I Love You, Let’s Meet

I’d go with “hipster d’un certain age” were I marketing this site. I’d been pondering earlier whether it mightn’t be nice to cruise separately from all the cute, young things, and I guess the market research said yes.

“The Boomers” inspire such loathing in people my age and younger, and I’m no longer sure why. That scorn for the same demographic was in the 80s directed at “yuppies” — referring to once-idealistic people who sold out, man. Now I think the scorn heaped on those born 1946-1965 is just ageism, maybe combined with frustration at the total co-opting of youth culture and rebellion, and maybe even jealousy that the boomers had a moment of idealism and relevance and power before their music and attitudes became car commercials. “Selling out” is still unattractive to some 20-somethings, but it’s much harder to pin down what it means, and I think some of the boomer-hatred has to do with that confusion.

I love this idea and this use of the technology.

This article particularly resonates now, as the American author-moms attack each other with bizarre ferocity. The stay-at-homers and the working mothers blame each other for all the world’s ills when clearly their real beef is with full-time work itself. It IS too much on top of parenting. I love this idea so much I don’t think the mothers should get it all to themselves; why can’t working Dads get in on job-sharing? Why can’t childless people who rather sensibly don’t want to work 40, 50, 60 hours a week get in on it?

This is nice to hear, if it’s true. (An annoying commercial comes on when this page opens; the off button is to the right of the headline.) I just put my air conditioner in the window yesterday and feel very conflicted. On one hand, I’m way happier (and more dateable) with a nice, cool apt. But my carbon footprint probably doubled when I plugged that sucker in.

If 80 percent of 30- to 59-year-olds consider the environment such a high priority, Al Gore should be a shoo-in for President. Run, Al, run!

Interesting discrepancy between the vocabulary and the visuals for “Muddy Matches”. They’re getting plugged in “Farmers Weekly” and they say their members only need to like mud, but all the footage is of horse-show jumping (excuse me, point-to-point). No pig farmers or potato farmers in sight.

Yet the spokeswoman makes a big deal out of everyone “from the countryside” being welcome. If I were British, no doubt I’d be able to decode the class signifiers and understand instantly if this was a site for the very posh only. But “mud” and “farmer” threw this urban, American populist off. Note the contrast with the American farmer online dating site.

this is going to spawn a lot of stay-at-home, “you got any ice cream?” dates.

Prediction 2: Keeping track of who you’re going out with (wait, is Tuesday night the production designer with the weird facial hair or the high school teacher/bass player?) will be even harder for users of this site.

Sweet interview, even after I bit nerve’s hand for not giving me my man-treat.

You can really hear the three cups of coffee talking.

oh, and what a coincidence, I’ll be a guest in July!

their silly houses. Good for chemistry.com for calling eHarmony out on homophobia and gloomophobia and Elizabeth Taylorphobia (on what grounds did they reject Courtney Love? she only had one husband, is straight and seems pretty peppy). But chemistry.com’s “scientific” matching is just as lame, as my book details.

this is a hilarious anecdote about a problem we heteros never run into.

I love the juxtaposition of the site’s name with the fact that women don’t pay. As objects of desire, hot babes shouldn’t have to spend money to hook up. Men should do the paying. And in exchange? YouCanGetMe! Ostensibly since women had to buy “shoes and a bag” for the date, but the whole thing comes off like the ads in the back of the Village Voice for busty Asian she-males, outcalls only. Chix for sale. Except it’s real women on the site, so odds are YouCan’tGetMe, so it’s more like fantasy fodder.
Women get their own fantasy choices, too, because this is the 21st century after all. What’s odd is how all my friends I sent this to and I put Brian in the bathroom in the gladiator outfit. What does that mean? (To be fair and balanced, I then put Jason in the kitchen dressed like a cowboy, which was cool until he started rubbing the sponge he’d been scrubbing the counters with all over his chest! Yuck!)