Online Dating #2

As I mentioned before, I've dabbled in online dating. I've met a few sweet-natured fellas. I've had a few disturbing emails. My good friend Ryan and I have shared a few details with each other about some of our creepier online interactions with potential dates.

Since I seemed to attract a few extraordinarily elegant communicators, we came up with a few rules we thought they might have benefitted from before going online.

Things Not To Say to Ladies That You're Chatting Up Online

* When the nice girl/lady tells you that she played flute for about 16 years, please do not ask her, "did you ever go to band camp?" The nice girl/lady understands your clever movie reference and hopes you do really well in your next relationship.

* Please don't say that you can't wait for me to meet your ex-girlfriend. That makes me feel squirmy.

* Please don't initiate contact by sending me a list of your requirements. A nice, young fella asked me to write back, but only if I possessed the following essentials:

1. nice teeth and preferably still in your mouth (looks like you are OK here)
2. no drugs that INCLUDES anti-psychosis and depression drugs (don't laugh you would be surprised)
3. doesn't post pics that were BEFORE the 80 pound weight gain incident
4. no stripping on the weekends "just because it's a great way to earn some extra money"
5. currently single (i.e. not seeing 1, 2 or even 3 other dudes simultaneously)
6. has a job other than the sub shop and a means of transportation other than a bicycle
7. has an education that would cause one to become bored working at the sub shop (again, your good here..go on to #8)
8. Currently kid-less and pretty much drama-less

There was a ninth item that said I must have drive, ambition and integrity. But that's hard to fit into my schedule of sub-making at the strip-joint. Especially when I have to ride my bike there. My two or three other boyfriends say I'm usually too hopped up on psychotropic drugs to actually drive and, besides, it's helping me take some of the baby weight off.

I believe that this man meant well and was just trying to be funny. I did not call him on the fact that he forgot to use a possessive in #7. I also did not write back anything mean. That was a bit of a challenge.

My next Online Dating entry should include some of the ghastly things I've written to men online. I'M SUAVE. And I live on Dork Street.

The next post is about mooooosic, I swear.

No Crying, No Pointing

I spend entirely too much time Instant Messaging with my friend, Ryan. While often inane, the IM conversations sometimes yield important things I'd like to remember. Today's IM was the inane kind. I still liked it.

While discussing his weirdo UFO dream, we came up with some rules of how to avoid getting slapped around by an aggressive dream UFO. First two rules? No crying, no pointing. Keep these in mind, folks. That's a little free advice from your ole Uncle Sarah and her buddy, Ryan.

Online Dating #1

I've dabbled in online dating. I've noticed the same good and bad points about it that every woman in her thirties has. It's hard to feel enthusiastic about it when so many of the responses I get are from men more than fifteen years my senior. I thought I wasn't being clear, so I specified in my profile that I'm looking for someone within six years of my own age. Yet, I still get an impressive number of responses from men in their late fifties. Many of them, strangely, are from Florida. I can see where they're coming from, though. "I mean, why wouldn't 30-something Sarah from Delaware, who specifically states that she would enjoy the company of a man her own age, bend the rules a bit for a silver fox, like me, in his late fifties, from Boca? Clearly, this is the long-distance, May-December romance Sarah has been waiting for. Why must Sarah be so rigid? Perhaps I should email Sarah repeatedly until she realizes the folly of her instincts. I will call her "Sweetie" a few times in the email and compliment her on her figure. I will also make Sarah aware of my financial status. I cannot lose." I respond politely unless the email is somehow offensive. What a strange world. It does put a new spin on some of the Cary Grant movies for me, though. That cat was impressing women half his age all the time. Yet, not all mature men are Cary Grant and not all younger women are distressed victims, forced into the role of spy because of their relationships with bad guys. Most younger women, are, however, game for being chased up and down the face of Teddy on Mt. Rushmore. Believe that.

