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42 • New York, NY • Man
I’m looking for
- Ages 30–44
- Near me
- Who are single
- For long-term dating, short-term dating
- Last online
- Today – 12:42am
- 6′ 2″ (1.88m)
- Body type
- Mostly anything
- Atheism, and very serious about it
- Pisces, but it doesn’t matter
- Graduated from Ph.D program
- Doesn’t have kids, but might want them
- Likes dogs and has cats
- English (Fluently), French (Fluently), Portuguese (Poorly)
I've skirted the edge of the dating pool for a spell, but the siren song of companionship will eventually penetrate even the highest-end Bose noise-canceling earphones of the heart (heartphones? HeartBeats by Dre? Heh. Sorry.). So now I'm up for something (at least semi-) serious with a special someone also in search of shared shenanigans, secret smiles and saucy sexytimes. Apparently I also want the Nobel fucking Prize for Alliteration.
That's a real 6'2" btw, and has not been adjusted for online dating. I'm told this is a thing that happens, but I don't get it. Probably because I'm not wee.
Maxin' and relaxin' in my roomy uptown apartment, which has auspicious feng shui, exposed brick, a hammock (yes, really) and more interesting shit in it than the Batcave. Just me myself and two actual lolcats, who do indeed cause me to lol on a daily basis between the dirty looks, head bonks, property damage and Hobbesian pounce attacks.
Getting away with Deadwood-caliber swearing thanks to my English accent.
Seeing things -- I had my eyes lasered in '08 and enjoy 20/15 HD vision, which is better than normal human sight, and therefore, arguably, a superpower.
On a weirder note, this past winter I wore a heavy Navy coat and two people told me that I reminded them of Sean Connery as the Russian submarine captain in The Hunt For Red October. I can definitely live with this. Relatedly, I'll talk dirty to you as Sean Connery if that'sh the short of shenario you'd conshider shexshy.
Personal heroes: Bill Hicks. Jimi Hendrix. Stephen Colbert. James Bond. James Brown. Etta James. Run DMC. Dante. David Lynch. David Byrne. Grandmaster Flash. Elizabeth Warren. Malcolm Tucker. Walter Benjamin. DJ Danger Mouse. Antoni Gaudí. Sam Cooke. Nabokov. Kubrick. Omar Little. Will Ferrel. The Dude. Maurice Sendak. The Architect in The Matrix. Tina Turner. Withnail. The Young Ones. Snoop. Steinbeck. Cornelius Castoriadis. The inventors of Guitar Hero. Han Solo/Indy era Harrison Ford. Titus Pullo. The Kinks. Freddy Mercury. Tarantino. Alan Moore. Pootie Tang. Debbie Harry. Jarvis Cocker. Ripley from Alien. Karl Marx. Snake Plissken. Monty Python. Bowie. Armando Iannucci. The Beastie Boys. David Hockney. Al Swearengen. Dr Suess. Camus. Maria Bamford. Chris Morris. Yoda. James Ellroy. Dan Savage. John Carpenter. Grant Morrison. Banksy. Chuck D. My Mum. My Gran.
My iTunes tells me that recently I've favoured RATM, the Stepkids, Muse, The Heavy, SOAD, Public Enemy, Beethoven, Queen, Lamb of God, Gil and Veloso, Brian Eno, Cypress Hill, Arctic Monkeys, Brad Sucks, AC/DC, Vivaldi, The Hives, Pulp, Wu-Tang, Franz Ferdinand, and McLusky/Future of the Left. Probably not in that order. Also a lot of WeFunk Radio, the greatest streaming radio station on the internets.
I love the Dead Authors podcast. If you've never heard it, you should get on that.
An audio playback device.
Um... Ok bread and peanut butter. There, that's six.
I kinda just spend a lot of time thinking. I even write some of it down, and once in a while something I've written gets refined and published. Then I talk about what I've been thinking and writing in front of variously sized rooms of seated people.
At the moment I'm a bit fascinated with what people in Brazil and India are doing and are going to do with affordable touchscreen tablet computers. Also, holograms.
I might have a lil mancrush on Daniel Craig.
Oh right, and you don't? Please.
(Dude, have you seen him in that turtleneck in the new posters for Spectre? That is some first-rate Bondage straight out of the top drawer.)
Whoever you are, good luck finding who you're looking for. Unless you're a fugg-shod wingnut teabagger glued to fucking Bravo, in which case please just stop because you're why America can't have nice things. Otherwise, we cool.
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