So here I am, after nearly a decade in the off-world colonies (okay, fine, "San Francisco"), back in New York City, scene of the last stretch of my misspent young adulthood. You can't go home again, but you can apparently move back to a city that still has the same street names, which is entertainingly dislocating. Everything's changed, everything's the same, my feet take me automatically to destinations that have been gone for years, and the intense circle of friends and lovers that saw me through the late 90s and early aughts is scattered to the winds. I don't want or need my old milieu back, but I need to make the city mine again: perhaps you'll be part of that?
I guess that's more of a manifesto cum status report than a self-summary. Let's try again:
I call myself an introvert, but I get itchy if I don't see enough of my friends in a week. I dye my hair stupid colors, but I play daytime corporate denizen well enough that the imposter syndrome is mostly under control. I stopped planning for the revolution when I realized what kinds of people are a little too enthusiastic about the idea, but you'll never convince me that capitalism is anything more than an interesting pit-stop on the way to something better. Seeking same, or wildly different. Surprise me! Clown suit optional.
Oh yeah, and:
The poly thing, since everyone does it differently: we've been dating for 20+ years, never monogamously. You don't have to be her BFF, but you'll meet her if you spend any substantial time around me and that has to be okay. (She's missionista here if you want to snoop her profile.) We mostly date separately, and generally are not using OKC to troll for three-or-moresomes, although I guess if you're looking at us and thinking "I/we would so totally be your perfect unicorn/couple-date" we'd certainly at least consider the idea. We aren't fans of endless processing: just be an adult with good personal boundaries and an ability to use your words, k?
If you go by quantity alone, I've probably re-read "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" more times than any other book not counting "The Cat in the Hat". But having confessed that, I'd like to quickly aver that if your social group ever included That Guy who wouldn't ever shut the fuck up about Hunter Thompson and seemed confused about the difference between "quoting Thompson constantly while drinking a lot" and "having an actual career as a writer", you know the one? I am Not That Guy, promise. (Also, now that he's passed on, can we all admit that the man was kind of a shit with some deeply creepy aspects to his personal life? It doesn't make "Hells Angels" any less fun to read, I promise.)
Movies: Blade Runner. The Big Sleep. Tampopo. L.A. Confidential. Monsters Inc. Brazil. My Neighbor Totoro, 12 Monkeys. Holy Motors. The Wire. (Yes it's a tv show, shush.)
Music: Blackalicious. Coldcut. Elvis. New Bomb Turks. Steely Dan. Stevie Wonder. Aesop Rock. New Model Army. Tricky. Bjork. Bach. Gnarls Barkley. Tribe. Cannibal Ox. Kinky Friedman and the Texas Jewboys. Kate Bush. Lyrics Born. That great act someone just told me to listen to.
Food: Sushi. Curry. Foie Gras. Steak. Fresh tomatoes. Sushi. Fresh bread. Sushi. Felafel. Duck. Duck. Goose!
(Hm, that's a pretty meat-heavy list there: I should note that probably a slim plurality of the people I've dated over the course of my life have been vegetarians, and that's just fine.)
...except apparently I managed to quit coffee over Yom Kippur in 2006, to the slack-jawed amazement of my girlfriend, my mother, several of my coworkers, my other girlfriend, my siblings, myself and probably my cats. I guess that means that there are only five things that I could never do without, and if I ever break down and get LASIK it'll be down to four.
Perhaps I need to acquire some more indispensable things, or maybe things are not as indispensable as we tend to think.
postscript, 2010: apparently my daughter's smile has replaced coffee on the list. Strange old life.
post-postscript, 2011: took a vacation in Rome. Fell off the coffee wagon SO HARD. Am now trying to avoid becoming one of those people who talks incessantly about espresso pulls. May be failing. Send help or better yet coffee.
Post-post-postscript, 2016: I've apparently become one of those assholes who special-orders his beans. I promise I never talk about this in person, but this is my own little okcupid rake joke here.
Deep in the back of my closet, safely stored in a hatbox, lies my fedora. It waits, patiently, for the day when wearing one will no longer be a flag for "entitled manchild with poor social skills." I fear it may wait for some time yet.
[Okay, it's not really "private" but this kinda needs to go above "I'm looking for": I'm bi, and I'm open to dating guys, but I go back and forth on putting that in the "I'm looking for" section because frankly when it's there, my visitors list and inbox ends up full of monosyllabic come-ons from dudes with 15% match ratings in far-away cities and some months I'm just not up for dealing with that, a feeling that I suspect any woman on okcupid can sympathize with. If you're cute, local, nerdy, wordy and an 80% match or better, you should message me regardless of your gender identification.]
Be whipsmart. Be funny. Be cute. Be worth talking to and worth breaking boxsprings with. Be sure of what you want, and assertive enough to let me know. Know the difference between "your" and "you're". Practically everything else is negotiable.
Drugs, while fun, shouldn't be the primary focus of your life, and if you regularly do opiates, cocaine, or anything else that requires needles or blowtorches, kindly move along. (Casual coke/meth users who "totally have it under control": this means you especially, ahem. The blood-and-tears-soaked t-shirt, I done already bought, burned and buried it.)
Optionally/alternatively: you should message me if you're trying to get into grad school. For reals and no joke: my last three regular lovers have all gotten into the graduate program of their dreams, far across the county. (Sad for me, awesome for them.) At this point, I'm no longer willing to believe that it's coincidence, and am considering handing out my calling cards in front of the local GRE testing center. Date me: it's cheaper than Kaplan, and probably more fun!
Boys, girls: If the best you can do for a first email is "hi, let's be friends" or "nice hair", this is seriously not going to work out. You may have noticed that I like words. Use a few. (Sadly and predictably, it seems to be mostly boys that need the reminder here. Dudes: raise your game. If I want the grindr experience, I know where to find it.)
And hopefully obviously, you have to be okay with the fact that a large chunk of my schedule is non-negotiably dedicated to my partner and our kid: It's not a requirement that you have to be in a long-term open relationship yourself, but it certainly sets expectations correctly. Conversely this doesn't mean that I'm only looking for casual/FWB hookups: I'm open to forming deep attachments (and have!), there's just an existing framework they'd have to fit into.