This week's fabulous radio show was rife with technial errors. Some of them were my own darned fault, but some of them were not quite my own darned fault. For instance, I now know that, if the computer cuts off announcements 4 seconds in, it is working around a corrupted file and must be rebooted. I did not know that before this last show, when I played a few announcements that abruptly stopped, leaving me irritable and nervous about playing any of the scheduled announcements from the computer. Harumph. Good news, though! Even if everything is working perfectly, you might still hear me read a public service announcement telling you allllll about how to attend the wonderful event that happened yesterday. You can't attend! It's over! Here's how you could have attended, though, if I'd read this to you before the event occurred! Sigh. At least I've gotten out of the habit of saying, "You're listening to Friday morning Java Time." My show has been on Thursday mornings for a few months now.

My Bloody Valentine

Happy Valentine's Day! I'm a day late doing this, but that's because I was very busy yesterday with work and bleeding. While washing my face before working out, I must have splashed water a bit too zealously onto my face, as I managed to scratch the inside of my nose with my pinky. I don't even have long fingernails. It was startling. I kept rinsing my face with my eyes closed and when I opened them, the sink seemed to have an AWFUL LOT OF BLOOD IN IT. Usually, I don't bleed at all when washing my face. Honestly. The interesting thing I learned with this first-ever nosebleed is that, while noses will bleed seemingly intensely, they cease rather abruptly and everything gets normal. Exciting!

In other news, I'm considering having a state trooper on my show some time soon to talk about traffic patterns. I don't mean the actual roads or congested areas, but rather the social and emotional patterns that emerge when lots of people have to drive daily in Philadelphia and Delaware and the surrounding areas. I think that many of our traffic accidents and aggressive driving problems come solely from an emotional place. If forced to prove it, I think most people really do understand how to drive safely. Yet, driving is a a stressful activity, even for those of us who like it and enjoy being in a car. More on this later.

I currently have to do some work and stop staring at the giant heart-shaped box of chocolates that a client brought in. I suspect that most of the candy that is given as gifts to offices is just unwanted, diet-busting fare that the giver is too frightened to have with him or her at home. I'm frightend by this giant box of chocolates. I walked by it and, not only was it dancing side-to-side and gesturing wildly, but also it asked if I had gained weight. Then, it offered to comfort me, saying something about "societal norms" and "unreasonable beauty standards." I was just about to hug it when I came to my senses and went back to my desk. Besides. I have not gained any weight. So there, taunting box of chocolates. Fie on you.

Spit Take

The last few days have been strange. On a personal level, I've been intermittently hyper. I blame the increased working out and assume that, eventually, I won't feel just exhausted, then hyper, then back to exhausted, but will, instead, feel delightfully and evenly energized. Right? That will happen soon, right? I'll experience the Runner's High, right? OH COME ON. Regardless of my energy level, I know I will continue to work out more. I rather enjoy it and the results I see. My guns are huge now.


In other news, the radio show was strange yesterday. I arrived on time (I gave myself the requisite minute / minute-and-a-half to scramble down the stairs, turn on the board, and chuck in a CD before the strike of 6am) and was unable to enter the radio station. I kept punching in the correct code, the keypad would show me the pretty, welcoming, green light, yet the door remained locked. It felt kind of good to get rough with that door for a minute, so I tried the code a few more times and really yanked hard. It was to no avail, however, so I had to call campus police. They usually are in the building waiting for me at that time, anyway, so it didn't take them long to come out and help me in. One of them regaled me with interesting stories of helping other people who'd been locked out of things (their dorms, their cars, their offices) while the one with the keys worked on the door. Honestly, these men are always nice. Sometimes, I can tell that they're at the end of a long shift when they take me into the station, but they remain pleasant, and, sometimes, they're open and chatty, which I love.

The band I liked the most during this show is Giant Drag. I've played their song "Kevin is Gay" several times and it just pleases me. What I seem to like most is the plaintive meowing at the end. Check out Giant Drag's MySpace page to hear some songs, including the meow song. Honeeeeeey.

P.S.

