*slang noun in relation to physical beauty in place of a "perfect ten"By Westmoreland
14. Love or Whatever
There has been feedback. Informed folks have been double-clicking ���Dimes��� and depositing mad love on the Dub. ���Round here, we call that Dub Love. We dig Dub Love. To those relating to the struggle, you are in my heart. Unless you are a dude. (You, obviously, cannot be in my heart if you are dude. But you get my meaning.) So, continue to pay your Comcast/AT&T cable bill, or borrow some unsecured wirelessness (as I do -- because it is free), or hit up the InSite from the computer at work (when the Man is not hovering over your shoulder). I am going to be here until Thanksgiving, at least. So please continue to click through. Dating dimes on a dime is a lonelier business than it looks.
Big love to all who are bent on jamming Benjamins into a brokerage account or buying one more house or sending your babies to the best schools or finishing your PhD or running for President of the United States of America��� I pump my fist for you, Baltimore style. Hone your vision and execute. Every time you are advised that you cannot reach your goals, thank the advisor. They have simply disclosed that they are not qualified to envision your success. Nowadays disclosures are valuable and hard to come by.
Big shout out to my man, Michael P who is holding his wife and little man down with a fresh position in NYC! Do your thing! And a big-smug-elitist-hug goes to Vanessa who is recently tenured and consistently awe-inspiring! She is a featured speaker, here on CSPAN (I am in the audience��� There is a brown speck in a taupe suit in the back. No close up, though. Leave it to C-SPAN to hate from the sidelines). Happy belated birthday to Treva (who is safekeeping my American Express Card). Shalom to Brian. Stack shekels, but more important, be safe. Tranquillo to Roland on baby numero dos! One love and peace to everyone who recognizes reality when it is scrolls across your browser!
Of course there has been some two-cent feedback to ���Dimes.��� George W. Bush and I call these folks Two-Centers. If someone had told me in 2/22/2008 that there would be resistance to one man���s march toward one woman and wholesome wealth, I would have laughed. Actually, I would not have cared. I was pretty depressed. But if 50 Cent can sell records on the theme of fast money and misogyny why would I expect hard feelings reflecting financial austerity and monogamy? What planet am I on?
By sheer serendipity, I met one reader on the opening weekend of the ���Sex in the City.��� She was a cute girl with big beautiful eyes, high cheekbones and perfect skin. She was on her way to the screening in a brown dress. If you threw a rock in DC, on that weekend, you would have hit a woman in a beige or brown or tan dress. Who knows what that browning meant? I am going to suppose that brown is the ���in��� color this year. If you know, and you are dying to provide some explanation in the comments section, restrain yourself. I am not curious in a genuine way.
There were quite a few suburban women in their finest couture clicking around the city in pricey heels and lugging huge empty purses. It was a little bit odd. It was like the opposite of a Star Wars opening. ���Sex in the City��� is, actually ���Star Wars��� for chicks. Is it Science Fiction? Who knows, I didn���t see the movie. But in the same way that the nerds and whackos wear the Stormtrooper costume, hot soccer moms and frumpy coeds dressed themselves as Carrie and her 3 cohorts. It was alienating. Some pull it off, some don���t. I liked the television show, but my corpse would have to be dragged into the theatre for me to go anywhere near that movie.
Anyway, this reader (who is BFF of a friend invited to share a pre-viewing drink) was introduced, and perched herself at the Ruth���s Chris bar conveniently close to the theatre. She asked if I had caught wind of some ���smart remarks��� she had made regarding this correspondence. I wondered aloud, how? I wondered to myself, what for? I proffered cocktails which they accepted. (I may be a touch antisocial, but I am polite.) Three sips in, she looks up at me and declares ���I thought you had facial hair.��� I looked down at an awkwardly balanced lime wedge garnishing a jumble of ice-cubes in my glass of straight vodka. Then I looked at my friend (in her striped brown dress). Who smiled back at me. ���I just pictured you as having facial hair.���
These days, I hate being out on Saturday night. I hate it. I want to be at home teaching my children to read above grade level. But I don���t have any children. So I have idle hands on Saturday nights. There are guys who may envy my single lifestyle. But, being single is mostly about being alone in a way that is not always stylish. And, like the slice of lime in my glass, I tend to find myself in situations where I am somehow straddling inclusion and seclusion.
For 15 weeks, I have shared the intimate cynicism of my colliding financial and love lives in the center of a capital city. One might assume a pattern. If I buy you a drink, you are running a risk of being blogged. If you are rude (or even non-sequitur) in the process of drinking the cocktail I bought, you will be blogged. General note of etiquette: you are not allowed to make remarks or recommendations regarding someone���s physical appearance, unless they are compliments (or invited). Don���t trust me? Google it. Even then, there are constraints on what is acceptable.
Still don���t trust me? Test these phrases at your next opportunity to make a first impression:
���You are black/white.���
���Your breasts are small/large.���
���You are tall/short.���
���You do/do not have a beard.���
I would not expect a woman to have facial hair (and this reader did not). But I did not congratulate her, ���It is awesome that you do not have a goatee!��� I don���t think this young woman appreciated the surreal recursion involved in offering a beard critique to a date critic. So? I won���t blog her. I will only point out that if a man has a laptop, then he probably has an electric razor.
