful. Still better than Dr. Phil, who'll throw folksy insults at you and not be remotely helpful. God, I hate Dr. Phil.

Chemistry.com just makes me laugh incredulously. Not as hard as that time my grandma tried to set me up with my cousin though. Maybe if she was a cousin by blood instead of marriage. eHarmony tries to psychoanalyze you with questions like "How important is it that your partner be physically attractive?" "What three words would your friends use to describe you?" Here's how chemistry.com finds your soulmate:





Be honest, chemistry.com, you're just matching people up by spinning a bottle, aren't you?

My favorite part of all these dating sites is the end of the survey, where they tell me what my personality is. As if I don't know — it's my personality stuck inside my damn head. The soulless machine algorithm doesn't have a chance:

You are a DIRECTOR/explorer

You are courageous; and you seek challenges. You are a tough-minded, independent and daring thinker who likes to explore ideas or problems thoroughly. You focus easily. And you are persistent, systematic and competent in pursuing your interests and goals.

You are also assertive; and you enjoy the opportunities your hard work wins.

You have a lot of energy. You think quickly, make decisions more easily than most, dislike unnecessary rules, and take a rational approach to people, issues and ideas.

You don't often enjoy "small talk." You are generally not interested in pleasing boring people and you gravitate to men and women who are intellectually exciting and get to their point quickly during conversations.

You are not conventional in most of your attitudes and values. You tend to be irreverent and pragmatic and you like spontaneous people. You can be an exciting, yet hard driving and exacting, friend and companion.

This has to be what you get when you answer "C" for all the questions, because it's so not me. "You are also assertive" stands out — a lot — and overwhelms what's right about it. (Recall the Forer effect.) Stuff like "[you] dislike unnecessary rules:" everyone dislikes unnecessary rules, sort of by definition, but I'm here thinking, "Well, I do have a lot of contempt for superfluous rules..."

It's not the personality test that worries me though, since it's not like you can fail that. It's the stuff that I contributed; I'm so sucky at introducing myself. I'm a little happy I can't link directly to my profile... but here's what I look like: Chemistry.com suggests posting a picture where you're smiling, maybe something from a vacation, and this is the best photo I have of me. Aside from the one on the upper-right corner of this site, of course. I should probably pay a professional to make me look as not-constipated as I feel.

My personal blurb isn't any better. Do other people have this issue, where they can only write about themselves at two extremes: terse and uninformative ("I am a carbon-based life form.") and too much information? I believe I went with too much information, although I tried to temper it:

Hi.

I'm pretty shy and quiet and don't warm to people very easily, but I can get very lively and funny around people I'm comfortable with. I'm eager to try new things, even though I sometimes need a little prodding. I'm open-minded and extremely picky -- because life is short and why waste it on things that aren't good, right? But you also (well, I also) never really know where you'll find stuff you really like. I'm fascinate by just about anything, as long as it keeps filling my brain with new ideas....

What else? I'm an aspiring playwright who does gigs coding websites until Broadway calls, which should be any day now. I raised tropical fish as a kid because my parents wouldn't let me have a dog, and I was pretty surprised when it turned out some of those fish were more carniverous than they looked in the store. I bake the world's best (and probably, only) kahlua and cinnamon brownies. I'm not a big sports fan, but I love watching those made-up sports they show on ESPN2.

Okay, well... nice meeting you.

I didn't want to put weeks and weeks of work into this online personal ad, but I just read that again and, hell, I wouldn't date me. (Also I wouldn't date me because that would be really weird.) Ugh. I figure maybe I'll just get a cat and one of those Japanese sex robots (like that's not weird) and call it a night.

Advice and/or words of encouragement appreciated.

I Rationally Deconstruct eHarmony's Relationship Profile

People change, eHarmony.com, and it wouldn't kill you to let users update their personality profile. Maybe I've matured since eHarmony did it's algorithm-match thing for me, and I'd like to find out. I'm still answering honestly — I think that's really the only way to find the woman of my dreams... or the woman who can tolerate me — but there's always the chance that eHarmony will find deep inside me reservoirs of affability I never knew I had. I got a new email address, so a brand new Relationship Questionnaire will follow, and let's see where it takes me.

The first page of the eHarmony profile is just basic personal info, plus (I think) your soulmate's height and age, so onto the profound stuff, right?