Puppy Bowl!

Puppy Bowl is, possibly, the smartest thing I have ever heard of. What a brilliant alternative to watching the Super Bowl. Puppy Bowl is three solid hours of footage of puppies playing in a small room decorated to resemble a football field and stadium.

I actually watched a lot of it yesterday. Sure, I checked in on the "real" Super Bowl, but the players just weren't fluffy enough.
Is this

as adorable as this?


Okay, granted, not many people are looking for "adorable" in their football players. But how about agility? Skill? Tenacity? Puppies have all of those things.

I can't imagine how the pitch meeting went. I assume some guy or gal said, "Hey, I don't particularly like watching football. Let's put something on for animal lovers who don't like televised sports." Eventually, it blossomed into what it is today: a three hour festival of cuteness that appeals to voyeuristic shut-ins like me.

If I were the head of Animal Planet, this is how the pitch meeting would have gone:

Guy: We have this idea for alternative programming during the Super B--
Me: SOLD!
Guy: Um, so if you don't want to watch football, you watch us and we have a bunch of puppies and-
Me: SOLD!
Guy: we um, we put them in a big sort of container with plexiglass walls and we paint the carpet with yardlines and put advertising for dog-relevant products like Subarus and Vacuums and Dogfood on the sides and --
Me: There are puppies, though, right? And we see them?
Guy: Well, y--
Me: SOLD! *clapping/jumping up and down*

Ah, I should mention. They have Kitty Halftime, too. Yup. A half-hour of kittens romping around on a gaudy, glitzy, disco-ball'd, sequiny set to the sounds of faux techno music.

P.S. Mr. Bettis? You are a handsome man. I mean you no disrespect when I say that you are not as adorable as a puppy.

Like a Fox

Tom Vek is 24 years old. That was surprising to learn. I've been playing his new album "We Have Sound" for the last few months, particularly the songs "C-C (You Set the Fire in Me)" and "I Ain't Sayin My Goodbyes." If you go to this page, you can watch a few videos, including ones for those songs. I recommend starting with the top video, though, as it's startling. Shouldn't he feel like a giant nerd, rollerblading around in what appears to be long underwear? I have the answer: NO. He should feel like a dude. This guy has completely sold me.

On this past week's show, I was going to play some New Pornographers and Colin Meloy and, of course, that didn't happen. I tend to forget whatever I had planned and get wrapped up in the whole hurry-hurry-rush mode of doing a live show by myself. Then, during the show, when I get a minute to breathe (hooray for 4 minute songs), I tend to just think about what I want to hear right then. I'll rifle through the new music, pick out something that looks promising, sample it, and if it pleases, I'll throw it on the air. I've discovered most of my favorite bands that way. Or, I'll just route through the library for things I already know I like. Sounds professional, right? Oh, I'm professional. Professional like a fox.

The band I'm currently excited about finding in the library is Slow Runner. I've listened to the song Everything is Exactly What it Seems (click there to DOWNLOAD [don't be frightened] an mp3 sample) several times over the last few days and really like it. Enjoy.

In other news, it's Monday and I'm at work. This blog is rocking your world, I'm sure of it.

P.S. This is Tom Vek.


P.P.S. This is Jim J. Bullock.

Empty Pages

I have been on a Traffic kick lately. Sure, I'm still interested in the hipster bands with the kookoo names and the zow and the yip, but nothing beats Traffic for good, old-fashioned, sloppy-but-tight awesomeness. The song "Empty Pages" is one of my favorites. I played this on last week's show and am sure it will resurface.

This coming week? I'll be looking forward to playing some songs from recent New Pornographers albums and probably something form A.C. Newman. I'll also have to hit the recent Colin Meloy release, as I just saw Colin Meloy / Laura Veirs play at the TLA on January 27th. Click here to read Steve Klinge's Philadelphia Inquirer Review of the show. Long live Gerard, Colin Meloy's bottle of wine.

P.S. Please don't do this to your doggie: