FOUND ON THE INTERNET*

This pretty non-descript blogger had a great graphic embedded in the Stumble Upon rotation tonight. I saw it, nearly clicked "Stumble Upon" again and then I saw the "Zone of Pain" and remembered a series of dates from last year. Mr. Five-Beers-In-85-Minutes is one, um, the guy who faked a call from his brother, The Sadly Diminuitive One, uh, Porn Buddy, and probably a few others.

Dating was once an art. Now it's more or less a thing you do to see whether your hunch was any good or not. It's the live, in-the-flesh version of getting your credit approved. And sometimes it pays off. Largely, though, it seems pretty fucking superficial to me most days.

That's the price, though, right? All those suck-ass underwhelming dates set you up to really damned well appreciate it when one goes right. The food comes on time, the line-ups move quickly, there are no commuting/rendezvousing hassles, and, you know, when there are, well, they look kinda cute furrowin' a brow and all.

Sometimes it works. It's hard to remember that when you experience a bunch of misses in a row, though. Conversation's a chore. You can visibly SEE when the "connecting" thing has hit the wall. No further pass shall you, the great Yoda would inform you. Walk. Away.

But sometimes it works.

I was thinking about my philosophy of good sex earlier today and plan to go and put it on my sidebar soon, but in the meantime... learn, Grasshopper. (Posted originally here.)

Be a scientist. Gather evidence. Learn. Study the subject in as many conditions as you can. Experiment. Document your findings. Verify. Rinse. And repeat.