Yes, so I'm here for romance in my age range -- love, cuddles and the whole longterm bliss-in-mind-and-body thing -- but I'm also looking for activity pals and creative collaborators, who could be any age. And there's another plus to meeting: I could be your eccentric, bohemian friend.
As a mate, I like a really strong, intellectual and passionate woman. Brains are more important than beauty. Being funny is more important than being pretty. Though I would not kick Sophia Loren out of bed (still hot at the ripe age of 80). A relationship really works if each one is a solid rock for the other.
I write: novels, plays, songs, etc.
I also perform -- singer-songwriter, one-man shows, slam poetry.
Plus I make the fluffiest omelets you can imagine. They're like munching warm summer air.
I love doing the dishes. No kidding. Also, I love cooking. And cleaning the house. Hey, unless a man does all the housework when he's in partnership with a woman, and sets her free from all unpaid housework, he has not earned the right to call himself a feminist.
I'm in touch with my feminine side, but it stops at my underwear.
I'm financially independent and really happy. Saved enough money to stop being a wage slave in 1997. Life has been a carnival ever since.
I'm well-traveled: have lived on three continents.
I'm highbrow: prefer Wallace Stevens to Billy Collins, though I like Billy Collins. Prefer Bob Dylan to Journey, though I like Journey. Prefer Edith Piaf to Barry Manilow, though I've got nothing against Barry Manilow. Prefer James Joyce to John D. MacDonald, though I've read more MacDonald than Joyce.
I'm off-the-grid eccentric: no TV, no Facebook, no Twitter, no phone -- what, no phone? gadzooks! forsooth! yep, no phone; a phone wastes so much time -- email does it all for me fasterbettersmarter. And I have no wish to become a textbot. I'd rather talk than text.
I'm quite bawdy. I like to make love till we're both reduced to senseless blobs of gasping pleasure. I find it really makes up for a bad hair day.
Can't quite decide if I'm more romantic than sentimental, or vice versa. This song I wrote and sang embroiders some of this confusion:
I spent the first half of my life acquiring a thick skin, and now I'm trying to shed it to become the sweet, sensitive chap I am at heart.
I'm making music with two great platonic friends I met via OKCupid; we're looking for one more keyboard/guitar/violin/whatever player who can also sing with us. Yep, we've started a band. We may call ourselves the Geezers. Prove to the young 'uns that we oldsters can rock out.
My great ambition is to be the only guy in a fierce girl gang.
I eat healthy: fresh veggies and fruit, fish, no meat, no dairy.
Exercise: I run 4 miles every day as hard as I can, because I'll do anything to keep my libido firing on all eight cylinders and kicking like a horse. Yep, I run to stay sexually fit (can you think of a better reason to exercise?).
I love the ritual of courtship. Wooing. Flirting. Bantering. Our eyes meeting, our hands holding, sparks flying between us, hearts opening to each other, the hunger for each other, at last being completely together, the intimacy of the afterglow, the final commitment of unfolding and enfolding love.
I've been deeply in love seven times in my life, and I'm looking forward to the eighth time (hopefully the last).
Movies: Persona, This Is Spinal Tap, All About Eve, 1900, Andrei Rublev, The Americanization of Emily, Boyhood, Stations of the Cross.
Music: American Songbook, Beatles, Dylan, Sinatra, Miles Davis, Ella Fitzgerald, Mahalia Jackson, Pink Floyd, Captain Beefheart, Neil Young, Van Morrison, Roy Orbison, Everly Brothers, Bjork, Bowie, Bartok, Arvo Part, Stockhausen, Debussy, Klaus Schulze, Meredith Monk, Abba, Pet Shop Boys, Tune-yards, Perfume Genius, Woodkid, Tim Minchin, Rachels, Godspeed You! Black Emperor.
Shows: everything Sondheim. And Helen Mirren in "Prime Suspect."
Writers: J.M. Coetzee, Faulkner, P.G. Wodehouse, Levinas, Heidegger, Yeats, Neruda, Keats, Wallace Stevens, Shakespeare, Tennessee Williams, Sarah Kane, Brecht, Rilke, Jane Austen, Edith Wharton, Anne Carson, Cormac McCarthy.
Directors alive: Gaspar Noe, Michael Haneke, Bernardo Bertolucci, Asghar Farhadi, Mike Leigh.
Directors dead: Bergman, Wilder, Dreyer, Tarkovsky, Visconti, Renoir, Resnais, Pasolini, Godard, Kubrick, Welles, Kazan, Chaplin, Leone, Hitchcock, Max Ophuls, Bunuel, Satyajit Ray, Fassbinder, Cocteau, Clouzot, Bresson, Rossellini, Antonioni, Sturges, Ozu.
Artists: Matisse, Francis Bacon, Anselm Kiefer, Christian Boltanski, Rothko, Eva Hess, Howard Hodgkin, Hans Hartung, Judith Bernstein, Chiharu Shiota.
Food: olive oil, salads, mangos, figs. Whatever.
And sex. I think about that basic hunger in the bones quite a lot. Hey, I'm a guy, what do you expect, what can I say? I don't believe in God, I believe in cunnilingus.
BTW, I've made a few silly jokes about sex because I think the subject is inherently humorous (isn't that what most comedians do?), and also because I wanted to scare away the pious, the prudish, the Puritan and the non-Puckish, i.e. weed out the stiffs. Apologies if you feel offended. We all have different ways of being in the world.