Page Two. Oh... I remember why I stopped this. "What is your personal income?" Less than $20,000 — although I like how $0 is an option, too. This seems superfluous; first, last time I was in math class, zero is less than twenty-thousand, and second, how many homeless people are actually posting profiles on eHarmony in the first place? And then there's another problem question, which is "How important is your match's income to you?" The short answer is, like everything else in this stupid survey, I don't know. There are so many ways of interpreting this question — are they asking if I wouldn't be happy unless I married rich? I think most people's gut response, certainly mine, to the idea of marrying into wealth is that it would be great. No sitting in traffic commuting, or ordering a small coffee to save money, and you can make a hobby out of getting ineffective plastic surgeries. (I can't believe those trophy wives haven't filed lawsuits yet.)

But Western society also has a complicated, several-millenia old history of gender relations, and frankly I already have an inferiority complex without a pre-nup and yet another, quantitative, measure of my worth. Maybe they're asking how important it is that my "match" have a similar income to me? Or is it a negative question, would I reject my "match," my soul mate that God, in His infinite wisdom, has chosen for me, because she's poor? How much of a golddigger am I — what if I loved her in every other way, would the money still matter to me? Would I even give us a chance to find out? Plus, there's political correctness to take into account: I think this is a good question to be wishy-washy over, on a scale of one to seven, I'm choosing a three.

My ethnicity: that's easy.

What ethnicities would you be willing to accept as matches? Mother-fucker! Maybe I'm reading too much into this, because you look around the room and.... Maybe it's just me, since I've never really asked anyone about this, but everybody I know who's married is married within their race. I see people walking down the street holding hands, and they're usually the same race. You look around the room and you first focus on people of certain races. You have to pick someone to talk to, to get to know, and it's not like you've got a ton of information about them. I guess I can check off all the ethnicities here without feeling like a liberal guilt jackass this time; presumably eHarmony takes care of the awkward compatibility testing, and then I've noticed that no matter what their appearance is, people look a lot more attractive once you get to know them. I guess "How important is your match's ethnicity?" Not very.

Now I get to describe my appearance, via vague characteristics and this coarse seven-point scale. (FYI: Seven means the given characteristic describes you perfectly.) Rank the degree to which I'm: well-groomed, handsome, athletic, overweight, fit, and sexy. Well, Mom says I'm handsome... Here goes, in order: 4, 4, 2, 2, 3, 2, but that last one's really for women and himbos, right? I want to explore this a bit further...

Loneliness is haunting me, following me around from one desolate happy hour to another, leaving my Facebook feeds unchanged for a week, and taunting me with commercials for Age of Love. I have some time, just me and my computer, and I thought I might try expanding my social network... but I don't want to go outside my bedroom. I don't feel like putting a shirt on. I gave online matchmaking a shot two years ago, only to have that snooty bitch eHarmony.com reject me. I answered eHarmony's personality profile honestly and the computer dating monkeys at eHarmony headquarters were unable to match me "at this time." Should've lied, I guess.

Anyway, I logged into eHarmony again — still going to answer honestly, but I figured that maybe I've grown a bit since eHarmony unceremoniously snubbed me. Or maybe eHarmony's grown, not so much superficial, self-absorbed, and marginalizing... diverse... profiles. Nope. I love this little blurb from the home page: "Meet and communicate with quality women today" — and that emphasis is theirs. "Quality" women? This is exactly why personal relationships are bullshit: I've never used an adjective to describe both women and snow tires, but somehow that doesn't factor into the love equation.

I'm re-reading my eHarmony personality profile, now outdated, and I'm thinking this is a good place to put some links explaining the Forer effect.

Fine. Fuck eHarmony anyway. I'm moving on to Match.com, which is endorsed by Dr. Phil, so it'll probably berate me into dating, right? I was signing up for Match.com, but then I stopped and thought it might be fun to take you, my adoring public, on my journey through the world of online dating. I can make fun of it, be self-deprecating, so it won't matter and it'll sting less when I fail. Ingenious.... But you know what would be even better is filling out a fake form, pretending to be an Asian-American hog farmer from Montana or something, then when Match.com rejects me I can just be like, "Ha, joke's on you, Dr. Phil!"

The only questions Match.com asks before matching you up with, by my count, sixteen random eligible singles are your location and the age range beyond which you absolutely will not touch. Today, I'm 25, so I figure there are three ways to answer this question:

• The open-minded, full of shit way: "I'm looking to meet someone between the ages of 18 and 114."
• The honest way: "I'm looking to meet someone between the ages of 25 and 25."
• And the perverted, I know the age of consent in all fifty states way: "I'm looking to meet someone between the ages of 16 and 18."

