He revealed what he thinks about Mayor Bloomberg (loves him) and how he misses him (a lot).
It took every bone in my body to resist asking this delivery truck driver these questions: But what about Bloomberg’s outlandish fetish for billionaires?
ou might be surprised to learn that speed dating still exists–and not just in limbo somewhere between Missouri, middle management, and web 1.0.
In fact, speed dating is still an option for singles right here in our Tinder-addicted metropolis.
It’s kind of hard to wrap your mind around in the age of meeting over the internet, but speed dating was once considered a somewhat impersonal form of courtship, something for reluctant people pressed for time.
Now, of course, speed dating feels supremely sluggish in comparison to dating apps. From experience, like, last week’s experience: I attended an event organized by New York Minute Dating. In fact, I’m just a sick weirdo who flips through profiles when I’m bored, with absolutely no intention of meeting up with people.
But despite his intimidating physical presence, B turned out to be the most appealing suitor to me. We talked about his work as a security guard, how being nice helps “diffuse the situation” and that being tough and mean probably never helped anyone. It’s not a conscious decision, but things have only worked out with people that are within a few inches of me, height-wise. For a lot of these guys, whatever “flaw” inspired them to seek the help of a dating service as opposed to relying on the old fashioned pursuit of picking up broads at bars, parties, whatever, was immediately discernible.
Our conversation was so frank, so real, so free of bullshit. They were clearly either too busy, not conventionally attractive, not the most socially adept beings, or lived in places that are inhospitable to meeting interesting people (i.e. They weren’t the hippest bunch, and many of them were wary of app-based dating.
For example, this guy D and I spent most of the five minutes discussing the lighting. He argued it was almost too bright, more so than last time at least.“You don’t want to see someone in full light when you first meet them,” he said.
“Brightness is for the second or third time you meet, not the first.” I laughed, he didn’t–that’s when I realized he was serious.
The process basically entails a series of brief, five-to-ten minute, two-way interviews with a slew of completely random people. And while generally the conversations were awkward but polite, a few seasoned participants asked “clever” questions. One of my partners asked me if I’d heard of the psychologist Arthur Aron’s 36 questions that supposedly make you fall in love with anyone. He switched gears and asked the name of the last movie that made me cry, I admitted that a recent episode of But things started out weird. My Budweiser was almost gone and I was out of cash. But I can empathize with the staunchest critics of Tinder et al, who point to the encroachment of a Silicone Valley-ethos into our romantic relationships and sex lives, which reads something like: The goal is to manage one’s time efficiently so as to maximize work output for the corporate monsters we devote nearly all our waking hours to already.
I was the first to arrive–which was already an unusual thing for me–at a really rather awful dive in the East Village. scary, and the place smelled like piss and looked like a well-worn horse stable: ground-down wood, dark and dank, lit only by the glow of sports games and Bud Light beer signs. Generally, I enjoy talking to strangers, but the prospect of jamming into a booth with total randoms and having to deflect pick-up lines while completely sober was starting to freak me out. Why risk wasting time at a bar scoping out potential hookups when an app can eliminate all the variables that come between you and a person you consider attractive?
The system might seem a little outdated now, and for good reason—who needs face-to-face meet-ups when there’s an app for that?