I suppose I'm a paradox of unequal parts rationalist, romantic, and hedonist. I know by definition a paradox can have only two opposing descriptors so just go ahead and add 'dangerous rule breaker' to that list! woohoo.
I tend to value the fleeting moments over the grand plans - world domination was never my thing. The existentialist in me tells me I've won the random birth lottery and should savor every moment of this one shot as best I can. The neurotic in me tells me to save for retirement. Or is it my dad who says that? Either way, I do both.
When it comes to art, music, food, wine, travel, and, well, life, I try to remain open to exploring and experiencing as much as possible. My interests tend to be pretty diverse and don't fit cleanly into any one classification; feckless dilettante or enlightened renaissance man depending on the half emptiness or fullness your particular glass. While I'm a wine swilling, New Yorker reading, left of center, pseudo-artsy who owns a few too many male grooming products, I'm also -full disclosure- into sports, danceable indie hipster music, and beer. But good beer. And good sports. Cool, bohemian sports like European soccer and the Tour de France and... er... I'm actually pretty much into all sports. But so are Woody Allen and Justin Timberlake and you'd date them. Well you'd date JT at least. The good news is I don't own a tv so I seldom watch sports. But I do play them- hockey at chelsea piers, soccer in the park, jogging. (I play jogging?) So, in no way am I a jock, but I do like getting sweaty, staying in shape, and the occasional high five with passing strangers. And settling down to some Project Runway with you after of course, my little cabbage.
My Ideal Person:
You just be you. I mean, I'm new to this so I'm naively hopeful and not sure what to expect. Besides, who knows how many of cupid's arrows I'd deflect with a set of self-centered parameters that can only limit, and may in-fact snuff out, the fairy dusted magic that awaits? And, really, to selfishly deprive my friends of this potential cache of blind date horror stories that they'll use against me for years to come is just not my style. Not me, sister, I'm a giver.
But, um, getting back to those selfish parameters, I guess it would be kinda nice if you had one or two of the following traits:
a tendency to get lost in great conversation.
a natural inclination to laugh or make others laugh, and by others I mean me.
a need to see live music (from the Met to the Music Hall of Williamsburg.)
a love of great food, either cooking it or going out to find it (but not hunt it! For god's sake what're you insane?)
a personal mandate to get to the beach as often as you can during our too short, too hot, too pungent NYC summer.
an interest in spending leisurely afternoons going to museums, galleries, the park, the highline, & various neighborhoods... at least the ones that are reasonably safe. I'm not above using you as a shield.
a primal impulse for escape when you and this great city you love just need a little time apart.
an engaged and edgy mind, still alive to exploring and experimenting in whatever small way works to stave off the atrophy.
lastly, and it may be the August heat talking, but did I stress a primal impulse?
The last great book I read
Brothers Kamarazov, Netherland, Everything is Illuminated,
Rule of the Bone, Savage Detectives (not the middle part.)
Favorite on-screen sex scene
Y Tu Mama Tambien or The Dreamers. Is that one too many threesomes?
The best or worst lie I've ever told
My innate skepticism tells me we're perhaps all lying
about not lying. I mean I'm sure everyone's basically
a good egg, but, really, no-one's passing the polygraph.
Even Obama failed the transparency promise and he's
almost like god. Come on now, none of us are uploading our
bad photos, 'surfer' is a slight exaggeration for having
tried it twice, and not one single person has ever enjoyed
reading James Joyce. Your pants are on fire.
Five items I can't live without
NPR, fresh fruit, music, dancing to music, ipod/iphone,
netflix, Frannys, Long Island beaches, far off beaches,
far off cities, coffee, Scandinavian design, Italian
food, Italians, World Cup soccer, Prospect and/or Central
Park, vino, the MoMA, does this thing stop me when I'm
at five?
Fill in the blank: _____ is sexy; _____ is sexier.
composure is sexy; coming undone is sexier.
In my bedroom one will find...
Saarinen side table, vintage 8 1/2 poster, some basil and
mint miraculously still alive on the fire escape despite
my deadbeat dad neglect, last nights clothes, tall windows
with long curtains, a furry rug that soothes the soles.
Hmm... It's all sounding rather effete when itemized
like this, isn't it? Like I'm the anti-Burt Reynolds
or something, cavorting naked with a yoplait in a gauzy
white room! Ladies, did I mention the lingering smell of
musk, the crackling fire, and that the furry rug was ripped
off a sheep's back... by someone at Ikea? Grrrrrrr.
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