This is what I am dealing with, people. Pray for me.
The cupid comes from this artist��� http://moritat.deviantart.com/art/cupid-15131109
Big love to all who are bent on jamming Benjamins into a brokerage account or buying one more house or sending your babies to the best schools or finishing your PhD or running for President of the United States of America��� I pump my fist for you, Baltimore style. Hone your vision and execute. Every time you are advised that you cannot reach your goals, thank the advisor. They have simply disclosed that they are not qualified to envision your success. Nowadays disclosures are valuable and hard to come by.
Big shout out to my man, Michael P who is holding his wife and little man down with a fresh position in NYC! Do your thing! And a big-smug-elitist-hug goes to Vanessa who is recently tenured and consistently awe-inspiring! She is a featured speaker, here on CSPAN (I am in the audience��� There is a brown speck in a taupe suit in the back. No close up, though. Leave it to C-SPAN to hate from the sidelines). Happy belated birthday to Treva (who is safekeeping my American Express Card). Shalom to Brian. Stack shekels, but more important, be safe. Tranquillo to Roland on baby numero dos! One love and peace to everyone who recognizes reality when it is scrolls across your browser!
Of course there has been some two-cent feedback to ���Dimes.��� George W. Bush and I call these folks Two-Centers. If someone had told me in 2/22/2008 that there would be resistance to one man���s march toward one woman and wholesome wealth, I would have laughed. Actually, I would not have cared. I was pretty depressed. But if 50 Cent can sell records on the theme of fast money and misogyny why would I expect hard feelings reflecting financial austerity and monogamy? What planet am I on?
By sheer serendipity, I met one reader on the opening weekend of the ���Sex in the City.��� She was a cute girl with big beautiful eyes, high cheekbones and perfect skin. She was on her way to the screening in a brown dress. If you threw a rock in DC, on that weekend, you would have hit a woman in a beige or brown or tan dress. Who knows what that browning meant? I am going to suppose that brown is the ���in��� color this year. If you know, and you are dying to provide some explanation in the comments section, restrain yourself. I am not curious in a genuine way.
There were quite a few suburban women in their finest couture clicking around the city in pricey heels and lugging huge empty purses. It was a little bit odd. It was like the opposite of a Star Wars opening. ���Sex in the City��� is, actually ���Star Wars��� for chicks. Is it Science Fiction? Who knows, I didn���t see the movie. But in the same way that the nerds and whackos wear the Stormtrooper costume, hot soccer moms and frumpy coeds dressed themselves as Carrie and her 3 cohorts. It was alienating. Some pull it off, some don���t. I liked the television show, but my corpse would have to be dragged into the theatre for me to go anywhere near that movie.
Anyway, this reader (who is BFF of a friend invited to share a pre-viewing drink) was introduced, and perched herself at the Ruth���s Chris bar conveniently close to the theatre. She asked if I had caught wind of some ���smart remarks��� she had made regarding this correspondence. I wondered aloud, how? I wondered to myself, what for? I proffered cocktails which they accepted. (I may be a touch antisocial, but I am polite.) Three sips in, she looks up at me and declares ���I thought you had facial hair.��� I looked down at an awkwardly balanced lime wedge garnishing a jumble of ice-cubes in my glass of straight vodka. Then I looked at my friend (in her striped brown dress). Who smiled back at me. ���I just pictured you as having facial hair.���
These days, I hate being out on Saturday night. I hate it. I want to be at home teaching my children to read above grade level. But I don���t have any children. So I have idle hands on Saturday nights. There are guys who may envy my single lifestyle. But, being single is mostly about being alone in a way that is not always stylish. And, like the slice of lime in my glass, I tend to find myself in situations where I am somehow straddling inclusion and seclusion.
For 15 weeks, I have shared the intimate cynicism of my colliding financial and love lives in the center of a capital city. One might assume a pattern. If I buy you a drink, you are running a risk of being blogged. If you are rude (or even non-sequitur) in the process of drinking the cocktail I bought, you will be blogged. General note of etiquette: you are not allowed to make remarks or recommendations regarding someone���s physical appearance, unless they are compliments (or invited). Don���t trust me? Google it. Even then, there are constraints on what is acceptable.
Still don���t trust me? Test these phrases at your next opportunity to make a first impression:
���You are black/white.���
���Your breasts are small/large.���
���You are tall/short.���
���You do/do not have a beard.���
I would not expect a woman to have facial hair (and this reader did not). But I did not congratulate her, ���It is awesome that you do not have a goatee!��� I don���t think this young woman appreciated the surreal recursion involved in offering a beard critique to a date critic. So? I won���t blog her. I will only point out that if a man has a laptop, then he probably has an electric razor.
This is what I am dealing with, people. Pray for me.
The cupid comes from this artist��� http://moritat.deviantart.com/art/cupid-15131109
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