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dr_pretentious"Hey, Dan," I said, "I need to research online dating services for the novella. If we start getting even weirder junk mail, that's why." We get pretty odd junk mail. I made a donation once to an organization that supports queer rights in the military, and ever since, I get stuff addressed to me from direct-mail businesses that clearly believe me to be a gay man. The housewares catalogs are fabulous, but I could do without the guy-on-guy porn.
"Online dating," said Dan. I'd ambushed him in the middle of his efforts to seal the new grout for the kitchen tile. "Hm. Would you like me to be worried?"
"Well, I guess that would be kind of a compliment, but no thanks." Because, really, it would be better for us to spend our energy and attention on regrouting the tile in the bathroom.
I might be able to make the case to the IRS that the cost of registering for an online dating service was a legitimate research expense, but the prospect of actually registering skeeves me out. So far, I haven't found the Luminous Detail that will make Jane's unfortunate courtship efforts feel real on the page. There is always, somewhere, a Luminous Detail. Usually, I trip over it while I'm looking for it someplace it isn't. (The cover band that's always playing songs in the back of my mind is now singing about looking for the Luminous Detail in all the wrong places, too many faces, etc.)
Maybe you have the Luminous Detail. Anybody out there attempted online dating? The only person I know to have tried it is a friend of my sister's. Match.com has not been good to D. She's had a long series of problematic non-starters, culminating in a dreadful relationship that should end but won't. She could probably tell me something useful, but it seems unkind to ask. It can't be quite that unpleasant for everyone, or people wouldn't pay for it. Would they?
Really, all I'm looking to find out about is the experience of composing an ad, and the experience of awaiting or receiving the first replies. That's what we get on stage in the novella. It's a small detail, not one of the big plot points, but it's important enough that I don't want to get it glaringly wrong. An old married lady who settled down twelve years ago with a former high school sweetheart is not necessarily going to get it right by guessing.
Weirdest find of the night: One link on about.com promises to lead readers to a basic overview of online dating, but instead leads to a papal encyclical on erotic love. The mind boggles.
"Online dating," said Dan. I'd ambushed him in the middle of his efforts to seal the new grout for the kitchen tile. "Hm. Would you like me to be worried?"
"Well, I guess that would be kind of a compliment, but no thanks." Because, really, it would be better for us to spend our energy and attention on regrouting the tile in the bathroom.
I might be able to make the case to the IRS that the cost of registering for an online dating service was a legitimate research expense, but the prospect of actually registering skeeves me out. So far, I haven't found the Luminous Detail that will make Jane's unfortunate courtship efforts feel real on the page. There is always, somewhere, a Luminous Detail. Usually, I trip over it while I'm looking for it someplace it isn't. (The cover band that's always playing songs in the back of my mind is now singing about looking for the Luminous Detail in all the wrong places, too many faces, etc.)
Maybe you have the Luminous Detail. Anybody out there attempted online dating? The only person I know to have tried it is a friend of my sister's. Match.com has not been good to D. She's had a long series of problematic non-starters, culminating in a dreadful relationship that should end but won't. She could probably tell me something useful, but it seems unkind to ask. It can't be quite that unpleasant for everyone, or people wouldn't pay for it. Would they?
Really, all I'm looking to find out about is the experience of composing an ad, and the experience of awaiting or receiving the first replies. That's what we get on stage in the novella. It's a small detail, not one of the big plot points, but it's important enough that I don't want to get it glaringly wrong. An old married lady who settled down twelve years ago with a former high school sweetheart is not necessarily going to get it right by guessing.
Weirdest find of the night: One link on about.com promises to lead readers to a basic overview of online dating, but instead leads to a papal encyclical on erotic love. The mind boggles.
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Date: 2006-01-19 11:42 pm (UTC)My daughter married a man she knew previously but met again though yahoo singles.com or something of that nature.
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Date: 2006-01-20 08:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-20 10:14 pm (UTC)That oughta turn any man's knees to jelly.