(By the way, I had to look up the age of consent in New Jersey, just in case you were wondering.) I mention this because the next page on Match.com has this pull-down menu where you give them your birthdate, and it goes all the way back to 1919. I really want to know just how many octogenarians are actually on Match.com, how many are looking to meet someone in their twenties, and whether Grandma will let me put up a profile for her.

Okay, now I'm onto the search part of our evening. I didn't set up a profile on Match.com, so I sort of feel like this is the electronic version of peeping through a hole in the girls' locker room... but somehow when you're hiding behind a computer this all becomes appropriate. Don't ask. Here's the search criteria I'm offered:

• Height: Anywhere from 3'1" to 8'11". Three foot, I can understand, cause there's a population that's three feet tall. But eight feet, eleven inches?! There's one guy in history who's that tall, and if he's your soulmate, then you're S.O.L. cause he's dead. I don't know, maybe Match.com just put that in there to satiate the pituitary disorder fetishists out there.

Speed friending tonight, and it wasn't too, too bad. I credit my newly-discovered Love Tactics, which I've decided is too depressing to read but sort of amusing when you just skim it. It's really sleazier than I thought — the first half of the book is this collection of self-esteem boosting platitudes ("It's okay to be nervous!" "When given choices, be decisive!") and the second half of the book is basically an instruction guide for being a manipulative jackass. There's a chapter called "Cultivating Their Emotional Dependency" followed immediately by "Shaking Their Confidence," because nothing signals a happy relationship like emotional dependency.

I actually did some thinking... well, some therapy, since my last speed friending, in which I could've probably been replaced by a pre-recorded message for all the lack of emotion and personality I was showing. To be fair, my goal for the evening was to get in the habit of shaking people's hands while repeating their name back to them, and I succeeded! But it turns out that was a rather lame goal; I remembered everyone's name, and they remembered me as that banal guy sitting in between two much more worthwhile people. This is why I have a therapist; it took him like five minutes to tell me that I'm bullshitting my way through speed friending because my mother (who, by the way, hates my therapist) and the Love Tacticians of the world keep telling me that I'm not good enough and no one wants to hear about my dull, dull life. And it took fifteen years but it was such a relief to hear someone finally tell me, "What's wrong with saying you're a web designer but it's not what you want to do, and you want to be a playwright? There are probably plenty of Young Professionals who are in some kind of intermediary job that's not exactly what they want to be doing, and they'll relate to you."

Which I did, came up with a whole new, and surprisingly honest, line for that question: "I'm a web designer, but my life's goal is to be a writer." I also dumbed down my "Where do you live?/Where are you from?" answer to something I could remember under pressure. (It used to be, "I'm from Fanwood. It's about ten/twelve/fifteen miles south/west/southwest of Newark," depending on which words came out of my mouth.) And I reworked my "What do you do for fun?" answer, and I can't believe I went to two speed friending events stumbling for what I do for fun, because it's not like I haven't answered that question about a million times in the virtual networking world.

Now here's the thing: I keep making three-minute friends with dudes, maybe because I'm not following Love Tactic #7, "Be The First to Show Interest in The Other." This is in the non-disturbing part of the book.... No, sorry, I re-read the section, and there's nothing useful in it. On the other hand, at least I wasn't exercising Love Tactic #33: Use Silence.

Valentine's Day News: New Study Says Kissing Your Sister is Bad

To be perfectly honest — and apparently, gross — I never really knew what the big deal is. Besides homozygosity. I'm an only child, plus I've had relatives try to set me up with my cousins, so I just always fantasized that if I had a generic hot sister who was into that sort of thing, what the hell, right? What's a little universal cultural taboo between siblings engaged in self-exploration?

But researchers at UC Santa Barbara just had to go around ruining my fantasy, and also about three-hundred Veronica Mars fanfics. I love it when science gets its rational self applied to what we take for granted, and this story fascinates me. Evolutionary biology predicts that we humans ought to have some mechanism for guessing who shares our DNA: we ought to be quicker to help our kin because their reproductive success improves our standing in the gene pool, unless their reproductive success is with family, which weakens the gene pool. What the researchers found is that you can blame your whole incest squeamishness on, of course, Mom.

The good news is that, contrary to what Freud claimed, you don't have an ingrained crush on your mother, precariously tipping between your subconscious desire to return to the womb and social custom and pressure getting you to marry outside of your kin group. You form this notion of a kin group early in your life, watching your mother take care of your siblings, or, in terms of modern non-nuclear American families, your "siblings:" the people you grew up with, and the thought of doing it with someone your mom cared for gives you the willies.